London England, 1816

As far as ideas went, Lady Tricia Riley knew this was a poor one. Absolutely dreadful was likely the better way to describe what she was doing as she picked her way along the dank alley of London’s seedy underbelly known as the docklands.

But it had been days since she’d seen her cousin, Lord Fenton Allstar, the Earl of Dryden, and her search was growing more desperate. She’d visited all the more respectable establishments and had found her cousin at none.

She’d finally taken to shadowing his old school chums and had accosted them in front of Brooks, having first attempted it at Whites and then Almacks.

They removed their toppers, scratched their heads, and declared they hadn’t seen him in days.

Stomping her foot, she’d demanded answers. Her older sister, Tabbie, would be quite proud of her, actually. Tabbie was usually far more adept as both scheming and skirting rules, but Tricia had done her sister proud.

Lord Herman Longly, one of Fenton’s closest friends, and an admirer of Tricia’s, had pulled her aside. “Lady Tricia, you shouldn’t be out like this. If someone sees you, your reputation—”

“I care not,” she had cut in.

His brow had furrowed. “How were you even able to leave your home at this hour?”

“No one is paying attention of late,” she waved her hand as if to dismiss the thought.

“I really must insist you return home at once.”

“My cousin needs my help. I won’t allow him to die for propriety’s sake.” She ignored the voice in her head that told her this mad search was less about Fenton and more about her father.

Herman had sighed. “He’s past your help. You can’t go where he is and even if you could, there is nothing you could do. He’s lost everything at the gaming tables, what little he had to begin with, and now he wishes to end his life in the opium dens.”

“Where can’t I go?” Her gloved hand had reached out to clutch Herman’s forearm. At the contact, his look turned to absolute longing as he stared into her green eyes. She refused to give up now, she was so close. And Fenton was a young man. He couldn’t perish at his age, Tricia couldn’t bear the thought of two losses.

“Tricia,” Herman used her given name as he stepped closer. “You need to protect yourself. It’s a precarious time for your family. Let me help you. As my wife, you’d be entitled to so many more liberties.”

She knew it was wrong, it was dreadful the false hope she was about to give him. But it couldn’t be helped. “I’ll consider it if you’ll only tell me where he is.”

He hesitated, a look of near pain crossing his features as he shifted from foot to foot. “He’s beyond your reach. No respectable woman can go to the docklands.”

Of course that is exactly where she had gone. She’d considered waiting for Tabbie. But in the end, time was too precious and once Tabbie and Luke arrived back from their country estate, her eldest sibling would have her hands full with Mother, and caring for Father, and most likely settling the estate.

And so Tricia had gone on her own. She’d told herself that Tabbie would have done it and so could she. But now that she was here, she wasn’t so sure.

It smelled foul, that was the first thing she’d noticed. It was dirtier in every way possible than any other part of London and the language coming from the mouths of sailors made her cringe, though she tried to hide it.

These men looked rough and worn. She had a miniature of her cousin in her reticule that she clutched in her fisted hand. She’d thought to show it to people in the hopes one might recognize Fenton, but she wasn’t sure she dared to ask a single passerby. And so she stood, rooted to the entrance of an alley where she might remain unnoticed.

Finally a man that looked as though he could help her came by. He was well dressed, balding, and rather portly as he walked quickly by, glancing over his shoulder.

Tricia stepped out to flag him down. If nothing else, he looked approachable and she’d get nowhere if she didn’t ask someone.

Several men exited what appeared to be a pub across the street. Tricia gave them a quick glance as she stepped out. Their clothes were finer than most she’d seen on the street but their loud tone told her they’d imbibed a good deal of spirits. Ignoring them, she called to the gentleman as he passed, “Excuse me.”

She saw his head jerk. He’d heard her. But he paid her no mind as he moved faster down the street. It briefly occurred to her that she’d never seen a man of his size move with such speed.

Tricia bit her lip. It was a nervous habit of hers that her mother detested. She’d left the safety of the alley and was now exposed as the group of men spotted her, their whistles and calls making them difficult to ignore.

“What do we have here?” one leered her way.

There was nothing to do for it now, Tricia realized. She may as well pluck up her courage and speak to them. “Hello, gentlemen.” She took a breath. “Perhaps you can help me. I am looking for someone.” With trembling fingers she pulled the miniature from her reticule.

