Chapter Five

IT WAS A PERFECT NIGHT FOR A JEWEL THIEF.

Diamonds, rubies, and emeralds glittered upon the milky breasts and sagging earlobes of nearly every woman in the ballroom, while the men accompanying them boasted sparkling stones in their cuffs and shirt studs. The air was laden with the scent of heavy perfume and richly spiced food, and eager gossip over the Dark Shadow’s disastrous robbery attempt of two nights earlier was all but drowning out the lively strains of the orchestra. Everyone had an opinion on the mysterious jewel thief’s identity, the severity of the wound he had suffered, and the extraordinary step he had taken by murdering Lord Haywood and abducting Lord Redmond’s spinster ward. Harrison gripped the stem of his untouched wine glass as he studied the room, only half listening to the vigorous debates raging around him. His shoulder was throbbing and the sickly-sweet odors wafting through the air were threatening to trigger a headache.

If not for the brilliant jewelry circling around him, he would have stayed home and nursed his aching shoulder with a bottle of good French brandy.

“…then he jumps out of the carriage and disappears, just like that,” finished Lord Chadwick, his great, bloated chest puffed up with importance as he surveyed his fascinated audience.

“She’s lucky he didn’t kill her,” observed Lord Shelton, shaking his little balding head in disbelief.

“Why would he want to do a thing like that?” Lord Reynolds frowned. “Miss Kent is a cripple. She would hardly have been any threat to him.”

“No one has been as close to the Dark Shadow as she has,” Lord Shelton explained, as if it were obvious. “Given the chance, she might be able to identify him. Killing her would ensure that never happened.”

“The newspapers reported that she never saw his face—he kept his mask on the entire time,” pointed out Tony.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lord Shelton insisted. “She might be able to spot some mannerism he has, or perhaps recognize the sound of his voice.”

“Can’t imagine charging someone with murder based on their voice,” scoffed Lord Beckett dismissively, stroking the wiry gray point of his beard. “He could have disguised it while he was with her.”

“At any rate, he damned well got away.” Lord Chadwick took a hefty swallow of his wine, unnerved by the fact that he had come so close to death. “Now all the police can do is wait until he strikes again.”

“I doubt Miss Kent was much help to them.” Lord Reynolds’s voice was laden with disapproval. “After all, she’s well known for her sympathies toward criminals.”

“That’s what comes from having bad blood,” complained Lord Shelton. “You can try to cover it up, but you can’t change it, no matter how much money you throw at it.”

“You think Miss Kent has bad blood because she wants to help the less fortunate?” Harrison’s tone was mild.

“Of course not,” Lord Shelton assured him. “Lots of ladies work to help the less fortunate—my own wife included. But there are reputable, well-established charities for these causes, which only ask that respectable women help to raise funds for them, by making handicrafts to sell at their bazaars, for instance, or getting their husbands to donate money.”

“Miss Kent lives with thieves and whores,” Lord Reynolds added. “No decent woman would permit herself to sleep under the same roof with the scum of society. It’s shocking. I’m surprised Lord Redmond allows it.”

“She lives with them because she’s one of them.” Lord Beckett’s lip curled with disdain. “All of Redmond’s wards came from thieves and whores—and every one of them was jailed at one time or another for their filthy, criminal ways. Redmond has done his best to clean them up, but you can’t turn pigs into horses, and he’s been a bloody fool to try.”

Harrison casually studied his wine, maintaining a demeanor of complete indifference. It had never occurred to him that Miss Kent had sprung from a criminal background herself as she primly lectured him on the unpleasantness of prison and the merits of leading a respectable life. The idea of her being jailed as a child bothered him. Although he was well aware that British jails regularly incarcerated urchins, somehow he always imagined that they were invariably a tough lot. Miss Kent scarcely fit his profile of a common street urchin.

“I believe she was working with the Dark Shadow to rob Chadwick that night,” Lord Shelton theorized. “If that maid hadn’t come upon the two of them in Lady Chadwick’s chamber, they’d have made away with all her jewels.”

“That’s ridiculous,” objected Lord Chadwick. “Let’s not forget that Miss Kent was an invited guest in my home, and that she is the ward of Lord Redmond.”

“Don’t you think it strange Miss Kent just happened to come upon the Dark Shadow in your wife’s chamber while everyone else was down at dinner?”

“But the Shadow is well known for breaking into houses while the owners are there,” Tony pointed out. “He likes to slip in and out with no one noticing.”

“But why was she upstairs when everyone else was dining?” Lord Beckett’s eyes narrowed cryptically. “Seems suspect, if you ask me.”

“Miss Kent told my wife she wasn’t feeling well and asked if she could be excused for a few minutes,” Lord Chadwick explained. “Since all of the guest chambers had been assigned to overnight guests, my wife quite sensibly told her to use her own chamber.”

“And then she just happens upon the Dark Shadow?” Lord Shelton shook his head, unconvinced. “She was going up to meet him, I say, and help him rob you blind.”

“But why on earth would she need to steal jewels from Chadwick?” wondered Lord Beckett. “After all, Redmond has money. He takes care of her, just as he does all his children.”

“The urge to steal is in the blood,” Lord Shelton explained authoritatively, “just like the urge toward violence or depravity. Can’t be helped. That’s why the only answer is to lock criminals up. Miss Kent’s refuge house is just a place for the scum of society to fatten up on beef and cake while they trade tricks amongst each other before going out to take advantage of the rest of us law-abiding citizens. If I ever meet Miss Kent, I’ll damn well tell her so.”

“It seems you’re going to have your chance,” Lord Reynolds mused. “I believe that’s she on the other side of the ballroom.”

