The trembling had nearly stopped by the time she returned to her rooming house. Elizabeth clutched her cloak tighter around her so no one could see the blood staining the gown. She doubted many would notice, not in this part of London, but she didn’t want the extra attention. With a quick nod to the woman in the foyer, she hurried up the stairs.

The owner of the house was nice enough, rarely asked questions, and never questioned Elizabeth’s comings and goings. But tonight she felt different. She’d killed a man, had been within arm’s reach of Callum, and felt as if her world compressed in on her.

She wondered if she looked as changed as she felt.

The door to her room lay open, and Elizabeth crept cautiously to it. The pistol felt heavy in the pocket of her cloak, and she gripped it tightly. For a heartbeat she wished for her knife, but the image if it sticking out of that man’s neck made her feel ill.

“Elizabeth?”

Donald’s voice eased the tension in her shoulders and she breathed a sigh of relief. The trembling began again, but Elizabeth felt slightly more in control as she entered her room and closed the door.

“You take far too many risks, being out this late,” he scolded. But he immediately went to her, concern darkening his blue eyes. “What’s happened? Where have you been?”

He’d already seen the blood, it coated her hands. With gentle fingers he opened her cloak, unsurprised at the blood staining her gown.

“What happened?”

She half turned from him before he could see more, like how she still shook, and walked to the window. It overlooked an alley much like she’d just exited, but Elizabeth didn’t see the view below anyway.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “It’s Callum who takes far too many risks. He follows every fool’s errand no matter how flimsy or how dangerous in his search for me. What if I had not been there, watching his house? What if I had not intercepted that damn boy?”

She turned to Donald, who remained silent and inscrutable. Heart clenching at the thought, she looked back out the window she added softly, “He could have been killed.”

“So there was a man sent after him,” Donald said as if he’d expected it.

Elizabeth merely nodded, unable to voice her fear. No matter how close she and Donald had become in the last year, some things were still intensely private.

She shot him a look that told him she knew what he was going to say. Moving from the window, she walked the short distance to the water basin and scrubbed her hands. The water was cool, and she scoured her nails to get rid of the blood.

“There is a way to stop Callum from taking these unnecessary risks,” he added in a somewhat lighter tone as he handed her a linen towel.

Satisfied she’d cleaned her hands of that would-be murderer’s blood, Elizabeth opened her trunk and retrieved a clean gown. This one was also simple, worn, but still functional.

“Return to him,” Donald said from the other side of the partition.

Peeking her head around the side of the panels, she shot him a hard look. “You know I can’t. We’ve discussed this. I can’t return to him. That can’t happen.”

“Things have changed, my dear,” Donald said and stood before her. “We discussed this before Callum cleared your father’s name. Now everything is very different.”

Retreating behind the panels, she tugged the clean gown up and buttoned it as best she could. “It isn’t. This type of scandal doesn’t simply die. It will haunt us forever. I’m ruined; my family is ruined. End of story.”

She walked from behind the partition and faced Donald. “I refuse to subject Callum to this,” she gestured at herself, her face, what she’d become in the year plus since leaving him, “for a future.”

“You misunderstand, Elizabeth.” Donald turned her round and finished buttoning her gown. Elizabeth felt no shame or embarrassment at this, what lay between she and Donald was far from sexual. He was desperately in love with Henrietta, the head of the Hellfire Club, but he was a very dear friend to her.

“The sentiment has changed,” Donald continued as he turned her to face him again. “There’s now great sympathy for Darton and for you.”

But she shook her head. “No. It can never be the same again.”

“Callum has suffered in losing you,” he insisted. “It’s a greater kindness to return to him than it is to keep yourself from him.”

“Look at me, Donald,” she insisted. “Really look at me. I’m not the same as before they arrested Father. Not only do I carry the stain of treasonous scandal, but I don’t look as if I could be his countess.”

She stepped around him, unable to meet his gaze. “Not any longer.”

“Elizabeth,” Donald insisted, but touch her. “He won’t care.”

“I care.” She looked over her shoulder but stopped him before he could say more. “Please.” She held up a hand and pleaded. “I can’t…” she shook her head. “I need to find Dervin. He’ll be more desperate now that his murder plot against Callum failed.”

“You shouldn’t go out by yourself.” Donald closed his eyes in resignation. “However, if you insist, report back to me in the morning. I’ll be waiting.”

She re-tied her cloak around her and pulled on her winter gloves. Donald walked her out the door and disappeared down the street. Elizabeth watched him go before turning for the opposite end.

Based on the information she’d learned, and that from Donald’s sources, there were several places she needed to search for Caleb Dervin. The first several pubs disappointed her, but Elizabeth rarely slept herself these days and continued on.