“Oh I can help you,” the same man said, his leer growing more sinister. “A pretty thing like you, I could help over and over.”

Several of his companions laughed and the nervous knot in the pit of her stomach grew tighter.

Another member of the group approached her and she resisted the urge to back away. She’d be brave now. “I’ll help ye too, lass,” his Scottish brogue was pleasant to the ear, though the look on his face was anything but. It was twisted in hard lines, his eyes dark and dangerous.

“I’m looking for this man. Have you seen him?” she asked as she held out the miniature.

The Scot barely glanced down before he shook his head and moved closer. “Ye don’t need to find him. What ye need is a man that won’t leave ye alone like ye are now. It’s a dangerous place, ye ken. A lovely little thing like you could fall into the wrong hands.”

Did he jest? The only thing dangerous that she could see was him. Before she could respond his hand reached out and gripped her upper arm like a vice. “He…he…didn’t leave me alone. I just need…need to find him.” Tricia’s breath came in short gasps. The fear was making her near sick. She wondered if she heaved on his shoes, he might let her be.

His breath stank as he leaned in close and his other hand began grabbed at her waist, pulling her closer. “What a sweet morsel like you needs is—”

“What she needs is for you to take your hands off of her,” a deep baritone growled from behind her. But before she could turn and look, the barrels of two pistols came into the periphery of both sides of her vision.

“Now, I didn’t mean no offense.” The Scot removed his hands and, raising them both in the air, took several steps back toward the group of men he’d peeled away from. “But ye ought to mind yer woman. She shouldn’t be in a place like this all alone.”

“No, she shouldn’t.” The deep voice rumbled behind her again.

Her breath was still coming in tiny gasps because while the danger in front of her had abated, she had no idea what trouble was just behind. But she knew that trouble held two pistols.

He stepped around her then, blocking her view of the others and shielding her body with his own. “If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen.” He cocked both the hammers on his pistols back, the sound echoing through the streets.

“No need fer that,” the Scot called before the shuffling of their feet caught her ears. She nearly wilted against him in relief but a new fear niggled at her insides. Who was the man she was now alone with?

Several seconds passed and then he finally turned back to her. Tricia clutched her stomach and tried not to sway on her feet as her eyes quickly shifted to the ground. “Thank you, kind sir, for your aid,” she managed to push out between labored breaths. “I won’t trouble you further.” And then she took a step away, desperate to retreat. While he had protected her, for all she knew, he was more dangerous than the group she had just encountered.

“Hold on,” the voice grunted behind her. “I don’t know what insanity brought you here tonight but I will see you out of docklands and into respectable neighborhoods and then I will happily allow you to trouble me no further.”

Tricia notched up her chin and found herself looking squarely into a man’s chest. She blinked several times before her head tilted up to see a broad set of shoulders, then the lean column of his neck. A square jaw and lips far too tempting to be on such a hard man. Finally she met a set of the most penetrating eyes she’d ever encountered.

“I can’t do that,” she whispered. Even if she did trust him, which she most probably didn’t, she had important business here. And while he appeared to want to help her, there was something dangerous about him. Her body fluttered with a pent-up energy that she hardly recognized.

His eyes widened for a moment before those full, sumptuous lips thinned into a tight line. “You will do exactly as I said.”

She blinked because he sounded like…well, like her father, the Duke of Waverly. “You must be titled.” She nibbled on her lip, her eyes studying his features again, trying and failing to place him. But it did ease some of her concern that they travelled in the same social circle. With that said, she’d have to be careful to protect her identity.

Not that she cared about being ruined. She didn’t. She had no plans to marry, so it was of little consequence.

He let out a long slow breath as though he were trying to regain his patience. “It matters not. What does matter is that you come with me and we get you to a safer place.”

She still held the miniature in her hand and she thrust it out at him then. “Have you seen this man?”

Surprise lit his eyes again followed by a sneer. “Is that why you’re here? Searching for a man? Is he your husband?”

“Fenton? My husband? Goodness no, he’s my cousin and he’s in trouble.” Tricia stepped closer then, her fear forgotten. “You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“No, I have not.” He holstered one of the pistols he’d been holding and then grabbed her upper arm.

Tricia had to stop allowing men to do that. He said little else as he turned on his heel, one pistol still in his other hand and began marching down the street pulling her along behind him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are rather heavy-handed?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Has anyone ever told you that you are terribly foolish?”

