The weight of the pistol in Spencer’s hand was less reassuring than he would’ve wished.

He hunkered down behind the pile of broken boxes and stared at the back door of the tavern. The alley behind Ramsay’s chosen pub was as dark and narrow as Sweet and his sister had described. He hated to admit it, but he would have felt far less trepidation—none at all, to be truthful—if Meena were not beside him.

He told himself that making love to her wouldn’t change anything. No matter how many times they came together, she’d never trust him.

No matter how many times they came together, he’d never consent to being shackled to one woman.

Until he did. Possibly.

But likely not.

Spencer shook his head and stared hard at the tavern door, willing Ramsay to come out, to put an end to the yammering in his brain. She had thrown him, he’d give her that. When they were younger, making love had been exciting, elicit, and somehow achingly sweet.

He’d expected this time would be different. In the years between, he’d bedded his share—more than his share—of beautiful women.

He expected Meena had done the same. Well, not exactly the same. He well knew a robust sexual life was not the thing for single women, but with her brains and determination, he assumed she’d been able to arrange any amount of bedplay she wished.

Which made the sweetness of their coupling highly unnerving.

He’d expected to pass a delightful evening.

He hadn’t expected to leave the night with an invisible chain wrapped around his heart.

The hell of it was, he’d locked it there himself.

Meena’s skirts rustled as she squirmed beside him. “I hope Edison hurries.”

He reached for her hand. Her un-gloved fingers were stiff and icy. Spencer rubbed his thumb across her chilled knuckles. “Cold?”

Meena shook her head, never taking her eyes from the door. “Hungry. Those potatoes smell divine.”

Spencer couldn’t help the wolfish grin that spread across his face. He raised her cold hand to his lips and planted a lingering kiss. “I’m hungry, too.”

Meena pulled her hand from his grasp and swatted him on the arm. “We’re in the middle of a mission.”

Crane cocked an eyebrow. “Your point, my lady?”

Meena huffed and turned her attention back to the exit from the Tavern. But a small smile played across her lips.

That alone warmed his heart.

The alleyway did smell of roasting potatoes. Indeed, the narrow lane was far more pleasant than Spencer had anticipated. Running along behind a neighborhood of prosperous looking houses, the area had an air of middle-class prosperity.

Not at all the setting in which he would’ve pictured Jamison Ramsay.

Still, a tavern was a tavern. A pile of spent kegs twice the height of a man were piled haphazardly along the wall facing them. Next to the other side of the door, a cart filled to the brim with rotting scraps awaited the refuse man’s attention.

Spencer sent up a prayer of thanks that the evening breeze, slight as it was, put the refuse cart downwind.

The stench that assaulted him a moment later made the refuse cart seem like a flower garden. The pleasant smell of roasting potatoes vanished, the alley now awash with the foul odor of rotting fish.

A great deal of rotting fish.

“Dear God.” Meena clapped a hand over her nose.

Careful to breathe through his mouth, Spencer surveyed the front of the alley.

A figure in a white apron rounded the corner from the street. The noxious scent came with him, rising in intensity with each step.

Spencer’s grip tightened on the pistol, until he realized it was Meena’s cousin. Sweet was their lookout in the tavern. Spencer only wondered what sort of God-awful disguise he’d created.

And he wished it hadn’t involved olfactory effects.

Sweet joined them behind the old boxes. “Ramsay just went in. I sent a boy after him with a note. Told him you wanted to meet out back. He was already halfway into his pint. Shouldn’t be but a minute.”

Meena thrust her chin at the door. “Any men with him?”

Sweet hunkered down next to Spencer. “Only one I saw, but the tavern’s busy. It’s possible there are others. Best be prepared.” He pulled his own pistol from the pocket of his trousers and set it on top of the box. The overpowering stench was amplified with each movement.

Crane nodded, a hand to his mouth. He and Meena shuffled as far from him as their small hiding place would allow.

The inventor’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“You smell like dead fish.” Meena pointed at his white apron, stained with oil, and several other dark substances Spencer had no desire to identify.

“It’s my disguise.” Sweet shook his head as if they were brain addled. “I’m a fishmonger.”

