Over two hours. Marc had been searching blasted Covent Garden for over two hours. He’d been propositioned by more than a dozen lightskirts, none of whom had seen anyone resembling Rachel’s description. He’d nearly had his pocket picked by a dirty street urchin who couldn’t be more than ten years old. And more than a few someones had cast up their accounts all across Floral Street.

His eyes hurt, his legs were beginning to ache, and his ardor was long past gone. Where the devil was Caroline’s unruly daughter? What if she hadn’t come to Covent Garden? What if she was speeding towards Gretna Green with some idiot? That was more likely, honestly. Some ne’er-do-well Caroline didn’t know anything about and who had warned Rachel to never speak his name to her mother.

Marc had just about convinced himself to start for Scotland and hope to find Rachel and her lover along the way as they scrambled for the border when he spotted a girl in a dark cloak poke her head out from the mews, looking down Drury Lane. A girl that looked very much like Caroline. Rachel Benton. The damned little fool.

Silently, Marc stalked in her direction, a combination of annoyance and relief both coursing through his veins. Damn it all. What kind of imbecile ran off in the dead of night to Covent Garden? When he got his hands on her…

Rachel noticed him a second later, and her eyes widened in surprise. She picked up the edge of her skirts as though she meant to bolt, though where she planned on running to Marc had no goddamned idea. It didn’t matter, however, as she wasn’t nearly as fast as he was.

Marc snatched her arm in his hand and yanked her to his side. “Just what the devil do you think you’re doing, little girl?” he growled.

She gasped and tried to yank her arm free and in the process knocked them both to the ground. And a moment later, a dagger whizzed through the air, imbedding itself into the façade of the building where Marc had just been standing.

For the love of God!

His gaze flashed up to find a fellow all dressed in black with a domino shielding his identity.

“Let her go,” the Covent Guard said, for that was who he had to be. All of London was talking about the fellow these days. And there he was. In the flesh. And he was a goddamned nuisance.

But dagger or no dagger, Marc was not about to unhand Rachel Benton for anything in the world. The guard, whoever the devil he was, had no idea who he was dealing with. On a good night, he wouldn’t want to encounter Marc, and this was far from a good night. The bloody evening had started out as perhaps the most promising of Marc’s life, but it had somehow turned into…this.

“You throw one more dagger in my direction, and you won’t live to see daybreak.”

Rachel had stopped struggling in Marc’s grasp and gazed up at the masked man as though he was her own personal savior. She was a bigger idiot than he’d first thought.

“Let the girl go,” the Covent Guard repeated.

Oh, Marc’s night only wanted for this nonsense. He was fairly certain Rachel wasn’t going to flee, not with the expression on her face as she stared in awe at the dagger-thrower. So Marc pushed back to his feet and dusted his now dirty hands on his trousers. “I am taking the girl back to her mother and if you,” he continued, glancing at the ground in an attempt to lull the masked man into a false sense of security, “think you’re going to—”

Marc turned quickly and lunged for the man, tackling him to the ground before he could let loose one more dagger. Rachel let out a scream into the night.

The air whooshed from the fellow, but Marc didn’t have an ounce of pity for him. He crashed his fist into the man’s jaw and once more into his eye, paying no heed to Rachel’s pleas for him to stop. He landed quite a few more punches and the domino fell limply from the guard’s face and…

Mother of God. Marc knew him. Not well. But he’d seen the fellow at Gentleman Jackson’s enough times, and he’d known his late-father well enough. Honestly, he wasn’t at all the sort of fellow one would think to assume the role of guardian of Covent Guard. He was heir to a plump dukedom for God’s sake. “Hawke?” he breathed out in surprise.

Christian Hawke, Lord Kelling scrambled for his fallen domino and held it up to his face. “Leave the girl alone,” he heaved, trying to catch his breath.

Oh, for the love of God. Marc heaved an irritated sigh. If he hadn’t known the whelp’s father, if he hadn’t owed the man a favor, he’d have been very happy to send Christian Hawke to meet his maker. The jackass had thrown a blasted dagger at him, after all. “I am returning her to her home, and you are staying out of my way.” He rose back to his feet and sent a swift kick into the fellow’s ribs.

Hawke let out a cry of pain.

“Don’t hurt him!” Rachel cried, damned little fool that she was. The man had thrown a dagger at Marc. He could very well have killed him, and a kick to the ribs wasn’t nearly retribution enough. He supposed letting Hawke live was a repayment on that debt he owed his father. But they were even now.

Marc turned his attention to the girl who had ruined his night in more ways than one. “Let’s get you back. Your mother is worried sick.”

