It wasn’t even her kitchen, and Meena was thinking highly inappropriate thoughts about the man sitting across the table.

She should have been ashamed, but that kiss in the doorway had ignited her senses. Watching Spencer lift his mug of tea, she was aware of his lean fingers wrapped around the thick porcelain, the way the muscles in his arms rippled as he moved. The sight of his lips as he sipped the hot tea, sent waves of heat pulsing to the juncture of her thighs.

Her own cup trembled in her fingers. He hadn’t even touched her, and she was damp and ready for him.

Meena squirmed in her seat. Blasted hell, she was coming undone.

His teeth flashed in a brilliant smile. The knowing glint in his eye made her blush.

She raised her own cup to her lips, tilting it up to block his gaze. It helped about as much as a lace parasol battling the hot summer sun.

Funny she should think about sun. She was beginning to feel like Icarus, flying too close, wanting too much.

The crash would be catastrophic.

She purged the thought from her mind with her last sip of tea. If this dalliance was going to cost her the world, she intended to enjoy every moment.

That made her giggle. The light sound caught Spencer’s attention, lighting a fire in his eye that stole the breath from her lungs. Had the little maid not slipped back in from the door to the alley, he would have taken her right there, on a stranger’s kitchen table.

Quick as a mouse, the girl hurried into the room. “There’s not a soul about. I’d say you’re safe enough now.”

Shaking off the passionate thoughts racing through her mind, Meena rose. “You’ve been most kind.” She dug in her purse and extracted several coins, pressing them into the girl’s hand. “For your trouble. I wish it were more.”

The girl stared down at her palm. Her eyes widened. “Crickey! That’ll do.” She clenched her fist to her narrow chest and dipped a pretty curtsey, then she paused, tilting her head to the side. “Someday, I’d like to know what sort of bother you and the cap’n are really up to. I bet it’s a right adventure.”

With a gesture that shot straight to Meena’s heart, Spencer squeezed the girl’s thin shoulder. “Someday, I’ll be happy to tell you.”

After a quick look out the door, he led the way out into the alley. Deserted, as the girl claimed. Meena’s heart stuttered as they turned the corner back onto the main street, but the few pedestrians strolling the path, and the orderly flow of traffic, suggested their disturbance in the park had dissipated along with the smoke from Edison’s contraptions.

Spencer hailed the first hansom they encountered and handed her up into the coach.

She studied him as they rolled down the crowded streets toward the hideaway where her cousins would be waiting with the inspector.

By all rights, she should have been far more flustered after their near escape in the park. Instead, she was finding this turn in their relationship highly distracting. Distracting in the most pleasant of ways. She looked across the carriage at her lover.

Her lover.

The words conjured up such sophisticated, continental imagery. Hardly her usual modus operandi, but it couldn't hurt to enjoy the adventure, could it? It could. In the far back reaches of her mind, she knew it could. Not just could. Would. Most certainly.

The heat in Spencer’s gaze as he studied her from his own seat burned the negative thoughts to ash.

Her heart sped up. Every nerve ending tingled in the most pleasant sort of torture. Now she understood how it felt to be such a wonderful fool.

Flying too high was its own reward.

* * *

The hansom rolled to a stop in front of Sweet’s building. Spencer helped Meena out of the cab, and they hurried to the door. The instant he spied them, Sweet unlocked it.

“How angry is he?” Spencer asked.

The inventor shrugged. “Less than I would’ve expected. I suppose that’s a good sign.”

Spencer could only pray he was right. He followed Meena and her cousin through the workshop and up the steep stairs to the apartment. There was no going back now. Either they won the detective over, or he’d be living the rest of his life on the run.

Had he not been so distracted by the sway of Meena’s bustle as she climbed the stairs, he would have been more concerned. Even in that silly maid’s costume, she stirred him. He rolled his shoulders back, and circled his head, gently stretching the tight muscles in his neck. There had been ever so much kissing lately. It had put quite a crick in his neck. All worth it. He grinned. Every minute.

Still, it was a reminder. Nothing came without a price.

Briar had taken the well-used armchair across from the sofa where the inspector waited. A chipped porcelain tea service stood at attention between them. Were it not for the pistol pointed at the detective’s chest, they might have been discussing the weather, or the inadequacies of store-bought scones.

Spencer winced. Refreshments aside, they were not making the best of impressions.

The inspector, however, seemed to be taking his kidnapping in stride. The tall man lounged on the sofa, his arms splayed across the back, relaxed as if he were making an afternoon visit. Only the dark glint in his eyes and the tense set of his jaw betrayed the fact that he wasn't a guest.