“It’s quite effective.” Meena’s hand muffled her voice.

“Think so?”

A puzzled look clouded Meena’s face. “There’s something else…”

Sweet nodded. “Lily of the Valley. I’ve been working on it for my dis-odorizer. Not close yet.”

Spencer coughed. “No. I’d say not.”

He and Meena exchanged a glance. She laughed, but the sound turned into a cough.

She shifted at Spencer’s side. “I thought I detected a floral note on top of the—”

The back door to the tavern burst open, slamming back against the brick wall. A man flashed through the doorway and out into the alley. The figure crouched low, his gaze raking the area.

Spencer didn’t fail to miss the pistol in the man’s hand.

Ramsay sauntered out of the doorway behind his man, standing tall, chest bared, daring Spencer to shoot him. “Crane? You out here?”

He flipped the bowler hat he carried onto his head, and wrapped a long, dark cape around his thin shoulders. “Hurry up and show yourself. I’ve got a hot meal and a willing whore waiting.”

Weak light from the rising moon glinted on the barrel of his gun.

Spencer’s hand tensed on his own firearm. He moved to rise, but Sweet stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. He jerked his head toward the entrance to the alley. “Two more coming in,” he murmured. “I’ll take them. You take Ramsay and his man.”

Spencer nodded as he rose. “A pleasure.”

Both men looked down at Meena, who was still crouched behind the boxes. “Stay here,” they ordered simultaneously.

She glared up at them. “Not likely.”

Sweet rolled his eyes and headed off after the other two men. Spencer couldn’t quite catch what he muttered as he stalked off. Something about pigheaded cousins.

“Hey there.” Sweet called out to the men at the front of the alley.

Spencer caught the unmistakable thud of fists on flesh. Clearly, the inventor had engaged Ramsay’s backup men.

On cue, Spencer jumped up from behind the boxes. “Over here, Ramsay.” He aimed straight at the skinny man’s chest and cocked the trigger.

Ramsay gestured at his man. The ruffian swung his pistol in Spencer’s general direction. “Don’t shoot… yet,” Ramsay directed.

If the light had allowed, Spencer would have bet a fat purse Ramsay was smirking.

“Wise choice.” Spencer kept his own gun aimed at the center of Ramsay’s body. Far less chance he’d miss that way.

Ramsay flung his cape off of his shooting arm. “Bit of a stalemate we’ve got.” He flashed a nasty smile. “What’s your game?” He took a few steps to Spencer’s right.

“No game.” Spencer stayed put, unwilling to let Ramsay distract him into moving out of position.

“A social visit, then.”

Spencer felt his lip curl. “I wouldn’t visit you in your grave, you pig.”

They remained over twenty feet apart, circling other each other as if they were dancing. Spencer knew if he faltered for a second, the smaller man would be on him. Ramsay would show no mercy.

“Jameson!” Meena yelled from somewhere behind him. “Over here.”

Spencer grimaced. Damnable hell, would the woman not stay out of trouble?

A dark object whistled through the air, inches from his shoulder.

“Ouch. You bitch,” Ramsay cursed.

His gun clattered to the ground. With a scream of rage, he lurched forward, shoving his remaining man further down the alley. “Come on.”

Spencer and Meena moved to follow, but Ramsay smashed his shoulder into the casks piled at the back door. The mountain of empty barrels tumbled out into the street, tripping Spencer. The pistol flew from his fingertips as he fell to his knees. Sharp pieces of gravel tore at his palms, his knees, as he slid along the rough cobbles.

Feet pounding away down the lane.

He turned back to check on Meena. Knocked to her knees as well, she had skidded to a stop next to him.

She wiped her hands on her skirts. “I’m all right.”

An instant later, the hard grip of his gun nudged his hand. “Your pistol.” She handed over the firearm.

Spencer hove himself up and helped her to her feet. “Good throw.”

Meena made a sound. “I was aiming for his head.” She jumped forward, clearly eager to continue the chase.

Spencer grabbed her around the waist. “His man’s still armed. No point running after them in the dark.”

She stilled in his arms. “That is an excellent point.” She stepped away from him and smoothed the bodice of her dark dress.

