Entertaining was not exactly the word for it, Henri thought sometime later that night as she blew on her hands to keep them warm. Her own coach would have been far more comfortable, but it would also have been recognizable. The last thing she needed was to be recognized in this part of town.

She did not frequently spend time at the docks and neither did anyone of her acquaintance. However, when the man she’d paid to keep an eye on Alistair had spotted him heading in this direction, she knew full well that it was where she needed to be.

“What are we doing here, anyway?” Rodrick said and then moaned.

She gritted her teeth in lieu of an answer. The less Rodrick knew the better, for his own good. Besides, she wasn’t entirely sure she knew. Though she suspected. While she’d had Alistair followed, to be sure, she’d also had investigators look into his family’s affairs. She set this up discreetly, of course. Her instincts told her that was what this was about. The hunch had started with his sister—the way she’d discussed their upbringing. The happy memories she told did not add up to the stories she’d heard about them today.

A little digging had only added to her suspicions and had added more questions, fueling her fire. It was not hard to uncover the rumors from old neighbors and family servants. There were whispers, it seemed, about the way the former earl had treated Alistair, the second son. About the strained relations between the former earl and his wife.

Of course, all of this was speculation and rumor from their estate in the north. But then Alistair, the moment he’d taken over the lands, had developed an unforeseen interest in privateering, though no one seemed to know about it except for the Prince Regent himself. She could understand that being kept a secret, but his brother’s death had been shrouded in mystery. Not even his sister seemed to know all the details, and her grief was somewhat lacking. Unless this Marcus fellow had been a monster of an adolescent, it seemed rather odd that his death was so completely shrouded in mystery. Besides, there had been no body to bury.

All of this was going through her mind when she spotted him, or rather, a man who looked almost like him. She squinted at the disheveled, broad-shouldered man who strode past in company with several darker-skinned men who looked as though they spent their time in the sun and not the gloomy, foggy docks of London. She stared in shock as the man who’d reminded her of Colefax smiled.

Alistair did not smile. At least, not like that. This person grinned as though he were a jovial sort with no cares in the world. If the ruddy complexion and sudden length in hair did not make it clear that he was not her man—er, rather, the man she was seeking—that smile made it clear. She peered through the window, itching to close the distance to get a better look at this man who bore such a striking resemblance to Alistair. She had to get closer.

“Where are you headed?” Rodrick mumbled.

She glanced back to see that his eyes were half closed, a flask balancing in his slackened grip on his lap. She held back a sigh. This was her protection. “Nowhere,” she said. “I just wanted a better look.”

She needn’t have lied, really, but should she want to slip out of the hired coach, it would be easier to wait a moment or two until he’d drifted off to sleep rather than explain herself. It was not as though he would stop her should she decide to pursue the stranger, but she was not certain it was worth the risk. Henri did have some sense of self-preservation and as much as she might be tempted to get a closer look, a part of her had a sneaking suspicion his resemblance was less based on reality and more about her inability to think about anything else but Alistair all week. Not that he’d made it easy to forget him.

Shifting in her seat, she frowned while staring out the window as she thought about the room filled with flowers that awaited her. Not every bouquet she received was from the earl, but most were. He’d changed tactics, but she had no clue as to why.

What did he have to gain by making a show of wooing her? More importantly, what sort of man courted a woman without seeing her? Despite the flowers and the gossip she heard whispered about his intentions toward her—that is, his aim to court her—she’d seen neither hide nor hair of the man since he’d hidden away in her carriage and kissed her.

No, the memory of that night would not be complete without conjuring up that particular embrace. However, there had been no repeat performance, and no other attempt to seduce her. It was all for show. He seemed to wish the world to think he wanted her, when in reality it seemed he wanted nothing to do with her.

She scowled at the man who had the audacity to resemble her…what? Her prey? Her…friend? No, of course not. Her rival, more like it, or her nemesis, perhaps.

He was certainly not her lover. That much he’d made clear with his distance this week, and most especially not her suitor, despite what the ton was saying. Not that she wanted him as any of the above. She had no use for any man, least of all one who had no need of her.

She should leave. The ornery thought was contrary to everything she’d been thinking, feeling, and doing for the past fortnight. It was the voice of sense, the voice of reason. It also told her she was being a ninny. She’d been pursuing some mystery, and why? What did she truly mean to do with the information? She shifted in her seat as uncomfortable thoughts bombarded her. Nothing. She would do nothing to hurt the man, nor his family. So, what then?

Her stomach sank in disappointment as the night air lost the whiff of mystery and became the bleak, cold fog it had always been. She was wasting her time, fixating on some gentleman and his mysteries because she’d developed some silly infatuation. Fool. She was a bloody fool. She’d never been prone to lovesick nonsense before, but she recognized the symptoms when she saw it. She’d allowed her physical attraction and the temptation of a mystery to lure her into rash and ridiculous actions.

Oh certainly, she’d had people followed before, but when, if ever, had she ever been so stupid as to follow a man herself? She straightened in her seat, tired of waiting on a man who wanted nothing to do with her and sickened by her own stupidity.

