“So pensive, Miss?”

Lillian whirled around to find a man in shirtsleeves standing beneath the willow. A groundskeeper or stable master. She turned away without speaking.

A chuckle caused a chill to shiver up her spine. “Miss Lillian, is it not?”

“Miss O’Rourke,” she corrected.

The man came around the bench and gave her an impudent smile. She felt breathless and nervous. He’d been eavesdropping.

“Well, Miss O’Rourke, you are to become a duchess. What good fortune.”

She tilted her nose upward, feigning indifference.

“You can speak to me. I promise I do not bite.”

She glanced at him again and noted he had an expensive jacket slung over one arm. Not a gardener. But more unsettling than she’d thought. No, he did not look suitable at all. He looked like the sort of man who would ruin a woman….

Unlacing Lilly

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Praise for Gail Ranstrom

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Unlacing Lilly
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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Chapter One

London, July 27, 1821

This was not the first time Devlin Farrell had intruded on the grounds of Rutherford House to watch the people within. Far from it. He knew the residents almost as well as he knew himself. Knew what they liked and didn’t like, who they saw, where they went and what they wanted. And he knew, too, when events would be held at Rutherford House that would allow him to watch them and, occasionally, mingle. Like tonight. There was not much, in fact, that he did not know about Lord Rutherford and his brood.

Shrouded by the branches of a sheltering willow, he went unnoticed by strolling couples and the occasional straggler. He had little fear of being discovered. There were far too many guests to keep track of tonight. With the right enticement, he might even enter the ballroom and blend. No one would recognize him, and if they did, they certainly would not give him away lest they give themselves away. Devlin was not a man people would admit to knowing.

Gay paper lanterns lit the paths and the sound of an orchestra floated from the ballroom on a summer breeze as soft as a caress to his cheek. Laughter filled the air, along with the clink of glasses, and he knew the wine would be as free-flowing as the Thames.

Devlin shrugged out of his jacket and slung it over a branch to roll his shirtsleeves up. The night was uncommonly sultry and he was not in the least concerned about how a gentleman appeared in public. He was not a gentleman.

“Oh, Lord Olney! You are beyond diverting.”

Edward Manlay? Marquis of Olney and the Duke of Rutherford’s heir? Devlin turned toward the voice. Coming down the path toward the bench beneath the willow were the Rutherford heir—lean and lanky Olney—and a fairylike creature whose honeyed hair was silvered by the clear moonlight. She wore a deep blue gown, turned almost black by the depth of the night, and trimmed with embroidered white birds in flight. How very appropriate for one so ethereal.

He moved behind the tree trunk and leaned against it, watching between the branches, curious to see what Olney would do next. Given that this was the cub’s favorite bench for seductions, would he maul his companion as he’d done to other hapless females on countless occasions? Or yawn and make an excuse to return to the ballroom?

“Then say you’ll be mine and I shall spend the rest of my days diverting you.”

“Are you proposing marriage, sir, or something else?”

Olney preened, likely knowing full well a marquis, no matter his character, would be considered a good catch. “Marriage, Miss Lillian. I’ve never wanted anyone as desperately as I want you, m’dear. You’ve quite stolen my heart.”

The dazzling Miss Lillian sat on the bench and the duke’s heir perched beside her. “I hardly think your father would find me suitable, since I am neither titled nor the possessor of a magnificent dowry.”

Olney’s brow furrowed. Devlin did not know that look. Was he stringing the chit along, or was he truly vexed?

“He is anxious to see me married. I can bring him around to my way of thinking. Trust me.”

The girl opened her fan and began moving it indolently, not an artifice or affectation in the sultry night, but a genuine attempt to cool herself. Devlin could easily see the girl’s appeal—beauty, natural grace, self-possession and a proud bearing. Yes, she was everything Devlin could never have and that Olney would expect as his due.

“Even so,” the girl said, “I think he would not like it.”

Olney seized her hand and jerked her around to face him. “I must have you. I cannot countenance the way other men are watching you, courting you, sniffing around you like curs after a…”

Devlin nearly snorted his amusement. He knew the rest of that sentence and doubted the estimable Miss Lillian would appreciate being likened to a bitch in heat. But then he heard the girl’s giggle and realized she knew full well what Olney had been about to say. Amused rather than insulted? Was Miss Lillian a bit saucy?

Olney straightened his lapels and continued. “The long and short of it, Miss Lillian, is that I am not willing to wait. If father does not give his blessing, we shall make a dash for Gretna Green. He will accept it after ’tis done.”

Good God! The dolt meant it! He was willing to wed the girl just to bed her. Well, why not? That was as good a reason to marry as any, as far as Devlin knew. The Rutherford heir did not need a dowry, nor did he require a titled bride. If she came with connections, that would be enough. But the girl’s next words dashed that conclusion.

“I can only offer you a mediocre dowry, and we have lived so long in Ireland that we have no connections but there. Indeed, we only know a handful of people in town. I have nothing to offer you.”

Olney stood, gazing down his long nose at a girl he would certainly consider his social inferior. Even at this distance, his desire was clear. “Father’s health is flagging. Marry me, and you will be a duchess one day soon. At the least, you will be a marchioness the moment you marry me. Grace my home, my table and my bed, and I will not ask anything more of you. But I must have you.”

The old man was ailing? Then time was growing short. Drat. Devlin would have to make a move soon if he was to succeed.

Miss Lillian’s pause disappointed Devlin. The prospect of being a duchess was undoubtedly more than any woman in her position could resist, but he’d hoped she would prove different. Yes, he would very much like to see Edward Manlay thwarted.

“I am mindful of the honor you have done me, Lord Olney, but good sense urges me to decline.”

“I will have you, father’s consent or not.”

The arrogant bastard took her hand and lifted her to her feet so that he could crush her against his chest. Devlin held his breath. He would like to rescue her, but he never interfered, never gave his presence away. The coy chit would have to defend herself.

She pushed against Olney’s chest with determination but she was no match for him. He subdued her quickly. Too quickly? She ceased her struggles and allowed Olney to kiss her, though he’d have wagered a good sum that she did not give him access to the full sweetness of her mouth. Clever girl. Keep him wanting more. He was liking this Miss Lillian more and more by the moment.

Satisfied with her tentative surrender, Olney loosened his hold and she stepped back. Had she known he would release her if she granted the kiss? Canny, coy and saucy—a lethal combination for a man like Olney.

“I will speak with Father at once,” he said, stepping backward onto the stone path. “Wait for me here, and we shall celebrate.”

Devlin could guess how Olney would choose to celebrate. He wanted his Miss Lillian badly enough to defy his father and common sense to have her? This, then, would be the woman to bear the Rutherford heir? Ah, he’d waited patiently for years for something like this—and just in time, given that the old man was ailing. What a stroke of good luck this was—and one not to be squandered.

Lilly heaved a long sigh as she sank to the little stone bench again, watching Lord Olney disappear through the French windows to go find his father. He’d been most persuasive. She hadn’t meant to encourage him, nor had she intended to aim as high as a marquis or a duke, but when faced with the possibility, she’d been hard-pressed to deny him. Her every instinct told her to proceed with caution, but her intellect told her that such a marriage to the Rutherford heir could be salvation for the O’Rourkes. And he certainly treated her well enough.

Life since coming to London had been such a trial. Her poor sisters! Cora dead by betrayal, Eugenia withdrawn to the point of seclusion and Isabella wed suddenly by license to the infamous “Lord Libertine” even before their mourning period was over. As Lady Vandecamp, their sponsor in London, had said, what was to become of them if something drastic was not done? That “something” had fallen to Lilly.

Her union with a marquis and future duke could be just the solution they needed to salvage what was left of the family’s reputation and future. If her marriage to a duke did not stop the ton’s doubts, it would certainly stop their gossip.

Although she was not wildly in love with Olney, her mother had told her that love comes with time. She supposed she could wait. But, so far, all that Lilly had been able to see was that love was just another word for treachery. It had gotten Cora killed and Bella married to an unsuitable man.

“So pensive, miss?”

She gasped and whirled around to find a man in shirtsleeves standing beneath the willow. A groundskeeper or stable master. He’d frightened her half to death! But he was still a stranger, and if she’d learned nothing else in London, she’d learned to be wary of strangers. Especially one as wholly masculine and attractive as this one. She turned away without speaking.

A deep chuckle caused a little chill of foreboding to skitter up her spine. “Miss Lillian, is it not?”

“Miss O’Rourke,” she corrected without turning.

“O’Rourke, eh? So I was right to think you have a lilt in your voice. Subtle, though, as if your tutors might have schooled you not to show your roots.”

Was he suggesting that she was trying to hide her Irish blood? “I am not ashamed of my heritage, sir. No one has coached me. My mother is English and my father…But this is none of your business. I have no need to explain myself to a stranger.”

The man came around the bench and gave her an impudent smile. She felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach, all breathless and nervous. And besides, he’d been eavesdropping. How…how déclassé.

“Top of the island, I’d say. Northern and Scottish influence. Belfast?”

She gaped at him. How could he know such things? She was from Belfast, but she’d never admit it to him.

“Yes, Belfast. Well, Miss O’Rourke, you seem to be coming up in the world, eh? By design? Or serendipity?”

She tilted her nose upward, feigning sublime indifference.

