The mournful howl of an alley cat woke Meena from a restless doze. Her body stiff from hours on the stone tiles, she stretched, trying to bring feeling back into her arms and legs.

She rubbed her eyes, blinking rapidly, as if clearing her vision would bring any definition to the blackness. The tiny sliver of moon had traveled past the window long ago, taking with it the only semblance of light.

She was loath to admit it, but the dark was tearing at her nerves.

From the heat of Alicia’s body, she could sense the girl lay not a hand’s breath away. Her soft, even breathing suggested she was sleeping.

That pleased her. No need for both of them to suffer.

It felt as if hours had passed since she last spoke to their guard, but Meena knew it couldn’t be much past nine. The dark had a way of crawling past.

Tiny noises, the crunching of wood as their guards shuffled over debris, the occasional cough, told her at least one of their guards remained close by.

Beyond that, she heard nothing. No carriages. No laughter. No wheels rolling down the cobbled streets. It was worrisome in the extreme to think they were in an uninhabited part of town. The truth was though she talked a good tale, she was just as frightened as her young charge. It dawned on her that no matter how this drama played out, some of their group might not emerge alive.

White had no reason to turn the two of them over. Spencer and her cousins would know that and plan accordingly. As would she.

Not that she had any intention of allowing this farce to play out to White’s satisfaction.

Meena placed her hands flat on the dusty floor and scooted backwards until she was seated against the wall. She tugged at her sleeves, straightening the wrinkles that had collected in the crooks of her elbows. At least she had been kidnapped while wearing a dark, practical serge. Allowing White to gain the upper hand and ruin one of the nicer pieces in her wardrobe couldn’t stand.

Alicia stirred. “What time is it?”

Although Meena knew it was futile, she couldn’t help trying to read her watch. “I can’t tell, but I don’t believe we’ve napped too long.”

Long enough, however. Time to move things along.

No light filtered from beneath the door, so she assumed their guards must be asleep. All the better. She could catch them when they were foggy.

“It’s time to begin the next part of our plan.” Meena gathered her legs beneath her and rose. Her legs were stiff from disuse, making her feel slow and unbalanced. She took her time shaking them out. She and Alicia would have one chance to flee. Wooden legs might make her a step too slow when it mattered most.

Once the pins and needles feeling subsided, she stepped through the thick blackness in the general direction of the storeroom door. “Excuse me.” She rapped briskly on the thick metal. “Excuse me? There’s something we must discuss.”

“All right. All right. Stop yer banging.” The smaller jailer called out, his voice thick with sleep.

Meena smiled in the darkness. Exactly as she had hoped. “It’s a matter of some urgency.”

Among much cursing, a match was struck. Weak yellow light crept beneath the door. A moment later, the lock turned, and the door swung open, flooding the space with light. An oil lamp appeared, followed by a sharp nose poking partway into the room.

“What in the bleeding hell do you need now?”

“As to that…” Meena paused, playing up the delicacy of her request. “We have no facilities here.”

The man rubbed a dirt-covered hand over his grizzled face and blinked sleepily. “Facilities? What facilities?”

“Saint Edmund’s balls, you idiot! They need a chamber pot.” The larger of the jailers interrupted.

Smaller man’s head bobbed in understanding. “Oh. Didn’t think of that. Well…” The effort showed plainly on his face as he tried to think.

A giant sigh swept through the doorway from behind him. “I’ll find ‘em a damned bucket.” Heavy footsteps moved away from the door.

Now was her chance.

Meena sidled sideways, so she was in the man’s frame of view, and leaned in close. “Have you thought about what I said? About hanging? You'll face the noose when this is over.”

The man lifted his chin. His eyes narrowed, but he remained stubbornly mute.

“I understand.” Meena forged on. “It’s not something I’d want to imagine either. But you can’t just kidnap two respectable ladies off the street. The police will—”

The man dismissed her with a wave of the hand. “I ain’t scared of the peelers.”

Meena raised her eyebrows, feigning surprise. “I see. How unfortunate. I had judged you to be far more intelligent than your large friend.”

