Chapter Two

Kit, buried in the memories of some people in the ballroom as The Honorable Katherine FitzGilbert, took a deep breath in the hopes that it would somehow calm the heart stuttering in her chest. Emotions she couldn’t even begin to name pounded through her so fast and with such variety that all she could do was close her eyes and hope the whirling in her head didn’t make her ill.

This had been a night for firsts. Or at least a night for things she hadn’t done in so long they felt like firsts.

Things she thought she’d never do again.

She leaned against the wall in the dark and focused on breathing. In. Out. Repeat.

This night was supposed to have been so simple. Come into London, frighten a man into signing away a portion of his fortune for the next twelve years, then go home. On the surface it probably wasn’t the most noble way to provide a living for those she cared about, but then again, she’d lost hope for most things considered noble more than a decade ago.

After all, it was the nobility that she was protecting innocent children from, the nobility who didn’t mind their own secret, dark, and vile behavior, the nobility who would gleefully cast one of their own onto the mercies of the street if it meant another day’s worth of gossip.

She should know. She’d been one of them. The Honorable Katherine FitzGilbert. Until she’d fallen from honor in their eyes—condemned, ruined, and suddenly worthless to her own noble father. No, worse than worthless. She’d been a detriment.

So, after cleaning up after the nobility for a dozen years, not being considered noble was practically a compliment.

Still . . .

She rolled her head to the side and allowed her eyes to fall open, looking through the darkness as if her gaze could pierce through the wall and see the dancers beyond. See him.

He was noble. And he’d seemed nice. But then again, they all knew how to put up a pretty front.

His humor and ability to mock himself, however, were something she didn’t remember ever encountering before.

One hand groped along the wall until she found the edge of the hidden door she’d eased through. It blended with the ballroom wall, leaving only the faintest outline for Kit to notice while avoiding the man’s golden-brown gaze. It had made the perfect escape. Obviously, the host hadn’t intended for people to use it, given the dark corridor beyond and the tree barricade, but that was all the more reason for Kit to seek her escape through it.

She eased the door open the slightest bit and pressed her face tightly to the wall while squeezing her left eye shut. Nothing but light and trees. The man was gone.

With any luck, she would never see him again. She didn’t want to discover that a man who brought lemonade and a charming smile to women hiding behind ballroom decorations was also the type of man who would dally with a woman and then leave her to deal with the consequences. She didn’t want to one day have to accost him in his own home and demand he take care of a life he had carelessly and thoughtlessly created.

A slight nudge of her hand slid the door closed once more, leaving her in near total darkness. She didn’t mind the darkness. It was easier to hide in the dark.

Which was why she’d run for the lights of the ballroom in the first place. The two thugs chasing her had been as comfortable running down a dark alley as she’d been, probably more so. Her only defense had been to find as many people as possible. Important people. Ones the thugs’ employer wouldn’t want them disturbing.

It had been a good idea, actually, right up until she’d lingered. She’d let the music and candlelight overwhelm her with memories, leaving her frozen in her hiding place, unable to work her way quietly to the nearest door. She shouldn’t have given in to her desire to see if the cream-filled, chocolate-glazed confections were as good as she remembered.

She shouldn’t have let herself remember in the first place.

But nostalgia had caught her by surprise, smothering the urgency to escape, and she’d stayed, unable to stop the visions of a happier time.

A time before she knew how cruel the people smiling on the dance floor could be. A time before she knew the secrets everyone tried to hide and pretended to ignore.

A time when being approached by a charming gentleman would have been welcome.

What had his name been? Wharton? It wasn’t a title she knew, nor had she recognized the man. Of course, thirteen long years had passed since her days in society. Even then, her one and only Season had been cut short.

Oh, how she missed the dancing. And the food. She pressed a hand to her midsection, which felt odd and sort of swirly. It had to be the rich food, though the luxurious explosion of sugar and chocolate had been worth it.

Yes, it was the food. She could not have actually enjoyed the attentions of the gentleman, could not be relishing that moment of feeling pretty and interesting again, could not be missing the naïve, carefree girl she’d once been.