“You can speak to me, Miss O’Rourke. I promise I do not bite.”

She glanced at him again and noted that he had a well-cut expensive jacket slung over one arm and an intricately tied cravat at his throat. Not a gardener, then. But more unsettling than she’d thought at first. He was tall, had very dark hair, a strong jaw lined with equally dark stubble and the most astonishing blue-gray eyes she’d ever seen. And more subtle, there was a challenge veiled in those eyes. Something almost angry. Something dangerous.

“We have not been introduced,” she reminded.

He looked around and shrugged. “I do not see anyone to perform that task.”

And yet, she noted, he did not give his name or his business here. She glanced away again, hoping he would recognize a cut when it was given. Another time, under different circumstances, she might have ignored propriety and…No. She wouldn’t have. He did not look suitable at all. He looked…like the sort of man who had ruined her sisters.

“So,” he said, apparently undaunted by her snub. “You are to become a duchess. What good fortune for you.”

“It is all I have dreamed of since I was a child, sir.” She sniffed. “And the good fortune is all his.”

He laughed outright this time. “’Tis always wise not to sell oneself short, but an inflated opinion of one’s own worth might be just as bad.”

Oh! Was he suggesting that she was not worthy of Edward Manlay, the Marquis of Olney? “Are you a friend of his, then, come to save him from my social-climbing grasp?”

“No friend of his, Miss O’Rourke, and thus I suppose I ought just to leave him to you.”

Heat swept up from her toes. Could she even count the number of veiled—and not so veiled—insults he’d delivered in the course of scant minutes?

“Denial, eh?” He posed a thoughtful look. “Is that what makes the heart grow fonder? Have you considered if he would propose if you had given him what he wanted?”

“I am not certain I will give him what he wants even after we are wed.” She lifted her nose in the air and turned away, dismissing him once and for all.

The insufferable man roared with laughter this time. “Dear Lord! You are so pitifully naive, Miss O’Rourke. Do you know what kind of man Olney really is? Not the eager oaf who just pawed you, but the man he is when there is nothing to stop him? And, alas, when you wed him, there will be, quite literally, nothing to stop him.”

“How dare you presume to know his mind, or his nature!”

“As you say, Miss O’Rourke.” He bowed, an elegant and graceful move for one so large. “We shall meet again, and I shall look forward to hearing your experience in dealing with Olney. No doubt you will be sadder, but wiser.”

“Is that a threat, sir?”

“Take it as you will, miss, but take it you will.” And with those words, he departed, merging with the shadows and leaving her quite unsettled.

A glimpse of Olney returning along the garden path ended Devlin’s interview of Miss Lillian O’Rourke rather abruptly. Alas, it would never do to run into the cub. As doubtful as it was that Olney would remember Devlin after twenty years, it was a risk Devlin was not willing to take.

A pity his interview had been cut short, though, since he’d been quite amused by his conversation with Miss O’Rourke. And quite drawn by her natural appeal. There was something compelling in those unusual blue-green eyes of hers. Something hidden and mysterious. Alas, that had to be his imagination. Miss O’Rourke was far too young and far too gently born to have a “past.”

He resumed his position behind the ancient willow, wondering what verdict Rutherford had given. Yea? Or nay? Was the lovely Miss Lillian about to become the Marchioness of Olney? Soon, if Olney had been telling the truth, to be the Duchess of Rutherford? Though she couldn’t know it, Devlin’s own future hinged on the answer.

“I am to ask you if you wouldn’t be content with a generous sum settled upon you and your family to make yourself available to me for as long as I pleased.”

A mistress? How would the proud minx answer that?

She blinked. Several times. “Lord Olney, you cannot mean what I think you meant. You cannot be suggesting…”

Olney shrugged. “I told him you would not consent, but I promised I’d put the proposition to you.”

So, Olney considered Miss O’Rourke inferior, but knew she would not consent to an illicit liaison. And he obviously wanted her for more than his usual single conquest, else he’d have forced her, as he’d forced others against their will, if the whispers were true. Better and better. A plan so devious that it would pierce Olney’s pride for the rest of his life and embarrass Rutherford began to take shape in Devlin’s mind.

“You may tell him that you made that insulting offer, and that I refused. In fact, I refuse you, your lordship.”

“What? But why?”

“That you could even make such an offer tells me that the ‘tender regard’ you have professed does not extend to my best interests. Only yours.”

“Here now, Miss Lillian! Did I not say that my father bade me to ask? Have I not been willing to wed you all along?” Olney’s smile betrayed his father’s verdict. He sat beside Miss O’Rourke and took her hand. “I will not say that my father was pleased, my dear, but pending your refusal to what he termed ‘a more suitable arrangement,’ he gave his consent.”

“Then…then he was disappointed in my dowry?”

The cub laughed. “My dear, the dowry was less a consideration than your…ah, humble origins. Father had pinned his hopes on a merger with a more prominent family.”

Even from his position, Devlin could see Miss O’Rourke’s deep flush. That, at least, he could understand and sympathize with. He’d spent a lifetime with an even worse taunt than “humble origins.”

Devlin grinned when Miss Lillian contrived to look mollified, though the outcome had never been in doubt. No chit would refuse a marriage offer from the Rutherford heir. In fact, he was considered by those who did not know his true nature to be a stellar catch for any ambitious miss.

“What else did your father say?”

“Come, Miss Lillian. You may call me Edward now that we are betrothed.”

“Are we betrothed?”

“We shall be on the morrow. Lord and Lady Vandecamp are shut in the library with Father at the moment, discussing the details. They are your sponsors, are they not? Lady Vandecamp said she would put the offer to your mother tomorrow. And, if all is agreeable, the first banns will be read as soon as can be. Just think! We should be married by the eighteenth of next month.”

“S-so soon?”

“Come. Do not go all missish on me now, Miss Lillian. In just over three weeks’ time, you will be the Marchioness of Olney. We shall have such a wedding night as the gods would envy. You will lack for nothing, my dear.”

Then why did she not look happier, Devlin wondered. She had dropped her gaze and would not meet the cub’s eyes. More coyness? No doubt Olney had expected her to sigh and swoon into his arms to seal their bargain with a kiss. Miss Lillian, it would seem, knew how to keep her suitor eager to advance.

“Yes. Yes, of course…Edward.”

“Three endless weeks. How shall I wait that long, Lillian?”

And before she could answer, Olney took matters into his own hands. He pulled her against his chest and crushed her to him, pressing his lips to hers in an even more forceful manner than he had earlier. Miss Lillian twisted, her arms caught between them. Olney was more determined than last time and did not release her. The kiss deepened.

Devlin’s hands twitched. He longed to wrap them around the cub’s throat and squeeze. He’d heard of Olney’s cruelty to women from the demireps and courtesans who served the elite. Olney and his father were both infamous in those circles.

“Come now, have I not paid the price for a kiss? Give me another taste of what I might expect.”

She pushed herself backward, opening a gap between them. Olney, however, used the maneuver to his advantage. Tightening one arm around her waist, he used the other to cup her breast and squeeze. Devlin could hear the terror in her outraged squeal. His fingers curled into fists and he tensed to go forward.

Miss Lillian countered Olney’s ploy by bringing her slipper down sharply on his foot. “Release me! How dare you presume such familiarity?”

“’Twill not soon matter. Give over, Lillian.”

“If several weeks will not matter, then you can wait, my lord.”

“Or what?” He pulled her waist against him and pressed her hips into his groin. “Will you cut me? Refuse to marry me?”

Would she denounce him for his boorish behavior? Would she vow not to marry such a rough-handed brute? Could she even begin to see what life with Olney would be? A part of Devlin hoped she would recant, even though that would confound his own plan to use her. But a part of him was still disappointed when she answered.

“I…I only wish to do what is proper. We should wait until we are married for such intimacies.”

Olney leaned toward her, his hand still on her breast. “Very well, Lillian. I value your purity, so I will wait. But I expect you to be pristine on our wedding night.”

He released her and straightened the lapels of his jacket before offering his arm to take her back to the ball. With only the slightest hesitation, she took it.

Devlin watched them go, the clue into Olney’s thinking giving rise to a new and better plan in his mind. He’d need a bit of time to make the arrangements, but he could accomplish it all before the wedding. Oh, this rough justice would be everything he’d waited for, planned for. His game had begun at last.

Chapter Two

August 15, 1821

“Devlin Farrell! Just the man I wanted to see.”

Devlin heaved a deep sigh and looked to the side to find James Hunter had occupied a chair at the table next to his. This could not be good. Whenever a Hunter came to see him, it meant problems. “What is it, Jamie?”

“Good to see you, too, Dev.” Jamie took a deep drink of ale from his tankard before he spoke again, scanning the barroom as if looking for trouble. “But as it happens, I do need something from you.”

Devlin stood and tilted his head toward the back passageway. After he unlocked his office door, he left it ajar for Hunter, who he knew would follow in another minute or two. Hunter, it seemed, was no more anxious for people to know that he associated with Devlin than Devlin was. He took two glasses and a bottle of excellent rye whiskey from the cabinet behind him, poured a measure in each glass, then sat back to wait.

A few minutes later, Hunter slipped through the office door and closed it behind him. “You’re a complicated man to see,” he said. “I meet most of my contacts at their club.”

