“Holy God.”

Spencer could no more stop the oath that tumbled from his lips than he could stop breathing.

Meena’s transformation was nothing short of astounding. She and Briar had entered the family carriage bareheaded, their clothing concealed by voluminous cloaks. Before their carriage reached the Black Rose, they had been transformed into painted, perfumed, practically naked harlots. The lascivious neckline of Meena’s dress looked as if the slightest breath would uncover the rosy crests of her nipples.

He tried to avert his eyes—he truly did—but it was like asking a thirst man not to drink.

As luscious as the tart’s gown looked caressing her curves, the wig hiding her soft brown curls was nothing short of hideous. A frightful tumble of messy black braids snaked around her head.

She looked as if she’d just been tumbled.

He did suppose that was rather the point.

But it was the face paint that hardly bore looking at. Briar had used all her theatrical skills on the both of them. She’d colored Meena’s cheeks with rouge and painted her lips an unnatural red. Even Meena’s eyebrows had been altered. They were now nothing but curious crescents of paint above her wide blue eyes, making her look perpetually surprised.

Briar was equally unrecognizable in her blowsy, low-cut dress. Although slightly more modest, it was no less suggestive. The cheap red satin combined with the overdone face paint and a wig of blonde hair most closely resembling straw put a man in mind of a quick, anonymous tumble in a dark alley.

It made Spencer wonder just how strange he himself must look. The quick glance he’d caught in the looking glass told him Briar had styled him as a smarmy dandy. She parted his hair in the center, slicking it back with some sort of foul ointment. The suit she pulled from their overflowing closet—a plaid studded with fat brass buttons—would’ve looked far better on a circus monkey. She’d even taken great care to outfit him with cheap brass jewelry that signaled flash over taste.

“Remember, you’re eager for money.” Meena gave him a stern look as the carriage rolled through the streets. “If there’s a boss there, don’t let us go for less than three pounds each.”

Spencer’s fingers stilled on the button they were tracing. He met her gaze. “I do have some experience in this area.”

“Do you?”

Her amused smile made him unaccountably uneasy. He studied the swirls, dots and lines cluttering up each outsized button of his waistcoat. “Well no. That’s not what I meant. Not exactly. But I am—”

“A man?” Meena cut him off.

“Exactly.” He got the last word, but he felt as if he’d lost the battle.

Briar looked between the two of them. It was clear to Spencer she was trying mightily to keep the curiosity off her face.

He turned his attention to the view out the window. Every mile further from the Sweets’ tidy neighborhood, the streets worsened. Neat, comfortable row houses gave way to narrow, cramped streets lined with small, drab homes. Trees looked healthy, and garbage, for the most part, was swept up.

Until they entered a darker, more desperate area of the city. Nothing like Whitechapel, but to Spencer’s eye, it was an area that cared far more for pleasures and money, than hearth and home. Pubs, gambling halls and storefronts stuffed with inexpensive furnishings and poor quality housewares, lined the dirty streets. Flats topped the businesses, some sporting lines of ragged clothing set out to dry.

The crowds were a strangely mixed lot. Beggars—and the poorest of prostitutes—loitered in doorways next to hawkers hoping to entice the more well-dressed men into their dark taverns.

As they’d arranged, Mr. Hapgood stopped the coach well short of the Black Rose. It wouldn’t do for a procurer to spend his coin driving whores to and from their brothels. Mr. Hapgood leaned down from the driver’s bench. “I’ll be right here, or close by.” He gave Meena and her cousin each a steady look. “You be careful now.”

Meena reached up to pat the older man on the leg. “Always.” She turned to take her cousins arm.

“And you.” He stared down at Spencer. “You watch over them.”

“I will.” Spencer nodded solemnly. All the more so since this entire fiasco was his fault.

The door to the tavern swung out at an odd angle as Spencer opened it. One too many drunkards falling against it had all pulled the top hinges completely out of the wood.

Spencer’s impression of the shoddy gaming hell didn’t improve with further examination. Clearly, White hadn’t designed the shabby tavern for his peers. The gaming tables were stained and worn, their chairs mismatched and ill-used. It was too early in the day for custom, but a lumpy barkeep wiped mugs with a dirty rag. The large, dank room smelled of stale smoke, old beer, and an odd mixture of excitement and profound despair.

