The years passed and the Black Prince grew. In time he became almost as powerful as his father. The sight of the stern prince riding through the Black Kingdom, clad all in black robes and with the Golden Falcon on his arm, was a common one and nearly always caused those who saw him to shudder and bow low in fear.…

—From The Black Prince and the Golden Falcon

She still had the taste of him in her mouth.

Alf watched as Kyle leaned over the dining room table in Kyle House and spread out the letters, the stack of rumpled contracts, and the single piece of paper she’d found in the secret compartment in Dowling’s desk.

He was staring down at the papers, arranging them with his fingertips, a line between his brows. Jenkins had efficiently bandaged the wound on his thigh, despite his protests that it was nothing.

He was tall and broad and he was hers.

It made no sense, not in any social or legal way, but she knew it deep inside herself. This man was hers. She’d held him in her hands and in her mouth. Tasted his seed. Run with him. Faced her deepest fears for him.

Become a woman for him.

Even if she turned and walked out his front door right now and never saw him again, she knew that they would always be connected.

Forever in her heart.

She’d never thought she’d have this connection with anyone—any man—and she was a little awed by it. Awed and excited and maybe even afraid.

But not so afraid that she wouldn’t enjoy it, this wonder that had been given to her, just plain Alf of St Giles in London.

Only a fool wouldn’t seize with both hands when offered a drink after thirsting so long.

“This is everything Alf found,” Kyle said, bringing her back to the present.

Iris leaned forward from her seat next to Alf. Across from them were Kyle’s men.

Riley pulled the contracts to himself and started scanning the documents with Talbot.

Jenkins opened a letter and read. Next to him Bell peered over his shoulder and moved his lips, frowning in concentration as he scanned the letter as well.

“What is this?” Iris was looking weary, her face pale, her voice husky. She frowned as she picked up the folded piece of paper Alf had discovered in the secret compartment.

“I don’t know, but Dowling made sure it was hidden well.” Alf nodded at it, aware that Kyle was staring at her. Was he thinking of what they’d done in the mews less than an hour before? Was he thinking of what they might do later? She hoped so. “It was in a hidden compartment at the back of a locked drawer in the viscount’s desk.”

“And the other papers?” Kyle asked, waving his hand at them.

“The rest were all in the two locked drawers of the desk. That”—she jerked her chin at the paper Iris held—“was the only thing in the hidden cubbyhole.”

“Then it’s probably the most important,” Kyle said.

“If it is, I can’t understand it,” Iris said slowly. She laid the paper flat on the table and they all leaned over it to look:

“A ledger?” Riley asked.

“Not one that I’m familiar with,” Jenkins said softly. “These numbers don’t add up.”

“And look at these numbers at the bottom.” Iris tapped the series of numbers in a line at the bottom. She cocked her head, looking more awake. “If they weren’t numerals, I’d say they resembled words.”

Jenkins glanced at her and then at Kyle. “A cypher?”

“That makes sense.” Kyle straightened. “Copy the numbers exactly as they’re written. I want both you and Riley working on this as soon as possible. Don’t forget the letters and other papers, though. We’ll need to go through everything Alf found.”

He gestured at her as he said her name, but didn’t look at her. Almost as if he didn’t dare meet her eyes. Was it from fear of what he might show if he looked at her in front of the others?

Or was he regretting what they’d done earlier?

She didn’t know, and the not knowing was near killing her. She didn’t want this to end so soon. Not yet. Not yet, a part of her cried.

But then she thought of how he’d looked when he’d gazed down at her in the mews. The glint in his black, black eyes. The curl of his upper lip.

And she thought—she hoped—he wasn’t quite done with her yet.

Iris cleared her throat. “Would you mind making a copy of the cypher for me as well?”

The men all turned to her.

Her cheeks pinkened, but she held Kyle’s gaze. “It’s just… I’ve always liked puzzles.”