Harrison raised his gaze in astonishment. A crowd of people was swarming around someone at the opposite end of the room, forming a glittering vortex of jewels and evening wear that prevented him from seeing the object of their attention.

And then suddenly someone moved, and he found himself staring at the lovely young woman who had saved his life.

She seemed fragile and uncertain to him amidst the curious crowd, which was showering her with excited questions. Her delicately structured face was pale and grave, although every now and then one of the tall young men standing on either side of her would make some comment that would elicit a forced smile from her. He did not know who her two young escorts were, but it was immediately apparent to him that they were extremely protective of her. One was supporting her by holding her hand upon his arm, while the other was effectively shielding her from the people clamoring around her. There were two women standing close to her as well, a stunningly beautiful blond woman who was answering the group’s questions with easy charm, and a lovely dark-haired woman who smiled and nodded. Thrust into the glare of the enormous ballroom, Charlotte seemed smaller to him, smaller and shyer and afraid. He could almost feel her distress as she stood there, could feel the awkwardness and embarrassment gripping her as she endured the relentless scrutiny of the curious mob around her.

What the hell was she doing there, when it was so obvious she was finding the attention excruciating?

“Come on, Harry, let’s go talk to her,” suggested Tony eagerly.

“No.”

“Don’t you want to find out more about her encounter with the Dark Shadow?”

“Not really.”

Harrison swirled his wine around his glass as he studied her, affecting a cursory, almost bored inspection. She shouldn’t be there, he thought as she valiantly tried to answer a question. Not because he feared she might reveal something about him that would lead to his capture. She had already proven her determination to protect him, even though he could not understand why. She probably assumed he was just another criminal who needed saving. A misguided victim of an unjust society, who only required a hot meal and a few words of wisdom and prayer to realize the error of his ways. And why shouldn’t she think that? He had not given her any reason to think otherwise.

“I’m going out to get some air.” He set his untouched glass down on a table and strode toward the doors leading to the garden, leaving Tony free to join the crowd fawning around the newly renowned Miss Kent.

 

“…AND THAT IS WHY THESE POOR WOMEN AND CHILDREN must be helped, not by sending them to workhouses, which only break their bodies and their spirits, but by creating a safe home for them where they can receive food and shelter and decent clothes, and where they are taught to read and learn a trade. It is only by equipping them to earn a decent wage that we help them to change their lives for the better.”

Charlotte clenched her fists and swallowed, trying not to let her audience see how nervous she was. She knew they were not really interested in what she was saying. They wanted to hear about her being held hostage by the Dark Shadow, not to be lectured on their moral obligation to help the poor. But Annabelle and Grace had advised her to take control of the conversation from the outset to try to elicit donations, and that was what she was doing.

“It is a noble cause you have taken upon yourself, Miss Kent,” Lord Reynolds remarked.

Yes, she thought, relief trickling through her. If I can get just one of you to understand and support my work, then surely others will follow. “Thank you, Lord Reynolds. May I count upon you to make a donation?”

“Regrettably, I am unable to contribute to every new charity that comes along, and as I’m sure you are aware, there are hundreds of them. My wife is most active on behalf of the Church Pastoral-Aid Society and the Anti-Gambling League, to name but two. There are also a number of asylums currently operating in London which provide shelter and assistance to the poor, are there not?”

“They are always full and have to turn countless people away, so the streets remain filled with children and women who desperately need help,” Charlotte told him. “We need more institutions to aid these people, especially as thousands come to London in the hope of finding a better life, and instead are reduced to stealing in order to survive.”

“No one needs to steal,” objected Lord Beckett with a sanctimonious sniff. “There is always work to be had somewhere, providing they are able and willing. The problem is, they aren’t willing.”

“Stealing is in their blood,” Lord Shelton added. “Can’t be helped. You can take them in, Miss Kent, but I’ll warrant they’ll just be out preying upon innocent people the moment the mood strikes them. They’re better off in jail. At least there they will learn that there are consequences for their actions.”

“Some of these children are put onto the streets by their parents at the age of six or seven,” Charlotte countered, trying to help them understand. “They sell bruised fruit or scraps of ribbon or cloth if they can find some, but if they can’t, their parents force them to steal. If they come home with nothing, they are cruelly beaten and sent out again.”

She gripped the cool silk of her gown, trying not to think of Boney Buchan. This wasn’t stealing, she told herself desperately. She would simply borrow whatever money she raised for her asylum and give it to him. Then she would find a way to pay it back. She had no idea how she would do that, but she couldn’t focus on that. Her father had to be paid first. Her family had to be protected by whatever means necessary.

“My house of refuge is small,” she conceded, “but I believe if we can save even a few more children and young women from the streets, that will make an enormous difference. Our society will be better for it.”

“Indeed.” Lord Shelton sounded utterly unconvinced.

“Tell us about the Dark Shadow, Miss Kent,” said Lord Reynolds, bored with the discussion about her charity. “Did he threaten to kill you?”

Charlotte hesitated, reluctant to shift the conversation. She was losing them, she realized. Perhaps she should just answer a question or two about the Dark Shadow, just to keep their attention. “I don’t think he ever said those exact words—”

“Did you think you were going to die when he took you hostage?”

“I was afraid, but I never believed he would actually kill me—”

“What about after he shot and killed poor Lord Haywood?” demanded Lord Beckett. “Weren’t you terrified?”

“The Dark Shadow didn’t kill Lord Haywood,” she said emphatically. “The shot was fired by someone else.”

“That’s ridiculous,” objected Lord Shelton. “The Dark Shadow killed him. Everyone saw it.”

“They are mistaken,” Charlotte countered. “I was right beside him. He never fired his weapon.”