It was a mixture Spencer hoped never to smell again.

Mindful of their roles, she and Briar let Spencer do the talking.

“Sit there, and shut your traps,” he snapped at the women, and pointed to an empty table. Then he and his cloud of noxious cologne strode across the room toward the barkeep. “I brought the women.”

“Excuse me?” The man looked every bit as startled as if Spencer had told him he was the prime minister.

“The women. Mr. White asked for two more women.”

“He did?”

Spencer propped his elbows on the filthy bar. “Why the hell else would I be here?”

The barkeep’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he stared between Spencer and the painted ladies across the room. “I guess… I guess that’s a right point.”

Meena waggled her fingers at him and smiled. “Like to sample the wares before we start, luv?”

Spencer gritted his teeth. Did she have to overplay things?

Cheeks flaring red, the barkeep dropped his gaze.

Well played, then. Spencer sent Meena a silent compliment. She’d read the man right.

Spencer smacked a hand down on the bar. “The day’s not getting any longer. Are you going to show me their rooms, or not?”

The barkeep looked hopefully around the large room, but it remained empty. “I dunno. We don’t have any spare rooms as I’m aware…”

Anxiety tightened Spencer’s chest, radiating down through his arms. Damnation, but he needed to get the women in a room before White—or one of his men—showed up.

He unclenched his fists, and took slow, deep breaths, until he could feign an easy shrug. “No problem.” He tapped a finger on the bar. “But don’t think I’m giving White back his six pounds. He said he wanted my girls, and now I’ve wasted my time dragging them over here. They coulda been back in Whitechapel, making me money this past hour.”

“But…” The man’s face drained of color.

Spencer imagined the thought of displeasing Leyland White would be a terrifying one. He leaned in close. “That’s all right, guv. I’ll make this easy for you.”

He turned his back to the man and honed in on Meena and Briar. “You ladies want to have a talk with some of the girls upstairs?”

“That we do.” Meena jumped up and hauled Briar to her feet. “We was promised work here. I ain’t going back to that other hole. I’ll make us room.” She hauled Briar after her toward the stairs that led to the women’s cribs.

Spencer dropped down on the nearest barstool. “Might as well pour me a pint. They’ll be awhile.”

He’d just finished his beer when a woman, clumsy with sleep, made her way down the staircase. Briar followed behind, a pitifully small valise in her hands. “Miss Greene has agreed to take somewhat of a holiday. I told her you’d handle her compensation, Mr. Brummell.”

Spencer swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That I can.”

He nodded to the barkeep and crossed the room toward the women. “Tell Mr. White I’ll be back to check on my ladies this evening and bring ‘em their things.”

“But it’s only one room.” The barkeep protested.

The suggestive, seductive smile Briar gifted him all but knocked the man off his feet. “Silly man. Nothing says we can’t share. You get a lot more for your money that way.”

“Be careful.” Spencer murmured in Briar’s ear as he took the sleepy woman’s arm. “If you two aren’t out of here in five minutes, I’m coming back in.”

Briar nodded and hurried back up the stairs.

Spencer hustled the woman out the door. Meena and Briar had managed to get her half dressed at least, although he wasn’t sure having her brocade gown sliding off one shoulder, and the skirts caught somewhere in the lacings of her petticoat wasn’t worse. The women looked as if she’d been dragged straight from her bed after a vigorous tumble.

Which couldn’t have been far from the truth.

Once they were on the street, and the door closed behind them, Spencer attempted to tug her gown into some semblance of order.

She leered at him. “Enjoyin’ yourself, are ya?”

“Not in the least.” Spencer let go of her skirts and tried not to wince. “I’ve got a proposition for you,” he said once she seemed to adjust to the bright sunlight.

Even though sleep still filmed her over-painted eyes, the woman smirked. “No doubt you do.”

Spencer refrained from rolling his eyes. He took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. “I’m happy to drop you anywhere you like and give you a good bit of coin for your cooperation.”

The woman stilled. The fake, brittle smile she threw to customers disappeared, replaced by pursed lips and narrowed eyes. She smelled an opportunity. “What if I don’t want to find something else?”

Spencer ran his hand through his hair, but stopped, grimacing as his fingers found nothing but slick pomade. He wiped his fingers on the plaid trousers. “You’d rather stay here?”