Devlin snorted. “I doubt I’d be admitted to one of your clubs unless I was carrying the coal scuttle. You have to go slumming if you want to see me, Hunter.”

Despite his excellent instincts for survival, Devlin liked James Hunter. The man worked for the Home Office as a clandestine operative, he was honest and straightforward, and he never interfered with Devlin’s business. But, as a younger son of an earl, he was certainly a member of the ton, and consorting with society could give Devlin a bad name in Whitechapel.

“Farrell’s is the best of the Whitechapel gin houses, Dev. At least I know I won’t go blind drinking what you serve. In fact, if it was in Holborn or Mayfair, it would be quite a respectable place.”

“Aye? Well, it’s not in Mayfair. And neither am I. I’m a Whitechapel gutter rat, and here I’ll stay. But did you not see the sign outside? I’ve changed the name to The Crown and Bear.”

Hunter shrugged. “It’s your business and your life.”

“What do you need, Hunter?”

His guest sipped his whiskey and looked thoughtful. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for your assistance last month at the chapel on the old Ballinger estate. We could never have stopped the Blood Wyvern Brotherhood without your assistance, and my brother would be dead without your help.”

Devlin sipped again, remembering the incident. A degenerate group of peers looking for excitement had made a game of human sacrifice and Devlin had been drawn into the scheme by those trying to stop it—James Hunter and his brothers. “It wasn’t a fair fight. If I hadn’t thrown him a sword, someone else would have.”

“No one else had one,” Hunter reminded him.

“I am no hero, Hunter. Don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

Jamie gave him a wry grin. “If you say so, Dev. But you didn’t have to be there. Did you?”

“I felt some complicity since I told you where to find the bastards.”

“If I recall correctly, you mentioned that you had your own reasons for being there.”

Damn! He knew he would live to regret those unguarded words. “That’s my business, Hunter.”

“And I won’t interfere. But my investigation is not finished. We disbanded the bloody Brotherhood, but we did not capture them all. Since they were disguised by their robes, we cannot be certain we even know everyone involved.”

“They scattered like cockroaches in the sunlight.” Devlin chuckled. “They won’t surface again for a very long time.”

“And that is why I’ve come.”

“You want me to flush them out?”

“Aye. The problem is in bringing them in. We know some of those involved, but they are lying low until the affair blows over. It will not blow over. These men are murderers and must be dealt with. We suspect some of them may be hiding in the rookeries. Thieves Kitchen. And that’s where you come in. You know things, Dev. You hear things. People will talk to you because they trust you. See what you can learn.”

Devlin shook his head. “I’ve grown accustomed to my neck the way it is. I do not need it broken.”

“Does it not bother you that Henley got away? Or that Lord Elwood and Percy Throckmorton are continuing on as if nothing has happened? There were others, Dev. If stopping them was not your reason for being there, what was?”

Revenge. Rough justice. He’d waited for an opportunity like that, only to watch it disappear in an instant when he stopped to throw a sword to Hunter’s brother. “’Twas none of my business. I owed your brother a favor, and now it’s paid.”

“There are some compelling reasons why you should help, Dev. Self-interest, chief among them.”

“How is it in my own interest to assist the Home Office in anything?”

Hunter’s dark purple eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath before speaking. “Your…cooperation with the Home Office keeps the charleys from your door. If you didn’t cooperate, their frequent visits at The Crown and Bear could be bad for business.”

Ah, blackmail. Devlin seethed beneath the surface. Hunter must be desperate, indeed, to resort to that. He took another long drink from his glass and considered his options. Refusing Hunter’s request would gain him nothing. Nor would granting it cost him anything. He did not respond favorably to threats. Nor did he think the charleys would be particularly bad for business. The crowd that frequented The Crown and Bear were a cut above the usual gin-house rowdies. He and Mick Haddon kept a superficial peace. And, to tell the truth, he didn’t give a damn about Henley or the others.

No, he’d only wanted to know if Olney or Rutherford were at the sacrifice. And he’d wanted to use that information against them. But perhaps he could still uncover that information. If he and Hunter tracked the Brotherhood down one by one, he might get lucky and discover a stray duke or marquis in the lot. Now wouldn’t that be delicious? Yes, that would make an excellent backup if his first plan failed.

“I have pressing business for the next week, Hunter, and may have to go away for a short while. A week, at most. After that…I might find some time.”

“The sooner, the better,” Hunter urged. “A month has passed already, and I fear the blackguards may be making plans to leave the country until the scandal blows over.”

Devlin laughed. “I disagree, Hunter. A month is just enough time for them to get cocky and think they’ve escaped unnoticed. Give them another week, and they won’t even be looking for us. We shall take them by surprise.”

Hunter raised his glass in a salute and Devlin returned it. Yes, things were coming together nicely.

Lilly sipped her tea, affecting a serene countenance as all about her was in turmoil. Isabella and her new husband were gently entreating her mother. Gina sat in a corner, applying herself to her needlework and ignoring the conversation. Lilly wished she could, but since she was the subject of it, that was not possible.

“I really think—” Isabella began.

Their mother waved her hand to silence her sister. “Good heavens, Bella, I cannot believe you want us to remove to your home. That would be so disruptive when I am still in mourning for poor Cora. Why can we not stay on here? The lease is paid through September.”

Andrew Hunter, her sister’s new husband, placed his hand on Bella’s shoulder in a show of support, an expression of profound patience etched on his face. “Because, Mrs. O’Rourke, we wish to see to your needs and to offer you the protection of our home. When Miss Lilly is married, I am certain you would not want to intrude upon the newlyweds. Your house will be nearly empty with only you and Miss Gina left.”

“I suppose it will be very lonely and quiet here when Lilly is gone.” Mama glanced over her shoulder at Gina and lowered her voice. “I cannot think what has got into Gina. She used to be so lively.”

Lilly and Bella exchanged a quick glance but said nothing. Only they knew of the night barely a month ago when a brotherhood of murderous villains had kidnapped Gina intending to make her their next victim. If Mama ever found out how close Gina had come to death, she’d never allow her to leave the house again.

Bella tried again. “Lilly and Lord Olney will be away on their wedding trip for a month or more, and by then you will be settled in with us. We have room enough, and Andrew has said he’d rather have you with us than with Olney.”

“But why?” Her mother’s tone was querulous. “I am certain the marquis—” she paused for emphasis “—would be delighted to make room for us. When we went to his home for tea last week, he was quite accommodating.”

Lilly was not as certain as her mother that her new husband would welcome her family. In the two months Olney had been courting her, he had given her dozens of costly trinkets as if to prove his generosity. He had sent her poems and letters on the days when they had not met in person. He’d been her most ardent suitor by far—almost inappropriately so. But never once had he indicated that Mama and Gina would be welcome to stay in their home once they were wed, and though her mother was delighted that Lilly would be a duchess someday, Olney’s parents could not forget that her family came from “humble origins.” Which always begged the question—why had he stooped so low as to propose marriage to her?

That odious man in the garden the night of Olney’s proposal was likely right. Olney would marry her to have what he otherwise could not. Well, as far as she was concerned, it was a fair trade. He would have access to her body, and she would have social and financial security for Mama and Gina. Even Mr. Hunter and Bella would benefit from that association, though it was clear to her that Mr. Hunter did not like Olney in the least.

“Perhaps later you could join Lilly and Olney,” Bella was suggesting. “When they are settled.”

“You are a fine one to talk, Bella. You and Mr. Hunter have been married, what, a month today? Are you not newlyweds yourselves?”

“Andrew feels—”

“That you need the protection and presence of a man,” Andrew finished for her. “Surely you can see the benefit to Miss Gina and yourself in having a male presence to protect you from unscrupulous tradesmen and other bothersome details, not to mention the troublesome events surrounding the disgraced queen’s funeral procession yesterday? People were hurt in those riots, Mrs. O’Rourke. My servants are more than adequate for your needs. And, of course, you will bring Nancy with you, and Cook if you wish.”

Her mother looked mildly surprised. “So this is your idea, is it, Mr. Hunter?”

“Bella and I have discussed it at length and believe that it is the best possible place for you. Once you are out of mourning, you will require a safe place to entertain Miss Gina’s callers and freedom from the cares of running your own household. Surely you can see the attention that two attractive women alone would draw from scoundrels.”

Mama gave him a little smile, almost flirtatious. “And who better to recognize them than another scoundrel?”

“Precisely,” Mr. Hunter replied, not in the least put off by Mama’s veiled barb.

“Well, in that case…I suppose I could always go to Lilly after she and Olney have settled and are accustomed to one another.”

Mr. Hunter gave Lilly a quick glance, and she was surprised by the concern she saw in his eyes. “Yes, you could. And, of course, Miss Lilly will always be welcome in my home, as well.”

What an odd way of phrasing such a sentiment. Lilly wondered if he was hinting that Olney would not be welcome. He and Bella had tried to talk to her about her impending nuptials several times, but she had changed the subject. She really did not want them planting doubts in her mind. Why could they not see that Olney was a dear in so many ways? Yes, she knew that he would be a challenge to handle, but she was certain she could manage. And the benefit of the lofty connection for Mama and Gina was immense.

“Gina? What do you say? Shall we remove to Mr. Hunter’s house?” Mama asked.

Gina looked up from her needlework and swept a stray strand of dark hair back. “Will there be servants about? And locks on the doors?”

