Anne was ready when Michael knocked on her door that night. He came in a hackney carriage and was wearing his old jacket. The plain grey frock Sarah had found for Anne fit reasonably well, and the flaps on the cloth cap were large enough to conceal her face. The final accessory to Anne’s outfit was tucked inside her pocket. In addition to the flintlock pistol she used for target practice, she kept a tiny Queen Anne pistol, the kind one loaded by unscrewing the barrel. It was only five inches long, which made it perfect for when she needed something discreet.
Once they disembarked from the hackney, Anne took Michael’s arm and led him toward the alley behind the Red Lion Inn. Michael was on high alert, scanning their surroundings for any sign of trouble and occasionally turning to check behind them.
Anne sighed. “Michael,” she said, tugging his head down so she could whisper in his ear, “you can’t look around like that. It’s too conspicuous.”
Ignoring her, he whipped his head to the left to scrutinize what turned out to be an alley cat. “Someone could sneak up on us.”
“I understand, but you can’t be so obvious about it.”
“What do you suggest, then?”
“Act as if you’ve had too much to drink. Stagger a bit and, if you must turn your head, do so drunkenly.”
Michael glared at her but made a visible effort to comply.
Soon they reached the appointed alleyway. The night was clear and, although the moon was nearly full overhead, the alley was narrow enough that little light filtered down to where they stood. Anne urged Michael to lean one shoulder against a wall and took up a position facing him, trying to pantomime a flirtatious conversation between a streetwalker and a potential customer.
Michael was back to obsessively checking their surroundings. “Relax,” she whispered, smoothing his lapel in a manner she hoped looked coquettish. “Pretend you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I cannot enjoy myself while you are in danger,” he said, his voice clipped.
“You’ve got to try. Come,” she tugged at his coat, “look at me as if you want me.”
He turned his head and did just that, raising a hand to frame her face. It was dark, but Anne could read his face well enough. His expression was one of adoration, but it was mixed with a ferocity that took Anne’s breath away. It was a look that said he was ready to kill for her, ready to die for her, ready to do whatever was required to keep her safe. It was an expression that would not have looked out of place on his ancestors who built Cranfield Castle some five hundred years ago.
She gave a shaky laugh. “Now you’re overdoing it. I don’t think that’s how a man looks at the woman he’s just hired for the evening.”
“This is the only way I know how to look at you,” he ground out.
Anne’s cheeks grew warm, and she was trying to think of a reply when they heard the sound of a man clearing his throat.
Michael spun around and stepped in front of Anne, both fists raised. A short man with dark hair and broad shoulders stood peering at them uncertainly, his hat clutched in front of him in both hands.
“Lady Wynters?” the man said, leaning around Michael to squint at Anne. “Oh, good, it is you.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Blimey, you’re even prettier than your cartoon.”
Anne gave him a tight smile at the mention of the cartoon. She took Michael’s arm and tried to move him out of the way. When he didn’t budge so much as an inch, she stepped around him. “Thank you so much for meeting with me, Mr., er…”
“Price. Arnold Price.” He looked Michael up and down. “Who’s this, then?”
“A good friend,” Anne replied. “He can be trusted.”
Mr. Price frowned. “What I’ve to say is for your ears only.”
Oh dear. There was no way Michael was going to step so much as five feet away from her. What was she going to—
“I am Lady Anne’s betrothed,” Michael said quietly.
Mr. Price’s head snapped up to look at Michael. “Her betrothed, you say?”
“Yes,” Michael said. “I’m sure you can understand my unwillingness to leave my future bride unprotected at this time of night.”
Something softened in Arnold Price’s expression. “Is that true, your ladyship? He’s to be your husband?”
Anne didn’t know how to answer. “I… er… yes.”
Mr. Price considered for a moment, then shrugged. “I guess that’s all right, then.” He glanced up and down the alleyway—much more subtly than Michael had, Anne couldn’t help but note, then said in a low voice, “I’m a bricklayer by trade. Right now I’m working on the R.M.A. headquarters.”
“Is that so?” Anne said.
“It is.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Someone from Bow Street came around the site today, asking questions. Had we seen anyone bringing young boys to the site, or a shiny black carriage coming to pick them up. Then they started asking about some cove they pulled out of the river this morning. They said it was the same master sweep you had a run-in with the other day.”
“Mr. Smithers,” Anne supplied.