The woman sneered. “Rather’s got nothing to do with it, luv.” She gestured at her surroundings. “Where d’you think I should go? The Rose’s the cleanest place I’ve worked in an age.”

“What he’s trying to say is, you don’t have to do this anymore. Whoring, he means,” Meena said as she strode toward them. The mess of black curls bounced on her shoulders as she walked. “We’ll help you find a new line of work.”

Eyes wide, mouth agape, the woman looked as if she didn’t dare believe in the future Meena dangled in front of her.

The sight all but broke Spencer’s heart.

“It’s true.” Briar fished in her purse and pulled out a crisp calling card. “Present our card at this address. There are good people there. They’ll provide you with food and shelter. Teach you a trade if you like. You can stay as long as you wish.”

The woman snatched the card and her valise from Spencer with quick fingers. She squinted at the printing as if considering their offer.

It occurred to Spencer that she likely couldn’t read.

She tried to hand it back. “Thanks all the same, but I don’t care for religiosity. Can’t stomach those that grovel in church on Sunday and crawl into places like the Rose on Monday.”

“No religion.” Meena shook her head. “Just a chance to make your own luck.”

The tiniest bit of wonder seemed to blossom on her face, but it was quickly doused by world-weary disdain. “Who’d do such a thing? Makes no sense.” She narrowed her eyes, inspecting the three of them. “What’s in it for you lot?”

Meena caught the woman’s hands. “Knowing one more woman is safe. That’s what’s in it for us.”

“You look like a smart woman.” Briar studied the older prostitute’s face. “You’re not going to take guff from anybody. Why not see what these people have to say? You’ve got a nice little dagger under there somewhere, don’t you?” She pointed at the woman’s skirts.

The woman jumped back. “How’d you know?”

Briar grinned. “Because I would.” She raised her skirts. “Do, in fact.”

Indeed, Spencer counted not one, but three small daggers of varying sizes tucked into a lacy red garter. “What, no throwing stars?”

Briar dropped her skirts. She gave him a pitying look. “What do you think a corset’s for?”

The woman was staring down at the card as if she could make sense of the printing. “I’ll try it then. I just might.” The ends of her lips curled up in what Spencer guessed was the closest thing to a smile she’d formed in quite some time. “It works out, I might be thanking you sometime.”

Hands clasped together in front of her, Meena nodded. “Best of luck.”

The woman grunted in reply and took off down the street without a backward glance.

A lump appeared from nowhere, right in the center of his throat. The harder he swallowed, the more it hurt. He blinked, and studied the scraps of old newsprint, the broken glass, and cigar butts littering the pavement.

“Well done.” Briar pulled Meena into a hug and kissed her on the cheek. “I do so love a happy ending.”

Meena reached up to straighten her tilting wig. “Nothing better, is there?”

Her smile lifted his heart, making the damnable lump swell. He cleared his throat. “Like as not, she’ll be back,” he muttered.

The surprised look on Meena’s face suggested his comment wasn’t all it could have been. Briar, too, was glaring daggers.

Spencer fiddled with the buttons marching down the center of his waistcoat. How was it women always seemed to be hovering like brightly dressed vultures, just waiting for a man to put his foot straight into it?

Meena closed her eyes as if the very sight of him pained her. She turned to her cousin, giving Spencer her back. “Let’s find Mr. Hapgood.”

“Indeed.” Briar lifted her skirts clear of the debris on the pavement and followed after her. Blonde curls bouncing across her back, she sent Spencer a pitying look over her shoulder.

Spencer yanked down on his waistcoat. Let them freeze him out.

If Meena couldn’t even recognize a spot of humor, well, they weren’t going to get much further with this ill-conceived affair anyway.

* * *

Meena tried not to fidget. She didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself than necessary, but she could hardly stand the way the low cut gown itched the back of her neck.

She was itchy, unaccountably irritable, and overly anxious. Far more anxious than such a simple operation warranted.

At the far end of the tavern, Spencer nursed an ale while he waited to intercept White’s victim. This time, Briar had decked him out as a common laborer. His clothes were worn and dirty and smelled as if he’d been working in them for a week. The great door-knocker mustaches she glued beneath his nose were messy, as if he hadn’t the time nor the interest in keeping his whiskers neat.