Her arm squeezed the bundled cloak tighter and her other hand buried itself in the green satin skirt. The crinkling sound of papers in her cloak pocket chased out the lingering melodies of a string quartet. This was her life now. It didn’t include pastries and dancing, but long days of hard work sprinkled with occasional visits to horrible men like she’d had to do tonight.

Kit walked carefully down the dark passage. Moonlight from a nearby window cut across the floor, giving her just enough light to make her way without stumbling. She paused at the window, looked down at London. A pit of greed and lies covered in the mask of false smiles and frivolity. Did those people in the ballroom behind her really think the lavish gowns and the ostentatious promenading would protect them from the ugliness in life?

No, they only hid it. In this world, proof mattered little, and truth mattered even less. Appearance was the true ruler of London’s elite. As long as they sparkled in all the right places, no one bothered to look beneath the surface.

Until it cracked. Then they picked and prodded, painted it with whatever color they wished before discarding it like last week’s rubbish.

This was the danger of awakening memories. The bad ones slept right beside the good.

No matter how enticing the man with the gentle smile and wit had been, it would be better for everyone if Kit did what she did best and disappeared.

She walked down the passage, away from the window. Away from the scents of smoke and perfume, away from the overused platitudes and rehearsed conversations. Away from the pleasant tang of lemonade.

Life in the shadows might be lonely and scary compared with the popular existence she’d led before, but at least in her new world people were honest about what they were doing to each other.

Well. Most of the time.

She shook her head. Philosophical musings weren’t going to get her safely out of London with the packet of papers intact. And she needed to get home. They were supposed to sow carrots tomorrow, and if Kit wasn’t there to make sure the lines were straight, Daphne would let them be planted in swirls and whorls because it made the garden prettier. And Jess would let her, just to see Kit get irritated.

What she needed to do was get out of this house, find the nearest inn, and take the first stage out of town. It didn’t matter where it was going as long as it was out of London.

Were the thugs waiting in the garden, thinking she’d go out the way she came? Had they circled around to the front of the house? It would be nice if they’d simply given up and gone home, but Kit didn’t think she’d have that kind of luck.

The passage gave way to a dimly lit parlor. Three closed doors broke up the two side walls, and a large arch across from Kit opened into the large landing at the top of the wide, curving staircase. She’d climbed that staircase once before. A lifetime ago.

And now, she would go down those stairs. She would lose herself in whatever crowd of people departed next, slip through the carriages waiting out front, and disappear into the night.

With a deep breath that she hoped would convince her heart to stop crashing against her ribs, she stepped into the parlor.

She had made it halfway across the room when one of the closed doors opened and a lone man emerged, adjusting his waistcoat over a slight paunch.

No. Her luck couldn’t possibly be that bad, could it? But as the man stepped into a circle of light cast by a nearby candle, Kit’s heart nearly stopped, because yes, she was indeed that unlucky. Even though the face wore a decade’s worth of additional age and the hair sported considerably more grey, she knew that man. She knew him well.

And she really, really didn’t want to talk to him.

She dropped her gaze to her toes and willed herself to keep walking. Her father had yet to see her, hadn’t even acknowledged that he wasn’t alone in the parlor. But her feet refused to move, gripping the rug through the soles of her boots. Apparently she was going to be attempting the statue method of concealment. She held her breath and made herself as small as possible, inching her heels sideways until her hip pressed against a decorative table.

While she was usually very good at not being seen when she didn’t want to be, an empty room didn’t leave her many places to hide.

The man passed her, head down as he focused on straightening his waistcoat. His foot bumped into a chair and his head popped up. “Pardon me.”

A gust of momentary laughter rushed from him as he realized he’d apologized to a chair, but then his gaze swung sideways and connected with Kit’s. The small, self-deprecating smile fell from his face to be replaced by the thunderous frown that hadn’t aged a bit. “Katherine.”

“Father.” She tilted her head sideways in a gesture that fell somewhere between acknowledgment and respect.