“So you’re saying the Dark Shadow had an accomplice?”

“Of course, he must have,” Lord Reynolds interjected before she could answer. “Lord Haywood was killed while threatening to shoot the Dark Shadow, so if the Shadow didn’t shoot him, he must have had an accomplice protecting him.”

“I don’t know who shot Lord Haywood,” said Charlotte, “but I don’t think—”

“That must have been the same person who picked him up after he got out of Miss Kent’s carriage,” added another man.

The crowd murmured with excitement at this new possibility as questions and answers began to be tossed back and forth amongst them.

“How do you know someone picked him up?”

“He was wounded, so he had to have had help getting away.”

“Miss Kent, did he ever indicate to you that he had someone waiting for him?”

“Did you have the sense that you were being followed?”

“You are the only person who has ever actually spoken with him at length,” Tony shouted above the din. “What did he sound like?”

Charlotte regarded the crowd uncertainly. She did not want to reveal any more information about the Dark Shadow, but she realized people would think it strange if she refused to answer. She could not afford to give them the impression that she was trying to protect him, as that would only hinder her attempts to raise money. “I’m not sure what you mean—”

“Would you say he was an educated man, or someone of a less privileged background?” Tony elaborated.

She hesitated. “I believe he was probably educated.”

“Are you suggesting he spoke like a gentleman?” Lord Shelton looked outraged by the possibility.

“I suppose so,” Charlotte conceded, “but other than that I don’t really recall—”

“Would you recognize his voice if you heard it again?”

Charlotte stared at the tall, dark-haired man who had asked the question. His face was obscured by the fact that he was apparently preoccupied with the task of removing some obstinate piece of lint from his otherwise meticulous evening coat.

“No,” she answered. “He spoke only a few words.”

The recalcitrant wisp of fluff removed, he raised his head to meet her gaze. His eyes were penetrating, but his tone was light as he continued, “Then it would seem that the Dark Shadow could be anywhere—even in attendance at this ball tonight—and you would be unable to identify him.”

“That’s correct.”

“A pity.” His mouth curved as his gaze swept over the women around him. “Given the magnificent trinkets on display here this evening, this would be an excellent place for him to peruse some of London’s finest jewelry. I know if I were he, I would be quite taken by that dazzling necklace resting so comfortably against Lady Pembroke’s lovely throat.”

“Really, Lord Bryden, how you jest!” Lady Pembroke flitted her fan with feigned modesty over the mountainous expanse of her ruby-and-diamond-dotted bosom.

“I believe my sister has answered enough questions for now,” said Simon, aware that Charlotte had endured as much attention as she could.

“Besides, I’m sure there are lots of you who would rather be dancing than standing around talking about the Dark Shadow,” added Jamie jokingly.

The people in the crowd murmured their assent and began to disperse, eager to discuss the deliciously frightening possibility that the Dark Shadow was there amongst them, and to evaluate whose jewels might be significant enough to attract his attention.

“Why don’t you sit down over here, Charlotte, while Simon and I fetch you something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, grateful for the chair Jamie offered her.

“You should eat something, Charlotte,” Grace told her. “You haven’t had much today.”

“Are you feeling all right?” Annabelle regarded her worriedly. “You seem pale to me.”

“I’m fine,” Charlotte assured her. “I just hate having everyone stare at me.”

In fact her stomach had been roiling since her meeting with her father. Standing before those people and enduring their questions about the Dark Shadow and their disparaging comments about her work had only increased her distress. She had found the experience profoundly upsetting and humiliating. They all pitied her because of her leg, and despised her because of her past—two things that she could never change. Worse, she had failed to obtain even one donation.

How on earth was she to come up with the money her father had demanded?

“We should never have made you come here,” Simon muttered, angered by the way the crowd had dismissed her appeal for help. “If you want to leave, I’ll take you home.”

“She can’t leave just yet,” Annabelle protested. “Then everyone will gossip about the fact that she got upset after all their questions and left.”

“Who cares?” Jamie cast a scathing look around the room. “Let them say whatever they want.”

“It matters because Charlotte is trying to establish credibility amongst these people so that she can turn to them for donations and make a success of her refuge house,” Annabelle explained. “I know it’s hard for you, Charlotte, but I really think you should try to stay and at least pretend you are having a good time, even if it’s only for half an hour. There could be some people here who didn’t want to pledge a donation in front of everyone, but might well approach you later. You don’t want them to think that you are easily flustered by a few pointed comments.”

Charlotte realized that her sister was probably right. “Very well.”

“Shall Simon and I get you some refreshments?”

She managed a small smile. “That would be nice.”

“And if you think you’re all right resting here for a moment, Grace and I will go over and say good evening to Lord and Lady Chadwick. We won’t be long.”

“I’ll be fine, Annabelle. I’ll just sit here and rest a little.”

She sat perfectly straight in her chair, her hands clenched upon her lap as she watched her brothers and sisters leave. Her leg was throbbing beneath the heavy layers of her skirts. She wanted to stretch it out to ease the clench of its aching muscles, but such a movement would have been considered unladylike. And so she kept her leg bent in its socially acceptable position and tried to distract herself by watching the elegant men and women who were gliding effortlessly around the ballroom.

She had always loved dancing. It seemed to her such a wondrous, joyful activity, with the men in their immaculately dark suits and crisp white shirts leading beautifully gowned women in sweeping circles to the strains of music. The precise, measured grace of their movements enchanted her, from the moment the man extended his gloved hand and escorted his smiling partner onto the floor. She could not remember what it was like to move with ease. Her leg had been brutally shattered when she was only nine. Any recollections she might have had of running or skipping or even just walking evenly had been vanquished beneath the years of crushing pain that followed. But no shard of envy invaded her breast as she watched the dancers move. Instead she closed her eyes and retreated inward, feeling the music filter through her as she imagined herself gliding around the floor, on beautiful straight legs that were strong and supple and free of pain.

