James Vickers, heir to the Viscount Vickers, libertine, high-stakes gambler, all-around cad and particular pain in his father’s posterior, had done some stupid and dangerous things in his time. This must top them all.
Why? Not because of an irate husband, cheating black leg or brute of a moneylender. Oh, no. Because of a slip of a lovely, inviting, dangerous girl.
He should end this ridiculous arrangement. But the lure of information to use against his father tempted him strongly—and that was as nothing compared to the appeal of the girl herself.
Which left him suspended in the midst of this conundrum.
At first they kept to their usual routines. But he began to check in with her nightly during her social events. He’d wait for a private moment, sidle up and ask her to dance. Each time she would come up with a more outrageous reason to turn him down. Each time he would suffer that sharp pang, they would share a laugh, he would occasionally advise her on the gentlemen attending, and then move on.
But he did arrange for a communication system. Hestia had a small network of street children who kept ears to the ground for her, and ran the occasional errand in exchange for food, a bed, shelter and someone who cared. Vickers commandeered the lot of them and arranged a schedule in which one of them should be conveniently near Addy Stockton’s house at all times.
And in fact, she was the first one to call a meeting.
It was mid-morning and he was just leaving his rooms when young Francis Headly dashed up to him on the street.
“Yer gentry mort wants words wit’ ye,” she announced.
“Good morning, Flightly.” He grinned. “I thought Hestia was working with you on your speech.”
Her tone and demeanor changed in a flash. “Indeed, she is, sir. Unfortunately the streets make a poor venue in which to exercise such skills.”
He chuckled. “Very nice. I shall give you a good report.” Taking out a card, he scribbled on it.
One hour. Hyde Park. Chesterfield Gate. Follow the boy with a red hoop.
He handed her the card and a coin. “Send Jed to me right away, will you? And deliver this back to the lady.”
“Aye, aye!” With an impudent salute, she was off, and he went back inside to make plans.
A little over an hour later, he perched upon a low branch in a small clearing in the midst of a good-sized cluster of trees in Hyde Park. Just minutes later, rustling heralded her arrival. Stick in hand and hoop over his shoulder, Jed held a branch high so that Addy might pass through, then he dropped it and disappeared from where they’d come.
Vickers stood. She looked beautiful in sprigged muslin and a light blue spencer. Her eyes widened when she spotted him and an impish grin lifted that alluring mouth. “Worry for our reputations, indeed! You’ve brought me to an assignation in the Park!”
“I hear they are all the rage. Wasn’t there gossip just yesterday about Brodham sneaking off with an American chit?” He sobered. “Did anyone see you?”
“No, no. There were some children and nannies at the gate, but I saw no one once we took the footpath heading north. Is the reservoir near?”
“Just beyond.”
“It is lovely.” She glanced around at the mix of sun and shade and at the bees flirting with clover and a few straggling wildflowers at the edges. “What is this place?”
“Actually, it’s a trysting spot well-known amongst a select group of high-flyers. Safe enough in the daytime, but don’t come near at night unless you are prepared for a shock.”
She shook her head. “I won’t. But I am glad you could make arrangements so quickly.”
“Sit down?” He waved to his former seat.
“I will, although I’m imagining some of the creative uses this branch has been put to.”
He laughed, feeling uncommonly light. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in such a good mood. “Before you deliver your news, a bit of advice. I noticed you danced twice with Nowell last night. Don’t pin your hopes there, he’s not ready for a leg shackle.” He froze. “Damn! If I’d had a head on my shoulders, I should have brought a musician along. You could scarcely deny me a dance here, Miss Stockton.”
“Of course I could,” she said irritably. “And you might as well call me Addy, as you’ve kissed me twice and we are now trysting in the Park.”
Lascivious images rose up in his head. His fingers twitched.
“And another thing, why does your advice always address the men I shouldn’t bother with? Can’t you think of a single gentleman who might actually consider me as a marriage prospect?”
Hell, no, his gut responded instantly. Not a man in the ton or out of it deserved her.
Including him.
“I’ll try,” he muttered. His good mood began to wane.
“Thank you. Now, I must tell you what Rosamond divulged. She got quite tipsy at a soiree last evening and quite talkative in the carriage home. We rode past Compton Street and she pointed out a house—one that she says secretly belongs to your father!”
Every last vestige of good humor vanished. “I know it.”
“That’s where she acted as his hostess and coordinated their social maneuvering. Rosamond wouldn’t give particulars, but she hinted that he and his cronies get up to some highly questionable activities there.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I said I know the house.” His knee began to jig up and down until he set the branch to bouncing. He stood. “I know all the vile tricks they get up to there.” He’d seen the orgies of violence and sex, heard the plotting against both their enemies and their peers. He rounded to face her. “You must make sure that Rosamond never reveals that she was there. If anyone finds out, all her newfound acceptance with the ton will be ruined forever.”
Eyes wide, she nodded. “You . . . knew?” She thought a moment. “But of course, I suppose you would.” She frowned. “I hope your mother remains ignorant of it.”
“She does,” he answered harshly. “Or I should say, she does now. She might once have known, but if she did, she recalls it no longer.”
She was standing too, now, he noted. She reached out to clutch the tree. He could see it in her eyes, the same curiosity that he’d witnessed so many times before. She wanted to ask. They all did. Everyone was eaten with curiosity. What had the Viscount done, to make his son hate him so? What was his sin?
Only one person had never asked. Hestia. He knew why. She’d lived some version of his hell herself, and didn’t need details.
But Miss Stockton—Addy—wouldn’t know. She was a child conceived in love and raised with care. Even her imagination couldn’t conjure such a monster as his father.
He tried to summon his anger, his disdain, the blunt, rude words he used to push away everyone who gave in to vulgar, idle curiosity. They wouldn’t come. He couldn’t hurl his usual retorts at her.
He waited.
She licked her lips. He flinched before she ever made a sound, waiting for the arrow to arrive.
“I’m sorry.”
He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes. They opened now so that he could stare at her.
Dangerous.
Not because she was the beautiful, curved, perfect representation of an angel mixed with an imp. But because she returned the favor that had meant so much to her. She looked past his facade and saw the hurt, the vulnerability.
And she didn’t ask.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
He abruptly stepped near. He grabbed her shoulders and kissed her hard. Fierce. Possessive. Grateful. He tried to convey it all.
“So am I,” he told her.
He spun on his heel and walked away.