“Crane. Finally.” Burke crossed his arms over his chest. “Now it’s down to business.”

Spencer pointed to Briar’s pistol. “We can do without that.”

She sent a silent question to her brother and Meena. At their small nods, she lowered the weapon to her lap.

He should have expected that. The Sweets were a tight lot. And he was still very much an outsider. A point he needed to remember if things got dicey.

He dropped into the chair across from the inspector and rubbed his jaw. “Apologies. We couldn’t take the chance of talking to you in the open.”

“You mean you couldn’t trust me.” Burke regarded him quietly. “What makes you think you can trust me now?”

“I’m not sure we can.”

“Mr. Crane is speaking for himself.” Meena sent him a scathing look. She perched on the far edge of the sofa, just out of the policeman’s reach. “Matters have escalated. It appears we must trust someone.” She looked at her cousins, silently asking their permission to divulge more.

No one protested.

“Neither Mr. Crane nor I stole that necklace,” she continued.

Burke sat forward, his eyes bright. “What were you doing at Blackborough’s gala then?”

Meena bit her lip. “I regret I am not at liberty to say.”

Burke waited. Much like a great cat, he watched her, still, silent, unnaturally quiet, urging her to continue by sheer force of will.

The technique was compelling. Spencer took note.

Meena sighed. “We have clients. Confidential clients.” She looks at her partners. “We were there to retrieve something Blackborough had no right to. That is all I can say.”

“The man’s a rotter.” Briar threw in.

Still, only silence from the detective.

Meena’s shoulders tensed. The tight set of her lips told him she was frustrated, searching for a way to explain their involvement without betraying her client. “We didn’t steal that necklace. We don’t—”

“I know.” Burke cut her off. “I’ve suspected that for a while.”

Spencer gaped at him. “You have?”

He nodded. “It’s been gnawing at me for days. The Jonquil would never be so clumsy.”

Spencer took care not to betray his surprise. So he knew. As did how many others?

Burke shrugged. “I’m not a complete idiot. The Jonquil might make off with a necklace in the middle of a ballroom, but I don’t feature him knocking his victim to the floor.” He wove his fingers together over his flat stomach. “You don’t seem the type to hurt a woman.” He held Spencer’s gaze. “Got more class than that, I’ll wager.”

Spencer tipped his head back, acknowledging the man’s point. “It’s a pleasure to work with someone so clearheaded.” He rubbed the tips of his fingers over the worn velvet of the second-hand chair. Things were going well. Better than he’d had any right to expect. Still, the more they divulged, the worse things would be for them if they’d been wrong about him.

He caught Meena’s eye. A short, firm nod told him where she stood.

He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Jamison Ramsay, you know him?”

“Youngish fellow? Works for Blackborough?”

Meena shook her head. “That’s what we thought . He works for someone far more dangerous.”

The inspector’s gaze shifted between them. Now they’d sparked his interest.

Meena pointed to the room across the hall. “We have a witness who’d like to speak to you.”

From his place in the doorway, Sweet snorted.

“Yes, fine. He doesn’t actually want to speak to you.” She waved off their prisoner’s pigheadedness. “But we do have him. He works for the man that hired Ramsay to blackmail us. Well, blackmail Spencer—Mr. Crane—at first. Then things got wildly out of hand.”

“Utterly.” Briar nodded. “Went completely sideways.”

Burke grinned. It transformed him. In that flash, Spencer saw there was a real soul behind the suit. A soul with an unexpected appreciation for the absurd.

He turned to Spencer. “Why would he want to blackmail you?”

Meena threw Spencer a look. He took it to mean it was his turn to continue. “He planned to blackmail me into pulling a heist.”

The inspector’s eyes narrowed. “Why you? Ramsay must know plenty of thieves.”

Spencer tensed. “We’ve a bit of history.”

Sweet shifted in the doorway. “Kill two birds with one stone. Ramsay wants back at Crane here, so he figures hire Crane and my cousin for the job, then let them hang for it. Neat and tidy.”

“But you’ve been too much trouble,” the inspector guessed.

Spencer scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “That was our intent.”

Burke studied them. Then he shifted in his seat, sprawling back against the cushions. “This puts a few things in place. The man that called you out at the ball is Leyland White.” When the name produced no reaction from the group, he continued. “He’s the son of the Earl of Sussex. Bastard son, but still.”

