Chapter One

Early April 1821

London

When did you become so old and grouchy, Harry?  I swear you are little better than a curmudgeon these days!  You used to be a great deal more fun!

I also refuse to be the sort of woman that a man “settles” for!  I deserve more than that, Harry!  As do you.  It’s a pity you are too blind to see that.  Or too set in your ways.

I honestly can’t see a future of any sort for us.  Not even as friends any longer.  I am young, and I wish to remain so, but you…  You have become a boring and stuffy old grouch.  I shan’t stand for it!  Not when I have another…

Those words from a few nights ago still rang in Harry Greer’s ears as he watched as Lady Dorothy Tillsbury – who was known to all and sundry as Lady Dory and also just happened to be the speaker of those not-so-nice words – whirl away from him and scurry out of Lady Covington’s ballroom as if the Devil himself was on her heels.  Which the Devil – or at least Harry, who could be very devil-like when the mood struck, especially as of late – very well might have been.  Well, once upon a time anyway.  Not any longer.

Because things were changing.  Things always changed.  It was the nature of the world.

That didn’t mean Harry had to like change, however.  Especially when he had finally resigned himself to imagining a future with Dory and being done with things.

Except that, to Harry’s surprise – which wasn’t really a surprise so much as it was sad resignation – Dory didn’t want anyone to be simply “resigned” to a future with her.  She had informed Harry of that fact, of course.  More than once.  They also argued about the matter.  Rather loudly.  And often.

Tonight, Harry and Dory had argued again, this time about Dory’s desire to leave the ball and venture to Dionysus, an opulent gaming hell that admitted both ladies and gentlemen.  And possessed the questionable reputation that went along with such a practice.

Dory had insisted that venturing to the club would be fun and a chance for them to remember how they had once felt about one another without the eyes of the ton watching.  However, as a silent partner in Noroc, another gaming hell with a questionable reputation, Harry knew very well that what ladies imagined went on behind closed doors at places like Dionysus and what actually went on were two very different things.  Especially innocent women like her.

Still, Dory had been insistent that they depart Lady Covington’s ball “before the night was too old and too far gone” and when Harry refused, Dory had accused him of attempting to ruin her fun.  And her life.  And a good number of other things as well.

Harry, in turn, had accused Dory of keeping secrets, not just from him but from her brother, Frost, as well.  He had, of course, also mentioned the teal blue and deep green sequins he was constantly finding on her clothing as of late, clothing that was otherwise pale and appropriate for an unwed lady her age.

Dory had insisted that she was working on a gown with her maid, which Harry had pointed out was laughable because Dory was not only abysmal at needlework, but Frost would never allow such a thing!  All of his sisters wore creations by the renowned modiste, Madame LaVallier, and would hardly do something so menial as making their own gowns.  Dory, as expected, had screeched in indignation and called Harry a less-than-ladylike name.

Again, Harry had insisted that if Dory had no secrets, then she would tell him why she so ardently wished to venture to Dionysus.  She argued that he clearly didn’t trust her in the least and that what she did with her own time was her own business.  He had pointed out the fallacy of her argument since she was still a young woman under her brother’s control.  Oh, and his control too, of course, since they were pretending to court and he could be viewed as acting on her brother’s behalf.

That had been the final straw and Dory had thrown her fan at Harry, followed by her dance card.  That second one had annoyed him.  When the card hit him, the card itself hadn’t hurt, but the tiny pencil attached to it had.  Well, a little bit anyway.  It had also injured his pride, though – more than a little in this case.

Thus, Harry and Dory had argued.  Again.  In Lord and Lady Covington’s hallway.  Where anyone could have stumbled upon them going at each other like screeching cats.  And where anyone could have pointed out that both sides had valid points, even though neither one was willing to give an inch.

Thus, it was not an argument either of them could win.

Not without some concessions and neither was willing to give in.  Not in the least.

Tonight’s argument was also a variation on the same theme that they had been arguing about for just over two weeks now, going back to the night Dory had first called Harry grouchy.

Dory desired to do something inappropriate for reasons she would not articulate.  Harry said no and asked her to be reasonable.  She called him old and boring.  He retorted that she was young and impetuous.  They fought.  She stormed out.  The same scenario over and over again.

It was becoming tiresome.

Their disagreements also hurt Harry more than he had expected, especially as Harry had believed his friendship with Dory was unshakable.  True, they were probably not destined to wed, at least not now, but they knew each other’s deepest secrets – or they had once.  That had to count for something, did it not?  Apparently not, at least not as far as Dory Tillsbury was concerned.