He rolled his shoulders back, thrusting out his thin chest. “There’s only one man as scares me, and it ain’t the peelers.”

“Really?” Meena leaned closer, feigning intrigue. “I shudder to think who would frighten a man like you.”

His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “The only man what scares me is the boss. I do as he says, and he’s happy. That keeps my heart beating.”

“Very sensible.” Meena moved in for the kill. “I’ll wager I know of one man, besides your boss, who should frighten you.”

“Doubt it.”

“What about the Jonquil? I’m sure you know what he’s done to those that cross him.” She shuddered.

The man’s mouth fell open.

Meena rushed on, not giving him a moment to think. “The Jonquil could find you anywhere. Once he’s found you, there are no locks that will keep him out.” She spoke in a reverent tone. “Should he care to, he would follow you to the very depths of hell to seek his revenge.”

His eyes narrowed as he considered her words. “What would you know of a right man like the Jonquil?”

Her lips curved slowly, blooming into the most lascivious smile she could muster. “Oh goodness.” She raised a hand to her lips. “That’s a rather delicate question. How do I say this simply?” She paused, leaning in so her decolletage, such as it was in a high-necked day dress, jutted toward him. “The Jonquil and I are the most intimate of friends.”

The man’s head jerked back as if he’d been slapped.

Meena toyed with a lock of her hair. “And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how the Jonquil feels about others taking his property.”

“I— I—” The man’s frightened face disappeared back behind the door and it slammed shut, taking the light from the lamp with it.

Meena swore under her breath and sagged back against the door. That had not gone according to plan.

“Well done! You’re so clever.” Alicia clapped her hands together. “I can see your strategy now.”

Such as it was. Meena grimaced. Buoying Alicia’s spirits was worth something, at least.

“I believe our man needs a little more time to stew.” Meena wasn’t entirely sure who she was trying to reassure.

To her surprise, Alicia laughed. “I can’t wait to see Spencer’s face when I tell him how you threatened that hateful little creature with the wrath of the Jonquil. He despises the Jonquil’s outsized reputation.” She giggled. “If it were me, I should enjoy taking credit for such ridiculous exploits. But he’s such a starched shirt. No sense of humor at all.”

Meena’s mouth sagged open. “How long have you known?”

“Practically forever. It’s quite adorable, the way he thinks he’s protecting us. But I’d much rather we could discuss it.” She sighed. “He must have some wonderful stories. Real ones, I mean.”

“I imagine so.” Meena’s head whirled. The little minx. He’d gone to so much trouble for so long to hide it. “And your aunt?”

“She figured it out before I did. She’s a lot sharper than she lets on.”

Meena laughed. “I should say.”

Out of nowhere, a pang of sadness stabbed her. The poor man. All this time. He could have been sharing his exploits, his burdens, his fears, with the women who loved him. Instead, he walled off the biggest part of himself, ensuring that the Spencer they knew was only a fraction of Spencer the man.

And he’d shouldered that burden all these years to protect them.

Another fracture splintered her already shattered heart. He was the man she wanted him to be. Mature. Responsible. Self-sacrificing. A far cry from the selfish, big-headed swell she’d been engaged to so very long ago.

Unfortunately, she’d tossed the former into the gutter along with the later.

She barely heard the shuffling of feet outside the door over the deep, painful pounding of her heart. The lock turned, and the door swung open. A hand appeared, holding a wooden bucket. “This’ll do yeah.” The larger jailer dropped the bucket and slammed the door.

Things, it appeared, were not going well. Meena strove for a brave front. “It shouldn’t be long now.”

“Really?”

“Most definitely.” Meena kept her voice low. “They’re becoming quite testy. That’s an excellent sign.” She hoped.

“I’m rather enjoying your book,” Alicia said. “Might I borrow it once we’re home?”

Meena grinned into the black space around them. At least that part of her plan was working. “Of course. I have all of Mr. Nance’s books. You’re welcome to any of them.”

“The heroine is so refreshing. It gets tiresome, reading about helpless ninnies all the time.”

“Doesn’t it? I find his characters quite invigorating. They’re planners. Doers. No reason in the world a woman can’t design her own destiny.”