Spencer felt as if he’d taken a fist to the stomach. Things were moving from bad to a great deal worse.

“He says he saw you grab the woman’s necklace and shove her to the ground.” Burke shook his head. “It didn’t fit the way you operate, but who am I to question an earl’s by-blow?”

To his right, Briar tensed. She fingered the pistol in her lap, her eyes intent on the detective. “Ramsay was at the park today. I don’t see how he could’ve known of your meeting.”

Burke’s head snapped back, and his eyes widened. He nodded to himself. “That is a very good point, miss.” Lines of exhaustion appeared on his thin face. “White has extraordinary reach and highly placed friends. I’ve had men investigating his doings for some time now. Last week, one of them disappeared.”

Spencer reached across the low table to refill the inspector’s tea. “That’s why we had to nick you. We have no idea how many people Ramsay’s boss is involved with.”

“But you trusted me.”

Sweet seem to grow larger as he flexed his arms. He stared Burke down. “Not necessarily.”

“Don’t blame you.” The inspector sighed. “I’m certain White has informants on the force.”

A muffled thud came the room across the hall.

Burke cocked his head. “Your witness?” He grinned. “Why do I get the feeling he didn’t join you willingly?”

Spencer rose from his chair and gestured toward the hallway. “If you’d like to meet him?”

Burke followed Spencer and Sweet toward the other chamber.

Meena and Briar stayed behind in the main parlor while Spencer and the inspector filed into the tiny room. Sweet took up his place in the doorway.

The minute he caught sight of the officer, the man tried to bolt off the bed. The handcuff pinning his wrist to the headboard jerked him to a stop. “What d'ya bring the bleeding peelers for?”

Ignoring the outburst, Burke sank down onto the foot of the bed. “I’m not here to take you in.”

“You’re not?”

“You’re not?” Both Spencer and Sweet echoed their prisoner.

“It won’t do any good.” Burke shrugged, his flat policeman’s gaze never leaving the man. “I’m sure he’s guilty of many things, but we don’t have any witnesses. Besides, I have a guess the jail at the station would be quite unhealthy for our friend.” He leaned in, using his height to hover over the cowering man. “Tell me what I need to know about Ramsay and the man you work for, and I’ll let you walk.”

Fear drew the man’s jaw taut. His eyes widened, and he shrank even further back against the head of the bed.

The detective appeared content to let his particular brand of predatory silence work its magic.

It didn’t take but a moment for the weasel to acquiesce. He licked his thick lips. “Well I don’t work for this Ramsay, as such.”

Burke sat back, effecting a more relaxed pose. “Who do you work for… as such?”

“He’s a rich toff.” The man squinted and scratched at his balding scalp. “An’ e’s got a huge monster of a valet, or a butler, or some such.”

“No names?”

“Only the Ramsay fellow.”

“And these people here are telling the truth, then? As far as you know, this rich bloke’s men stole the necklace?”

The little toad laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Toff did that himself. Bragged about it. Said there weren’t no need to knock the woman down, but she was a right bitch. Said she deserved it.”

Burke stood. “If I let you go, you best not go running back to them.”

“I’m not an idiot. I saw what they did to that bloke what messed up.” The smaller man shuddered. “Toff made us toss the leavings in the river.”

The inspector stared down at him. “You’re right to fear him. I’m willing to let you off this time, but if I see your face in London again….”

“I know. I know.” The man rolled his eyes. “You’ll have me in.”

“I won’t either.” Burke gripped the footboard and loomed over the bed. “I’ll do better than that, my friend. I’ll leave you to your rich toff and his giant.”

The man shrank back, like a rat caught in a beam of a light. “You wouldn’t.”

Burke grinned. “Don’t know me very well, do you?” He pushed off from the footboard and left the room. “It’s White. I’d bet on that,” he said once they were back in the parlor. He turned to Sweet. “He’s told us everything he knows that’s of any use. You can turn him loose.”

The inventor hesitated just long enough for Spencer to worry he might argue, but apparently he saw something in the inspector’s face that reassured him. He pulled a ring of keys from his trouser pocket and went back in the other room.

Feet pounded down the stairway before Sweet even made it back into the parlor.

Burke sank back down in his place on the sofa and sat back, lacing his hands behind his head. “I don’t know that I can keep the department off your trail.” A pained look crossed his face as if he’d eaten something disagreeable. “I have no idea who White has in his pocket, but I don’t doubt it includes some on force. Not certain I can make things safer for you.”