Funny how things changed in a year.

A year ago, Harry also would have been chasing after Dory in an instant, hot on her trail to make sure she did not come to harm.  But that was before Lady Radcliffe’s ball a little over a fortnight ago when Dory had first called Harry “boring” and “stuffy.”  Not to mention “old,” of course.  No, one couldn’t forget that insult either.  Especially not a man like Harry who remembered almost everything.

Something had fractured between Dory and Harry that night, and Harry had a feeling that fracture could not be undone.  At least not until Dory revealed her secrets and not until after Harry recovered a bit from the surprising sting of hurt he had felt at her harsh words, indicating that perhaps he did have a heart after all.

Normally, Harry would have already been chasing Dory through Lady Covington’s hallways – he was an infamous Bow Street Runner, after all – and trailing her all the way to her new destination.  Normally.  But not tonight.

Tonight, Harry had let Dory go, knowing that there were other Runners about and one of them would see her leave without him and pick up her tail.  It was a standing order these days.

Once Harry had determined that Dory was hiding something from both him and her family, he had made certain a Runner trailed her at all times, even if he was with her.  The Runners might not follow her into a ball or the theater, especially if Harry was going to be there, but when she went sneaking about, which she had been doing rather frequently as of late, then someone was there to tail her.  Usually, it was Harry.  Mostly because he did not wish to be pummeled into a bloody pulp by Frost, who had implied that Dory’s safety was Harry’s personal responsibility.

Tonight, however, Harry didn’t have the energy to trail after a pretty and energetic young thing like Dory.  Especially since Dory wanted nothing to do with him just then.

Maybe she was right.  Maybe he was getting old.  Maybe he already was old.  No “getting” about it.

In the end, it didn’t matter.  What mattered was Dory and what sort of mischief she was getting into.  Potentially dangerous mischief.

He could also very well guess what her secret was, though he would need hard proof to be certain.  After all, deducing such a thing didn’t take exemplary detective skills.  One simply had to look at Dory and watch.  Observe.

Harry could tell by the way Dory looked at him – or rather no longer looked at him – that she was falling in love with another man.  Her eyes were often soft and dreamy, and, had Harry been a different sort of man, he might have assumed she was developing true and tender feelings for him.

However, Harry wasn’t that sort and he also remembered very clearly the flush that used to develop on Dory’s pretty face and the enchanting sparkle that came into her eyes when she looked at him.  That had, of course, been last year.  Last Season – back when she had fancied herself in love with him and him?  Well, he had fancied himself “in like” with her.  It had never been more than that, at least on his part.  Nor would it have ever been.  He wasn’t a man of grand passions, nor would anyone mistake him for one.  He simply wasn’t capable of them.

Harry had tried to be, though.  For Dory, he had tried.  And failed miserably.

Instead, his failed attempts at true romance had simply proven that Harry was rather the protective sort and looking after women like Dory was second nature to him.  That was his true skill.  It certainly wasn’t seducing those same women.  At that, unfortunately, he was a complete and utter failure.

Often times, women, especially young women who were only just out in Society, mistook that need to protect for a type of love or maybe even lust.  If those women deigned to talk to him at all, which was rare.  But Dory had talked to him.  In fact, she had done more than talk.  To that end, a year ago, Harry had almost convinced himself he was in love with Dory.

Almost.  Because it seemed like such a good idea.  It seemed like such a tempting idea.

Tempting because he could finally marry.  He could have a wife of quality, one who liked him and enjoyed his company just as he did hers.

More than that, he would not have to be lonely any longer.  Not that he was lonely, of course.  He wasn’t.  But he did sometimes wish for more steady companionship, as anyone would after walking the Earth alone for so long.

Except that in the end, Harry wasn’t in love with Dory.  Nor was she in love with him.  Merely infatuated.  Both of them had been.

Now, though, it seemed as if another man had captured Dory’s fancy and that man, whoever he was?  Well, that man was different in some way – perhaps even truly special – especially if the misty look of longing in Dory’s eyes was any indication.  The unknown man also likely had a connection to Dionysus, the one place Dory continually spoke of with what almost sounded like desperate longing in her voice.

That, Harry had surmised almost from the first, was Dory’s secret.  She was meeting someone, likely an inappropriate gentleman, at Dionysus.  A man she probably thought herself in love with.  Possibly even believed that he was in love with her, too.