Bella smiled encouragingly. “Yes, Gina. And you shall have your own room. I picked a bright and sunny one for you, with a sitting area where you can do your needlework or read.”

“Then, yes. I should like that very much. I have missed having you about, Bella.”

“Then it is agreed!” Mr. Hunter rubbed his hands together. “I shall send servants to pack you up this very afternoon. No sense putting it off. You shall be settled before the wedding, Mrs. O’Rourke.”

“But Lilly has her last fitting for her wedding gown this afternoon. And I had hoped to shop the stalls at Covent Garden for ribbon.”

“By all means, do your chores. Bella tells me there is not much to be done since you leased this place fully furnished. Your Nancy can supervise the packing of your personal belongings.”

“This is so sudden….”

Lilly touched her mother’s arm. “I think this is for the best, Mama. I do not mind in the least, and I shall feel better leaving knowing that you will have someone to look after your needs and that you will have the protection of family.”

Mama’s eyes grew sad and Lilly knew she was thinking of Cora, and how she might still be alive if there had been more people about to see what she’d been doing. Mama took a deep breath before speaking. “Yes, then. Thank you, Mr. Hunter. We shall be delighted to accept your hospitality.”

“Miss Lilly, may I go look at the gewgaws? I’d like to find some little trinket to send my sister. I shall be right behind you.”

Lilly glanced at her rosy-cheeked, plump maid, Nancy, then down the row of stalls at Covent Garden and nodded. “I shall be looking at the ribbons. Mama asked me to find some greens and lavenders. Stay within calling distance.”

Nancy nodded and disappeared into a stall selling fairings and Lilly continued down the row, feeling wilted in the late-afternoon heat. Even Mama had decided to stay at home to supervise the packing and sent Nancy to the fitting as her escort instead. It was just as well. Her fitting had taken more time than she’d planned. It seemed she’d lost weight since the first measurements had been taken—enough weight to warrant alterations to the nearly finished wedding gown.

She hated the garment. It was heavy with the frills, flounces, lace and bows reminiscent of court gowns of old, and made her look like a parody of a bride. Olney’s parents had chosen the pattern, saying it was the only design befitting their wealth and consequence.

In fact, she had not been allowed to choose anything for her wedding. The duchess had decreed that, since the O’Rourkes were new to town, they would not have the slightest idea about who should be invited, what to do or how to proceed. The duchess had handled it all. Mama had been relieved. Lilly, however, was growing very tired of their interference and the constant harping on their consequence in society and wondered if she was cut out to be a marchioness, let alone a duchess.

But it was too late to turn back now. Her future in-laws would just have to accept her as she was. She was committed to her course and nothing could change that. She had remained resolute in the whirlwind of the past three weeks because of Mama’s delight in such a good match and the thought that Gina would have her pick of men. That was all she cared about.

Of course, she could find happiness with Olney.

She blew a drooping strand of hair away from her face as she looked down to inspect a row of rainbow-colored ribbons. She found the exact shade of lavender her mother wanted and asked the merchant to cut a length. The green she found was near to Mama’s shade, but a bit lighter. Still, rather than shopping in the heat, she ordered a length of that, too. The merchant announced, “Sixpence, if you please. Three for each.”

When she opened the drawstrings of her silk reticule, she was confounded. She could have sworn she had taken a one-pound banknote before she left the house. “Sir, if you will hold those ribbons for me, I shall return with payment.”

The man narrowed his eyes as if he suspected trickery. “Tryin’ to cheat an old man, are ye?” he asked in a loud voice.

“No!” The heat of a deep blush stole up Lilly’s cheeks. “I promise I will be back. I must find my maid. She will lend me what I need.”

“Yer maid? She’s got money when you don’t? The ribbon is cut, Miss Hoity-toity. Ye’ll pay fer it or I’ll call the charleys.”

“I will advance her the money,” a voice from behind her offered.

She turned and was both dismayed and relieved to find the man from Olney’s garden. “Thank you, Mr…. ah, but I cannot accept. I barely know you, and it wouldn’t be proper.”

“It is only a length of ribbon, Miss O’Rourke. ’Twill not bankrupt me. I warrant you are good for it.”

The merchant crowded forward and put his hand out.

“But I do not even know your name, sir.”

“Devlin.” And he gave her that crooked devil-may-care smile she had not been able to forget.

“Mr. Devlin? Very well. I am indebted to you.”

With her nod, the man dropped sixpence into the merchant’s palm. She stuffed the ribbons into her reticule and stepped away from the stall, anxious to disassociate herself from the scene.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Devlin. I fear that man was about to turn me over to the police. I cannot even begin to imagine what my mother would have done. Or Olney.”

He laughed and she had to smile, too. The very thought of Olney trying to explain that the woman he was going to marry in three days’ time had been arrested for theft was completely absurd. He would be certain to cancel the wedding.

“Alas, we shall never know,” he said. “And I swear I shall never breathe a word of this to anyone. Now, tell me. Is your maid really about? And will she stand you the sixpence?”

“She is, sir. She is trying to find a trinket for her sister. She should be along any moment.”

He reached out and brushed the loosened curl back from her face. The gesture was innocent, but somehow so intimate that it left her breathless, and she could not think of anything to say.

“I am not worried over my sixpence, Miss O’Rourke. I was merely wondering if you were trying to stall the merchant.”

“It is true, sir. If Mama had not asked for ribbons, I would be home now.”

“Ah, they are for your mother? I thought the green to be a perfect shade for you.” He took her arm. “Come, let’s stroll along until your maid comes. I’d prefer to be away from that man’s stall.”

“Yes!” She breathed a sigh of relief and did not even glance back as they left the merchant behind. “I promise you, I have never had anything like that happen to me before. I was certain I had a banknote in my reticule. I must have forgotten to put it in before I left the house.”

“Or you put it in and some enterprising street urchin relieved you of it.”

The thought of such a thing made her indignant. “Oh, that cannot be. My reticule has been over my wrist the whole time.”

“Allow me.” He slipped behind her and loosened the drawstrings with a touch so light she couldn’t feel it. In a fluid movement, he dipped two fingers in, withdrew a glove and turned away, all without a single sign that he had violated her property.

She was astonished. “How did you do that?”

“Years and years of experience, Miss O’Rourke. Accomplished thieves are not heavy-handed. Nor do the good ones have to resort to being a cutpurse.”

“You are a thief?”

“Was, Miss O’Rourke, in my misspent youth. I am reformed now.” He tucked the glove back in her reticule and gave her an impudent smile. “Well, from thieving, anyway.”

A thief? Did Olney really invite such people to his fetes? “Then what do you do now?”

“Oh, a number of things. Look after my investments. Manage my employees. Look for new opportunities. But I am a dull subject, Miss O’Rourke. I am more interested, instead, about why you are wandering London streets without a groom or male servant in view of the Queenite disturbances yesterday.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps I am a Queenite.”

He laughed and gave her a friendly nudge. “Now that would surprise me. No respectable young miss with an eye to her reputation and standing in society would admit to being a supporter of the queen. Risk the displeasure of the king? No.”

“You have made the rather sweeping assumption that I am respectable, Mr. Devlin. Perhaps I am not.”

“If you were not, Olney would not be marrying you.”

“Oh, dear. You’ve caught me out.” She gave him a sideways glance and a tingle of pleasure went through her when she saw his wide grin.

“You are a bit of a tease, are you not, Miss O’Rourke? I hope Olney appreciates that.”

She rather doubted he did. He never seemed to know the differences between teasing and serious discourse. But there were worse things in a man than a lack of humor. She shrugged. “He will become accustomed to my little quirks.”

“I shall pray he does.”

Lilly was about to respond when she was distracted by a small dirty child who came running toward them, looked up, saw Mr. Devlin’s face and came to an abrupt halt. His mouth formed an O and his eyes grew wide.

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean no ’arm. I didn’t know she was yer lady.” He stuck one grimy hand into his pocket, withdrew a one-pound note and offered it to Mr. Devlin.

Mr. Devlin took the banknote and gave the boy a stern look. “Next time, Ned, keep going. Returning invites recognition and being caught.”

“Aye, sir.” Ned turned and ran back the way he’d come.

Lilly looked at him in amazement. “Is that my banknote? Are you teaching the boy to steal, Mr. Devlin?”

“No. I was teaching him not to get caught.”

“Perhaps he should be, if he is taking other people’s belongings.”

“I might agree with you, Miss O’Rourke, if I did not know that he will not eat tonight if he does not steal. Nor will he have a place to lay his head.”

“Surely his parents—”

“He does not know his father, and his mother…well, shall we say she is not interested in her son?”

“But she is responsible for him.”

“She believes her first responsibility is to her addiction. Blue ruin, Miss O’Rourke. Everything she can manage to scrape together goes to feed that need.”

Blue ruin. Gin. Lilly shuddered. She could not even imagine such a life. “I am sorry for him, but would he not be better off in an orphanage? There, at least, he would be fed and have a place to sleep. Perhaps he would learn his letters and ciphers, and certainly the difference between right and wrong.”

Mr. Devlin gave her such a look of profound disbelief that she began to question her conclusion. “The street is often a better place than an orphanage.” He presented her with her banknote and a small bow. “I pray you do not think less of me for assisting your villain.”