Spencer’s shoulder sagged. Damnation. He glared down the darkening alley over the waist-high jumble of broken casks, wishing his gaze could fell the wretched ass.

Ramsay would be twice as hard to catch next time. In the meantime, he’d be twice as angry. Twice as eager to exact more revenge.

A low moan came from the shambles of crates in front of them.

“Did you hear that?” Sweet ran up, hardly out of breath after dispatching two hard characters.

Spencer leapt into the mess of broken staves and stale beer, shoving aside the debris as quickly as he could. Sweet dove in behind him.

Ramsay lay on his stomach amid the debris, one white hand extended toward a crushed bowler, his satin cape, now wrinkled and stained, spread out over his back.

Relief warred with anger, leaving Spencer both energized and spent.

He and Sweet reached down to yank Ramsay up by the armpits. Sweet shook the smaller man. “Looks like your boys left you.”

Ramsay groaned. His head lolled toward the ground as if his neck were nothing but a limp stalk of old celery.

“Let’s get him in the carriage.” Spencer started to drag the half conscious man back toward the street where Mr. Hapgood waited with the horses.

The tops of Ramsay’s shoes scraped along the rough cobbles as they pulled him back toward the tavern. Her back to the street, Meena busied herself clearing the way in front of them of debris

None of them heard Briar arrive. She stopped next to Meena, her gaze on the bent head of their quarry, an odd look in her eye.

She squatted in front of them and looked him full in the face. Then she stared up at them, eyes wide. “That’s not Ramsay.”

Spencer and Sweet exchanged a glance. They lowered the body to the ground and turned him on his back. All four of them peered at the dirt-streaked face. Blood trickled from a wound at the side of the man’s head, winding its way through his short, gray hair. Rheumy eyes stared up at them from an old man’s wrinkled face.

“Satan’s balls.” Sweet tore off his noxious apron and heaved it down the alley. “Who the hell are you?”

* * *

Meena kicked the iron hoop from a broken barrel down the alley. “This is exceedingly disappointing.”

The rest of the group looked equally dejected. Edison stared down at the ground. Briar hurled throwing stars into a crate. One after the other, they bit into the wood with a soft thunk.

Spencer ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “We can’t leave him here.”

“Why not?” Briar pulled a coil of rope from her purse. “I say leave him for the night watchman to find.”

Edison threw her an incredulous look. “So he can give more evidence against us? Jewel theft and kidnapping? That should help.”

“And you have a better idea?” Briar planted her hands on her hips. “Maybe you could invent a dis-apparating device, turn us all into cabbages.”

“We take him with us.” Spencer was staring up at the sliver of moon. “You’ve got the safe house arranged for Ramsay. This man works for him. He’ll have information we need.”

Edison looked at Meena. “Do we risk it?”

She studied the figure splayed out on the cobbles. “Spencer —I mean, Crane--is right. He may have information we need.”

Meena chose to ignore the question in Edison’s eyes. She gestured to Briar. “Let’s get to the carriage. We’ll send Mr. Hapgood back to help the men.”

Before anyone could protest, she hurried off to their waiting transportation.

By the time their retainer met the men, they had already dragged their prisoner to the mouth of the alley. The carriage was a bit crowded with the addition of another body, but Meena and Briar had their side of the coach to themselves. Spencer and Edison propped their new captive between them on the facing bench.

Meena was thankful Edison had disposed of his foul apron.

In any case, the ride was a short one. It seemed Edison had procured a vacant shop not far from Ramsay’s neighborhood.

She could’ve made quick work of the cheap lock on the front door, but Edison opened it the conventional way, with a key. While Mr. Hapgood drove the carriage out of sight, the four of them hustled their prisoner into the deserted shop.

Spencer held the man upright while Edison locked the door behind them.

“This is it?” Briar was standing in the middle of the empty, but somehow exceedingly dusty space, her hands spread wide.

Her brother rolled his eyes. “I’ve arrange things upstairs. The apartments are quite comfortable. This’ll be my workshop. Mrs. Hapgood’s been hinting she’d rather have my space for a pantry.”