Again, it did not take an investigative genius to figure that out.

And maybe they were in love.  Truly in love.  After all, it wasn’t as if Dory was in love with Harry any longer.  Assuming she ever had been.

Which was why Harry hadn’t tried to stop Dory from leaving the ball.  If he had learned nothing else over the last year, he had learned that, despite her ladylike veneer, Lady Dory Tillsbury was still a hellion deep inside, a true force of nature unto herself, and to try to stop her when she was on a mission of any sort was the height of foolishness.  Especially if a man wished to keep all of his private areas in good working order.  Dory was still Frost’s sister, after all, and she was hardly a meek thing, no matter what most of Society believed about her.

Instead, Harry would allow one of the other Runners to follow her tonight and report back in the morning.  That way, if there were bad news to deliver to Frost, it would come from someone else and not Harry.  Again, that way, he had a much better chance of keeping his body parts all intact if something should go amiss.

So rather than chase after Dory, Harry now took the time to peruse the ballroom, looking for signs of trouble as he always did.  Not that there ever was any, of course, at least not at this level of so-called “Polite Society.”  Lord and Lady Covington – or rather Sebastian and Jane since they were Harry’s good friends – were hardly the sort to invite trouble into their home and, really, Harry was far too suspicious for his own good.  But Harry was who he was and at his core, he was a Runner.

He had been working for Bow Street since he’d been a mere sixteen years old.  He was now six and thirty.  Meaning he had been chasing criminals for twenty years.  A very long time.

That realization made him sigh with annoyance.

Dory was right.  He was old.

He was also most likely boring, too, though Harry knew he could be charming when the need arose and often was.  Or at least he liked to think he was.  Then again, given his lack of appropriate female companionship as of late, perhaps he was no longer as charming as he wished to believe.  Elderly ladies and young misses found him delightful.  Women of his own age or at least marriageable age who were not already wed or otherwise entangled?  Not nearly so much.

Harry was also still extremely suspicious, no matter his surroundings, so when he noticed a strikingly beautiful young woman surveying the ballroom with shrewd, calculating eyes as if she was on the hunt, he could not help but go on alert.

The mystery woman was different than the other ladies here and again, one did not have to be a Runner to deduce that.  She…well, for lack of a better word, she sparkled and it wasn’t simply because of the rather gauche display of diamonds encircling her throat, not to mention dangling from her ears.  No, it was her eyes and her smile that caught his eye.  They sparkled in a way Harry had not seen before.  Still innocent and yet…somehow not.  Both fresh and innocent but also weary and jaded at the same time.

Harry also had no idea who she was, and he knew everyone there was to know in London.  Or just about everyone.  After all, that was his job.  And, had he seen this woman before?  He would have remembered.  There was no question.

The mystery woman was brilliant and beautiful, like the rarest and most precious of gems.  Her pale lavender gown was cut low enough to be suggestive while still retaining a hint of innocence and the color set off her thick, champagne blonde hair to perfection.  Her body was all lush curves and creamy skin, and she possessed full breasts so stunning that a man might lose himself in them if he wasn’t careful.

This woman looked like a butterfly amongst moths.  She truly did.

And damn it all, but her appearance should not have been the first thing Harry noticed about her!  At least not after he realized she was a stranger.

He should have noticed how her eyes swept the room as she searched for her prey, for upon closer inspection, it was clear to Harry that she was looking for someone.  Truthfully, all the unwed ladies here were looking for someone, and the paleness of this woman’s gown marked her as an unwed lady, though her delightful curves indicated she was hardly a schoolroom miss.  However, this woman was very different from all of the other women here seeking a husband.

There was a glint in this lady’s eyes that hinted at a greater purpose.  Harry recognized it immediately.  She also wore a look of complete and utter determination like a shield.  She was obviously looking for a specific someone, most likely an unwed gentleman with both a title and nearly unlimited wealth.  Again, one did not need to be a skilled detective to deduce that much.

Then Harry watched her bite her lip in uncertainty and all thoughts of what sort of mischief she might be up to vanished from his head.  Instead, all he could do was wonder how her lips would taste – especially beneath his.

After Dory’s comments regarding his age and his lack of interest in her physically, Harry had begun to wonder if he was nearly dead.  Given the way his body was responding so wildly to just a glimpse of this woman, he was fairly certain he was alive and well.  Especially one particular part of his anatomy.