He’d taken the closest stool to White’s back office and slumped over his glass as if he was done in after a day of hard labor. As soon as she and Briar hustled Chesterfield upstairs, he would trip the device Edison had wired into an old box outside the pub’s small office.

She and Briar were still wearing their flashy, tasteless dresses, and hers at least, itched like the devil. Meena tapped a finger on the table top. All this waiting was giving her time. Too much time. She squirmed in her chair, scratching at the stiff lace around her neck.

By tomorrow—the day after at most—this business would be finished. Spencer would vanish back to Brighton.

He’d made that clear enough these past few days. They’d shared a few nice tumbles, but that was all it was to him.

All it could be, for a man like that.

Meena watched Spencer sip his beer, eyes unfocused, attention on something far beyond the tavern walls. He was a rogue at heart. Like her father. Women were replaceable playthings to be enjoyed and discarded.

Lord above, he’d already done it to her once. She couldn’t think why she’d even want him to promise fidelity.

It wasn’t in him. Never would be. Best to end it now before they started hating each other again.

“He’s here.” Briar jerked her head toward a small, bespectacled man with a wispy mustache who stood blinking in the doorway.

Meena risked a glance at the closed door of White’s office. If she and Briar could hurry the man upstairs, Spencer wouldn’t even need to begin the ruse they had planned to distract White.

They jumped up from their chairs and rushed the befuddled gentleman. “Hello there, handsome.” Meena pressed a hand to the man’s chest, crowding him back against the wall by the door. “You must be Mr. Cheesemaker.”

The man drew his hands up under his chin, like a little mouse. “Chesterfield.”

“O’ course you are.” She ran a finger over his lower lip and leaned in, allowing him an eyeful of décolletage. “Mr. White asked us to take you right upstairs.”

While Meena ran roughshod over the poor man, Briar had taken care to place herself between the door and White’s office, blocking the line of sight.

The man swiped his bowler off of his head and held it to his chest. “No thank you, miss… uh, madam… uh.” He fidgeted with the brim of his hat, his gaze on anything but Meena’s low-cut gown. “I’m just here for a meeting.”

Meena traced a finger down the man’s nose. “Of course you are. Mr. White is waiting right upstairs.”

The man’s mouth opened and closed, rather like a fish. But he did allow her and Briar to take to wind their arms around his and lead him toward the stairway. When she glanced back over her shoulder, Spencer was watching them.

Between the two of them, they hustled the small man up the stairs as quickly as they could. “He’ll be meetin’ ya right in here.” Briar threw open the door to the room they had stolen earlier in the day.

It was small and spare, made even more so by the paper screen blocking off the corner across from the small bed. Meena could feel Edison’s hulking presence in the dark corner.

“This doesn’t seem right.” The man protested. “Doesn’t White have an office? I’m a married man. This is highly inappropriate.”

“Mr. White don’t like whining.” Meena shoved the man inside and kicked the door shut behind them. “He told us to keep you here and keep you quiet. He’s an odd one, White is, but we don’t question ‘im, do we?” She tipped her chin toward Briar.

Her cousin glared at mousy man. “No. We don’t question ‘im. Not ever.” Gaze never leaving the man’s face, she plunged a hand down the neckline of her dress and slowly, teasingly, pulled out a sharp little knife. “Not ever.”

Meena shoved her fists on her hips and glared at Chesterfield, eye to eye. “You’re not to move until Mr. White—”

A wave of sound washed up the stairway and crashed against the door. Screams, shrieks, and a good deal of loud cursing, filled the air.

“God’s balls, get outta my way.”

“Mind you, that’s my foot!”

A great number of bodies sounded like they were stampeding for the exits.

On the bed, Chesterfield began gagging. He whisked a handkerchief from his breast pocket and held it against his mouth and nose. “What is that God awful stench?”

It was, most definitely God awful. A mix of warm garbage, dead bodies, and just a touch of eye-stinging sulphur, the smoke bomb Edison had fashioned was the most foul thing Meena had ever smelled.

She grabbed Chesterfield’s hand. “Smells like a dog’s arse down there. Why don’t we just wait here, luv? Mr. White’ll be up in a tick.”

On cue, Briar took off out the door. “I’ll just let him know you’re here, won’t I?”