Meena smiled. He sounded so surprised. She had a hunch Mrs. Hapgood would be happy to have the space empty, if it meant an end to the explosions, the foul smells, and the occasional lightning strikes regularly emanating from Edison’s laboratory.

Edison and Spencer dragged the man up the narrow staircase to the landing between the two small apartments.

Edison shoved open the door to the furthest room. It was nothing more than a small bedroom with a washstand and a window facing the back alley. Edison being Edison, he’d already prepared the room to hold Ramsay. Iron bars covered the smallish window, and he had stripped the room of a all unnecessary objects, leaving just the bed and a thick blanket.

Meena left it to the men to secure their prisoner. She followed Briar into the second, larger apartment at the front of the building.

It was surprisingly lovely.

The small parlor was well-furnished. A fire glowed in the grate. On the right, there was a kitchen just big enough for one person to cook. On the left, an adequate bedroom.

The furnishings had been chosen with a great deal of thought and taste. Even the small bedroom, though it held little more than a featherbed, looked inviting. She couldn’t imagine her cousin putting so much thought into a space that had nothing whatever to do with laboratory equipment.

And then it occurred to her. Her cheeks flamed.

Edison had had help. Feminine help.

She could imagine meeting Spencer in such a space. It would be ever so romantic. Illicit. And idiotic. Still, just thinking about planning such assignations fired her senses. She could feel the slide of silk against her bare skin. Feel his hands, stroking her, building the tension higher, higher, until…

She sighed. No sense imagining things that would never be.

“I can’t believe my brother is such a capable decorator.” Briar eyed the well-planned rooms with a puzzled frown. Then her eyes met Meena’s, and her mouth rounded in surprise. “Oh.”

“Exactly.”

Briar thought for a moment. “I wasn’t aware Edison was currently attached.”

“Is that what he calls it?”

Briar laughed. “He might if he talked about it at all. He’s so dreadfully secretive." As the laughter drained out of her, she sank down on the new-looking red velvet sofa. With her face no longer brightened by humor, she looked tired and discouraged and terribly young.

Meena squeezed her shoulder. “The plan will still work. It’s just going to be more… complicated. I imagine everyone’s hungry. Why don’t you put together a cold collation. I'll see what this man knows.”

Meena joined the men in the prisoner’s room. Stepping between Spencer and her cousin, she folded her arms across her chest and stared down at the older man. “What does he know?”

The man was awake now and sitting up on the narrow bed. He was younger than she had first thought. He wasn’t elderly, just hard used.

Meena flinched at the fear in his eyes. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

Spencer snorted. “That’s not necessarily true.” He wrapped his hands around the brass bedstead and loomed over the man. “You chose the wrong man to work for. Your boss is the one we want. The boss that left you for dead.”

Fully conscious now, the man watched them, studying their faces for the least sign of weakness.

“Your boss framed my friends and I,” Spencer said. “Got the crushers on us. We intend to make it right. Seems it’s your bad luck to get caught in the middle.”

The man sighed as if he’d heard it all.

“You’ve got two choices.” Edison shouldered his way to the edge of the bed. “You can be our friend, or you can stick with that weasel who left you behind. Doesn’t seem like it’d be a difficult choice to me.”

Now the man seemed genuinely confused.

Meena tapped her cousin on the shoulder. “Perhaps if we explain this another way, Mr.—?”

The man crossed his arms over his chest and gave a nasty laugh. “Not gonna catch me up like that. I ain’t giving you my name.”

Meena stared at the ceiling. “I don’t care what your name is. Perhaps you don’t recognize politeness when you see it.” Damnation but this was becoming far more difficult than she had expected.

And now, she was hungry. The smell of fresh bread from the other room was making her stomach turn somersaults.

Spencer pushed back from the bed. “Well that’s it then. Tomorrow morning we take him to the inspector.”

“Wait.” Their prisoner jumped forward until the handcuffs clanked. “You can’t do that.”

Spencer’s smile was most insincere. “I believe I can.”

“You can’t give me up. The boss would—” Fear seemed to close the man’s throat.

“Ramsay?” Meena sniffed. “What could he do?”

She studied the slender man. Their prisoner was far more street tough than Ramsay would ever be. His fear puzzled her to no end.

“Who’s Ramsay?”