Then there was silence. Long, heavy silence. After all these years, did they have nothing to say to each other? Even in the absence of onlookers? Kit swallowed. Had he cried for the lost years as she had? The midnight book discussions? Their long walks through the parks?

Perhaps he hadn’t. It had been at least five years since Kit had acknowledged feeling any sort of loss. She’d thought herself well and truly done with those thoughts, so the spark of hope that flared in her heart surprised her even as she chided herself for allowing it. No good could come of it, just as the desire to throw herself into his arms was ridiculous and futile. It didn’t matter how badly she simply wanted to breathe, to be held by someone who cared, to be innocent and naïve.

Those luxuries were lost to her, and the hard look on her father’s face proved they weren’t coming back.

That sad truth freed her feet from their strange emotional mire. She stepped forward, intent on leaving the room and the house.

“You’ll not get any more money from me.” His voice smashed the silence with the force of a hammer.

Anger welled within her, an emotion she hadn’t even felt when he’d cast her out all those years ago. She’d understood, made excuses, rationalized it all from his point of view. But now to deny a monetary request she had never made? She wanted to lash out. Make him guilty. If it worked, they could use the money.

“Why not?” She took her sternest pose. The one she used when staring down irresponsible young men, careless young women, and neglectful fathers. “I’ve asked nothing from you in thirteen years. Why shouldn’t you be called on to support me, your own flesh and blood?”

Thirteen years. One year more than the amount of time she forced other men to take care of the children they didn’t want. And yet it had never occurred to her to force her father to do the same.

He huffed. “We made an agreement.”

“And I have kept it,” Kit bit out.

“Yet here you are.”

That was a statement she couldn’t argue with. She had agreed not to return to London. “I had business.”

He scoffed. His tone was ugly. “Business. What business could you have at a society ball?”

“I had to make my way in this world. Did you think my dowry large enough to live on forever? It wasn’t that big, Papa.”

He growled. He actually growled at her. The childhood name she’d used for him must have struck a chord. Tears threatened. Had it really come to this? An ugly estrangement from her father? Suddenly she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t manipulate her father the way she did the unscrupulous cads she forced into supporting their children.

“You should have found some hapless country cit to marry you. You were pretty enough when you were younger. He would have overlooked a scandal then.”

Was he saying she looked old now? She certainly felt it. Still, perhaps she had it in her to manipulate him, after all. At least enough to make him sleep a little bit worse tonight.

It took Graham a full five minutes to extricate himself from Oliver and his relentless teasing about Graham’s new imaginary friend. He’d finally mumbled his excuses and simply walked away while Oliver tried to control his laughter enough to avoid the censure of society’s matrons.

Graham couldn’t care less about society’s matrons at the moment or what they might be whispering behind their fans. He wanted to find the woman in green.

He rubbed his hands together as he stepped out of the ballroom. The white evening gloves pulled against his fingers as the fabric caught itself, and he resisted the urge to tug them off and stuff them in his pocket. One last glance over his shoulder confirmed there was no bold slash of green in the ballroom. So where had she gone?

The house was large, built before Mayfair had become crowded with terraced housing. That meant it had a ballroom large enough to fit the entire party and plenty of unused rooms where someone could hide if they were so inclined.

And since Graham wasn’t quite willing to wander aimlessly around his host’s home, he was left with nothing to do but make his way toward the door and try to convince himself she hadn’t actually been imaginary.

If he’d made her up, wouldn’t he have at least given her a name? What would it say about him if his mind invented a woman who then soundly rejected him?

“Get out.”

The angry voice had Graham stumbling to a halt and looking around to take his bearings. He was near the retiring rooms, just around the corner from a parlor that had been lit and prepared for guests needing a moment of respite.

Or apparently guests needing to have a semi-public confrontation.

“Get out,” the man repeated, “and stay out. Stay out of London. We had an agreement, and I expect you to at least have enough honor left to keep it.”

Graham frowned and leaned around the edge of the open archway. He recognized the man standing near a cluster of chairs. The tension rising from Lord FitzGilbert’s shoulders rolled across the room in waves until even Graham felt the need to adjust his cravat. The baron was blocking Graham’s view of whoever was making him angry, which actually wasn’t that hard to do. The man’s temper was rather notorious. But to make a man agree to leave London?