In truth, she didn’t know what to think of him. His physical presence was nearly intoxicating, and she’d never met a man who admitted to having been a thief. Nor one who commanded the respect of a small pickpocket—a very good one, at that.

She took her banknote and pushed it back in her reticule. “The note is all I have. Can you make change for it?”

He shook his head. “You may pay me the next time we meet, Miss O’Rourke. Meantime…” He tossed another coin to a flower vendor they were passing and plucked a dewy pink rose from a bucket with a natural grace that belied his size.

When he presented the rose to her, she knew she should refuse, but she found she couldn’t. The hypnotic hold of his eyes compelled her to accept. Their fingers brushed when she accepted the flower, and the heat of his touch spread up her arm to make her cheeks burn.

“Thank you, Mr. Devlin. If you will give me your address, I shall send payment once I am home.”

He seemed almost as unsettled as she had been. He waved one hand in a gesture of dismissal as he backed away. “Never mind, Miss O’Rourke. I can wait until we meet again.” He turned and wove rapidly through the crowds.

Nancy tapped her shoulder. “I say, Miss Lilly! Who was that? A real looker, he is.”

“His name is Mr. Devlin. I barely know him, Nancy. I met him a few weeks ago at Lord Olney’s ball.”

Nancy gave her guarded look. “We had better get you married soon or ’twill not be the last we see of him, I warrant. He looked at you like you were a cherry tart, miss, and he had a very big spoon.”

Cherry tart? Nancy’s assessment was unnerving. In truth, Lilly did not know what to make of Mr. Devlin. Why, she had recently thought of him as an “odious man,” and mere moments ago she had thought him quite gallant to come to her rescue. But perhaps Nancy was right. She had better marry Olney soon, before her vague misgivings took root.

Chapter Three

Devlin separated his papers into stacks. One for his barkeeper, one for his solicitor, one for his valet and his own private list. Within a day or two he’d be ready to put his plan in action, and just in time.

A soft knock at his study door as the clock chimed eleven drew his attention. This would be Basil Albright, his solicitor, prompt to a fault.

The door opened a crack, and Knowles, his valet, announced, “Mr. Albright, sir.”

Devlin nodded and Knowles widened the gap to allow the solicitor through, then closed them inside. A smallish, balding man, Albright looked meek and ineffectual, but in reality, he was a shark. Nothing got past the man, and he was ruthless in dealing with his opponents.

“Mr. Farrell, what is this nonsense about drawing up a will? Has someone challenged you?”

How interesting that Albright would think in those terms. And yes, it was a very distinct possibility someone would, considering what he was about to do. Nonetheless, Albright’s impertinence should not be indulged. “I am simply trying to tie up loose strings before I turn my attention to other matters.” He gestured to the chair across the desk from him.

Albright gave him a sharp look as he sat down, opened his portfolio and withdrew a lead pencil. “Give me the particulars and I shall have it drawn up immediately. If it is not complicated, I should have it ready for signature tomorrow.”

“Not in the least complicated. First, I wish to leave the gin house, both business and building, to Knowles.”

“The valet? But what does he know of running a gin house?”

“We’ve lived above it for five years now, Albright. Do you think he’s absorbed nothing?”

Albright looked around and Devlin knew he was assessing his apartments above The Crown and Bear. He’d said on more than one occasion that he found Mayfair quality above a Whitechapel slum to be a poor investment. But Devlin liked living above his business. He hadn’t acquired wealth by delegating responsibility to others. No, he’d learned early to cling tight to what was his.

“The contents, as well?” Albright asked.

“Everything as it stands at the moment I cease to breathe.”

“Mr. Farrell, the furnishings alone must be worth—”

“As it stands,” Devlin repeated.

He waited until Albright finished making his notes, then continued. “My investment portfolio to Mick Hadden.”

“Why, that’s—”

“He wasn’t always a barkeeper, Albright. Michael Haddon. M-i-c-h—”

“I can spell Michael, sir. And what of your cash accounts?”

Devlin turned in his chair and gazed out his window to the teeming street below. He lived in the midst of poverty and squalor. There was no way to end it, and he hadn’t enough to make a scintilla of difference to the inhabitants of Whitechapel. He was not even certain most of them wanted a better life. But a few did. And he’d already made provisions for them.

Had his own mother had the wherewithal, she’d have gone back to Wiltshire when she’d found she was expecting him. Instead she’d been discharged into the Whitechapel rookeries to make her way the best she could. At first that had meant sewing and mending for a bawdy house, and when her eyesight began to fail when Devlin had been merely eight, she’d done whatever had come her way to put food in his mouth. Yes, even that.

“I want you to look into establishing a fund—a foundation, if you will—to assist women who wish to leave a dissolute life.”

Albright coughed and glanced up from his writing. “Surely I did not hear you correctly.”

“Surely you did.”

“But you…”

He raised an eyebrow, daring Albright to continue. After escaping the orphanage when he was eleven, he’d done many things to build his fortune, most of them illegal, some of them immoral, but he’d never made money off women’s backs. That one sin, at least, was foreign to him.

Albright wisely bent his head to his notes again. When he was finished writing, Devlin continued.

“Open a separate account at my bank for a thousand pounds under the name of Mr. Carson. I shall be making withdrawals over the next few weeks and I do not want them traced. During that time, you will not be able to reach me. If you need clarification or direction, meet with Haddon.”

“He will know how to reach you?”

“Aye, and he’ll be the only one.”

“And meantime?”

Devlin stood and went to the door. “Meantime, I have long-overdue business to take care of.”

“Farrell! Here you are. I’d have come sooner, but I was tying up some loose ends on a case.”

Devlin heaved a deep sigh and looked to the side to find that Jack Higgins had occupied a chair at the table next to his. He’d sent word this morning before his solicitor arrived that he wanted to see the investigator this evening. “About time, Jack.”

Jack signaled the barkeeper to bring a tankard before he spoke again, scanning the barroom as if looking for trouble. “And as it happens, if you are about to offer me work, I have just had an opening.”

Jack had been one of the best of the Bow Street Runners, knew the rules of the Home Office and knew how to break them. Too bad he hadn’t known how to avoid getting caught breaking them. Thus, Jack Higgins was no longer employed by the Home Office—he was a disgraced police investigator who now hired out to any man with the price. Men like Devlin.

He stood and tilted his head toward the back passageway. After he unlocked his office door, he left it ajar for Jack. He sat at his desk, took two glasses and a bottle of port from the cabinet behind him, poured a measure in each glass, then sat back to wait.

A few minutes later, Jack slipped through the office door and closed it behind him. “So, what do you need, Farrell? I know you didn’t ask me here just to pass the time of day.”

Devlin shrugged, hoping the gesture would belie the importance of the errand. “I need you to do a little snooping for me.”

Jack’s right eyebrow went up. “This is interesting. I thought you knew everything that went on in the rookeries. Why do you need me?”

“Because this has nothing to do with the rookeries. It has to do with the ton.”

“You could still find out whatever you wanted. Put one of your snitches on the case.”

“I need finesse, Jack. I can’t have a heavy-handed gutter rat making a muddle of this. Or even getting himself noticed, for that matter.”

“Ah, finesse. Discretion.” Jack grinned. “This has to do with a woman, does it not?”

Devlin nodded and endured Jack’s inevitable chortling.

“At last,” Jack said when he’d controlled his laughter. “Pierced by Cupid’s arrow. Oh, this will be the talk of the town. Well, certain parts of it, at least.”

“Cupid has nothing to do with this.”

“Do tell?”

“I am offering you a job. I need to find someone.”

“Then give me the particulars of the search.”

“The family name is O’Rourke. They are from Belfast. A mother and her daughters. I believe they have been in town since May. Their lodgings will be a good address, but not extravagant. They are gentry, not nobility.”

“Hmm. Not much to go on. When do you need the information?”

“Tomorrow night.”

Jack laughed.

“Tomorrow night,” he repeated. “Twenty-four hours. And I have one other piece of information that should help you.”

Sitting forward in his chair, Jack nodded. “Spill it, then.”

“One of the daughters is betrothed to the Marquis of Olney.”

The smile faded from Jack’s face. “Rutherford’s heir? Tell me you are not dallying with the fiancée.”

“I am not dallying,” Devlin confirmed, wondering if Jack would see through the subtlety.

“Rutherford. This puts a different light on the matter. He’s a nasty one. I wouldn’t put much past him. And if his cub follows in his footsteps, I’d watch Olney, too.”

“Scared?” Devlin asked.

The pause was just long enough to confirm the charge. “Why do you need the information so soon?”

“Because the wedding is set for day after tomorrow.”

“Do you think you’re going to rescue the girl?”

Rescue? It hadn’t even occurred to him to use such a label, but he supposed his plan could have that effect. “This actually has very little, if anything, to do with the O’Rourkes.”

“Then—”

“A means to an end, Jack. And that’s all you need to know.” He removed a small stack of banknotes from his drawer and laid it on the desk. “Will you do it?”

He nodded. “I’ll be back tonight with what I’ve uncovered.”

Lilly stood at the French windows looking out on Rutherford’s back gardens, remembering her odd conversation there with Mr. Devlin. A shiver passed through her, and she had a sudden fear that she would never marry Lord Olney. That something would happen to tear them apart. What silliness. All Mr. Devlin had done was tease about improving her fortunes and wanting to marry a duke. He’d certainly meant nothing sinister.