“Smithers, yeah. They asked if we’d seen him coming around or if we’d seen anything else that was suspicious.”
“I see,” Anne said. “And did you have anything to report to Bow Street?”
“I ain’t seen no boys being brought to the site, or no shiny black carriage or anything like that. But I can tell you, there’s something fishy going on at the R.M.A.” He shook his head. “I’ve been wanting to tell someone about it.”
“So why,” Michael asked, his voice clipped, “did you not tell the Bow Street runner who asked for that exact information? Why involve Lady Anne in this sordid business?”
“That’s the problem with constables, ain’t it? Three of them are fine, but then the fourth is in someone’s pocket. You can cause yourself a whole world of trouble if you say something to the wrong man. But between them asking about little boys being sold and then about Smithers, I figured it must involve that same business you got tangled up with the other day, m’lady. And I thought, that’s who I’ll tell. Lady Wynters. Because I know you’re not in anyone’s pocket.”
Anne was glad it was dark because she was fairly sure her cheeks were pink. “So, what exactly has been going on at the R.M.A.?”
“Someone’s pilfering the construction materials. I know that don’t sound like much, but they’re not doing it in a small way.” He leaned in. “Apparently about five thousand pounds’ worth of bricks went missing.”
“Is that sort of misappropriation not fairly common on a construction project?” Michael asked.
“Don’t mistake me,” Mr. Price said, “it is. Although not to the tune of five thousand pounds. Besides, Alexander Copeland is the overseer. The army always hires him because there’s never any funny business on an Alexander Copeland site. ‘The Emperor of Barrack-Builders,’ they call him. I know Mr. Copeland got called before the R.M.A.’s board for questioning. He walked the foundation himself, calculating exactly how many bricks went into it, and he was at a loss to explain where the rest had gone. Looked right upset about it, he did.” Mr. Price shook his head. “I think someone made off with those bricks, but I don’t think it was Alexander Copeland.”
“Do you have any idea who it might be?” Anne asked.
“I don’t, m’lady. The thing is, five thousand pounds’ worth of bricks is a lot to go missing. I doubt someone could haul that much off without being seen, even if they did it in the dead of night. And we’d have noticed that half the pile of bricks was gone.” He paused to glance over his shoulder. “That’s what makes me think the skimming happened on the front end. I don’t believe those bricks were even delivered.”
Anne caught Michael’s eye and wondered if he was thinking the same thing.
Someone on the R.M.A.’s Board.
Someone like Lord Gladstone.
“Is there any other suspicious activity?” Anne asked.
“No, m’lady. Not since they started asking questions about the bricks. Which maybe isn’t so surprising.”
“Indeed,” Anne said. “You’ve been tremendously helpful. I appreciate it more than I can say.”
Mr. Price waved this off. “Just doing my part. Skimming a few bricks is one thing. But if someone’s really been selling little boys as sweeps’ apprentices—that’s a nasty business, that is.” He grinned. “But they’ll rue the day they crossed our virago.”
Now Anne was sure she was blushing. “Oh… er…”
Mr. Price glanced around. “Well, that’s all I had to say. No use lingering.”
He melted into the darkness.
Michael was already towing Anne toward the main road, where he flagged down a hackney carriage.
Once the door closed, Anne pulled off her cloth cap. “It all fits. It all fits perfectly. It’s someone on the R.M.A.’s board. Who sits on the R.M.A.’s board, and is in dire financial straits? Gladsto—eemph!”
Anne gave a squeak as Michael scooped her into his lap and tried to kiss her. She held him at shoulder length. “Michael! I was talking.”
“Have some pity. You’ve been rubbing up against me, pretending you were trying to seduce me, for the last half hour. It has had the predictable effect.”
Surely enough, she could feel a familiar bulge pressing against her leg. “That can wait,” she said, causing Michael to groan. Anne cleared her throat. “As I was saying, the evidence points to Gladstone.”
Michael, who had settled for kissing her neck, paused long enough to say, “I thought Gladstone was the secretary. Isn’t embezzlement more the treasurer’s area?”
Anne shuddered. That did feel wonderful, what he was doing. “You would think so,” she managed to say. “But charitable boards are specifically set up to prevent that.”
“How so?” Michael asked, moving up to Anne’s ear.
“They—God, Michael—they require the treasurer to put down a… a deposit. Typically for five hundred pounds, as a guarantee. If there are any irregularities with the books, it comes out of their deposit. It removes temptation because they would only be stealing from themselves.”