None of this was like him and Harry wondered for a moment if he was becoming ill.

He liked women.  He flirted with them.  Occasionally, he seduced them.  But he was never, ever stopped speechless in his tracks by one of them.  It simply didn’t happen.  Which made him wonder why it was happening now.

Illness?  Or suspicion?  Harry’s money was on suspicion.

Slowly, the mystery woman wove her way amongst Sebastian and Jane’s guests, her eyes still scanning the crowd as she moved.  She spoke to only a few people, so Harry surmised that she was most likely new to London, though she had probably made her come-out some time ago given her obviously advanced age.  When she was finally cornered by Lady Darby near the refreshment table, Harry also surmised that the mystery woman likely hailed from Cumbria, as Lady Darby – a woman he knew to be from a prominent family in Cumbria – did not venture to London often and yet, she seemed to be the one introducing this enchanting but unknown creature to members of the ton.

Harry could not discern what color the lady’s eyes were, but they weren’t any sort of traditional color.  He could tell that much.  Recognizing eye color from a distance was one of his specialties, after all.  He also could not tell exactly what sort of game she was playing, at least not yet, though he was certain he would figure it out.  Though it might take some time.  Normally, those with nefarious purposes in mind were singularly focused on the task before them.  This lady was not.  If anything, she seemed a bit distracted and more than a little worried.

Scatterbrained and potentially flighty, if he had to sum up her actions in only a few words.  And yet, there was a refined elegance and intelligence to her that was in direct conflict with her actions.  Almost as if she was two different people and not truly comfortable with either persona.

Still, the mystery woman did her best to pretend she felt at home in this enormous and likely overwhelming ballroom, laughing and sipping at her champagne while speaking with those people that Lady Darby waved over to greet them.  The unknown lady continued to scan the room as she did so, but now, it was more in a rather haphazard way than when she had first entered.  As if she was distracted.  Or didn’t want to be doing whatever it was she had been engaged in earlier.

A kidnapped lady, perhaps?  No, that was foolish and Harry knew better as he quickly dismissed the idea.  If nothing else, if a lady of note had gone missing from Cumbria, someone would have made Bow Street aware.  Especially since kidnapped young ladies were often brought to London for nefarious purposes that Harry didn’t want to think of just now.

The left him to ponder other options regarding her identity and her purpose for being here.

A woman in reduced circumstances attempting to wiggle her way into Society?  Possibly, though she looked wealthy enough and, even from a distance, Harry judged her diamonds to be real and not glass imitations.

Searching for a man she had selected from Debrett’s to become her husband?  That was more likely, but tonight’s guest list was hardly rife with eligible bachelors.  In fact, eligible and titled men were a bit thin on the ground at the moment, as many in the ton were still making their way back to London after a string of unexpected and completely untraditional spring house parties.

Unless, of course, the man she was seeking was here in Town after all, and she had somehow known his whereabouts for this evening.  Possibly revealed in that morning’s edition of The Town Tattler.

Or, Harry thought to himself irritably, she could simply be a young lady new to town and uncertain about moving in such high social circles.  The possibility that she is up to no good is remote.  Not everyone is a criminal.

Still, Harry could not shake his initial suspicions and plucked a glass of champagne off a footman’s tray before he slowly began to make his way to where the unknown woman and Lady Darby now stood chatting with Lady Julia Sinclair, the Duchess of Radcliffe.  It was fortunate, was it not, that Harry counted the duchess among his closest friends?  Harry certainly thought so.  After all, Julia was the Bloody Duke’s sister and Harry had helped to save her life once.  If he hinted that he would like an introduction to the mystery lady, she would no doubt provide one – even if he was not quite of the same social standing as Lady Darby and this unknown woman.  Such trivial matters, including his station in life, did not bother his friends in the least.  Thankfully.

But what did matter to them – and to Harry as well – was their safety and the safety of their friends.  And just then, Harry could not say for certain that this unknown woman was safe to be around.  That was reason enough to seek an introduction.  He would simply have to confess to Julia the real reason for his interest at another time.  Right now, Harry had to make certain his friends were safe.

Even if she was not out to harm his friends, Harry could not allow this lady to freely roam the ballrooms of London seeking…well, whatever it was that she was seeking.  Not without thoroughly investigating her first.  Or at the very least, without learning her name.  Because it was evident – at least to him – that she was up to something.