What an odd man Mr. Devlin was, a quixotic mix of brash impudence and unexpected chivalry. And certainly more complex than any of the men she’d met in London so far. Of course, she hadn’t met many. She’d only mixed in small groups for the past six weeks since her family had been in half-mourning.

And tomorrow would mark three months since her oldest sister’s death, and official mourning would end. Her wedding was scheduled for the day after—the soonest Mama and Lady Vandecamp would hear of allowing the ceremony. And not a moment too soon! As the day approached, Lilly grew more and more anxious to have it done with. She grew increasingly worried that something would happen to ruin her dream.

“So pensive, Miss Lillian?”

Olney had come to stand behind her and his breath was hot on her neck. A little frisson of excitement passed through her with the sudden realization that her wedding night loomed ahead. “Just thinking,” she answered.

“About the wedding?”

She nodded, unwilling to turn and face him when she was certain she must be blushing. “Actually about Mr. Devlin.”

“Who?”

“Your friend. The one I met in the garden the night you proposed.”

She noted Olney’s frown in his reflection in the window. “I do not believe I know a Mr. Devlin. Did you tell me about him?”

“You returned with your father’s answer and I forgot all about meeting anyone.”

He tilted his head, and his breath tickled her ear. “Ah, well. Never mind, m’dear. He could be a friend of my father’s. Perhaps he was invited to the wedding. If you see him, you must introduce us.”

The wedding! Since the duchess had taken over, Lilly couldn’t even be sure who had been invited and who hadn’t. “Yes, I shall look for the opportunity.”

“Thank heavens Lady Vandecamp backed down from the duchess. Though your side was in favor of a small, discreet affair, my mother has been determined to make a lavish splash with the event. I vow she has invited half the ton—even those who have removed from London for the country.”

“My sister…”

“Yes, my dear, we’ve all heard about Cora. And, to be perfectly honest, just the mention of her casts a pall over the occasion. Is it not time to put it behind you? After all, it has been three months.”

She turned to look up at him. Olney had led a charmed life if he hadn’t lost anyone dear to him. He chucked her under the chin as he might a child. “Chin up, m’dear. Better days ahead. Soon you will be mine.”

She forced a smile, pretending that the mere thought of such a thing cheered her. And, in truth, it did. Marriage to Olney would brighten her life once they settled in together.

“My dears, come join us,” the duchess called in her imperious voice. “There will be time for sneaking away together after the wedding.”

Olney cupped her elbow and turned her toward the grouping of chairs around the low table bearing a silver tea service. He sat her on the divan and went to stand behind her, resting one hand on her shoulder.

“The most exciting news, my dears. Rutherford believes the king will grant permission to proceed with the wedding.”

Lilly’s heart stopped. “I was not aware that was in question.” She twisted to look around at her betrothed. “Olney, did you not say you had acquired a license so that we would not have to wait for my parish in Belfast to forward the declaration of banns there?”

He nodded. “Yes, but then Queen Caroline died and that has muddied the waters.”

“A delay would be terribly inconvenient,” the duchess declared. “The invitations had already gone out when Caroline died. Why, the flowers, the food, the church—all are in readiness.”

Mama put her teacup down with a sharp crack. “Mourning is a most serious matter, madam. I, for one, would never have cut short our mourning for Cora, and—”

Behind her, Olney cleared his throat. Yes, Cora was not supposed to be mentioned. She sighed and looked down at her lap waiting for the inevitable rebuke from the duchess.

“Are you correcting me, Mrs. O’Rourke?”

“Oh, I am certain my mother would do nothing of the sort,” Lilly hastened to explain with a quick glance at her mother.

The duchess nodded. “Well, dear Lillian, the wedding of a future duke takes precedence over some things. The acceptances to the wedding and the supper following have been pouring in. Evidently most of the ton does not think it in poor taste to continue with one’s obligations. There may be a somber tone and a surfeit of drab colors, but there will be a large attendance.”

“I suppose there will be time to mourn the poor queen afterward,” Mama allowed with a conciliatory smile.

Olney’s mother, always conscious of being a duchess and superior in all ways to her son’s future in-laws, sniffed impatiently. “Mrs. O’Rourke, it is unlikely that any but commoners will truly mourn Caroline for long.”

Lilly stiffened. The duchess could not have been clearer in her meaning. Mama was a commoner—one of the unwashed masses who would mourn the queen.

As if sensing her rising protest, Olney’s hand squeezed her shoulder, warning her to silence. “Yes, yes, Mother. But can we not talk of something else? That topic is growing old,” he said.

Lilly sighed gratefully for Olney’s attempt to defuse the situation and glanced at her mother, praying she would let the comment pass. Unfortunately, that was not to be.

Mama drew a deep breath. “If you cannot mourn the queen, surely you can respect the dignity of her station.”

The duchess’s mouth worked but no sound issued forth. Mama had rendered the woman speechless! Oh, dear Lord! She glanced up at Olney again, hoping he would smooth things over, or at least change the subject, but the duke returned from his brandy in the library and provided the needed distraction.

“Rutherford, come join our little group,” the duchess said, still flushed from Mama’s impertinence. “You will never guess. Mrs. O’Rourke is a Queenite. Is that not amusing?”

Lilly shot a glance at her mother to see a deep crimson flush her cheeks. If something were not done quickly, disaster would ensue. What if Olney’s parents withdrew their approval of the marriage? Olney had already told her that they were less than pleased. Still, to insult her mother by suggesting that she supported the scandalous queen! Insult? No, humiliate. She started to rise, but again Olney’s comforting hand on her shoulder held her back.

The Duke of Rutherford took a seat next to the duchess and looked down his long aristocratic nose at her mother. “Is that so? Well, I pray you have enough good sense to keep your opinions to yourself, madam. Yours is not a sentiment common in our circle.”

“I believe your wife misunderstood my mother, your grace. She is not a Queenite.”

“Hmm,” was his only comment to that. “Well, the queen’s body has left English soil to return her to Brunswick today, and we are well quit of her. She has proved to be as much trouble dead as she was alive. Such disgraceful goings-on! And now…well, the timing of her death is damned inconvenient.”

Good heavens. Was the duke so arrogant that he suspected the queen of choosing a date to die that would inconvenience him? Olney cleared his throat and turned the conversation to the impending wedding. Lilly merely sat with a stiff back and allowed the chatter to wash over her as she studied the duke and his duchess.

Graying, and heavy through the bosom, the duchess was also possessed of a pinched mouth for pursing in disapproval. Apart from that, she was fairly unremarkable. It was the duke who really interested her. Dark hair with silver-gray streaks lent him distinction, cold blue eyes regarded all around him with suspicion and superiority, and a rod-stiff posture made him look as if he’d been carved from stone.

Still, there was something vaguely appealing about him. Perhaps the part Olney had inherited. Yes, the similarity was in the looks, not the bearing. Thank heavens! Then Olney would age well and she prayed her influence would save him from the insufferable arrogance displayed by his parents.

“Are we to be treated to the presence of your sister, Miss Eugenia, at the wedding? I must say that I find her absence to be unseemly.” The duchess put her teacup down on the low table. “Why, any ordinary girl would be indulging in the rare opportunity to shine in society. What illness keeps her at home?”

“She took a bit of a spill not long ago,” her mother answered for Lilly. “She knocked her head and has headaches since. Our physician says they will improve given time. And she has promised to stand up with Lilly on her wedding day.”

“Then we shall not meet her until then?”

“There is only tomorrow,” Lilly interjected, praying that was so, and that they would not call off the wedding now that they knew how “unsuitable” the common O’Rourkes were. “I shall be needing her to assist me in preparing to remove to Olney’s apartments here.” In truth, she did not need her sister’s help; she only wanted to spare her the duchess’s scrutiny and judgment.

At the moment, she only wanted to end the uncomfortable situation and the possibility of further disaster. Alas, the duchess had one last reminder of the O’Rourke’s unsuitability.

“Well.” She sighed deeply as she put her cup down. “Rutherford and I are just relieved Edward has finally proposed to someone. We began to despair of ever seeing grandchildren.”

“Though we could have wished for someone…”

“Exactly like you, my dear,” Olney finished for his father.

But it was too late. The unspoken words more suitable hung in the air like a dark cloud. She stood and gave the Duke of Rutherford the barest possible curtsy. “Thank you for a most enjoyable evening, but Mama and I should be returning home. I do not want to come to the wedding exhausted.”

“If,” the duchess emphasized with a glance at Mama, “there is to be a wedding.”

Oh! What else could possibly go wrong? Surely Olney’s parents would not withdraw their consent? A cold dread invaded Lilly’s vitals.

Chapter Four

“All I asked was that you locate where the O’Rourkes from Belfast are living.” Devlin took a breath and tried to curb his impatience. He was never at his best in the morning.

Jack Higgins sat across the desk from him, his rugged face furrowed in concern. “And I did. But they are gone.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Jack. Where in blazes would the family go when Miss O’Rourke is about to marry a marquis?”

“That appears to be the problem. The logical conclusion was that they had removed to other lodgings. But I was stymied. London is too large to go knocking door to door.”

“Are you certain they are gone?”

“When there was no sign of a light or life within, I picked the lock on the garden door. They must have let the place furnished because all the furniture remains, but there’s not a single personal item to be found.”