“And if I don’t?”

Right, then. Not a man. Graham nearly tumbled headfirst through the archway as the feminine voice sank into his brain. It was familiar. He knew the woman.

Graham’s attention snapped to the floor where the lines of a brilliant green skirt were visible.

Lord FitzGilbert growled. “If Hamilton has brought you here to befoul my plans, so help me, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” She stepped around him and unbundled her cloak. “What could you possibly do to hurt me now?”

The baron sputtered, trying to mention something about Australia, but the mystery woman simply walked away without a second glance, draping her cloak across her shoulders as she went.

“You aren’t worth my time,” she said over her shoulder.

Once through the archway, she lifted her eyebrows as her blue gaze connected with Graham’s, but she didn’t pause, didn’t even slow down. A moment later, she was disappearing down the stairs.

Graham followed her, trying to see the dark cloak among the clusters of people in the hall below. Servants ran to and fro, fetching cloaks and wraps to keep people warm on the short walk to their waiting carriages. Finally he found her amid a group near the door. She flipped her hood over her head and followed them out into the night.

It took him longer than he’d hoped to wade through the people and convince the servants he really did intend to leave without waiting for his greatcoat. Yes, it would be embarrassing to come back for it later, but if he lost the only thread he had on the enigmatic lady in green, he had a feeling he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

He almost lost it anyway. Shadows stretched across the street outside, providing numerous places for a woman wrapped in dark grey velvet to hide.

But God was of a mood to bless Graham tonight, because he saw a flutter of green in the light of one of the carriage lanterns as the lady he was searching for crossed the street.

Graham walked quickly in that direction. She was rather good at slipping away, which sent a spear of worry into the middle of his obsessive fascination. Something new didn’t necessarily mean something better.

He followed her down the street and into a square. He didn’t even know which square, since he hadn’t paid that much attention to where tonight’s ball had been and simply gave the direction to his coachman.

What did he think he was doing? He knew nothing about this woman—well, nearly nothing. Didn’t know where she was going or even really where they were. What little he did know about her didn’t point to her being someone he could really build a relationship and a life with, so why was he chasing her?

Was he truly so bored that he would tangle his life with that of a woman who could be involved in all sorts of unpleasant endeavors?

“We’ll be having your valuables now. Don’t think to run from us again.”

Graham sighed and looked toward the sky. Perhaps God wasn’t in such a blessing mood this evening, but it was Graham’s own fault. If he’d stayed where he was expected to be, he’d still be mired in idle conversation, not hearing angry men throwing threats around in the shadows. What was it with men being so aggressive tonight?

He’d been robbed by thugs of this ilk before—who in London hadn’t? A flicker of sympathy for tonight’s unfortunate victim warred with a gratefulness that it wasn’t him.

“If we have to catch ye a third time, we’ll not ask so nicely.”

Graham frowned. That sounded a bit more persistent than the average park footpad.

“As you can see, gentlemen, I’ve no baubles to give you. Not even a reticule at my disposal.”

He knew that voice. It had never graced his ears before tonight, but he’d heard it quite a bit over the past hour. And it was a common factor in all the situations with angry men he’d come across. It would seem he really should let the woman run out of his life the way she wanted to.

But not before he made sure she could do so safely. He moved quietly toward the voices, tucked in a small copse of trees at the corner of the park.

“I’m afraid I have nothing for you.” The woman’s voice had grown grim now, dangerous. Gone was the teasing lilt he’d heard behind the trees in the ballroom, gone was the haughty disdain from the parlor. In its place was a voice cold and hard enough to send chills down Graham’s spine. And he wasn’t even the target.

“Oh, I think you do.” One of the thugs laughed in that creepy manner that Graham had never understood. He’d always imagined the villains in gothic romances laughing like that.

“No, I really don’t.”

Graham was close enough to make out the outlines of three people now, and one of them, the one with skirt and cloak billowing about her knees, had just pulled a knife.