The fact that Harry found her the most fascinating and beautiful lady he had ever laid eyes upon?  Well, that was entirely beside the point and did not signify in the least.  Or so he wanted to believe.

Maybe he wasn’t old after all.  Especially not if there was a beautiful and mysterious woman lurking about.  One who just happened to make his blood pound in his veins as no other woman ever had.

Standing next to Lady Darby, Penny was beside herself and wished to bite at her nails.  Thankfully she was wearing gloves to prevent such a thing.  But at home?  Her nails would have been bitten to the quick long ago.  Then again, if she was still at home, none of this would be happening.  Not to mention that, if she had been back in Cumbria, she likely would still be in that wretchedly restrictive boarding school, so there was that to consider as well.

Still, that boarding school, however oppressive, might have been the preferable option just then.

This evening was all going terribly wrong and now, Lady Darby had latched on to Penny’s arm like a barnacle.  How was she to find the Duke of Fullbridge in this crush if the woman clinging tightly to her arm kept introducing her only to Society matrons?  Penny had overheard at a musicale just last night that the duke would be here at Lady Covington’s this evening.  Now, however, a rumor she had overheard in the ladies retiring room a few moments ago suggested that he had been delayed in the country at his impromptu house party for a few more days.

Something about his sister, one of her old paramours, a missing heiress, and a disreputable rogue turned spy.  The conversation had been so convoluted that Penny hadn’t been able to follow it, but she had heard enough to know that it might be several more days – possibly even a week or more – until Lord Fullbridge returned to London.  If he returned at all.

Meaning the rumor of his presence here tonight was wrong.

And that the rumor he might not return to London at all was quite possibly right.

Oh, the duke must return!  If he didn’t, Penny’s fate was sealed.

He uncle would banish her to India – or worse, America – if she didn’t succeed.  Penny needed to meet the man.  She had to meet him!  There was no other option and no other gentleman would suffice.  She needed to take action!  Now!  She simply could not stand here all night and be introduced to all manner of proper ladies who would likely faint dead away if they knew why Penny was really in London.

Then again, perhaps this woman standing so regally before Penny wouldn’t, at least not if she knew Penny’s reasons.

It also might not hurt to have this woman as an ally.  The elegant lady now chatting easily with Lady Darby was the Duchess of Radcliffe and she was hardly known as the meek and retiring sort, what with those scars on her face that somehow only made her more beautiful rather than less.  Lady Radcliffe was also the Bloody Duke’s sister, and the Bloody Duke knew everyone who was anyone, at least in one way or another.  Such a connection might help Penny’s cause rather than hurt it – even if Lady Radcliffe had been pushing Penny to waltz with Lord Pike not more than five minutes ago.

Just then, the duchess laughed and Penny had to swallow a wistful sigh, all thoughts regarding Lord Fullbridge momentarily.  The woman was truly beautiful, no matter that her face was no longer perfect.  She was also poised and composed, elegantly attired without being ostentatious, and she belonged here in this ballroom.  From what Penny knew, Lady Radcliffe had a husband who adored her, two lovely children at home, and, according to Penny’s rather thorough research via old issues of The Town Tattler, a vast circle of friends that she could always count upon for support.

In short, Lady Radcliffe was everything Penny wished to be, and everything Penny never would be, at least not once her uncle’s plan came to completion.

Not that she had ever truly had a prayer of being anything at all like Lady Radcliffe, but it was still nice to dream.  No, Penny was alive, she was in relatively good health, and if all went to plan, she would remain that way until she was old and gray.  Even if she lived out the rest of her days far away from here.

Once more, Penny had to remind herself that her lot in life had been cast long ago.  Now she was only a means to an end and, if she succeeded in her task, she could live the rest of her life in peace, perhaps even serving as a governess somewhere that her forthcoming infamy would not reach – if such a place even existed.

She wouldn’t have to return to that wretched boarding school or her uncle’s home.  That was her ultimate goal, even though deep in her heart she wished for so much more.  Still, Penny would never truly belong here in this ballroom and amongst these glittering, glamorous people.  That wasn’t her path.  This was not her world.  It was best she if remembered that.

This life was not for her.  Not forever, anyway.  The fancy gowns and sparkling jewels were only temporary.  She could not forget that either.

Doing so was difficult, however, especially when the orchestra was playing a waltz and couples dressed in the finest silks, satins, and wools spun like brightly colored children’s tops across the dance floor, dipping and twirling in time with the music.  When the candlelight caught the sparkle from the gems at ladies’ throats and the sounds of gentlemen’s laughter mixed with birdsong carried on the spring night air, it was easy to get lost in the fantasy of what her life could be like.