Michael kissed his way across her jawline. “Who is the treasurer of the R.M.A., anyways?”
Anne was now panting. “Lord… Lord Scudamore. And that’s the thing—” She groaned, losing her train of thought mid-sentence, as Michael slid his hands up her torso and began to caress her nipples with his thumbs.
She felt a chuckle rumble through Michael’s chest. “What’s the thing?”
“M-motive,” she gasped. “Lord Gladstone is—God, that feels good—in debt up to his eyeballs. Whereas Lord Scudamore—oh, Michael!—managed to turn his estate around years ago. Lord Gladstone is the one with the motive.”
“An important consideration.” Now Anne was the one leaning in to kiss Michael, and he was the one grinning wickedly as he held her back a few inches. “I thought you wanted to talk.”
Anne decided turnabout was fair play and reached down to stroke the bulge that was still poking her in the leg. This had precisely the effect she desired, and Michael’s head listed to the side on a groan. When she leaned in to kiss him this time, he met her lips voraciously.
Anne smiled into the kiss. Although she was still annoyed with him, she found herself starting to soften. After all, he had helped her tonight. She had to admit, their going together had provided a good cover, and although she would have been willing to walk down that alley alone, she’d been glad to have Michael by her side. He hadn’t shown much talent for subterfuge, but he had tried.
This reminder of how pleasurable kissing Michael was also didn’t hurt, and she found herself melting into his chest, her arms curling around his neck.
In the darkness of the hack, Michael’s hands roved freely over her body, lingering over her best and most sensitive areas. By the time they crossed into Mayfair, Anne’s body was humming pleasantly when she felt a rush of cold air against her legs.
“Michael,” she laughed, “what are you doing?”
His hand was inching up her thigh, drawing tantalizingly closer to the place between her legs that was already throbbing for him. He pressed a kiss into her neck. “Reminding you how much you want to invite me in to stay the night.”
His fingers were sifting through her curls in search of that sensitive little nub, and she shifted in his lap, spreading her legs to give him access. “Mmmmmmm,” she groaned at the exquisite pleasure of first contact. “That does sound… very tempting. But I should—oh!—probably say no.”
“No? Why ‘no,’ darling?”
Her head lolled onto his shoulder. “After last night, there’s—oh, Michael! There’s already a chance I could be pregnant. Truth be told I’ve… I’ve worried about it all day,” she admitted. “I can’t do anything that will increase those odds.”
He frowned. “Don’t worry about that Anne. We’re getting married. Whether you’re carrying my child right now or not.”
“That’s easy to say.” She tipped her head back on a gasp as he swirled his thumb in exactly the right spot. “But… but our future plans are still completely at odds.”
“We’re going to figure that out,” he insisted.
“I hope so. But what if we don’t? I can’t take another chance like we did last night.” He opened his mouth to protest, and she placed her hand gently over his lips. “And please, don’t argue. I can’t possibly think clearly while you’re… while you’re…” She couldn’t help but squirm against his hand. What had started as a few lazy caresses was rapidly growing in urgency. God, she wanted to come…
“How about this—we’ll only do things that won’t make you pregnant.”
“Isn’t there still a risk? Even if you use a sheath, or withdraw, or—”
“A small risk, yes. But that’s not what I had in mind.”
That made her curious. “Oh? Then what are you suggesting?”
He began to kiss her ear. “More of what I did to you last night. And what I’m doing to you right now. I’ll use my hands on you, and my mouth.”
That did sound… tempting. Very tempting, especially when he increased the pace at which his finger was swirling over that little rosebud between her legs. Oh, that felt good, that felt divine, and suddenly she was right on the brink of climaxing, right there in the hackney carriage.
Much to Anne’s regret, that was when the carriage drew to a stop in front of her house. Michael pulled her skirts down and hastily set her on the seat next to him just before the driver opened the door. Anne wasn’t sure if her legs were going to hold her as she climbed out of the hack, but somehow they did, and the next thing she knew, she was alone with Michael on the pavement.
“Well?” he asked, his eyes bright. The stress of the day—their fight, the murder of Mr. Smithers, the many revelations Michael had thrust upon her, the uncertainty that plagued their future—had all melted away, and he looked boyish and happy.
She made her decision. “Come inside,” she said, taking his hand.