She’d been watching the pub door for far too long. What was she waiting for? She had no idea. No, that wasn’t true, she’d been waiting for him. Not for any good reason except she wished to see him. And she wished it to be away from convention—not in a ballroom and not over dinner at some society soiree. No, she’d wanted to recapture the magic of their last meeting.

“Fool,” she muttered aloud, making her brother sputter and stir in his sleep.

She turned to look at him with a frown. What an idiot she’d been, bringing him as her chaperone and security. It would have been as safe to come alone. When she peeked back toward the tavern for one last glance, something caught her eye.

No, nothing something…someone.

It wasn’t Alistair, nor the man who seemed to resemble him. It was the admiral. The one who’d alerted her to the current danger on the docks and the one who’d unwittingly given an angle to her suspicions. After all, Alistair’s actions and his secrecy might have been linked to his privateering enterprise, but they seemed far more aligned to some sort of illegal venture such as piracy.

The admiral’s talk of an alleged pirate ring in the London harbor had made her senses come alive—a sensation she knew better than to ignore. Her hunches rarely proved wrong. Right now, in this moment, that sensation was back in full force.

She caught sight of the admiral and a crew of his men striding toward the docks. Why? What were they after? She wanted to ask the questions aloud, but who would answer? Not her sleeping brother, that much was certain. He’d be as likely to toss the contents of his stomach as come to her aid were she to wake him now. To her surprise, and her luck, the fearsome lot came to a stand near her coach. Not close enough for her to hear, but if she were to move a bit closer…

Later she would tell herself she moved on instinct. That was somewhat true. Her feet seemed to take on a life of their own, and before she could quite convince herself this was yet another idiotic move in a decidedly stupid series of moves, she found herself outside the coach, hovering inches behind it.

The admiral was speaking, and his tone was far less kind and genteel than it had been when they’d discussed his position the other week. “We find them,” he was saying to his men. “And we’ll find out what London bigwig they’ve got in their pockets.”

She blinked. That was not what she was expecting.

One of the men asked a question—a good one, at that. “Who are we looking for, sir?”

The older man sneered. “You’ll know when you see him.” She arched her brows at the ridiculous answer, but the elderly man was not done. “All I know is, the Night Raider was seen coming into this harbor and it’s been seen off the shores for the past fortnight. Those pirates are here, I’d bet money on it, and if they’re showing their faces in a civilized place like this, it’d be for a pretty penny.”

One of the men said something she couldn’t hear over the sound of a group of drunken men walking past them. She glanced over her shoulder to be sure no one had spotted her from the rear. Someone had. For a moment her attention was split between the admiral and his crew and the man who was now on the other side of the street, near the entrance to the pub where Alistair had been seen.

His gaze met hers and his eyes were filled with laughter at the sight of her. She saw something else there, curiosity, perhaps. His gaze flitted from her to the men who were gathered around the admiral and then back again.

Intelligence flickered in his eyes so vividly she could see it from where she stood. In that moment, he looked exactly like Alistair. The resemblance was uncanny, even though she knew this man was not him. For all his talents, not even Alistair could magically make his hair grow that quickly or his chest muscles broaden to that extent. Nor could he miraculously become a jolly fellow, which this man clearly was.

So who was this? And what was his interest in her and in the military men who were stationed nearby on the lookout for pirates. She made no move to ask, and in the next heartbeat, she could not. The man disappeared around the corner. As she stood there gaping at the spot where the man had moments before stood, two things happened at once. The admiral’s men moved, apparently to canvas the area for something or someone they would intuitively know to be guilty. Someone worth a pretty penny, wasn’t that what he’d said?

As she was thinking it, the unthinkable happened. Alistair exited the tavern. He was dressed like a pauper, not at all like the pristine, upstanding gentleman the ton knew and admired. He looked like…well, he looked like a pirate.

It seemed as though her thoughts set up an alarm. Not literally, of course, but in an instant the admiral had spotted him as well. “Is that…?”

She heard the other man start and then stop.

“That’s the bloody Earl of Colefax,” his second-in-command said. The younger man did not have the admiral’s subtlety and the shout earned the attention of several passersby as well as the man in question himself.

Henri watched as if she were in a box at the theater. She had to hand it to the earl, little flummoxed the man. He caught sight of the men who were now eyeing him with curiosity, but as she watched she shifted her own position so she was out of his view but could still watch. His lips twitched up in a smile that was a pale imitation of the other man’s amused grin. This was far more fitting for the mysterious and quiet man she’d come to know.

And care about.

She nearly rolled her eyes at her own lunacy. Now was not the time to crouch here and swoon. Really, there was never a good time to swoon, but this was most definitely not it. She watched in fascination as the men converged on her earl. The earl. On Alistair. He did not move let alone break into a run. If anything, he seemed to grow even more relaxed as though he were running into an acquaintance outside a ball, and not on a dark street near the docks.

As the admiral and his men reached his side, the pieces of this particular puzzle came together with a click in her mind. Of course. She blinked once, and then twice as her mind wrapped around it and shuffled the pieces so the picture became stark and clear. She blinked once more at the scene before her, and she knew what she was going to do.