Devlin gritted his teeth. No, damn it! He was too close to let this opportunity slip away. He had to find her. Had to know where she would be at the precise moment he was ready. “The neighbors would know something.”

“I already queried them, Farrell. Let me tell you, they were not pleased to be called from their beds at midnight to answer questions about the O’Rourkes.”

“What did you tell them?”

“That it was a Home Office matter. And that cooperation was in their best interests.”

Yes, Jack could make that believable. “Then what did the neighbors have to say?”

Jack sat back in his chair and took a deep swallow of raw whiskey. He’d refused coffee, saying it might be morning for Devlin, but that he hadn’t been to bed yet. “Said they were a quiet family. Confirmed that there were four girls when they moved in, and one met with some sort of unfortunate end not long after they arrived. One recently married, and there were two still at home. The mother is widowed and, from all accounts, a bit vague and wholly incompetent.”

Devlin tamped down the quick flash of sympathy. Perhaps Miss O’Rourke was not as pampered as she had seemed. She had been wearing darker colors fit for mourning whenever he’d seen her. The neighbors could have the truth of it.

“What of their friends? People who came to call?”

“The neighbors all say they did not notice anyone or anything remarkable. Very few callers, they said. A coach or two just before the one sister married. Then, of a sudden, two coaches appeared yesterday afternoon, trunks and bandboxes were carried out and stuffed in the coaches, and the household departed, servants and all. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect chicanery of some sort.”

“What? Kidnapping?” Devlin’s stomach clenched. The wedding was tomorrow. If anyone got to Miss O’Rourke before he did, there’d be hell to pay.

“No. Who takes the servants on a kidnapping?” Jack gave him a canny grin. “And what’s your interest in the O’Rourkes, Farrell? You said you had no plans to court one.”

Ah, here was the ever present specter of his birth. Devlin Farrell was not even good enough to court an obscure miss with neither fortune nor title. No, he was about as low as a man could be. A hundred years ago, his hand would have been lopped off for even touching the hem of Miss O’Rourke’s gown. He gave Jack a snort, warning him to drop the subject.

“How do you want me to proceed?” he asked.

“Find the estate agent who is handling the property, and ask him for forwarding information. He should know where they’ve got to.” Meantime, Devlin had his own idea to find her.

“What’s so deuced important about a batch of females from Belfast?”

“It is not about them, Jack. It is about something else entirely.”

“I think you are looking for trouble, lad.”

“When have I not been looking for trouble? Just find them. Before tonight.”

Edwards, her brother-in-law’s valet, presented Lilly with a silver salver bearing a letter with the Rutherford seal. “For you, Miss Lillian. Urgent, I was told.”

Lilly looked around the breakfast table. Of all of them, only Andrew did not look surprised. “Go ahead,” he told her.

She put her teacup down, took the letter, broke the seal, scanned the first lines and felt a warm flush wash through her.

Mama gasped. “What is it?” She leaned forward in anticipation, her hand going to her throat.

“I…I am to be married tomorrow at eleven o’clock.”

Bella and Gina both drew in long breaths and Mama squealed with delight.

Only Andrew maintained a steady composure. “Is that all it says?”

“No. It says that—” She paused to scan the lines again. “That the king has sent his permission for the wedding to proceed as scheduled and that he could not see any reason for general mourning—not even the shortest period, though he has agreed to a short court mourning. The duke further says that I should arrive at their church no later than half past ten tomorrow, and that he has arranged for me to wait in the vestry until all the guests have arrived. He says that the duchess will attend me there. My only duty is to claim my wedding gown at the dressmaker’s this afternoon and ensure that it fits me well.”

“How very thoughtful of the duchess to take on the burden of all the preparations. She is most considerate of our mourning, is she not?” Mama asked.

Lilly did not have the heart to tell her that the duchess had no patience at all with their mourning. She bit her tongue, though, thinking it better for Mama to believe the best of the duchess, as they would all soon be family.

Mama stood and dropped her napkin on her chair. “Mr. Hunter, would it be permissible for me to use your library for a private word with my daughter?”

Andrew had stood when Mama rose and gave a little bow. “Of course, Mrs. O’Rourke.”

Lilly followed Mama down the corridor to Mr. Hunter’s private sanctuary—the only place he’d found peace since the O’Rourkes had moved in, no doubt. What on earth had gotten into her mother?

As soon as Lilly entered the room, her mother pushed the door closed, turned a vivid shade of crimson and began to wring her hands. “I know I have been remiss these past few months, Lilly. But you are my baby, my dear sweet girl. I must pull myself together now, for your sake.”

She drew Mama over to a chair and sat her down. “What is it? Is something wrong with my dowry? Oh, say we have not lost it in investments!”

“No. No, nothing amiss with your dowry, my dear. But…but lacking in your education. I have put this off, thinking it unnecessary should the king deny permission and unless you are truly to be wed. Now that it is final, it is my obligation to inform you of your duties as a wife.”

“Oh, this is not necessary, Mama. You have been a pattern for me in your devotion to Papa. I do not believe you ever failed him.”

“Yes, but…there are other duties that you would not have known about.”

“I really—”

“Duties to be performed only, um, behind closed doors. The bedroom door, to be precise.”

Heat burned her cheeks and Lilly imagined herself every bit as crimson as her mother. Heavens! In all the excitement of the wedding, she had not given much thought to the wedding night. Each time her mind had wandered in that direction, she had quickly thought of something else—her gown, the flowers, her mother’s delight.

“Now sit down, dear, and I shall have to educate you to a woman’s duty.”

Lilly was mortified. She’d been raised around animals and had a fairly good working knowledge of the harsh reality. She further knew that the law required her to submit. As an experiment, she’d even kissed two different boys before leaving Ireland. Surely there was little further she had to know? But she knew her mother, and she knew she would forge ahead, regardless of Lilly’s wishes. Perhaps a little lie?

“Completely unnecessary, Mama. Bella and I had a chat yesterday. She has brought my education up to snuff.”

“Oh.” Looking disconcerted, her mother stood. “Well, then. I suppose there’s nothing more for me to say. I hope she did not neglect to tell you about—”

“I promise, Mama. She neglected nothing.”

“And that you cannot refuse, however much you might want?”

That caused her heart to skip a beat. “Yes, Mama. Even that.” But she had seen the way Bella and Andrew looked at one another and she had to doubt that Bella would ever refuse anything Andrew wanted. Or that he would refuse her.

“I shall have to remember to thank Bella.” And with a monumental sigh of relief, Mama stood and hurried to the door. When she opened it, Gina edged past her and closed her out.

She turned to Lilly and began giggling. “Did she give you the talk?”

Lilly covered her mouth to contain her own giggles as she nodded. She was relieved to see that Gina was becoming more like her old self now that they’d relocated to Mr. Hunter’s house. Perhaps all she’d needed was to feel secure once again.

Gina crossed the room to the bookcases and trailed one finger along the spines. “I wanted to catch you alone, Lilly, and I am afraid there will be little opportunity between now and when you become the Marchioness of Olney. Shall I have to call you Lady Lillian?”

“Of course not.”

When she turned back to Lilly, her expression was serious. “I shall miss you terribly. You realize, do you not, that now I will be all alone with Mama.”

They both began giggling again. “Not entirely,” Lilly reminded. “Mr. Hunter said you and Mama may stay here as long as you wish. And I hope you and Mama will come to stay with me, too, once Olney and I are out of Rutherford and settled in our own place.”

Gina shook her head. “Mama may have missed it, but I have noted how both Olney and his parents look at us. We are beneath them, and they know it. I doubt they will ever let Olney forget it. Mama and I would only be a constant reminder.”

She wanted to refute Gina’s words, but she could not. It was true, and Gina was intelligent enough to have seen it. But the thought of never sharing a room or even the same house with her sisters again brought tears to her eyes. And then a rogue thought occurred to her—did she want to marry a man who would alienate her from her family?

Before she could think further, Gina gave her a fierce hug and dashed out the door. She dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her long sleeve, glad that she had an errand to do. The fresh air and the walk to the modiste would clear her mind and restore her balance.

Devlin watched as Miss O’Rourke huddled beneath the canopy of a sheltering elm in Green Park, her straw bonnet dripping from the sudden rainstorm. She clutched a box against her chest and seemed to be arguing with her maid. A moment later, the maid dashed into the rain and ran along the path. She would likely be going to summon a coach.

This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. It had been easy enough to find out which fashionable modiste had been employed to make the Rutherford wedding gown. He could not imagine the Duchess of Rutherford using an ordinary modiste. And it had been just as easy to discover that the finishing touches were just being made and that the gown would be retrieved before tea.

So he’d waited patiently in his coach across the street from the modiste. It had not mattered to him who came to fetch the frippery, only that whoever it was would lead him back to Miss O’Rourke’s home. And thus he would know where to find her when he was ready.

But this was even better. Miss O’Rourke herself had come to claim her gown. And better still, the storm had broken as his coach was following her home, and she was now alone and vulnerable—an opportunity not to be squandered. While he watched, she fished through her reticule to find a handkerchief to dab the rain from her face and the action dislodged a scrap of paper that fluttered to the ground without her noticing. He gave his driver instructions to wait, hopped down into the rain and crossed the street to the park at a run.

