Even before the circus came to a close, Simon discovered himself desperate to prolong the evening. He had assumed a four-level amphitheater filled with frenzied music, flying sawdust, and raucous applause would be the one place in which his attention would be drawn to something other than Miss Grenville’s magnetic presence.

He had been wrong.

His blood did not rush because of the tightrope walkers or the horses prancing backwards on two legs, but rather due to the proximity of Miss Grenville’s infectious smile and laughing eyes. He enjoyed the circus because she enjoyed it, and he loved watching her reactions.

When she clapped in glee, or gasped in shock, or whispered to her delighted charges that she would love to find room for acrobatics in the school curriculum, every word, every smile, softened the stiff edges of armor he’d spent two-and-thirty years building around his heart.

He was in very, very deep trouble.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, her eyes still sparkling with excitement. “We know how busy you must be, and are thrilled you could share this moment with us.”

Simon wished he knew whether she truly spoke on behalf of her students…or for herself.

“I cannot recall the last time I shared such a charming evening,” he said truthfully. “Please allow me to accompany you all to your carriages.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she demurred. “We haven’t any carriages, and must hire hackneys.”

Of course he had to. Especially now that he knew they would be standing alone in the dark and the cold, waiting on hacks with enough space for all the children.

“It will be my pleasure,” he said, and offered her his arm.

She grinned up at him as she curved her fingers about his arm. “You are a true gentleman, Mr. Spaulding.”

He was nothing of the sort. But he made no reply. Her hand on his arm had quite robbed him of speech. He was pleased that she thought of him as a gentleman, however figuratively. He would strive to ensure she always thought of him highly.

Many years ago, when he had first realized the chasm between high society lords and accidental offspring, he had embarked on a dogged mission to prove himself equally as worthy of the title of “gentleman” as his brother.

Destined to failure. No gutter-class turnip could compete with the sons of dukes, earls, viscounts. They had Oxford and Cambridge. He had a ripped sack of discarded library books. They had lofty titles. Simon’s was bastard. They had family money and limitless connections. His had consisted of a courtesan who counted every penny.

It had never been a fair fight.

His mother had chided him for the one-sided competition with his brother. Why should Simon care about people who didn’t even know he existed? A gentleman in deed was a gentleman indeed, and the only society that mattered were the people one chose to keep close to their hearts.

Foolish claptrap. Of course the opinions of others mattered. England’s entire society was powered by the infallible opinions of strangers. Prinney, the House of Lords, even the patronesses of Almack’s—those were the voices who were heard. They were the important ones. Not by-blows like Simon.

But those were the words of a mother who loved her son. Despite himself, Simon had started to believe. He was able to push his brother if not out of his mind completely, then at least out of his day-to-day thoughts.

Eventually, he no longer wished to pretend to be part of that world. He now had status in his own. A career. A purpose.

And, if he was lucky, perhaps could even have a good woman. After all, Simon didn’t need to be like the self-important society toffs. If he were, he wouldn’t be here with Miss Grenville. He couldn’t stop glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

She was so different than other women of his acquaintance. So present. He couldn’t imagine losing her or the thousand-and-one shared moments at the school. When he was near her, she didn’t let him be an impartial observer on the fringes. She made him take part. Made him be part.

Despite every well-worn shield he possessed, she had slipped into his world and made him care.

“This way, if you please.” He herded her troupe to one of the least crowded exit queues, then held open the door to count heads as they walked by.

At least they had missed the rain. The headmistresses’ two umbrellas would provide little protection from a downpour. Simon squinted into the wind. The sky was too dark to judge whether the danger was truly past, but for now the scattered puddles were clear of ripples.

When Miss Grenville, Miss Digby, and twenty-four schoolgirls were safely out of the amphitheater, he led them past the row of fine carriages awaiting their owners to the rear of the line of coaches, where those hoping to hire a ride waved down potential hackneys.

“Let me guess,” Miss Grenville said, her eyes teasing. “You came on your horse.”

“I did indeed,” Simon admitted gruffly. It was the fastest way to get to her.

For the first time in ages, he wished he did own a carriage. One large enough to fit a fair number of her students…and cozy enough to raise no eyebrows if he and Miss Grenville were forced to sit side by side.

Even then it wouldn’t be enough.

He slanted a glance at her. The rim of her bonnet hid her face from view, but that did not stop his heart from pounding. They suited in so many surprising ways. He could not wait to learn more about her. But he wanted to do it right.

As an investigator, he had unequal power to probe into people’s lives. After he joined the force, he realized snooping into other people’s unrelated affairs to appease his personal curiosity was more than unethical.

Invading their privacy would make him little better than the thieves who stole property without permission.

As his career wore on, his casework grew so quickly he wouldn’t have time for idle sleuthing when there was so many active cases that required his complete attention. The past few months had been especially full. Too full. His moments with Dahlia had been the only respite.

He would let their relationship unfold at its own pace. There was no need to rush her or himself. He was having fun for the first time in ages. A little bit of mystery was probably good for him. It made his chemistry with Dahlia completely unlike any other encounters he’d ever had. More magical.

Now that they were outside and stationary, there was no reason to keep her hand locked about his arm. Yet he made no move to let go.

Neither did she.

She tilted her face toward his. “Are you ready for dance lessons on Saturday?”