“Miss Kent?”

Her eyes flew open. Embarrassment heated her cheeks as she looked at the handsome blond man standing before her. How long had he been watching her?

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized. “I’m Tony Poole. I just wanted to tell you how horrified I was to hear about what happened to you at the hands of the Dark Shadow. Like everyone else in London, I’ll be greatly relieved when he is finally captured and hanged. I hope Lord Bryden didn’t upset you too much by suggesting that the rogue might actually be here this evening. Bryden was just making a foolish joke without stopping to consider the effect it might have on you, given the ordeal you suffered. I can assure you he didn’t mean anything by it.”

His eyes were large and toffee-colored, and they appeared to be genuinely earnest. Charlotte regarded him uncertainly, wondering what had prompted him to walk over and tell her this. A lifetime of being stared at and talked about had left her guarded with strangers.

“Thank you, Mr. Poole, for your concern, but you needn’t worry. I’m fine.”

“If you will permit me, I’ll bring Bryden over and introduce him to you, and then you’ll see he really isn’t such a bad sort,” Tony offered. “He might even be willing to help that refuge house of yours with a donation.”

The prospect of a donation eased her initial wariness. “Do you really think so?”

“I’ll make sure of it.” He flashed her a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll make him feel so guilty for his remark, he’ll have no choice but to make an enormous donation just to get me be quiet. If you’ll just give me a minute, I’ll fetch him.”

“Why don’t you take me to him instead?”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer me to bring him to you?” His tone was chivalrous, but it was obvious to her that he was concerned about her ability to walk.

“I’m fine, Mr. Poole,” she assured him. She hated the idea of sitting in the chair like some aged matron, patiently waiting for people to be presented to her. It only perpetuated everyone’s view of her as a helpless cripple—which she wasn’t. “I was only sitting for a moment because I found myself a little tired. I’m quite rested now.”

“Wonderful.” Tony extended his hand to help her up from her seat, then gave her a wink. “Let’s go find Bryden and see if we can’t get him to give you a nice fat sum.”

 

OH, COME NOW, LORD BRYDEN, YOU CAN’T POSSIBLY say no to me!”

Lady Elizabeth Collins blinked her long lashes at him, her sultry little mouth drawn up in a pout. It was a mouth made for pleasure, Harrison reflected, watching as she provocatively caressed the edge of her glass with her pink tongue before sipping her drink. A few years ago he might have enjoyed contemplating the soft slickness of that velvety little mouth. Might have spent an hour or two exchanging heated glances and verbal jousts with her, watching as the champagne flushed her skin and the gradual ripening of the evening eroded her defenses. Might have artfully woven a net of yearning around her, waiting for the exact moment when he would lead her out into the warm dark green of the garden. There he would have kissed her and touched her and pleasured her, teaching her all the things she could do with that greedy little mouth. It would have been a pleasant diversion for both of them, nothing more. But as he watched her lapping up the gold bubbles in her glass, the thought of expending so much effort on some fleeting sexual encounter failed to arouse him. He was tired, his shoulder hurt like the devil, and he was badly in need of a drink. But he couldn’t drink—he had to keep his mind sharp. And so he tilted his head to one side and said in a tone edged with self-mockery, “Tonight you are all the drink I need, Lady Elizabeth.”

“Now there’s a gallant line,” quipped Tony, slipping between the two of them. “Honestly, Harry, I had no idea you were such a romantic. I can see I arrived just in time to save poor Lady Elizabeth from falling victim to your charms. Miss Kent, may I present to you the fatally charming Harrison Payne, Earl of Bryden, and Lady Elizabeth Collins. Harry, I don’t believe you have been formally introduced to Miss Kent, who is the ward of the Marquess of Redmond, and more recently, a reluctant acquaintance of the Dark Shadow.”

Harrison stared in surprise at Charlotte. Although she had given no indication that she knew who he was when he had stood at the back of the crowd, he knew better than to test her at such a close range. Perhaps some sliver of male vanity made him believe he had made more of an impression on her than could be hidden behind a mask or dark coat. There was also the possibility that at some point as he lay barely conscious in her home, she or one of the others who had tended him had taken the liberty of peering beneath his mask.

What the hell would he do if she recognized him?

“Good evening, Lord Bryden.” Charlotte wished they had not come upon Lord Bryden at such a painfully inopportune moment. From the way he was staring at her, she felt certain he was annoyed with her sudden intrusion.

“Now, Harry, I believe your little jest about the Dark Shadow possibly being in attendance this evening was rather disturbing for Miss Kent,” scolded Tony. “Knowing that you would be most upset to learn that you had disturbed her peace of mind, I thought you might want to apologize.”

Harrison raised a brow, feigning polite concern. “Forgive me, Miss Kent, if I said anything that may have caused you distress. I can assure you that was not my intent. Will you accept my apology?”

Lord Bryden was an exceptionally handsome man, Charlotte decided, from the chiseled line of his jaw to the sensual curve of his faintly smiling mouth. His hair was the glossy black of a raven’s wing, and he wore it slightly longer than was fashionable, suggesting that either he didn’t care for trends, or he was too preoccupied with other matters to worry about the details of his appearance. Yet his evening clothes were well cut and well fitted, further emphasizing both his considerable height and the solid expanse of his chest and shoulders. It was his eyes, however, that captivated her attention. They were a combination of smoke and sea, like a darkening sky just before a summer storm. They regarded her with only the politest of interest, asking nothing, revealing nothing.

