The silence of the house settled over him, threatening to suffocate him. His staff, long used to his nightly roamings, were already abed. Callum envied them that, their ability to sleep, their minds at rest.

He hadn’t had more than a few hours’ sleep a night since Elizabeth disappeared. He should have taken her then, that night. Secreted her out of London to keep her safe. But he’d been so focused on getting Darton out of prison, on reading the evidence himself, on taking charge.

Callum never suspected she’d disappear…

He shook those thoughts away, pushing them back. No matter how often those memories crowded his mind, he saw no other answer. And it never mattered, for in the end Darton hung and he never had discovered Elizabeth’s whereabouts.

Stalking the dimmed halls of his townhouse, Callum eschewed the candelabra. He needed no light to find his way; every step he took this night retraced ones he’d taken every night for over a year. Tonight felt different, however, and he couldn’t place why.

Yes, Garrow would be hanged before the week was out, the British legal system worked very quickly when it came to those convicted of treason. But tonight he felt restless, uneasy.

Tiredness weighed heavily on him, and Callum debated sleep. The sleep of the dead, but knew he’d never return to his bedroom until he found Elizabeth. Wouldn’t sleep in the bed they shared until she lay there with him.

Turning for the library, he debated pouring a drink for himself. Just one, for he refused to lose control enough for the nightmares to invade his sleep. Instead of entering the room, however, Callum crossed to where his father’s portrait once hung.

Callum had questioned the Darton household, but they knew naught as to Elizabeth’s whereabouts. The butler had confessed, however, to the events of the night Elizabeth disappeared. And how the earl had visited her.

He didn’t need to confront Edgar to know the old man hadn’t offered his help in freeing Elizabeth’s father. But no matter how Callum questioned him, or what papers he blatantly rifled through, there was no information as to his beloved’s whereabouts.

Not long after Elizabeth’s father hanged, his own father died. Callum didn’t miss the bastard, but it wasn’t until Edgar no longer held possession over the house, the Aycliff lands, and even him, that he realized how much he truly hated his father. And how Callum blamed him for Elizabeth’s disappearance.

He’d lost control that night, lonely and drunk, and had destroyed his father’s portrait. As the canvas burned, one fleeting thought haunted him. To this day it did. Had Edgar been responsible for Elizabeth’s disappearance?

The knock at the front door startled him, before those thoughts went further, before the sickening notion that his father may have disposed of Elizabeth.

Without waiting for the butler to rouse, Callum stalked to the front door himself. No need to disturb the staff. Yanking open the door, he looked impatiently into the night. Well past midnight, the street still teemed with carriages, people enjoying themselves before the true start of the London season.

A young boy stood before him, dirty, eager, and clutching a piece of paper in his hand as if it were a lost scroll of the bible.

“Lord Aycliff?” the boy demanded, eying him in disbelief. Callum nodded and the boy shoved the paper at him. “I was told to give this to you, my lord.”

He ran off before Callum could catch him, spry and limber as he dodged pedestrians. By the time Callum made it to the sidewalk, the boy was long gone.

Returning to the townhouse, he slammed the door closed, only just remembering to lock it. His strides were long and rushed as he returned to his study where he’d left a candle burning.

The bounty you offered for the woman. I have her. And I want the bounty. Come down to the east end. Behind Journey’s Pub. Bring the coin.

The missive was written awkwardly, the letters stiff and cramped. Heart pounding, Callum examined the paper, but it revealed no hint as to its origins. Dropping it to the desk, Callum reached into his drawer and grabbed the moneybag he’d kept locked in there since offering the reward for any information leading him to Elizabeth. Over the months many, far too many, had tried to claim it, but none ever had true information as to her whereabouts.

Snuffing out the candle, he raced from the room, stopping only long enough to shrug on his greatcoat and grab his walking stick. Callum flagged down a hackney, paying the driver extra to take him so deep into the east end so late at night.

His mind raced as he thought about what had just transpired. The boy hadn’t waited around for additional coin, and Callum wondered why that was. Had he been warned not to be caught by the earl? Or simply paid off enough not to bother? Callum doubted the latter—he’d never met a street urchin who didn’t want additional payment.

The drive to Journey’s Pub was slow, too slow for Callum who spent the ride envisioning all the horrendous things that could have happened to Elizabeth in the months since he’d last seen her. Had she been living in those shacks this entire time?

If this woman was even her, and while part of Callum hoped it was, he doubted it.

Once before the pub, Callum tossed another coin to the driver, who sped off into the night. The Journey’s Pub looked like every other pub Callum had ever entered. And during the last year, he’d entered nearly all of them in London.