Briar was polishing the barrel of her pistol with a flowered napkin. “What about Ramsay? He was part of the robbery at Blackborough’s gala. I’d wager he has stolen property right now. You could arrest him at least.”

Burke nodded. “I could. For all the good that’ll do.” He ran a hand through his overlong hair. “Locking Ramsay up now might scare White into hiding. He’ll only be that much harder to grab next time.”

Spencer sagged against the doorframe. For once, he took no pleasure in having his fears confirmed. “Burke’s right. We’ll have to tie this up ourselves.”

Meena nodded sadly. “How?”

Exactly. How.

Spencer rubbed his chin. “What if we could bring you evidence? Irrefutable evidence?”

Burke stared up at the ceiling, considering. “Could work,” he said finally. “I can make sure it gets to the right people.”

Briar’s face brightened. She set the pistol aside. “Ramsay must have a stash somewhere. It couldn’t be that hard to find.” Her grin widened. “It’s been too long since we’ve nicked anything.”

The inspector clapped his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to know. Do not want to know.”

“Of course not.” Meena shot her cousin a quelling look. The next instant she was smiling sweetly at Burke. “We appreciate your assistance, Inspector. Give us a few days. I have no doubt we can present the evidence you require.”

“Be watchful,” the inspector cautioned, his expression once again all seriousness. “This is nasty business. Miss Sweet? Crane? I recommend you stay away from any of your known haunts until this is over.”

Spencer moved behind Meena. The urge to wrap his arms around her hit him so quickly, it stunned him. But propriety won out. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “Understood.”

Burke rose. When he stretched, his long fingers almost brushed the ceiling. “This is the most pleasant kidnapping I’ve had the pleasure to be involved in.” He straightened his suit jacket, tugging on the lapels, and the sleeves, in an attempt to smooth out the wrinkles from his ordeal. Once put together, he leveled them each with a look hard enough to splinter steel. “Let’s not do it again.”

“Agreed.” Spencer rose and shook the man’s hand.

Sweet followed suit, only instead of letting go, he tightened his grip, pulling Burke a hair’s breadth closer. “Don’t make us do it again, and we’ll all be happy.”

“Edison, enough.” Meena moved between them, pushing the inventor backwards, like a small child being shooed away from a candy counter. She took the inspector’s large hands in both of hers. “We do appreciate your assistance. We’ll have this put to right soon.”

Burke’s smile had little to do with politeness or shared humor or even agreement. Spencer recognized that smile, had used it himself on many an occasion. Burke’s smile was meant to charm. To charm, to tease, to entrance and ensnare.

Spencer clenched his fists. He hated that smile.

* * *

She really should have dressed.

Spencer had left the makeshift apartment in search of a morning newspaper and something for them to eat. That left her ample time for her toilette, but Meena couldn’t will herself to face the day.

No, not that.

She’d mustered the energy to straighten the bedclothes and remove any hints of the amorous activities they’d enjoyed last night. All night. It was more about savoring the feeling of intimacy, the opportunity—the scandalous opportunity—to have her morning tea and toast with a man, dressed only in her dressing gown.

She had thought about taking a lover. Numerous times. She’d even considered that someday, she might wish to marry, although she wasn’t fool enough to believe any man worth having would put up with her odd proclivities.

Gaining a husband would mean leaving her work behind.

She rather doubted she could feel strongly enough about any man to give that up.

Meena tightened the sash on her robe and crossed to the window facing the street below. The pedestrians traversing the narrow street were mostly men. Bowler hatted men, bareheaded men, men with large mustaches, and men with silly mutton chops.

Working men, hurrying to their jobs.

Meena fingered the light lace curtains. None of them—she was sure—men who would allow their wives to consort with thieves and criminals.

As she watched, Spencer strode toward the door, his arms filled with provisions. The sight of his tousled hair made her heart do a funny little dance in her chest. Even after making love for half the night, she was ready for him again.

Suddenly shy, Meena rushed from the bedroom, not wanting to greet him in such an intimate space. She busied herself clearing off the table near the small kitchen. They couldn’t dawdle long. Edison and Briar would return soon, ready to devise a plan to catch Leyland White.

By the time Spencer reached the door she had laid out the silverware and set the kettle on for tea.

He set his packages in the center of the table. “I got the Times and the London Morning Post. Wasn’t sure which you preferred.” Hunger shone in his eyes before he dropped his gaze to the tabletop.

The unexpected shyness caught at her heart.