A strange unease began to well within her.

“Of course I accept your apology, Lord Bryden,” she said. “I understand that the subject of the Dark Shadow is of enormous interest to nearly everyone in London, and consequently I must learn to expect that people are going to want to question me on him.”

“I assured Miss Kent that you would be pleased to make a donation to her asylum—as a way of making amends,” Tony added helpfully.

“Of course,” Harrison agreed. “I would be pleased to contribute to your very fine charity, Miss Kent. Tomorrow I shall send over a bank note for one hundred pounds.”

It was a very generous donation. A day earlier, Charlotte would have been elated by such a contribution, especially by someone whose acquaintance she had only just made. But she needed five thousand pounds within three days’ time. One hundred pounds was nothing to her anymore. “Thank you.”

Harrison was surprised by her obvious lack of enthusiasm. He was not well versed in the costs of feeding and clothing a half dozen or so whores and urchins, but he imagined a hundred pounds, managed carefully, could be made to last a reasonable amount of time. Why was she not more pleased?

“Why don’t we say two hundred pounds?” he amended. Perhaps she had incurred some expenses that needed to be paid off. “I imagine running an asylum in the middle of London can be rather expensive.”

“Thank you, Lord Bryden.” Two hundred pounds still wouldn’t begin to address the amount her father had demanded of her, but it was a start. “You are most kind.”

“Oh, I absolutely adore this music,” exclaimed Lady Elizabeth suddenly, deciding she had tolerated Charlotte and Tony’s intrusion long enough. “Lord Bryden, I insist that you dance this waltz with me—I won’t take no for an answer!” Emboldened by the champagne she had consumed and the certainty that Harrison was not unaffected by her considerable charms, she reached out and took his hand. “You will forgive us, Miss Kent, if we take our leave of you?”

“Of course,” murmured Charlotte, wondering what it was about Lord Bryden that was bothering her. “Please enjoy yourselves.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Kent.” Although he didn’t feel like dancing, Harrison was relieved to have a reason to excuse himself from Miss Kent’s presence. He was satisfied that she did not recognize him, but to stay in her company any longer was risky. “I wish you and the members of your household the very best.”

“Thank you.”

Charlotte watched as Lord Bryden dutifully led Lady Elizabeth onto the crowded dance floor. He walked with the grace of a panther, his stride fluid and sure. She was quite certain he would be an accomplished dancer.

“If you like, I shall escort you back to where I found you, Miss Kent,” Tony offered. “Your family is probably wondering what has happened to you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Poole.” Charlotte’s gaze remained fastened upon Lord Bryden. He gave a small, courtly bow to Lady Elizabeth, the movement easy and elegant. Then he raised his arms to take hold of his lovely young partner.

And winced.

The pained contortion of his face was abrupt. In the next instant he had completely mastered it, to the extent that had Charlotte blinked, she would have missed it altogether. He had now assumed an expression of polite enjoyment, which he maintained perfectly as he led Lady Elizabeth in expert circles around the floor.

It can’t be, thought Charlotte, shocked by the certainty that it was his shoulder that had caused him to wince. Lord Bryden was an esteemed member of London society. It was preposterous to think he could possibly be a common jewel thief. She stared at him as he swept Lady Elizabeth around, swiftly comparing his height and build with that of the Dark Shadow. Both were tall and solidly built. Both moved with fluid grace. That meant nothing, she told herself impatiently. The same could be said of nearly a third of the men in the ballroom. She swiftly began to contrast the details of Lord Bryden’s face, hair, and voice to what she could recall of the Dark Shadow. The jewel thief’s mask had kept her from seeing any of his features, and the cap he had worn had effectively covered his hair. As for his voice—

“Miss Kent?” Tony was looking at her in confusion. “Is everything all right?”

She snapped her attention back to her escort. “Yes, I’m fine.”

She laid her hand upon his offered arm and began to limp back to the area where Simon and Jamie were waiting for her, her mind fervently evaluating Lord Bryden. The Dark Shadow’s voice had been low and rich, but the same could be said of many men. At that moment she could not recall it well enough to draw an accurate comparison. What was it, then, that was causing alarm to race up her spine?

His eyes.

“There you are!” exclaimed Jamie, moving forward to greet her. “We wondered what had become of you.” He regarded Tony with friendly interest. “I don’t believe we have met.”

“Mr. Poole, permit me to introduce my brothers, Mr. James Kent and Mr. Simon Kent,” said Charlotte. “Jamie and Simon, this is Mr. Poole.”

“A pleasure to meet both of you,” said Tony, bowing slightly. “I do hope you don’t mind that I stole your sister away for a short time. I wanted to introduce her to a friend of mine—which I hope you found worthwhile, Miss Kent.” He gave Charlotte a teasing smile. “I knew if we put Bryden on the spot he would have no choice but to pay you.”

Simon frowned. “Pay her?”

“I encouraged Lord Bryden to make a substantial donation to your sister’s asylum, as a way of making amends for his rather thoughtless joke that the Dark Shadow might actually be here amongst us this evening,” Tony explained. “Miss Kent quite wisely showed no emotion when he made his initial pledge, which caused poor Bryden to double his original offer!” He laughed. “No matter, he can afford it. Had she continued to play it cool with him, I think we could have got him to go even higher.”

“That’s wonderful, Charlotte,” said Jamie.

Charlotte nodded, barely listening. Lord Bryden was the Dark Shadow? But that made no sense. He was an earl, after all. His background would have been filled with the trappings of wealth and privilege. What on earth would make him take such enormous risks to steal from the very people with whom he socialized?