If only she were free to choose.

But Penny wasn’t free and she hadn’t been since her parents had passed away.

Instead, she now lived only to serve her uncle and his twisted plans of revenge.  She was his instrument and she had no will of her own.  Or at least that was what he told her.  At present, she wasn’t inclined to disagree with him.

Disobedience brought punishment and in various and wide-ranging forms, each crueler than the last.  Penny had learned that lesson the hard way.  After her last beating at her uncle’s hands, she no longer rebelled but simply did as she was told.  It was easier that way.

But she still wished things could be different.  Especially when the whole of London was spread out before her like a fantasy world, tempting her in a way that she had never imagined it might.

Movement to her left now caught Penny’s eye and she quickly became aware of a gentleman quickly approaching the small cluster of women where she stood.  He had the look of a dangerous rake and immediately, her senses went on alert.  Unwed gentlemen that were not the Duke of Fullbridge were dangerous.  Men like that wanted things, things she could not give them.  Not even if she wanted to.

And with this man?  She might want to.  Oh, yes.  She very much might want to.

In a word, Penny was captivated by this man striding toward her.  And entranced.  And inflamed.  All in the space of one short breath.  If it had even taken that long.

If Penny could have described her perfect gentleman, her white knight in shining armor who would ride in and sweep her off her feet and carry her to safety?  He would look exactly like the man approaching them, his eyes steadily fixed upon her the entire way – as if she was the only woman he could see.

He was tall.  Much taller than any man she knew, including her uncle, and Penny estimated that he might measure around six feet and five inches, if she had to guess, or perhaps an inch taller.  His sandy blonde hair was close-cropped and not at all fashionable, and yet it gave him an air of both mystery and danger that she found strangely attractive.

The mystery man was also big and muscular, but he moved with a grace and confidence that seemed to come easy to him, as if he had been born to power.  He also seemed utterly at home in this high society crowd, his vivid blue eyes dancing with delight and warmth as he looked at Lady Radcliffe now.

But he wasn’t of the Quality.  He was among them but not truly one of them.  Penny couldn’t say how she knew that for certain but she just did.  The same, but not.  Usually, that meant danger and once more, Penny went on the alert.

“Your grace.  It has been far too long.”  The stranger offered Lady Radcliffe a low and almost exaggerated bow as he bent and kissed her hand.

“Harry.”  The duchess was almost grinning now as she smacked him lightly on the wrist with her fan.  “I saw you only last evening.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her, suddenly all charm and sweetness.  “That was still far too long, my dear.”

For a moment, Penny thought his overt flirting might offend Lady Radcliffe, but instead, the duchess burst into peals of laughter, causing a fair number of people to stop whatever they were doing and stare.  “And you, Harry, have been associating with my brother for far too long!  Rogues!  The lot of you!”

The man inclined his head, his eyes still dancing with delight.  He liked this woman.  He truly did.  Suddenly, Penny had the most ridiculous urge to see him look at her that way.

That was not good.  Not good at all.

“You should talk, your grace.  You married the biggest rogue of them all.”  The man paused, as if deep in thought.  “Well, almost the biggest.”

“That I did.”  A dreamy smile passed over Lady Radcliffe’s lips and Penny had no doubt that the woman was still very much in love with her husband.

Penny did her best to tamp down another flare of jealousy.  Such things were not for her.  That sort of future was not for her.  She knew better than to even wish for something so ridiculous!

“And who might your enchanting companions be?” the man seemingly named Harry asked, yanking Penny back to the present once more.

The duchess laughed again, lighter this time but just as cheerful.  “Come now, Harry.  You remember Lady Darby, don’t you?”

“Lady Darby?  Is that truly you?  I swear you haven’t changed a bit!  And here I thought you might be your daughter!  Or grand-daughter, surely!”  Harry smiled again, and for a moment, Penny wondered if he was sincere, since the compliment was so outrageous.  Then she saw the merry twinkle in his eyes and decided that he was.  The man was an incorrigible flirt, but he meant no harm.  He really did like these women and enjoyed flirting with them.

“Oh, you.  Go on with your silly talk.”  Lady Darby blushed furiously, even though she was clearly pleased by his words.  “You know very well I don’t have a daughter, you rogue.  Only three sons and they give me more gray hairs than I deserve!  Thank you for the compliment, though.  It does an old woman good to have a handsome young man flirt with her.”