“Open some windows in here. Open the God damned door.” Leyland White’s booming voice reached even through the closed door. A moment later, he threw it open, and strode into the small room, a handkerchief clamped to his face.

“What the hell are you doing up here?” He glared at their mutual mark.

Chesterfield pointed at Meena. “She brought me.”

Still coughing into his handkerchief, White studied her. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Henriette.” Meena had to play this next part fast and close. “You told that big man—what’s his name—to bring in some new girls.” She gave him an odd look as if he’d lost his mind.

White waved impatiently. “Nevermind.”

He threw a look back over his shoulder at the chaos downstairs. “Christ in a cart, what a mess. Got to straighten things out down there.” From his expression, returning to the miasma below didn’t appeal. He eyed Chesterfield who sat, still as a statue on the bed.

White pushed the door shut behind him. “Might as well talk here.” He jerked a thumb at Meena. “Get out.”

Meena nodded meekly and rushed out the door.

The smell was far, far worse outside the little room. Edison was more than capable of defending himself against White and that gray little man, should the need arise. She didn’t think she could stand to breathe that foul odor any longer. She hiked her skirts up above her ankles and raced down the stairs and out the door.

It wasn’t long before Chesterfield stumbled out. His face was far paler than when he’d entered, although she couldn’t be sure if it had more to do with Edison’s device, or White’s threats. Handkerchief pressed to his face, the small man rushed off down the lane.

He’d only reached the corner when White trotted out the door. The crowd dispersed around him, leaving him alone with his sad-looking barkeep and his bodyguard. The three of them milled about upwind of the open doorway, clearly trying to decide a course of action.

Before they could move, Edison scurried out of the building, a large, square case in his arms. The bodyguard took a threatening step forward, but Edison didn’t so much as flinch. He pushed his fake spectacles back up his nose and blinked at the taller man. “Seems you have one terrific sewer leak back there.”

He squinted up at the man, blinking as if his eyesight was poor. “Really ought to get that taken care of. Can’t be good for business.” He hefted the unwieldy box and walked away.

Meena and Briar sauntered off in the opposite direction, circling around to meet up at the carriage Mr. Hapgood had waiting three streets over.

Spencer was likely there already.

Meena slowed, exquisitely aware that any one of these next meetings would be the last time she’d see him. She clawed at the lace scratching the back of her neck.

It couldn’t be now.

The last time they saw each other couldn’t be in these gaudy costumes. Between her wig and his whiskers, her awful face paint and his sweat-stained shirt, they made a sad, sad pair.

Which was too fitting, really.

They were quite a sad pair.

* * *

“So that’s it then.” Meena eyed the group gathered around the conference table at the Metropolitan Police station.

“I believe so.” Inspector Burke patted the sides of the wooden case protecting the recording. “This is splendid. Just splendid. Not even Leyland White can buy his way out of this.”

Meena waited for the familiar feeling of triumph, the rush of satisfaction that signified a job well done, to warm her heart.

Instead, a cold dread clutched at her throat, weighing her down like a sodden blanket.

Spencer had been avoiding her gaze all morning. Ever since they’d met up with him at the inspector’s office, he’d been stiff and fidgety and distant.

Which meant only one thing.

They were done with the case and he was done with her.

She’d played this scene out a million times in the dark of her bed, but now that it came to it, it seemed she wasn’t capable of the grace and indifference she’d so hoped to feel.

She needed air.

She needed out of the room, out of the building, and far away from Spencer Crane.

She shoved her chair back. The wooden legs shrieked as they scraped across the tile floor. How fitting. It sounded like the noise her heart would make, could it speak.

Before any of them could rise, she had her coat off of the hook, and her favorite bonnet, the one trimmed with purple ribbon and silk violets, in hand. It had made her feel so pretty, so alive, when she’d donned it on the way out of the house.

Now, it would remind her of her newly broken heart.

She faced the group. “I have some pressing business I forgot about. It’s not far from here. I can walk. I’ll take a hansom home later.”

Though she felt like running, Meena stifled the urge, opting to sail elegantly out of the inspector’s meeting room. At least that’s how her exit played out in her mind. In reality, she hardly recalled stumbling her way to the front of the police station, and out the door.

She was only halfway across the street when Spencer grabbed her arm, tucking it in in against a muscled side. “It’s not like you to run away.”