Her brow furrowed as she sucked in a breath. “Please, my lord, please don’t tell my mother. She’ll never let me leave the house for the rest of my life.”

Which Caroline would be well within her rights to do. Marc narrowed his eyes on the troublesome girl. “I will not lie to your mother.” Then he grabbed her elbow and tugged her in the direction of The Strand. “Now let’s go.”

She glanced back over her shoulder at her fallen hero and cried, “Thank you for trying to save me.”

“Do you have any sort of idea the pain you’ve caused your mother tonight?” Marc growled as he hailed a hack.

“The pain I caused?” she shot back. “You almost killed him.”

Marc snorted at the exaggeration. “Such is the risk when you go around in a mask, throwing daggers at people.” He pulled open the door to the hired coach. “Mayfair,” he told the man, and then gave him Caroline’s direction on Curzon Street.

Rachel climbed into the coach and Marc followed her lead. He settled on the bench opposite her and frowned at the girl.

“He was only trying to help me,” Rachel muttered under her breath. “You had no right to do that.”

Had he ever been that foolish? Would Callista ever be that foolish? God, he hoped not. “Let me explain something to you, little girl,” he said, sounding more menacing that he meant to. “I am a peer of the realm, I have the right to do anything I damn well want, whenever I want it. And you’re bloody fortunate I was there tonight.”

She scoffed.

Did the little fool really not realize how lucky she was to be alive, unharmed even. “You don’t think your mother has been through enough? You think she needs this from you?”

Rachel shook her head and gazed into the darkness out the window. “She’s not the only one who’s been through something. He was my father. I lost him too.” And then she turned her gaze to settle on Marc. “And he hated you.”

The feeling was mutual. But Marc kept from saying as much. The man was dead, after all. And his daughter was still grieving him. He heaved a sigh. “You won’t do this to your mother again. Do you understand me?”

She shook her head. “I just wanted…” And even in the darkness, her eyes lit up. “You know him. The Covent Guard. You said a name back there.”

What was her obsession with the man? “I don’t know him.”

“I thought you said you never lie.” She scowled.

He hadn’t said that and wouldn’t unless he wanted a bolt of lightening to strike the hack. “No. I said I wouldn’t lie to your mother.” Marc shook his head. “I have no qualms about not telling you the truth.”

“But I just want to know who he is.” She slid forward on her bench.

So did Bow Street, Marc was sure. But none of that was any of his concern.

“I’d never risk going out again, not if I just knew who he was.”

“Someone far too dangerous for you to concern yourself with.” After all, if Christian Hawke spent his nights in Covent Garden throwing daggers at people, he highly doubted Caroline would approve. Marc would never approve if the girl in question was Callista.

“Please, Lord Haversham!” she begged.

Marc shook his head. “I’m not certain where you got the idea this was some sort of negotiation, Miss Benton, but it’s not. You could have been killed tonight or worse and…”

“What’s worse than death?” she countered.

“A great many things.” Was she truly that naïve? “I don’t think you seem to understand the danger you put yourself in this evening.”

“I was very careful. No one even saw me until you.”

What a ridiculous thing to say. She didn’t seem to have a care for her own safety, but perhaps she’d care for Christian Hawke’s. “You’re not doing it again. Swear to me that you won’t, or I’ll whisper the man’s name to a Bow Street Runner I happen to know, and that will put a rather quick end to him and his activities.”

She sucked in a breath. Apparently, this was some sort of negotiation. Just not the one Rachel Benton had bargained for.

“Perhaps your mother would let you visit him in Newgate,” Marc continued evenly. “Though I doubt she’d agree to that. What do you think?”

“Please don’t turn him in,” she breathed out.

“Do I have your word?” Marc pressed.

After a moment, Rachel nodded. It was begrudgingly, but it was still a nod.

“If you break your word, I’ll have no choice but to inform authorities,” Marc continued. “So his future rests in your hands. Remember that.”

“If you would just tell me his name…”

“Not a chance.”

She sagged a bit, which Marc took as her acquiescence, and for the first time in hours, he breathed a sigh of relief.

When the hack finally stopped in front of Staveley House, Rachel turned back to look at Marc once again. “I won’t go out again, but do you really have to tell her where I went?”

He scoffed. “What lie do you think she would believe, Miss Benton?”

“I’m sure you could come up with something.”

Even Marc wasn’t that expert a liar. “I will make you a deal. If she doesn’t ask where I found you, I won’t tell her. How’s that?” Which would never in a million years happen. They’d be the first words out of Caroline’s mouth. “But if she asks me, I’ll not lie to her. I’ve never done that, and I’m not about to start now.”

Then he opened the door to the hack and gestured to the girl’s home.

“After you.”