Penny would agree with the handsome part but she wasn’t certain about the young part.  Penny herself was four and twenty, and this man looked to be at least ten years her senior, if not twelve or more.  Then again, in comparison to Lady Darby who was in her seventh decade, this man probably was young.

Then, Lady Radcliffe gestured toward Penny, and Penny felt as if her feet had turned to stone when the man in question now looked at her with those mesmerizing eyes that she could now see were a bright, vivid blue.  Looked at her and knew.  The teasing light was gone from his eyes when his gaze met hers.  Instead, there was a dark, probing look, as if he meant to pry all of her secrets from her.  And if he tried?  Lord help her, but she might allow him to try.  Especially if he kissed her – which was all she could think about just then.  Even though that was highly inappropriate.  Not to mention highly improbable.

“Lady Penny, may I present Mr. Harry Greer of Bow Street.  He is a dear friend of mine as well as a famous and successful Runner.”  Lady Radcliffe cast the man a small smile as she slid her index finger down the length of one of her facial scars that wound beneath her chin, which Penny found a bit odd but promptly forgot about.  She had more important things on her mind – such as the man in front of her.  “And Harry, I would like you to meet Lady Penelope Marshwood.  She is the daughter of the late Earl of Telford and now the ward of her uncle, Lord Charles Marshwood, the current earl.  She is in London for the Season, her first in many years.  She spent quite a bit of time in Cumbria as of late, from what I understand.”

Penny should have been upset that Lady Radcliffe had mentioned Cumbria and her uncle as possible clues to her true purpose here in London, but she wasn’t.  In fact, she had barely heard that part of the introduction at all.  All she could hear was this man’s name rushing in her ears.  Harry Greer.  The Harry Greer!  Oh, Lord!  She was done for!  No wonder he had been looking at her so strangely!

“Miss Marshwood.  I am delighted to meet you.”  Mr. Greer took her hand and bowed over it as was proper, but just then he wasn’t looking at her very properly.  If anything, he was looking at her as if he wished to devour her in one bite.  Which might not be a bad thing, for it would save her from her uncle’s wrath when she failed in her task.

Or that might have simply been her overactive imagination.  At this point, she could no longer tell.

“Mr. Greer.”  Penny’s tongue felt thick in her mouth and she had trouble forming even the simplest of words.  “I am delighted as well.”

Except she wasn’t delighted.  Not at all.  Because this man was famous.  Or infamous, according to her uncle.  He was the most famous, respected, and successful Bow Street Runner still alive and had been at his craft for nearly twenty years or more.  More than that, he was notoriously relentless in his quest for the truth and had assisted many people at the highest level of the aristocracy – including Prinny himself.  And then there was that whole business with the Bloody Duke…  And how could one forget the Devil Duke…

And, well, there were quite a lot of dukes and earls and other members of the nobility who owed this man favors.  A great many of them, in fact.  Possibly even Lord Fullbridge himself.

Mr. Greer was also rumored to be the bastard son of Viscount Westerly, a man who was a good friend of her uncle’s.  If Harry Greer should show so much as a sniff of interest in her, word would likely be sent straight back to her uncle and then where would she be?  Beaten again, most likely.  If not locked away in that so-called finishing school for the rest of her life.

If not any of that, then Penny would probably be cast out on the streets or forced to work in a brothel or sent to America or…or…or…  Well, there was no telling what her uncle might do to her if she failed!  If she allowed Harry Greer to get close enough to her to uncover her plans.

No, this was the last man on the entire planet that Penny was delighted to meet!  Not if she wanted to keep her life and her sanity.

No matter how handsome he was or how charming he seemed.  And especially no matter how much she wondered what it would be like to kiss him.  And maybe even do…more.

What on earth was wrong with her?

She shouldn’t be thinking that, not any of it!  Not even the good parts.  So instead, Penny smiled and prayed that the esteemed Mr. Greer would not notice anything was amiss with her.

Except the feeling of dread forming in the pit of her stomach as he regarded her with those magnetic blue eyes told her without words that he likely already knew.  If not everything, then enough to be suspicious.  And that he was storing that information away for later.  Probably to be used when she was the most vulnerable.  Just as her uncle would have.

Just then, Penny couldn’t decide, between the two men, who was the more dangerous to her health and well-being.  Though if she was a betting woman, she probably would have placed her money on Harry Greer.