“What can you tell me of Lord Bryden?” She tried to sound only casually interested as she smiled at Tony. “Have you known him very long?”

“We’ve been friends a good while,” Tony answered. “He may make the odd joke here and there, but basically Bryden’s a serious sort. He became earl when he was just twenty-four—his father died rather suddenly, and Bryden had to step in and take over the estate and holdings, which were in something of a mess, I’m afraid. He’s done an astonishing job of building it all up again, though. Everyone was amazed by what he managed to accomplish in a short period of time. He has a natural talent for business, it seems. I keep hoping if I stay around him long enough, some of that talent will rub off on me!” He laughed. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Kent,” he finished, bowing. “And both of you, also,” he added, nodding at Simon and Jamie. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“How much did Lord Bryden agree to donate?” asked Simon after he was gone.

“Two hundred pounds.”

Jamie grinned. “Two hundred pounds will keep you going for months, and once word gets out that Lord Bryden has contributed to your asylum, surely there will be others willing to follow his lead.”

“You look pale, Charlotte.” Simon regarded her worriedly. “Would you like to leave?”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe I thanked Lord Bryden properly for his generous bequest. If you don’t mind staying a little longer, I’ll just go and have a quick word with him.”

“I’ll come with you,” Jamie offered.

“No, thank you. I think it would be better if I spoke with him alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

 

HARRISON LIFTED A GLASS OF BRANDY FROM THE SILVER tray a footman was offering him and took a hefty swallow. Given the close call he had just experienced with Miss Kent, his resolve to refrain from drinking for the evening had been abandoned. As far as he was concerned, the evening was over. One drink, and then he was going to summon his carriage and go home. He was invited to several other balls over the next few days. Perhaps one of them would prove more profitable.

He turned to see Miss Kent limping toward him, alone.

Jesus bloody Christ.

Gone was the reticent, faintly perplexed air she had when Tony had dragged her over to meet him earlier. Harrison had sensed then that something about him bothered her. He had tried to be careful not to say or do anything that might remind her of the Dark Shadow. Clearly, he had failed. Maybe he had some telltale mannerism of which he was unaware. Or perhaps the timbre of his voice was more distinctive than he realized. Whatever it was, Charlotte Kent had made the connection between him and the jewel thief she had stumbled upon two nights earlier.

Now that he was not in imminent danger of either bleeding to death or being arrested, she no doubt wanted to reform his blackened soul and set him firmly on the path to righteousness.

“Forgive me, Lord Bryden, but I would like to speak with you further about your donation,” she began, her voice loud enough to be heard by those immediately around them. “Perhaps we could find a quiet place to talk.”

Harrison regarded her calmly. “Of course, Miss Kent. Why don’t we step out onto the terrace? I hear that Lady Marston’s roses are not to be missed.” He set his brandy glass on a table and politely offered her his arm.

A flush of heat pulsed through Charlotte as she laid her gloved fingers against the hard warmth of his sleeve. She knew that arm. She had seen it stripped bare, had known the supple contours of its muscles, lean and firm and filled with power. She had felt it wrapped tight around her, holding her a prisoner against the Dark Shadow’s body, and later, clinging to her for support as she and Flynn struggled to help him into her house.

It seemed strange to lay her hand upon it with such polite restraint.

“Shall we?” enquired Lord Bryden.

She began to limp toward the doors leading to the terrace, uncomfortably aware that everyone was staring at her.

“Would you like to go down into the gardens, or do you prefer the terrace?” Lord Bryden asked politely.

Charlotte looked at the multitude of steps cascading down into the gardens and bit her lip. “I think I would prefer to stay up on the terrace, if that is all right with you.”

“Of course.” Harrison felt like an idiot for having suggested the gardens. Of course she didn’t want to go tramping up and down all those steps with her injured leg. He scanned the grounds below one corner of the terrace, making sure no one was there to overhear their conversation. Then he glanced at the balconies above. Empty. “Would this area over here suit you? There is a bench where you can sit down, if you like.”

“Thank you.”

He led her over to the stone bench and seated her. “A very pleasant evening, don’t you think, Miss Kent?”

“I know who you are,” Charlotte said in a strained whisper.

He leaned against the balustrade and folded his arms across his chest, feigning bemusement. “Really?”

“I’m not going to try to change you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she added quickly. She didn’t have much time before one of her brothers or sisters came looking for her.

“That’s a relief,” he observed wryly. “And, may I add, somewhat refreshing. In my experience, most women usually can’t wait to change me.”

“I know about your background, Lord Bryden,” Charlotte continued, flustered by his calm. The fact that he did not find her to be a threat only made her feel more guilty about what she was going to do. “How your father died and left your estate in such a terrible state. I suppose you started stealing then, perhaps thinking you would take only enough to give you the money you needed to make some investments and get things going again. But stealing is not always a matter of need. I understand that. After a while, if you haven’t been caught, it means you’re either very lucky, or very good. Either way, it gets into your blood. You find you can’t help yourself. And there is always something more that you want.”

“This really is fascinating, Miss Kent. Have you considered writing an article on this subject? I’m sure it would be well received—”

“I need more money from you.”

Harrison stared at her. This was not what he had expected. “Are you trying to blackmail me?” he asked, incredulous.

“It isn’t for me,” she swiftly assured him.

“Then whom, may I ask, is it for?”

“It’s for my refuge house,” she lied. “To help pay for expenses.”

“Two hundred pounds wasn’t generous enough?”

“Two hundred pounds was very generous. But I’m afraid I need quite a bit more than that.”

“I see. Just how much more are we talking about?”