Jenkins cleared his throat. “Won’t take me but a moment to make you a copy, my lady.”

Iris turned and smiled at the gray-haired man as he got a fresh sheet of paper and began transcribing. “Thank you.”

Kyle nodded and glanced at the grenadier. “Talbot, I’ll have you ride in the carriage with Lady Jordan to see that she returns home safely.” He glanced at Iris, his expression strangely formal. “That is, if that meets with your approval, my lady?”

“Of course it does, Hugh,” Iris said briskly.

Alf frowned, watching them both. There seemed to be some sort of tension between them that hadn’t been there before the ball.

Talbot rose to his feet. “Yes, sir. I’ll just check that the carriage is ready.”

The big man left the dining room.

“No doubt you’re tired, Alf,” Kyle said to her, still without looking her in the eye. “There’s no need for you to stay up while we work.”

She knew a dismissal when she heard it. “Good night, then, guv. Jenkins. Riley. Bell.” She smiled at the other woman. “Iris.”

The other woman nodded wearily. “Good night, Alf.”

The men’s good nights rumbled behind her as she left the room. Their heads were already bent over the papers when she closed the door.

She took a candlestick standing on the table outside the dining room and picked up her poor bedraggled skirts. A bit like Cinderella, wasn’t she? Cinderella well past midnight.

Except Cinderella had never sucked her prince’s prick, had she?

She mounted the grand staircase, dragging her muddy skirts over the marble steps. Some poor maid would have to get up before dawn to scrub the mess she was leaving. If she were a lady, she’d never think of that maid.

But she wasn’t a lady. She was an urchin from St Giles who’d had to steal, scavenge, beg, and work hard for everything good she’d ever found in life.

It simply wasn’t in her nature to sit back and wait for what she wanted.

What she needed.

She came to the second-floor landing and didn’t even hesitate. She walked down the hallway, took the first turn, and tried the door there.

It was unlocked.

She smiled and let herself into Kyle’s bedroom.

She shut the door behind her and set the candle on a table.

It was a grand, lovely room, made for a duke. Alf strolled around his bedroom as she unpinned her outer robes. The fire had been lit in here to keep the bedroom warm for his return. The bed was a big thing, draped with blue and gold cloth. She smiled as she let her dress fall to the floor. There were paintings on the walls, of green woodlands—massive trees and huge blue skies, with not a building in sight. Had he seen places like that?

She never had.

She shrugged her stays off and carefully draped them over a chair. She slipped off her poor heeled shoes and tutted over them. They were destroyed, the fragile embroidered fabric torn and caked with mud. Such a shame. The silk stockings were mud splashed as well, but she was fairly sure they could be salvaged if washed carefully. And her chemise as well. She might get a nice price for the both of them—secondhand clothing sold well in London. She pulled the chemise off over her head.

Naked, she walked to a chest of drawers where a pitcher of fresh water waited. Did Kyle ever think of all those silent people who moved in and out of his rooms serving him? Did he ever wonder where they came from, what their hopes and dreams were, and if they had any family?

Most masters didn’t, but Kyle… Kyle might. He’d taken in Bell, given money to his mother’s brother and his sons, seemed in fact to care for and to take care of many around him.

Including her.

She poured half the pitcher in the washbowl and took one of his cloths and washed her body and her face. She pulled the pins from her hair and combed out the locks.

Then she walked to his bed and climbed in, stretching in the fine sheets. He’d said he wanted her to be a woman for him. And she’d gathered her courage, her wits, her cunning, and her tenacity, and by God, she’d done it.

Now, now she wanted all the rewards of being a woman.

HUGH OPENED THE door to his rooms wearily. It was nearly dawn, and they hadn’t found anything more about the papers save that the letters indicated a love affair between Dowling and a married lady and that the cypher wasn’t a simple number-to-letter replacement.

He sighed and pulled off his coat. He’d turned to toss it on a chair by the fireplace when he noticed that the chair was already occupied by a pair of stays.