The final pub, The Throne and…Elizabeth squinted at the faded sign. Did that say Sausage? The Throne and Sausage? Shaking her head at the oddity of it, she stepped through the door.

Slipping into a back seat, she kept her hood over her head. The coins she placed on the table earned her a tankard of truly awful ale and a loaf of bread. She didn’t touch the ale, all too well acquainted with the sort of drink sold in these types of establishments.

Uncertain how long she should stay, Elizabeth broke off a piece of the bread and waited.

Dervin entered. She spotted him only because she’d kept an eagle eye on the door. A tall man, he nonetheless blended into the crowd as would a man half his size. Despite the light from the fireplace and scattered wall torches, Elizabeth couldn’t see him clearly. Every fiber of her being told her it was Dervin, however, and she scanned the tables for who he might be meeting.

Leaning over the small table, Elizabeth tracked his movements. Dervin sat at a table with a man whose back faced her. Though the pub was of an average size, she sat too far away to hear what they spoke of.

Impatient, she debated what to do next when the man stood. He turned to her then, and she fell against her seat, shocked. She scrambled to place his name, but it didn’t matter. The man Dervin spoke with was from the Hellfire Club. Elizabeth had spent enough time waiting for Donald in the cobbler’s storage room to recognize the majority of the Club members.

She stood, added another coin to the table, and hurried after them. Dervin turned left and disappeared around the corner. Elizabeth took a step after him before deciding to see who the Hellfire Club man was, and what his part in all this could be. Whirling around, she quickly scanned the street and hurried after him.

The unnamed man didn’t go far, several blocks to a gaming hell. Rather than enter, however, the man grabbed a street urchin by the scruff of his neck, gave him a coin, withheld the second one, and waited. Elizabeth crept closer, hidden by the shadows, and also waited.

Parker! The man’s name was Parker, she didn’t think he possessed a title; at least the cobbler had never referred to him as such.

Gathering her courage to her, Elizabeth went up to him as he impatiently waited for whoever he’d sent for from inside. “Mr. Parker,” she said quietly but quite distinctly.

He turned to her, instantly mistrustful.

“Mr. Dervin sent me ta find you,” she said, breaking her English just enough to hopefully disguise her own upper class tones. Dressed as a poor merchant’s daughter, she should also speak like one. “He asked me ta inform ye that yer services are no longer needed.”

Parker’s eyes narrowed at her, his grip tightening on his cane. For a moment, Elizabeth wondered if he’d use that on her, and braced herself to run should he swing. However, his anger seemed directed not at her, but at Dervin.

“Bloody hell,” Parker ground out. “That damned bastard told me he wanted this done and tonight.”

Elizabeth refrained from nodding eagerly and shrugged as if she was only the messenger and didn’t know what he had been supposed to do. Whatever it was, instinct told her this was the right move on her part, following him rather than Dervin.

Digging into her pockets, she used what remained of her evening’s coin and handed it to him. She didn’t blink at its loss, despite the fact that she teetered perilously close to destitution. Over the last year, she’d spent the majority of her money protecting Callum and searching for information to clear her father’s name.

“This is all he gave me,” she said and held out her hand with the few coins.

Parker didn’t bother to count them, but looked at her as if wondering where—not if—she hid more. Backing a step away, she waited. But Parker scowled at her, grunted, and stalked away.

Just in time, too, as moments later the boy he’d paid to fetch whoever gambled inside the gaming hell reappeared. Elizabeth didn’t recognize the man, seedy looking, unwashed, mostly drunk, and more than a bit surly. The boy looked around the entrance for Parker, and Elizabeth stepped forward.

“Did you see an old gent here?” the boy demanded.

“He sent you to retrieve him for me.” She handed him the last coin she carried. In a quieter voice she said, “Disappear.”

The boy grabbed the coin and raced off. Before she could think on how to phrase her question to the man, he stepped forward.

“I’m only called on for one thing,” he said in a surprisingly clear voice. “Who do you want to die?”

Startled, she tried to think of something to say. Already she took too long, and Elizabeth knew it. To buy herself a bit of time, she nodded and looked round as if concerned someone might overhear them. She needn’t have worried, and they both knew it.

Slowly, she said the name, elongating each syllable. “Caleb Dervin.”

He nodded and didn’t react as if he knew the name. Elizabeth wondered if he did, but chose to remain silent on that point.

“You’ll be paid in full once he’s dead. With a bonus,” she added in what she thought was a stroke of brilliance, “if it’s done before sunset tomorrow.”

The man watched her with hard eyes, chips of coal in the scant light of the street. Finally he nodded and turned to leave.

She didn’t know if he took her seriously or not, but prayed he had. If he killed Dervin, Callum would be safe.