“I need five thousand pounds.”

Harrison had the grace not to laugh, but that was the limit of his restraint. “Forgive me, Miss Kent, but have you gone completely mad?”

“I realize it’s a lot of money.”

“It is more money than your entire house and all its furnishings are worth,” Harrison pointed out. “Were you thinking of setting up a refuge house in the middle of Mayfair? Or perhaps leasing an estate in the country for all your charming friends?”

“No.”

“Then what, may I ask, is it that compels you to ask me for such an exorbitant sum?”

“That is not your concern, Lord Bryden. I need five thousand pounds, and I need it quickly.”

“Then I suggest you ask your father for it. I’m sure Lord Redmond has never let you want for anything. It’s a enormous amount of money, but if he doesn’t have the funds, I’m certain the bank will grant him a loan.”

“I cannot ask my father for it.”

“Why not?”

“Because he would want to know what it is for, and I can’t tell him.”

“Why not?”

“That really isn’t your concern, Lord Bryden.”

“You’re right, it isn’t. Unfortunately, Miss Kent, I am unable to help you, as I don’t happen to have five thousand pounds at my disposal.”

She looked at him in dismay. “In the past several months you have stolen jewels that have been valued at thousands of pounds,” she pointed out. “It was detailed in the newspapers. Are you saying you have already spent the money?”

“Unfortunately, the figures reported in the newspapers are greatly exaggerated,” Harrison objected. “Secondly, stolen jewels never fetch their appraised value on the black market. That is part of their appeal. The dealers who buy them like to feel they are getting a rather spectacular deal, given the risks involved in purchasing them.”

“If you don’t have the money, then I suppose you will have to steal it.” Charlotte shifted uncomfortably on the bench. She didn’t like the idea of forcing him to steal, but it seemed there was no choice.

“I must confess, I find your attitude bewildering, given that you have devoted your life to reforming black-souled criminals like me. Do you believe I am completely beyond salvation?”

“I’m not interested in reforming you, Lord Brydon,” she informed him stiffly. He was toying with her, and she did not like to be mocked. “You are not a desperate child or a starving woman. You have not been forced to steal out of deprivation, in order to have a crust of bread to eat or decent boots for your filthy, blistered feet, or to provide food and shelter for your loved ones. You are an intelligent, educated man from a privileged background, who has made the decision to steal. No doubt when you started you had some reason that you felt was compelling enough, but I don’t believe that after all these years those reasons still exist. You steal now either because you are addicted to the thrill of stealing, or because you live beyond your means and have to supplement your income. I don’t know which it is, and unfortunately, I don’t have time to care. I need five thousand pounds within three days’ time, and I’m asking you if you will get it for me.”

“And just why, precisely, do you think I should do that?”

She bit her lip. There was only one reason she could give him that would be persuasive enough to make him give her the money. Even so, she hated having to resort to it.

“I helped you the other night, when you were trapped at Lord Chadwick’s,” she pointed out. “Without my assistance you would have been arrested. Don’t you think you owe me something for that?”

“Absolutely,” Harrison agreed. “I would think that I owe you something in the amount of a few hundred pounds, which I have already offered to give you. But five thousand pounds really does amount to blackmail. You do realize that, don’t you?”

She regarded him miserably. “I suppose I do.”

“So, Miss Kent, if you are blackmailing me, you’re going to have to tell me what it is you’re going to do if I refuse to give you this money. I don’t have much experience with this sort of thing, you understand, but I believe that is how it works.”

She lowered her gaze to her skirts, unable to look at him. “Unfortunately, I will be forced to go to the police and tell them that you are the Dark Shadow.”

She hated saying it. Harrison could see that. She had hoped he would just give her a bank note for five thousand pounds and that would be that. He studied her a moment, watching as her hands clutched nervously at the emerald silk of her gown. What in the name of God would require her to need such an enormous amount of money in such a short period of time? He didn’t believe any bank would be demanding such a payment from her. First of all, the expenses of running that modest little house of hers could only amount to about five hundred pounds a year—a thousand pounds at the very most. Since she had only opened it recently, he did not see how she could be in any significant debt. Secondly, all the finances concerning her house would undoubtedly have been in Lord Redmond’s name, which meant that any unpaid mortgages or loans would have been directed to him, not her.

What, then, had driven her to such a desperate act?

“Has someone threatened you?” he asked.

Charlotte avoided his gaze. Her father had been clear about what would happen if she told anyone about him. He would hurt her family. Her leg began to throb, reminding her that Boney Buchan was a man capable of inflicting great pain.

“No.”

She was lying. He could see it in the forced calm of her face. Anger began to uncoil within him.

“You’re lying, Miss Kent. You’re afraid of something—if not for your own welfare, then for the welfare of someone you care about. Has someone threatened one of the girls staying at your house? That one with the black eye—Annie—or the red-haired one—what the devil was her name?”

“You don’t need to know why I need the money, Lord Bryden,” Charlotte told him. “All that matters is that I have to have it.”

“If someone is intimidating a member of your household, Miss Kent, you should contact the police. They can help you.”

“The police cannot help me in this matter.”

“But you believe I can.”

“I believe five thousand pounds can.”

“I don’t know which I find more flattering—the fact that you thought I would have such an amount of money, or that you think I can easily steal it. Given my rather pathetic performance the other night, in which I not only failed to take anything of value, but also managed to attract a mob, be accused of murder, and get shot before being helplessly dragged away on the floor of your carriage, I’m actually surprised you think I can do this. To what do I owe this stirring expression of faith?”

“Until the other night, you were renowned for your thefts. All of London has been astonished by your ability to slip in and out of people’s homes without being detected. If I hadn’t interrupted you, the night would have ended very differently.”