For a moment he simply stared, he was so tired.

Then he noticed the dress, the chemise, the muddy shoes, and Alf, asleep in his bed, her dark hair spread on his pillow, her breasts nude and beautiful, high above the crumpled sheets.

God.

Were he a better man he’d wake her and make her leave. Or leave himself.

Instead he finished undressing. Washed in what clean water she’d left him, and climbed into the bed.

“Guv,” she murmured as he pulled her close.

“Go to sleep,” he muttered into the soft skin of her shoulder.

“Hmph.” She wriggled into him, her sweet arse against his cock, her back cradled by his chest. Then she went limp.

He slipped his arm around her waist and cupped one breast in his hand.

And fell into sleep, blessedly headache free.

“ALF.” KYLE’S DEEP voice brought her swimming up out of her dreams.

She opened her eyes and saw him bending over her in the early-morning light of his bedroom. Joy, pure and wonderful, blossomed in her chest. She looped her arms about his neck and pulled him down to kiss him, opening her mouth beneath his.

He lifted his head enough that she could see the lines around his black eyes. “You should leave.”

She chuckled. “Why would I be wanting to do that, guv?”

He frowned sternly. The stubble of his beard was black around his jaw, making him look like a pirate.

An irritable pirate. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Taking advantage.” She lifted her eyebrows. “That’s something rich coves do to fine-bred ladies, isn’t it?”

He scowled.

She pressed her thumb between his brows where the lines were deep. “Now, what makes you think I’m anything like a fine-bred lady? What makes you think I’m someone to be worried over or protected, eh, guv?” She didn’t wait for his answer, but kept talking because she knew this wasn’t forever between the two of them. Wasn’t something she’d hold for more than a day or so—a week if she was lucky. And she’d be damned if she’d lose it to his highborn morality. She’d never had much in her life, and certainly she’d never had a man. For once she wanted something—someone—like other women had. Wanted joy and tenderness and to feel beloved.

So she looked him in the eye and said, “I’m not some delicate miss. Not some lady who can’t take care of herself. Didn’t I break into Lord Dowling’s study last night?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t I fight any man with a sword—and make him sorry he’d ever took me on?”

The corner of his mouth curled at that. “Yes.”

“And didn’t I get us away from Dowling’s men last night—and made you right happy while I was at it?”

He winced. “Yes.”

She stared into his black eyes. “In this bed I’m your equal, guv. There ain’t no advantage being taken.”

“Have you ever done this before?”

“No. And that’s why I want to do it.” She stroked her finger over his bottom lip and looked into his eyes, black and surrounded by thick, curling lashes. “With you.”

He closed his eyes. “God.”

She could feel his prick, hard and throbbing against her thigh. She wanted that. Wanted him.

“Please?” she whispered, heart in her mouth, running the palms of her hands over his cropped hair. “Please?”

He groaned then, as if he’d been holding himself back against a great tide and was suddenly overwhelmed by the waves. His mouth was on hers, gentle and sweet, parting her lips, his tongue nudging inside to lick and slide. He lowered himself onto her, his body big and hot, and she curled her legs over his hairy thighs. She was spread wide open, wet and wanting, and his prick was a hot pressure on the crease of her thigh.

She made a high sound in the back of her throat and wriggled under him, feeling his skin on hers. All that warm skin. His chest hair scraped and teased her nipples, and she arched her back to feel it again.

But he was sliding down now, his lips leaving hers, and for a horrible, horrible second she thought he was going to get up and abandon her. Except then his mouth was on the underside of her jaw and she’d never known how sensitive she was there. Why should she? No one touched her neck save her. He kissed her, sweeping his lips down her throat, making her swallow, making her tremble helplessly. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do, for this wasn’t something she’d seen done in back alleys in St Giles.

This was saved for lovers and sweethearts. Husbands and wives. People who knew and cared for each other.