Meena set out the tea things and sat across from him. The table was so small their knees brushed. When he opened it, the paper rustled crisply, as if it were made of something with more substance than mere newsprint.

Meena unfolded the Times. Her senses were on overload. The tinkle of his spoon against the edges of the mug seemed as loud as church bells. To say nothing of sensations. Her skin was primed for touch. The slide of lawn across her forearm, the pleasing smoothness of fresh paper between her fingers, the memory of his fingers trailing down her chest, cupping, teasing, tweaking…

Heat seared her cheeks.

Meena cleared her throat and grabbed her own section of the news, opening it like a shield in front of her.

“That’s interesting,” Spencer commented from behind his own screen of newsprint. “The Brighton Rail Company is in talks with the Western Atlantic.”

So many possibilities. Meena picked up her spoon and wiggled it. “An extension up through Cooksbridge would mean—”

“A great deal more tourist traffic to the region.” Spencer finished her sentence. “Time to look into real estate in Newhaven.”

Meena stirred her tea. “Precisely.”

She studied his well-shaped fingers. Of its own accord, her body reacted. Her heartbeat quickened. Her breath shortened. Places she tried to ignore pulsed with heat, with longing.

She grabbed her mug and swallowed a great mouthful of tea. If this was married life, it had a great deal to recommend itself.

To her, perhaps, but not to him.

How very painfully she’d learned that lesson last time.

Meena sighed. She wrapped her hands around her mug, commanding any thoughts in that direction to die a swift death.

Spencer Crane would be a disastrous husband. It wasn’t in him. More’s the pity. He might just be the one man who’d understand her crusade.

“What are you thinking?”

Meena flinched. Had her thoughts been that transparent?

Spencer’s eyes darted to the spoon in her hand, busy tapping out a rhythm against the wooden table.

Meena dropped the spoon and put her hands in her lap.

Spencer reached across the table. He laced his fingers with hers and squeezed lightly. “Where’ve you gone? You’ve been in the clouds all morning.”

Meena avoided his gaze, settling for a study of the cabbage rose wallpaper behind him. “I was thinking about this Leyland White.” She sat back in her seat, untwining their fingers. “What are his vices? Where’s he vulnerable? Where can we attack?”

Spencer set down his paper. The gleam in his eye made her heart leap. She knew that feeling. The excitement of the chase had infected him.

“I like your thinking.” He stared out the window, his brow furrowed in thought. “Follow his vices, and we’ll find a way to make him vulnerable… or better still, uncover some illegality.”

“Catch him in the act.”

“Yes.” Spencer slammed his palms down on the table.

It wasn’t the approval so much as the stunning grin accompanying it that made her woozy. His enthusiasm for the chase was making her restless. Restless and reckless. Definitely reckless.

She stood, scooped up her plate, and hurried to the sink. “I’m beginning to pity this Leland White.”

“How so?”

“You look as if you’re enjoying the hunt.”

“I can’t wait for White to get what’s coming to him.”

Exactly. He understood. Meena set her plate in the sink and turned to face him. “It is most addictive.”

She plopped back down in her seat. “That’s what I love so much about my work. It’s so satisfying to make things right.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “And making the evildoers pay. I shouldn’t enjoy that part so much, but I can’t help myself.”

The warm grin on Spencer’s face turned her bones to jelly. His smile widened further, increasing the exquisite torment. How on earth was a man allowed to own a smile so devastating?

This time she reached for his hand. “It’s most terrifically up-lifting.” She squeezed his fingers. “You should consider it, you know. At the risk of causing your head to swell further, I must tell you, you are quite good at it.”

A shadow drifted across Spencer’s face. His fingers stiffened, and he pulled slowly away. “I can’t imagine.” He shook his head, clearly impatient to find the words. “I’m happy with my life. I can’t imagine putting that at risk, putting all I’ve built at risk. Not for strangers.”

Meena pretended interest in the pattern of the tea leaves at the bottom of her mug. She tried not to let her disappointment seep out, to pretend his answer hadn’t snuffed out a tiny spark of hope.

He had not the vaguest interest in her quest.

The disappointment squeezing her windpipe must show on her face. Not even the best actress to tread the boards could have hidden the raw disappointment slashing at her heart.

Across the table, Spencer stiffened. His beautiful mouth tightened, and the laugh lines radiating from the edges of his eyes faded away, taking the last of the joy in the room with them.

He would never be the man she wanted him to be. She knew that. Had always known it.

How unfortunate it hadn’t stopped her from falling into his bed.