Spencer stiffened next to her. “Your boss. The man who pays you.” Irritation roughened his voice.

The man shook his head. “That skinny bloke? The dark-haired one?”

Spencer nodded.

“It ain’t him what pays me.”

Spencer shot Meena and Edison a quick glance. “Who does?”

The man’s mouth clamped shut. He seemed to shrink back against the bedstead.

Edison threw up his hands. “That’s enough of this game.” He motioned to Meena and Spencer to leave. “You can talk to the peelers tomorrow.”

“Wait,” the man pleaded. “You can’t take me in. They’ll kill me.”

Spencer turned back. “The police won’t kill you.”

“Not the police, you cabbage head. The rich git’s giant. He’ll slit my throat.”

They all three stopped, turned, and walked back to the bed.

Meena focussed on the man’s pale face. “Who’ll kill you?”

He hesitated, his wide, frightened gaze moving from Meena to Spencer. “It’s a toff. A rich one. He’s got this big ugly giant what works for him. The big man’s the one who paid me and the others. He pays this Ramsay. I’ve seen him with the bobbies. Pays them, too."

Edison moved in close behind them. “Tell us about this toff.”

The man shook his head, more out of fear than stubbornness, Meena guessed.

“There’s no need to fear Jamison Ramsay,” she assured him. “We’ll take care of him.”

“That jumped up cockle brain?” The man threw Meena a disgusted look. “It ain’t him what worries me.” He bent his head. “It’s the big boss. That toff and his giant. There’s no handling them. Not for you. Not for anybody.”

“He hasn’t met up with us yet.” Spencer shared a grim look with Meena and Edison.

The tough’s lips twisted in a sly grin. “I wouldn’t be so certain of meself, was I you. The toff’s the one what wants you.” His grin widened into an unpleasant smile. “He wants you both.”

Spencer caught her gaze. Schooled as they were in the art of concealing their feelings, his shock showed as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud.

That, more than anything, made her afraid.

* * *

Meena finished the last of her tea and studied their dejected little group.

They were all better with some food in their bellies, to be sure, but the night’s work was far from done. So far, capturing one of Ramsay’s men had posed more questions than it had solved.

She leaned back against the hard cushions of the sofa.

Far more questions.

Dangerous ones.

With his catlike grace, Edison hurried back into the apartment and shut the door. “He has no idea who this toff is.” He dropped into the chair by the small fireplace. “The only name he knows is Ramsay’s.”

“Damnation.” Spencer threw his napkin down on his empty plate.

“That’s not the worst of it.” Edison rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Says he saw the rich bloke a couple times. Once, he and another hired hand were at the docks with Ramsay. According to him, the rich man had his bloke knife the other rough right in front of him. Says the big man made him and Ramsay toss the body in the river.”

Spencer scrubbed at the evening stubble darkening his chin. “Sounds like we’re talking about a member of Society.”

“Possibly. That or someone on Blackborough’s level.” Edison sighed. “Either way, Ramsay’s minder has enough money and power to kill whenever he likes.”

“What would he want with us?” Meena met Spencer’s gaze. “If it’s thieves he needs, there are plenty for hire.”

Spencer flinched. “Because of Ramsay. He hired Ramsay to recruit a crew. It’s what he’s good at. The rest is my fault.” He threw up his hands. “It started years ago. Ramsay tried to recruit me for a job. I didn’t like the looks of it, so I declined. He pulled the heist anyway. Got nicked.” Spencer’s sigh seemed to reach every corner of the room. “He blames me for the time he spent in Newgate.”

Meena’s spine stiffened with indignation. “That’s preposterous.”

“It’s true.”

Briar seemed lost in thought. “So Ramsay cozies up to a rich toff, says he’ll provide a team, and tries to blackmail you into it.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “I’ll wager he had no intention of letting you in on the cut, either.”

Meena grinned. Her cousin seemed more outraged at the intended cheating of a fellow thief than she did about the intended killing.

Edison crossed his leg over his knee. “So Ramsay’s the least of our problems now.”

“Most likely.” Spencer’s shoulders slumped. “This may have started out as Ramsay’s little revenge scheme, but now we’ve got a bigger player in the game.”