Rounding the rear of the building, he could see only half a dozen yards or so into the maze of alleyways intersecting directly behind the pub. Most disappeared into a winding warren of passages where a person could easily lose his way if he didn’t know the layout.

He didn’t like it; too many darkened avenues hid who knew what in their shadows. Callum needed to leave, he knew this to be a trap, but he couldn’t risk it. What if, by some chance, this unknown man really did have Elizabeth?

There was no sound, though the stench of the alleyways was overpowering. Suddenly a man appeared from one the openings. He limped badly and dragged a woman with dark hair behind him. The woman made no sound, though Callum could see she still lived.

“Where’s yer coin?” the man demanded in a thick street accent.

“Let me see her!” Callum demanded. He stepped menacingly forward, prepared to defend both himself and this woman, even if she was not Elizabeth.

The man threw the woman forward, where she fell at his feet. Callum immediately knew she was not his Elizabeth. But then the woman reached up, fumbled with the tie of his breeches.

“She can be yours,” the man offered. “Yours for the price of that bounty. She’ll be your slave. No one will ever know.”

Disgusted, Callum pushed her away and stepped to the side. Furious, he nonetheless had to know. Had to be certain. The cloak fell from her face, and he knew she was not his woman.

In two quick strides, Callum crossed to the man. Pushing him against the wall, he held his walking stick against the man’s throat. “Do you even know who Elizabeth Darton is?” he demanded harshly. Pressing the cane harder against his throat Callum snarled. “Have you seen her?”

“But this woman is good enough for what you want!” the man insisted, the words broken as he tried to speak against the cane. He cowered against Callum’s wrath, but the truth rang clearly in his words.

The man knew nothing about Elizabeth. Another fake trying to claim the reward.

“Get the hell out of here,” Callum ordered as the man scrambled away. The woman, Callum noticed, was long gone. “Before I snap your neck.”

****

Elizabeth had watched the entirety of the scene from another of the many alleys behind the pub. Despite the stench of trash, unwashed bodies, stale, illicit sex, and possibly a dead body though she refused to look to be sure, she’d waited for Callum to arrive. Even watching him threaten the man with the limp, she knew deep within her this was a trap.

Her heart beat painfully in her chest, and she clenched the long, wicked knife Donald had given her months ago. Part of her wanted to step into the opening, reveal herself to Callum. It had been far too long since she’d been this close to him. But she suspected another waited in the shadows of the alleyways.

Whether to kill Callum, as she had heard, or for information. Elizabeth suspected the former. Dervin had a habit of ridding himself of all potential obstacles.

She’d been watching Callum from her doorway across the street. No matter what kind of fool she called herself, every night she returned. Some nights she made her way into the gardens, never locked now, and spied him through his study windows.

Tonight, however, she held herself aloof, as if she had the strength of will to resist him. That was when she saw the boy. Elizabeth had intercepted him before he could wake the household and read the missive herself. Paying him a handsome sum, she warned him not to be caught by the earl, and felt no ounce of remorse at lying to the boy. But she couldn’t risk him revealing her presence there.

Now, waiting for Callum to leave Elizabeth crept from the shadows. Circling behind the second man who watched the scene unfold, she moved silently. That man hadn’t moved since she’d arrived, but now raised a pistol. Her heart stopped as she realized what he intended. He planned to kill Callum.

Raising her knife, Elizabeth would not let that happen. She crept behind the man, focused on her mission. With one smooth move, she purposely slid the knife into the back of the man’s neck. Without remorse, she watched him jerk. He tried to grasp, to make a sound as he fumbled for the knife, but it was far too late. Elizabeth watched, feeling nothing as he struggled.

Then he jerked backwards, knocking her into the wall. She quickly pushed him away, unable to tear her eyes from the sight. This was the first person she’d killed. Despite her months living in hiding, of familiarizing herself with alleyways exactly like this one, this man was the first time she’d killed. This man…she didn’t know his name and didn’t want to know.

Elizabeth didn’t realize she shook until she stood from the wall and tried to move. She looked at the knife, a faint shadow in the darkness, protruding horribly from his neck but couldn’t bring herself to retrieve it.

Eyes focused on him, she forced herself to reach for the pistol, lying by his feet, instead. Stumbling to the opening of the alley, she watched Callum leave. Nausea rolled in her stomach, and she desperately wanted to run to him. Allow her lover to hold her, to simply feel his strength around her.

Instead, Elizabeth watched him walk away. The man with the limp hurried down another alley and out of sight, but she watched Callum stride into the open street and away from the pub.