That brief hour had quickly become his favorite moment of every week. He feigned a look of deception. “I thought I heard you say we would now have acrobatic lessons instead of dance classes.”

“You’re not ready for acrobatic lessons.” She patted his arm consolingly, her eyes laughing. “Stick with what you’re good at.”

He did his best to look offended. “I believe you managed to both compliment and insult me in the same breath.”

“I have many talents,” she promised with a wicked smile. “Insulting handsome gentlemen isn’t even my best one.”

“Tell me more about these hidden talents,” he demanded, leaning his head a little closer.

She trailed her fingers from his forearm up to his bicep. “Well, for one thing…”

“A hack!” Miss Digby yelled, waving madly as a lumbering, patched-up carriage slowed to a stop. “Over here, children! Youngest ones first. Same groups as before, please.”

Although Simon had not been present at the time of their arrival, he doubted the mad dash of mud-splattered boots toward the dry interior of the hackney cab at all resembled the orderly procession Miss Digby was hoping for.

“Not your turn!” shouted one of the younger girls as she pushed an older student out of the way—and directly into an oversized mud puddle.

Simon leaped toward her even as she was falling, but was still too far to be able to save her from splashing backward into the puddle.

He scooped her off the ground and upright the moment he reached her side, but it was too late. She was soaked from head to toe. Her sodden dress clung to her thin legs as embarrassed tears slid down mud-splattered cheeks.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” Her chin jutted upward defiantly. “She’s just a baby. I’m older. Can take the next hack.”

Brave words that clearly did little to help her save face amongst her peers, now that her threadbare pelisse and carefully styled hair were bedraggled with muddy water. The wind only made matters worse, adding an insidious chill to the cold, damp air.

She wrapped her wet arms about her torso and ducked her head to hide the chattering of her teeth.

Simon’s fingers were already at the buttons of his tailcoat before he stopped to think what he was doing. A gentleman never exposed his shirtsleeves. Not in public, and definitely not in view of thousands hundreds of witnesses.

Such depraved indecency would be considered scandalous, at best. And he had finally gotten Miss Grenville to think of him not as a Bow Street Runner or even a dance instructor, but as a man. A gentleman. A perilously thin façade.

But whatever a gentleman did or did not do, Simon Spaulding had no intention of allowing a ten-year-old girl to catch the ague when he had a perfectly warm, perfectly dry tailcoat to drape about her shoulders.

He shucked off his coat in haste. His starched, bleached sleeves billowed in the wind as he wrapped his coat about the girl’s wet, trembling frame. If gooseflesh rippled up his arms from the knifelike breeze, this child must have been chilled to the bone.

“Is that better?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, her eyes shimmering. “Thank you.”

Boots slapped against wet earth as Miss Grenville skidded up beside him. “Louisa, are you all right? Is anything bleeding?”

“I’m fine.” Louisa swallowed visibly. “Please don’t punish her. I didn’t listen to Miss Digby. Punish me instead.”

“I think you’ve both been punished enough,” Miss Grenville said softly. “If you’re strong enough to queue with the others, a second hack has just arrived.”

“I’m strong,” Louisa said, shivering. “Ain’t cold at all. Thank you for letting me stay.”

Before Miss Grenville could speak another word, Louisa wrapped her arms about her ribs and raced to join the others.

“Your punishments must be terrifying,” Simon murmured.

“Not mine. Her father’s.” Miss Grenville let out a deep breath. “Half the girls in the school expect a whip or a cane every time something goes wrong. No matter how much love I give them, it’ll be a long while before they stop expecting to be tossed out on their ears.”

Simon’s heart hurt for them. “And now you’ve given them a home. It must feel like a miracle.”

“Perhaps to them.” Miss Grenville’s gaze softened as she watched her students file into the second hack. “But I’m no angel. And none of this is easy.”

Simon had no doubt it wasn’t easy. It was harder to believe that Miss Grenville wasn’t an angel. “You’re doing an impressive job.”

Her grateful eyes snapped to his. “You’re the impressive one. You had Louisa warm and safe faster than I could run.”

“Keeping people safe is my job,” he muttered, feeling ridiculous in his straw-colored waistcoat and flapping shirtsleeves. “I’m no hero.”

“Tell that to Louisa. She’ll probably never take your coat off. That was probably the first time in her life that a gentleman was ever kind to her.”

“A gentleman would never allow his toilette to be in such disarray,” he said wryly.

“Then I don’t want a gentleman.” Miss Grenville’s eyes held his. “I want you. Just as you are.”

I want you. Warmth filled him, and Simon was suddenly impervious to the chill of the harsh wind.

Miss Grenville was obviously referring to his interactions with her students, but a growing part of him hoped he might suit in more ways than one.

As he handed her into the third and final hack, he couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to see her every day, rather than once a week. To say good night while she was still in his arms.

He wasn’t ready to allow the thought of something as permanent as marriage to complicate his unfalteringly simple life, but nor did the idea of things returning to how they were before he met Miss Grenville hold any charm.

Long ago, he’d stopped asking himself where he was going, what he wanted, because he believed he’d already achieved it. For more than a decade, he’d worked from sundown to sunrise close to seven days a week. He had a good job. He was one of the best inspectors on the force. What else could he want?

As Miss Grenville’s hackney trundled away, the answer was suddenly clear.

He didn’t want to be stuck in the past anymore. He wanted a new future.

One that included Miss Grenville.