Generally. Unless she was too terrified to allow the man she loved to prove himself. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She blinked them away with more force than was strictly necessary.

“It’s true, what you said about my brother, isn’t it?” Alicia’s skirts rustled in the dark. “He’ll come for us.”

Meena groped for the younger girl’s hand and squeezed it tight. “Should my plan fail…” She cleared her throat, striving to infuse her words with all the confidence she truly felt. “Should we fail to extricate ourselves, your brother will come for us. He’ll hunt White and his smarmy little men to ground, and he will save us.”

* * *

A soft, rhythmic scraping, that could have been a large rodent, or merely the wind blowing debris about the ruined storefront, caught Meena’s attention.

Then she realized it was footsteps, approaching quickly, and far too quietly to be routine.

She sprang to her feet. “Alicia, it’s time.”

By the time the door swung open, she had located both of their handbags in the dark and clutched them to her chest.

The smaller jailer pushed the door wide, but kept his eyes averted. “Hurry up now. Get outta here.”

Meena pushed Alicia through the doorway. Instead of following, she stopped and faced the guard, forcing him to look at her. “Where’s White meeting them?”

The man shook his head. “Don’t know.” He shooed her away as if she were an obstinate house pet. “Go on now.”

A surge of anger lit her up. She shoved the skinny man back into the wall. “Where are they meeting?”

He shrugged, affecting disinterest, but a gratifying spark of fear tinged his eyes.

Meena ground her teeth together. “You must have some idea.” She pressed a finger to his chest. “If he hurts any of our group, you’ll still be up for hanging.”

Now the man danced from foot to foot, his gaze flitting about. “There’s a warehouse down at the docks.” The words tumbled out so quickly, he was difficult to understand. “It’s hard by the river. Boss likes to do his rough business there, is all I know.” The man squirmed away and took off running.

Meena grabbed Alicia by the arm. She cursed herself for not taking the man’s lantern before he scurried off. They moved as quickly as they could, but picking their way through the rubble without a light was slow work.

Meena strove to appear calm and collected, even as every bit of her screamed to run. The larger, stronger, meaner of their guards could happen upon them any moment.

Once they crossed the burned-out threshold, things improved. A scant bit of moonlight illuminated the deserted street, allowing them to increase their pace. It was as she feared, however. Whatever part of town they’d been dragged to was deserted.

“This way.” Meena towed the taller girl toward the closest corner. The quicker they put a few twists and turns between them and the guards the better.

“You did it! You really did it.” Alicia’s breathless praise likely had more to do with their pace than amazement. “Now all we need is—”

“Satan’s balls.” Thick hands grabbed Meena’s collar.

Beside her, Alicia shrieked.

Their jailer lifted Meena in one great fist, raising her up until her toes barely brushed the pavement. Handbag swinging from her arm, she tried to pry his thick fingers away, but it was like trying to bend iron bars.

He shook her so hard her head snapped back. “Thought you could scarper off, did ya?”

She tried to remain limp, to let him think he’d shaken the fight out of her.

He released her, but spread his arms wide, blocking their way. “Here now. Get on back in there. I don’t like to hurt ladies… mostly.”

Damnable bloody hell. Meena tried to blink away the anger surging through her, misting her vision. If that idiot had only let them out a few seconds sooner. She stood as tall as she could, setting her hands on her hips and jutting her chin, making herself as imposing, as commanding, as possible. “Let us pass, or it’ll go badly for you.”

He snorted.

Meena tightened her grip on her handbag, and took a slow, deep breath, hardening the muscles in her core, preparing to strike. “All right then.”

Alicia was frozen to the spot. Excellent.

She was fighting far above her weight class. Taking down the big thug would require all of her concentration. Protecting Alicia at the same time would stretch her limited abilities too thin.

His patience clearly at an end, the man lurched forward, trying to startle them, to make them cower and scuttle back to their cell. “Get a move on.”

Meena flinched, as if he’s scared her. At the same time, she swung her travel bag in a sharp arc, smashing it straight into the oaf’s face. The heavy bag connected with a satisfying thunk that travelled painfully up her shoulder.