Edison closed his eyes, as if he could picture part of the puzzle in his mind. “But it’s not personal with this man. He relied on Ramsay to bring him a couple thieves. I say we take Ramsay down. If this rich gent is half as smart as he seems, he’ll walk away if we make too much trouble.”

Briar sat up. “I agree. Finding a thief in London’s easier than buying a bag of toffees.” She stopped. “Not thieves as good as you two are, mind, but still.”

“Our man knows more about Ramsay’s whereabouts than he’s telling.” Spencer caught Meena’s eye. “We found him once. Won’t be as hard next time.”

Edison looked thoughtful.

“He’s frightened.” Briar cocked her head toward their captive’s room. “What if he won’t talk to the police?”

Spencer leaned back against the sofa. “I’m sure that inspector’ll have him singing. He’ll offer him a deal. I’d let him go if it meant getting Ramsay.”

She should have been concentrating on the plan, too, but Meena was content to watch the byplay between Spencer and her cousins.

It was almost as if they were a team.

She put a hand to her stomach. A team. Imagine that. A few days ago, Edison wanted to kill him. She appreciated the sentiment, but it was rather like being guarded by a tiger.

And then there was Spencer.

Meena squirmed in her seat. She was trying so very hard not to take what passed between them to heart. It wasn’t working. Even more disconcerting, she didn’t seem to care.

Between the police and Ramsay’s mystery employer, it felt as if half of London was after them.

She should be more concerned. More focussed.

But she couldn’t get Spencer Crane out of her mind.

And she should. She was playing with fire. The more memories they made, the worse she’d be burned. Yet her heart refused to heed the warnings.

She wanted to be alone with him. Wanted him to kiss her, touch her, make love to her.

Damn the cost.

Spencer rubbed his eyes, then drew his hand down over his wicked, sensual lips. Just that small gesture made her breath catch.

Damn the cost indeed.

If the price of this folly would catch up with her anyway, she intended to get her money’s worth.

“We can’t keep him here. I agree the inspector is our best choice.” Briar had retreated to the corner of the room, where she was engaging in some of the exercises Master Tadeoka insisted would keep her in fighting form. Balancing on one foot, her other leg bent across her knee, she raised her arms straight overhead.

A low growl emanated from Edison’s side of the sofa. “Why should we trust this detective? Funny he turns up whenever Ramsay’s around. I don’t like the connection.”

Spencer nodded thoughtfully. “Good point. Our man did say whoever he works for has the police in his pocket.”

It was an excellent point.

Much of the force was rumored to be on the take. They must be exquisitely careful. “We need to make sure we speak only to the inspector,” Meena said. “If he is in this toff’s pocket, we’ll know quickly. Dealing with one man will make it all the much clearer.”

Spencer shot her in admiring look. “That makes sense. I say we try the inspector. If he’s on the take, we’ll make a new plan.”

Edison sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We can still send the police to Ramsay’s lodgings. The stash Briar planted’ll only strengthen our story.”

“Exactly.” Meena watched Briar stretch toward the ceiling. “Really, we’re not so far from where we started. Just a few extra steps.”

With only the barest wobble, Briar bent forward, still on one leg. “It’s been ages since we planned a good kidnapping. I’m all for it.”

“We need to catch him out alone.”

Meena glanced over at Spencer. “You could offer to meet him.”

“He won’t come alone. He’ll bring as many constables as he can fit in a police wagon. I would.”

Meena grinned. “I’m counting on it. Briar and I will separate the good inspector from his men.”

“That would do it.” Edison clapped his hands together. The sharp sound echoed off the bare walls. “No one ever suspects the women.”

Briar had finished her exercises and was busy picking up the remains of their meal. “Got to be at the top of our game if we’re to capture a detective. We should get some rest. I’ll volunteer to put up with my brother’s snoring. You can thank me later.” She moved toward the bedroom.

Meena could have sworn there was an odd sparkle in her eyes.

Spencer yawned. “Best we don’t leave our guest unattended. I’ll take the first watch.”

With a low growl, Edison unfolded himself from the couch. “I’ll relieve you in a few hours.” He lumbered off after his sister.