Meena wanted to shake free, but if Spencer truly chose to hold on, she’d be no match for his strength. She opted for ladylike disdain.

A small park, nothing more than a wedge of grass and trees, filled an angular sliver of the next block. Meena headed straight for it. Her heart was beating so loudly, she could barely hear the wagons and hansoms rumbling down the street, let alone whatever it was Spencer was yammering on about.

Meena sank down on the first bench they came to, pulling him down beside her.

Clearly he had some strange reason for dragging this out.

Meena disengaged her arm from his grasp, folded her hands in her lap, and waited. She kept her gaze on the delicate ginkgo trees lining the path, letting the fluttering of their leaves slow her heartbeat.

Spencer leaned forward, his forearms on his legs, and stared down at the grass. “We wouldn’t suit. Not in the long run.”

A sharp pain, as if someone were quite literally squeezing her heart, stole Meena’s breath. They could. They could if he weren’t so beastly inflexible. And such an unfaithful cur.

“Deep down, you know it.” He stared down at his open palm. “You want to gallivant about, playing Sir Galahad.”

Meena huffed. “Don’t try to convince me you’re content sitting at home with your slippers and pipe.”

He laughed, but it held little humor. “Good point. I can’t imagine smoking a pipe.”

“You could help us.” Meena winced at the longing in her voice. “You’ll miss it. The excitement. The challenge.”

“I will. I do. And yes, I could.” He shook his head. “But it wouldn’t change anything. Not the important things.”

Hope buoyed her, straightening her spine, lightening her heart. “Of course it would.”

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t play the gothic heroine, wouldn’t beg or whine or wheedle. But she couldn’t resist pointing out the obvious. “We work together well. Although I’m loathe to confess it, you possess a flare for improvisation that astonishes me.”

His disbelief was all too plain. “Do you think either of us has changed that much?”

He averted his gaze. “You’ll start to question me again. You’ll doubt me, and then I’ll start hating you.”

Meena bit her lip. She wanted to protest, but he was right. First, she’d wonder, then worry, then suspect.

Because he hadn’t changed.

And she refused to be played for a fool a second time.

As if he could read her thoughts, he sighed. “People can’t change if you refuse them room.”

That tore it.

She jumped to her feet. “So now your infidelity is my fault?”

Spencer spread his arms wide and stared up at the sky. “You set standards no man could live up to.”

“Expecting fidelity is not unreasonable.” Meena wrapped her arms around her waist.

Spencer’s gaze swept over her before fixing on a pair of robins flitting through the nearest tree. “You expected me to stray. You did, you know.” He grimaced. “I was young and hotheaded and yes, irredeemably stupid. But the instant we became engaged, you turned cold. You saw suspicion where there was none. Refused to grant me the slightest of benefits. You suffocated me with suspicion.”

He gathered his feet under him and rose slowly to his feet as if the conversation had aged him decades. “I strayed. I did. For that, I accept full responsibility, and I do apologize. For all the good it will do now.”

Meena gaped at him. He truly couldn’t take responsibility even for the smallest of things. That alone signified she was making the right choice. Painful as it was.

What a ninny-hammered fool she’d been.

Playing with fire led to burns.

Always.

Crane put a hand to his head as if it were pounding. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Miss Philomena Sweet.”

His soft breath caressed her face. It was almost her undoing. Her eyes filled with tears, until his familiar face, so close to hers, blurred. He wiped away the tear that slid down her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

Meena’s lips trembled. “As am I.”

Even through the tears, she could see he was bending close to kiss her. Meena turned her head away. Her heart was bruised and battered enough. She couldn’t do this one more time.

He stiffened. “If you ever do change your mind…” His utterance drifted off.

A nice sentiment, but ultimately useless. Hope alone wouldn’t transform him into the man she wanted.

The man she needed.

“Let me see you home.” Spencer moved to take her arm.

Meena laced her fingers together and shook her head. “I think it’s best we part sooner rather than later. Good day, Mr. Crane.”

Spencer stood for a heartbeat—maybe two—before sketching her a stiff bow.

Meena slammed her fists down on the bench, startling the robins, who flew off with a great clattering of wings.

“So that’s it then,” she whispered as she watched him walk away with her heart.