“Hmm.” She tried to pull away but his grip was quite firm. “They usually say such things to my sister.”

He stopped then, turning to her with one of his eyebrows quirked. “There is another one like you?”

Tricia assessed him, wondering if that was a compliment or an insult. “She’s much more adept at this than I am. Or at least she was before she wed.”

He let out an incredulous chuckle then. “A man wed her?”

Now she knew he wasn’t complimenting either of them. “Luke is quite smitten with her, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sure they are gloriously happy.” He started walking again as though she didn’t tug at all.

They were moving out of the docklands and she gave a little sigh, trying one last time to pull away. She’d worked so hard to get here. “Please, my lord. I need to find Fenton.” She tugged again.

He stopped, looking at her again. “What is your name?”

Tricia bit her lip. “I don’t think it’s wise to tell you.”

“Finally you show some modicum of sense.” His eyes assessed her for several seconds, his look not giving anything away. It remained stoic, his posture rigid. “Tell me any name you wish, I care not, just so long as I have something to call you other than foolish girl.”

She bristled at being called both foolish and girl. She had just turned nineteen, thank you very much. “You may call me Trish. What shall I call you besides overbearing stiff?”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “Ryker. Now Trish, let’s leave before any more trouble finds us.”

“I cannot,” she shook her head and had the sense to back away from him then. “I appreciate your help, truly, but I must find Fenton.”

His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits and a sizzle of something danced along her spine. He looked like a lion she’d once seen in a book, both beautiful and dangerous. “I cannot leave you here unattended. It’s as good as signing your death certificate.”

That made her blink. “I am not trying to be foolish,” she whispered. “But if I don’t help him, rest assured, it is he who will perish.”

He cocked his head to one side and for a long moment said nothing. The silence stretched for so long that she found herself shifting from foot to foot.

“There is very little you can do, I’m afraid. Even if you stand in the docklands all night, you likely won’t find him. Even if you happened upon someone who had seen him, they’d never tell you. It is a place of secrets and if there is one code they honor, it is to keep them. Trust me, I know from experience.”

Her shoulders drooped. It couldn’t be true because if it was, she was going to lose two important men in her life in the span of a moment. “No,” it came out jagged and breathy, and even she could hear the tears in her own voice.

He cleared his throat. “I will tell no one that I met you, I swear. Give me your cousin’s name and I will send a man first thing in the morning to search him out. He is an excellent detective and well qualified at such matters.”

Hope that she hadn’t felt in days bloomed in her chest. “Really? You’d do that? His name is Lord Fenton Allstar.” Without meaning to, she stepped closer to him. “Thank you, Ryker. You’ve no idea what this means to me.”

“I have an inkling.” He held out his arm to her rather than grabbing hers. “My carriage is not far from here. I will escort you to whatever address you wish, provided it is in a respectable neighborhood.”

She nodded then and placed her gloved hand in the crook of his elbow. Strong, hard muscles flexed under her grip and her body fluttered again. Strange, considering she was no longer afraid.

They walked in silence through the quiet, foggy streets. Tricia had to admit that she felt far safer by his side.

It was the wee hours of the morning and he was right, she really should be getting home. Days of barely sleeping at night were taking their toll. With renewed hope that Fenton might be found she’d go home and get some much needed—

The sound of a baby crying interrupted her thoughts.

Her head snapped up and her stomach twisted again. She could only hope that the baby would pass by them safely in a mother’s arms. But it was late and unlikely. Her sister ran an orphanage and too many unwanted children ended up on its steps or far worse. As long as she lived, she’d never understand how anyone could do such a thing to a baby. If an infant was unwanted, it could be left on the street to die of exposure.

She heard Ryker mumble just under his breath, “Heathens.”

The crying grew louder and Tricia saw the bundle of blankets down the alley they were passing. She just couldn’t leave the child and so, breaking from Ryker’s side, she ran to the baby and picked it up.

Ryker followed slowly. “Not that I think it’s right to expose an infant, but what do you hope to do with that child?”

Tricia opened her pelisse and tucked the little one inside, close to her body to provide warmth. Pressed against her heat, the infant quieted. “I’ve somewhere I can take it.” Her eyes left the baby’s face to look up into his. “You needn’t worry. I will not drop another problem on your doorstep.”