His tongue traced the hollow at the base of her throat and she whimpered, feeling so strange. He touched her as if she were something—someone—precious.

Someone beautiful.

His lips skimmed her skin until he found her nipple, and he licked around and around it until she was arching up, offering herself, moaning in want.

He took her into his mouth and suckled, but only for a second before moving to her other breast.

She cried out at the injustice and thought she heard him chuckle under his breath, flicking that wet nipple as he began to lick the other.

She was panting by the time he moved down to her belly, his big hands framing her hips, his tongue dipping into her navel. She tried to close her legs as he neared her quim, but he matter-of-factly took hold of her thighs and braced them apart. He glanced up once, lying there between her spread legs, his face so close to what made her a woman, and said, “Hold still.”

And then he lowered his face and opened his mouth right over her.

She stiffened, completely shocked. He was licking her, kissing her right… right…

She made a strange keening sound because she’d never felt anything so wonderful in her life. His tongue was wet and strong, moving in slow lapping circles against her, and she might be going insane. Twinges of pleasure were sparking down her legs, across her belly, up her spine, all of it centered down there. Down at that place between her legs where he was kissing and tonguing her so crudely.

Without thought she brushed her hand across her stomach, feeling the prickling heat. The wonderful sensation. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see. She was growing hotter and hotter and she wanted to scream.

Instead, when the pleasure hit her, she arched abruptly. He held her down, his palms firm on her hips as his tongue gave her such painfully sweet agony.

When she was limp and panting, her eyes half-closed, he slowly rose and crawled up her conquered body.

“Did you like that, imp?” he whispered against her lips.

He sounded so self-satisfied.

“You know I did.” She licked his mouth, wanting to taste herself to make sure it’d been real.

She wound her arms about his neck and opened her mouth for his tongue as she felt him reach between their bodies.

Then she felt the heat of his prick between her wet folds. He slid up, until the head of his cock rubbed against her sensitive bud.

Once. Twice.

She’d just come. It was almost too much.

She whimpered.

“Like that?” he whispered against her jaw, and she couldn’t quite draw breath to answer.

But he must’ve known her answer for he ground his hips down on her, making her squirm.

Making her want to move with him.

But he held her there. Held her still as he slid against her a third time, kissing her so sweetly all the while.

The air was thick with salt and sex and she was hot and wet.

“Put it in me,” she said. “Please.”

She opened her eyes and watched his face as he moved back and his prick slipped a little lower, notching into her entrance.

He pressed into her, wide and thick. Hot, so hot.

There was a pinch.

But she kept her eyes on him, staring. His lush mouth was almost grim, and his forehead shone with sweat. He’d propped himself up on his elbows above her.

He thrust again, more of him entering her—stretching her—and she saw him clench his teeth.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and stroked the back of his leg with one foot.

He jerked and his hips met hers, his entire length buried inside her. She was stuffed full of him.

He inhaled through his nose and his nostrils flared.

She raised her head and whispered in his ear, “Are you going to fuck me now, guv?”

“Little devil,” he breathed.

She’d braced herself, thinking he might lose control, but he withdrew slowly.

Gently.

And pushed back in just as slowly.

Almost sensually.

This wasn’t fucking—not as she knew the word, anyway.

This was making love.

She felt tears sting her eyes as he moved on her so carefully. So tenderly. As if she were a precious thing. As if he couldn’t bear to hurt her.

And it felt so sweet, so real, that she felt herself open and fall in a way she hadn’t when she’d seen stars earlier. This, this care, was far more dangerous than any orgasm.

This might break her.

Because she couldn’t believe it was real for him or that it would last between them. Not and survive.

So she was grateful when he threw back his head and abruptly lifted up off her and withdrew his penis. He groaned deep in his chest, his hand on his cock as he fisted himself. When he closed those black, black eyes and a sort of anguish took hold of his face as his seed splashed across her belly.

Because then the most wonderful thing to ever happen to her was over.