All the guests had left, and the school was quiet. Elizabeth sat in her office, lantern lit, attempting to work on her next silver-fork novel. If too much time passed between releases of her respectable work, people might begin to wonder. Her thoughts, though, continually returned to Lucinda, her standoffish gentleman neighbor, and her mysterious highwayman.

She had come to thoroughly enjoy her “shocking” literary pursuits despite the way it complicated her life.

“Well, Mr. King, it seems you have thrust me into an unwanted crisis of identity. I don’t know whether to curse you or thank you.”

A soft rap sounded. She listened more closely and heard it again. A knock at the front door. This late?

She stepped from her office, pulling her knit wrap more closely around her shoulders, and moved slowly, cautiously, toward the door. Lucinda had managed to conquer her fear when an unexpected arrival had interrupted her nighttime tranquility. Elizabeth could certainly summon her courage as well.

If the person on the other side had nefarious intentions, she would need to be prepared to defend herself and her school, but she hadn’t the first clue how to accomplish that.

She stepped to the long, narrow window beside the door, pulled back the curtain, and peaked outside. Dimly lit by the gas streetlights, Fletcher Walker stood on the front step, as confident in this odd moment as ever. He spotted her in the window and, to her amusement, winked.

She opened the door, then leaned against the doorpost, tipping her head at a jaunty angle. “This is highly inappropriate, Mr. Walker. It is well past the time for callers.”

He held up a penny before flipping it to her. “Janey’ll be wanting her penny back.”

“Do penny messages always bring you so swiftly?”

“Yes,” he said quite seriously. “Though, any note from you would have had my feet moving at a fine clip toward Thurloe.”

“Because I am so frightening?”

He smiled. “No.”

“Then why?” She knew she wasn’t keeping her enjoyment of their banter hidden, but she wasn’t bothered by her transparency.

“I think that’d be obvious.”

The man could certainly be flirtatious when he chose to be. “Because my air of authority is so strong it can be felt several miles away?”

“Several counties, in fact.”

She motioned him in. “You do realize if word of your visit at this late hour spreads, my reputation will never recover.”

“Never fear, darlin’. I am shockingly good at keeping secrets.” He slipped past her.

“I’m quite talented in that respect, myself.”

He looked back at her, eyes dancing. “What dastardly secrets are you keeping, Miss Black?”

“Not dastardly, per se, but definitely of interest.” She motioned him into her office.

“Of interest to me, by chance?” he asked.

Oh, he didn’t know the half of it. She simply shrugged and moved past him, sitting in a chair by her empty fireplace. He eyed it.

“It’s a touch cold tonight to not be having at least a small fire.”

“This fireplace smokes,” she said. “Several do throughout the school. We’re bundling until I can get them swept.”

“If Janey’s summons was for me to sweep the chimneys, you’ll be sorely disappointed. I’ve done a lot of things in my time, but sweeping ain’t one of ’em.”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to be going,” she said with a smile.

He answered with one of his own. “I’ll take m’chances.” He sat. “Janey made your summons sound urgent. Has something happened?”

“I had a soiree here at the school tonight.”

He pressed a hand to his heart. “And you didn’t invite me. I’m wounded, I am.”

She knew a jesting tone when she heard one. “I was cultivating support and approval for my school. Are you truly disappointed to have not been included on my list of—”

“Victims?” he supplied.

“Potential advocates in society,” she corrected.

“My approval would likely turn society off of your work here,” he said. “Wise of you not to have me on your list.”

“But I know you care a great deal about the welfare of children, so your approval of my efforts here means something to me.” It was more than she’d intended to admit, yet, there it was.

“You’re changing children’s lives for the better, Elizabeth. That’s a fine thing.”

“The Dread Penny Society would condone my efforts?”

“We’ve helped a number of schools. We’ve enough of us dedicated to education and children’s welfare to make ’em a focus.”

“You said at the York Place ragged school that, when pondering who might want to hinder or stop the mission of Mr. Hogg’s school, one had to consider those who oppose educating the poor.”

He nodded. “That the children are poor is most naysayers’ objection.”

“Someone who was here this evening said something very much along those lines and fervently enough to be more than an idle observation.”

He sat up straighter. “Made threats, did he?”

She held up a hand to forestall that train of thought. “Not directly. I cannot say with any authority whether or not he might be prone to violence, but his words struck too close to those you and Hogg expressed concern over that I could not be easy about it.”

Fletcher rose and, scratching absentmindedly at his jawline, paced away. “I’d assumed our would-be arsonist’d be a lower- or working-class bloke. Not that the uppers cain’t be just as despicable. They’ve other methods, though: laws and keeping back funds. Arson seems unnecessary.”

“Do you think he can be eliminated as a suspect, then?” She wasn’t certain one way or the other, not having been a detective before.

“We’ve not enough to go on.” He leaned against the mantelshelf, turning to face her. “You’ve a better acquaintance with this loudmouth than I do. Where would we go to spy on this lout?”

We. That was an intriguing word choice. She stood and stepped over to him. “Are you suggesting we form a partnership?”

That barely-there flirtatious smile of his made a reappearance. “I think we could make a fine team, Elizabeth.”

She couldn’t tell if it was a bit of flattery or a genuine compliment. This might be her one opportunity to be a pseudo-­member of the famed Dread Penny Society, though. She could hardly turn that down.

With confidence, she said, “He is likely to be where most fashionable people will be tomorrow evening: the opening of a new opera.”

Fletcher nodded. “I’ve a mate with access to a box he’d allow us the use of.”

“That sounds ideal,” she said. “May I ask who this unsuspecting benefactor is?”

“Hollis Darby.”

That made a great deal of sense. “How do you intend to keep our true purpose a secret from him?”

“I’ll tell him I’m hoping to impress you with a fine evening of fashionable society.”

“He’ll think you’re courting me.” Surely he didn’t want to give his friend that impression.

“I can survive them sort of whispers.”

Was that a tone of challenge she heard in his voice? “I can make the effort believable, if you can.”

He leaned closer, his voice lowered. “Then I will see you tomorrow evening, Elizabeth.”

His nearness, the warmth in his eyes, the lowness of his tone—all conspired to set her pulse thrumming in her throat. “Tomorrow evening.”

Swiftly, silently, and without a backward glance, he slipped out.

Good heavens. What had she agreed to?