“I’ll keep you company,” Meena offered.

She chose to interpret the surprise that swept across Spencer’s face as the happy sort of surprise.

He nodded. “We should keep the doors ajar. I want to be able to hear him.” He went to open the doors between the rooms.

Meena swung her legs up onto the sofa. It was a most unladylike pose, but it had been a long day. Convention be damned.

Having open the doors between their apartment and their captive’s chamber, Spencer came back into the room. Between the sofa, a plump, overstuffed chair by the fire, and a small table with two dining chairs, he had numerous choices.

Her heart lifted when he crossed to the sofa. She pulled her legs back, making him room.

Spencer dropped down. “It’s been a hell of a night.”

“I’d feel better about all this if we’d gotten Ramsay, but I think our plan is sound.”

“If kidnapping a member of the Met is ever a good idea.” Spencer reached for her leg, drawing it upward, until her booted foot rested on his lap.

Meena watched, as he and did the laces of her, and pulled it off. She had a hard time stopping herself from wriggling her toes in delight. “Having second thoughts?”

“Not a bit. I’d rather take my chances with this detective than Ramsay and his lot.”

She couldn’t stop the low moan that escaped her when he massaged the tight muscles on the bottom of her foot. “That. Is. Heavenly.” Her eyes fluttered shut.

Funny how his touch seemed to affect her body in places very far from her foot.

“This is far from heavenly. Trust me.“ Crane lifted her other foot to his lap and removed her other boot. When his hands touched her foot, it was as if an electrical current zinged to life.

“No, it is heavenly.”

“I can see I must provide a demonstration. Later.”

Meena’s eyes flew open. Spencer was looking at her as if she were a succulent morsel on his plate. She shivered.

His gaze wandered over her mouth. “Yes. A demonstration of heavenly is clearly necessary.”

The illicit intent, so clear in his voice, made her shudder. Lord help her, the man barely touched her, and she burst into flames.

He pressed his palm hard into her arch, massaging the tired muscles.

Her lips parted. Her breath quickened. She closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the exquisite sensations. “Yes, well, that’s all well and good,” she murmured. “But our agenda is full for a long while.”

Crane traced a finger from the heel of her foot all the way up the sensitive arch. “All the more time for you to think about it. Imagine it.”

Meena’s eyes flew open. She met his gaze. It was hard not to shy away from the heat smoldering there. She blinked. Did he see the same heat—the same hunger—in her eyes?

She plucked at the folds of her dress, pressing them into tidy pleats. “I was thinking.”

Spencer inched forward until his knees brushed her knuckles. “You were thinking?”

It was silly, her hesitation. She’d lain in his arms, skin to skin, heart to heart. He’d seen every inch of her body. Kissed and caressed every curve and hollow. No sense in being shy now.

Meena took a deep breath. “I was just thinking, I should like to—”

A loud groan echoed from across the hall. “For the love of God, man. Just kiss her.”

White teeth flashed against the dark stubble marking Spencer’s cheeks and jaw. The grin spreading across his face ignited a fire in her soul.

He leaned over her, arms on each side of her body, pinning her in place. “That is the most intelligent piece of advice I’ve had in a long time.”

Meena’s lips were parted and welcoming before his mouth descended.

He tasted of passion. A teasing, tempting, taunting passion that would take an entire night to play out.

A passion that made her body sing.

She sighed, a soft, quiet little sound, and fisted her hands in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down on top of her as she sprawled on the sofa. When he chuckled in response, the vibrations rippled through her, making her smile, even as she moved her mouth against his.

A short, sharp bark from the bedroom pulled them apart.

Spencer pushed himself up, his lips inches above her as they strained to make sense of the noise.

Again, a loud snort rolled out of the other room.

Meena giggled.

With a pained look, Spencer hove himself off of her and retreated to the far side of the sofa.

A muffled thwack cut off another snore in mid-expression. “Holy hell.” Briar’s exasperated plea followed. “Why can’t you invent an anti-snore device, you great oaf.”

Meena would have loved to bottle the smoldering look Spencer sent her before he stretched out his legs and folded his arms across his chest. To have that power over a man was a wonder to her.

A fragile new wonder.