“You’re right. And if our paths had not crossed, just how, exactly, would you get the five thousand pounds you claim to so desperately need?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I would have been forced to steal it on my own.”

She was serious, he realized, looking at her in amazement.

“You must know that I have stolen before—that I have even been jailed for it.” Her gaze fell to the mess of wrinkles she had inflicted upon her skirts and she gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “Surely you haven’t managed to miss all of the furtive whispers about me and my tawdry background this evening, Lord Bryden. Our encounter at Lord Chadwick’s has had the unfortunate effect of thrusting me into forefront of London’s gossip.”

“I don’t pay any attention to gossip, Miss Kent,” Harrison told her. “It is a vile sport that doesn’t interest me.”

His eyes were dark and filled with emotion. There was anger swirling within their depths, and something more, a deeper, rawer sentiment she could not readily identify.

“Besides,” he added, shrugging, “whatever they say about you cannot be nearly as bad as what they are now saying about me. That is, unless I missed the part where you committed theft, abduction, and murder all on the same night.”

“You didn’t murder anyone.”

“You are the only one who knows that.”

“Oliver knows as well. So does Flynn.”

“I can’t tell you how comforting I find that. I am sure that if I am ever captured, the courts will find the testimony of a decrepit old man who probably can’t see past his nose and an urchin thief most compelling.”

“Oliver is not decrepit, and Flynn is no longer a thief. And I would also testify on your behalf.”

“Forgive me if I find that less than reassuring, given that you are the one who is threatening to expose me.”

“I don’t want to expose you, Lord Bryden. I just need the money.”

“Blackmail is an ugly practice, Miss Kent, whatever instigates it. And I’m afraid I don’t respond well to being threatened.”

“There you are!” Annabelle’s voice cut through the tension between them like a silvery bell, startling Charlotte. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, Charlotte.”

Harrison adopted an air of polite amusement as he watched her sisters cross the terrace toward them in a rustling swish of silk and satin.

“Annabelle and Grace, may I present to you Lord Bryden,” Charlotte said, feeling guilty as she awkwardly rose from the bench. “Lord Bryden, these are my sisters, Lady Harding and Lady Maitland,” she added to Harrison, feeling hopelessly ill at ease.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lord Bryden,” said Annabelle, smiling.

“And for me also,” added Grace.

“Forgive me for stealing your lovely sister away from the ballroom, but I thought she might prefer the cool quiet of the garden while she talked to me about the important work of her refuge house,” explained Harrison smoothly. “I had no idea that running an asylum for the unfortunate could be so costly.”

“You can rest assured that whatever amount you donate, Charlotte will be sure to put to good use.” Annabelle smiled at her sister.

Grace nodded in agreement. “She has always been very careful when it comes to money—much more so than anyone else in our family.”

Harrison cast a faintly skeptical look at Charlotte. “Indeed.”

“Are you ready to leave yet, Charlotte?” asked Annabelle. “I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation with Lord Bryden, but Jamie has summoned the carriage—”

“Actually, your sister and I had just finished our discussion, and I was about to escort her back into the ballroom,” Harrison interjected. He gallantly offered Charlotte his arm. “Shall we, Miss Kent?”

Reluctantly, Charlotte took his arm and permitted him to walk her and her sisters slowly back into the oppressively perfumed heat of the ballroom.

“It was a pleasure to meet you and hear all about the noble work you are doing, Miss Kent,” Harrison said, holding her hand against his arm. “I cannot help but be inspired by your commitment to helping the less fortunate, and by the extraordinary lengths to which you are willing to go to ensure that those who so desperately need your assistance are able to get it. It is really quite moving.”

He was mocking her again, Charlotte realized, feeling angry and desperate. She tried to extract her hand from his grip.

“In fact, I am so moved by your concern for the poor that I would like to do whatever I can to help you,” Harrison continued, keeping her hand firmly upon his arm. “If you give me a few days, I shall arrange for that donation we discussed. Hopefully it will be sufficient to take care of all your immediate expenses.”

Charlotte eyed him uncertainly. Had Lord Bryden just agreed to give her the entire five thousand pounds?

His expression was maddeningly contained, making it impossible for her to discern whether he was being truthful or merely toying with her.

“Thank you, Lord Bryden,” she said stiffly, trying to pull her hand away. “I am most grateful.”

“It is I who am grateful to you,” he assured her, still holding her fast. “After all, if you are able to reform even the most hardened and lost of souls at your house of refuge, it would seem there is hope for all us.”

His gaze was dark and unfathomable. But Charlotte knew he was mocking her. After all, she had just revealed herself to be no better than he, or any of the others who threatened and stole to get what they wanted.

“You’re too kind,” she managed tautly, finally jerking her hand free from his grasp.

“It was also a pleasure to meet you, Lady Harding and Lady Maitland,” continued Harrison, bowing slightly to Annabelle and Grace. “I do hope I have the honor of seeing you both again.” He smiled at them and turned away, retreating back toward the doors leading to the terrace.

“Lord Bryden seemed very nice,” remarked Annabelle later as they drove home in their carriage.

“And it seems he is going to make a rather large donation,” Grace added, excited for Charlotte.

“That’s splendid,” declared Jamie. “So you see, Charlotte, it was worth it for us to drag you to this affair after all.”

“Maybe now you’ll be encouraged and attend more of them,” Simon suggested.

Charlotte nodded and sank back against her seat, exhausted.

She had only done what was necessary to protect her family, she told herself as the carriage rattled through the night. It was wrong—she understood that.

Unfortunately, sometimes the line between right and wrong was difficult to distinguish.