The storm did not let up, but rather increased in intensity. People scattered, running for protection or for the doorways of houses across the street. Even better. They’d be as good as alone. Her back was turned to him and he swept up the small scrap of paper and secreted it in his waistcoat pocket before speaking.

“Miss O’Rourke!”

She spun in his direction, looked momentarily pleased, then covered it quickly. He arrived beside her and removed his hat to shake the rain from the brim.

“Mr. Devlin,” she answered. She brushed the strands of wet hair peeking beneath her bonnet out of her eyes and gave him the tiniest of smiles. “Good heavens! You should not have gotten out of your coach. Now you are all wet.”

“A small price to pay to rescue a pretty girl.” He removed his jacket and made a canopy over her with his arms. “Come, I shall give you a ride home.”

“Oh, thank you, but no. My maid will be returning with an umbrella any moment. She would be terrified to find me gone.”

“We could watch for her along the way. Truly, an umbrella could not give you the protection of a coach.”

“Thank you again, but no. I would not like to do anything that could look improper. Perhaps when Nancy comes back, you could give us both a ride?”

Drat! He could not drag her across the street and toss her into his coach in broad daylight, even if it was in the middle of a drenching thunderstorm. “Properly chaperoned, you mean. Is that because you are to say your vows tomorrow?”

She looked down at her box she clutched to her chest, then back up at him. “Yes. We just heard this morning that the king has given his permission, if not his approval.”

“You look a bit disconcerted about that.”

“I…was not certain it would arrive in time. I really thought there would be a delay.”

“Did you want a delay? Are you having second thoughts, Miss O’Rourke?”

“No!” Her quick denial belied her words. “I mean, of course not. It will be lovely to be a marchioness, and then a duchess.”

She blushed. How charming. He could not resist teasing. “Ah, is that what you are looking forward to?”

A mutinous light filled her eyes. “But of course. How perfectly exquisite to have people defer to me, ape my words and actions, regard me with fear and awe. I cannot think of anything more divine. I would have to be mad to not want it, Mr. Devlin. Of course I want it.”

Tears welled in her eyes and she turned away. Good God! What was wrong with her? “Miss O’Rourke, are you quite all right?”

“Yes!” She gasped and looked at him with a horrified expression. He would wager she had not meant to say any of that aloud, let alone to have betrayed her misgivings.

Devlin chuckled. “If you say so. Just as well that you are not having second thoughts, though. With everything set for tomorrow, it would be a shame to delay or cancel.”

She nodded. “I shan’t. I cannot speak for Olney or his family.”

“He’d be mad to let one more day pass with you not his wife.”

She looked up at him and he was drawn into the raw emotion in her eyes—eyes as clear and seductive as a lazy summer afternoon. The rain had eased somewhat and Devlin slipped his jacket on before he cupped her chin, removed his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and dabbed at her tears. She sighed and swayed toward him.

Unable to resist, he bent his head until his lips were mere inches away from hers. “You are too damned tempting, Miss O’Rourke.”

She did not move, did not even breathe. Then, as powerless to stop himself as he was to fly, he brushed his lips over hers and groaned. A quick jolt of desire shot through him. Damn! He had not meant for this to happen. He could ill afford any sentiment now. He released her and stepped back. “Olney is a lucky man. I hope he knows that.”

She blinked. “I…I think he would not feel so lucky if he had seen that.” She glanced around, but no one had noticed.

He cleared his throat. “I apologize for my familiarity. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, you shouldn’t. And I cannot believe…I allowed you that liberty.”

“Believe me, Miss O’Rourke, I am as surprised as you. Shall we forget it? I swear I shall never mention it again.”

She bobbed her head in agreement and glanced away. Her embarrassment was painfully obvious. “Where has Nancy got to?”

That question was concerning him, as well. She would be back soon, and Devlin did not want to give her any chance to ask questions or be able to describe him later. “I think we can safely assume that Nancy will wait for the worst of this to pass before she comes after you. I am afraid you shall have to come with me or wait beneath a dripping tree.”

“It is not necessary for you to wait with me, sir. There is nothing you can possibly do for me that I cannot do for myself.”

He could not help but grin at the wide opening she had left him. “Oh, I think there may be a few things.”

The remark was lost on her and she fussed with the box she’d been holding, straightening it and holding it closer.

“What do you have in the box that you are protecting so fiercely, Miss O’Rourke?”

She glanced down at the package she was now crushing against her chest. “My wedding gown.”

“Ah. I wager it is a stunning creation.”

She emitted an unladylike snort. “Are you coming to the wedding, Mr. Devlin?”

He nodded.

“You must tell me what you think of it.”

“At the first opportunity.” He glanced over his shoulder and sighed. The maid, still a block away, was returning with an umbrella. One last try. “Are you certain I cannot take you home, Miss O’Rourke? I hate to leave you alone out here in the weather.”

“I am certain,” she confirmed.

He put his hat on and took a step back. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Oh, I had forgot! I owe you for the ribbons, Mr. Devlin. Here, if you will hold my box, I shall get the sum from my reticule.”

“Never mind, Miss O’Rourke. I shall collect it from your new husband tomorrow. In full.”

Devlin stared at the piece of paper Jack dropped on his desk. The address, written in scrawled numbers, was vaguely familiar. It was also close to the park where he’d left Lillian O’Rourke earlier today.

“You’re certain?”

“No doubt. It appears he is her brother-in-law. Logical for him to take them in, under the circumstances.”

“Logical, but damned inconvenient,” Devlin murmured. “Too bad. I have no quarrel with the Hunter brothers but this will certainly start one.”

“This? What? Is it not time you told me what you are up to, Farrell?”

“It is not. In fact, I think it will be a greater benefit to you if you haven’t any idea what is afoot.”

“Your game is afoot, that much is clear.” Jack sat back in his chair and rocked on the rear legs. “But it is the nature of the game that troubles me. I begin to regret having any involvement in this at all. The Hunters are not ones a sane man would wish to cross. You’ve said you do not have a grudge with Miss O’Rourke, and that she is merely a means to an end, but I have misgivings as to the way you intend to use her.”

So did Devlin, but he merely regarded Jack with an even expression. He could not afford to give anything more away. Not that Jack could stop him if he knew the whole plan, but Devlin had no stomach for a quarrel with no purpose. Quite simply, there was no way to turn him back now.

Jack was studying him and Devlin could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. He was quick and could put clues together faster than anyone Devlin had ever known, but pray he did not put this scheme together.

Yes, there would be adjustments he would have to make, and consequences to pay, but that was unavoidable. It was the greater risk of failure that troubled him. His original plan had been straightforward, clean and sure to succeed, but now it was fraught with possible disaster. If he failed…well, he’d lose his life. To target so powerful a family as Rutherford’s was foolhardy. He’d known that from the beginning.

Apparently tired of waiting for Devlin to tell him more, Jack finally rocked forward in his chair and stood. He headed toward the door, shaking his head. “I’d appreciate it if you never mention my name or my involvement with this, Dev.”

“Done.” But he had one last chore for Jack, and he knew he could persuade him. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew the scrap of paper that had dropped from Miss O’Rourke’s reticule. Her list of things to do and items to fetch. It would be enough.

Fricke was a dab hand at such things. “Take this to Fricke, will you? He will know what to do with it.”

Jack came back for the paper and pushed it in his pocket. “A forger? Deeper and deeper,” he said in mock despair before he closed the door behind him.

Devlin stood and went to his window to look down on the teeming Whitechapel street. Especially after dark it swarmed with men seeking strong drink and an easy mark, and women seeking the same. This was not a place for the timid, and he wondered how Miss O’Rourke would have fared here. Most likely she’d have hidden in corners and avoided the citizens. She was far too well-bred to even understand the misery in such places.

He remembered her as she’d been this afternoon, a bit bedraggled from the storm, smelling of starch and wet straw bonnet. Even that could not douse the fire she’d kindled in his groin. She’d been so completely lovely, so blissfully unaware of her appeal, that he’d been tempted to tell her. But she’d have run from him, and rightly so. His intentions were about as far from honorable as they could be.

He was still a bit bemused by the brush of their lips. He could not call it a kiss, at least none like he’d had before. Their lips had barely met, and yet he’d felt a surge of heat he hadn’t experienced since his first time at fifteen years old when he’d lain with one of the prostitutes who had been a friend of his mother. In the countless encounters and women since, he’d never found anything remotely as exciting.

And, curse the luck, she was Andrew Hunter’s sister-in-law. Hunter was a man of his word, and he respected that. In fact, Hunter had intervened to keep Devlin out of gaol once. And Devlin had repaid the debt only a month ago by helping Andrew stop the brotherhood of sacrificial killers his brother James was now seeking. If he recalled correctly, Miss O’Rourke’s sister was to have been the last sacrifice, but Hunter had arrived in time to foil their plans and disband the treacherous group.

What a quagmire of conflicting loyalties he’d fallen into. Honor his friendship? Be the gentleman to Miss O’Rourke? Or achieve the very thing he’d lived for since his mother’s death twenty years ago?

He experienced a quick flash of sympathy for the O’Rourkes. They deserved a respite. They deserved a bit of peace.

They deserved better than they were going to get.

Yes, Devlin was the proverbial ill wind for Miss Lillian O’Rourke, and within twelve hours, her life would be changed forever.

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