The man groaned and staggered back, hands protecting his face.

Meena expelled her breath in a great yell and shot the heel of her other hand upward. It connected with the point of his grizzled jaw, snapping his head back with a vicious jolt.

He dropped like a felled tree.

Meena grinned. Master Tadeoka would be proud. Her fingers were growing numb, and the heel of her hand burned a bit. She flexed her fingers. A fair price to pay for felling a man who outweighed her by three stone at least.

“There now.” Meena took Alisha’s hand and covered the girl’s cold fingers with her other hand. “Let’s find your brother.”

Alicia reared back, pulling away from Meena’s grasp. She bounced up and down on her toes. “That was brilliant! Utterly brilliant! Can you teach me?”

“It requires a great deal of study.” Meena hedged. She wasn’t likely to see much of the girl once they found their way back to their normal lives.

“I can see why.” Alicia’s voice rang with enthusiasm and reverence. “Well worth the work, I’m sure.”

Behind them, the great lump on the pavement groaned. Meena pulled Alicia down the street. “We can discuss this later.”

By which she meant never.

Now that they were free, they were only moments—hours at best—away from parting.

Alicia would go back to being a carefree schoolgirl.

And she could return to nursing her broken heart.

* * *

“Wapping Old Stairs. Which way?”

The words burst from Spencer’s mouth the instant he reached the top of the stairs at the far end of the tunnel. What little breath he’d had left by the time he ran the breadth of the Thames, the eighty foot climb back up to the surface had stolen.

The elderly attendant at the Tower Hill entrance twirled around on his stool, his face set in concentration.

“Wapping—” Spencer gasped. He topped the last step and bent forward, hands on his knees, breathing deeply, hoping he could gather enough air to speak. “Which way? Wapping Old Stairs.”

The man pointed a gnarled finger off to the right.

While Spencer’s lungs burned from running, his heart flamed with rage. Gulping in another lungful of air, he lurched off in the direction indicated.

Once Meena and Alicia were free, White was a dead man.

Slowing just enough to keep his legs from collapsing, Spencer jogged down the deserted streets, thankful that even in such a poor district, the gas lights were plentiful enough to provide adequate illumination.

It seemed to take forever, but in reality within a few more blocks, he reached the Town of Ramsgate, the pub that flanked the entrance to the Wapping Old Stairs. He hadn’t seen so much as a mouse since he exited the tunnel. Of course the vast warehouses lining the river wouldn’t be operating at night.

The so-called pub looked dark and uninviting. Even if it was open for business at this time of night, Spencer knew no one who’d frequent such a place would have any interest in coming to his aid.

All of which worked to White’s advantage.

The pub’s peeling sign drooped from its brackets, still as the thick night air. Just beyond it would be the narrow alley ending in a set of stairs to the riverbank. As he reached the path, he noted a carriage a bit further on, tucked into a shadow beyond the nearest streetlight.

White’s escape plan, no doubt.

The path cut between the tavern and a dusty old curiosity shop. Deserted as the neighborhood was, White could have stashed the women anywhere. A wave of panic, icy and foul as the Thames itself, crashed over him, making his stomach cramp and his hands shake.

Were they cowering behind that broken window? That bolted door? Were they bound? Gagged?

The uncertainty slashed away at his confidence.

He slapped his palm against the wall, relishing the bite of the bricks against his skin. One step at a time. All he had to do now was keep White busy until reinforcements arrived. On their own, each of them beat White for intelligence, bravery and determination.

Together, they would overwhelm him with their superior skills.

All he had to do was keep White dancing a few moments longer. Spencer nodded to himself, branding the thought into his brain.

Keep dancing. Keep dancing. Keep dancing.

He shoved off the wall. Hardly wider than shoulder width, the path was dark and singularly uninviting. All the more so since it ended at the Old Stairs, which simply spilled into the river.

Quite the perfect spot for a trap.

His legs still wobbly as rubber, he set off toward the shadows. The pistol in his waistband bit into the small of his back. He studied the shadows at the far end of the short walkway, imagining White’s men dragging him down the stairs and into the rippling water.

“Mr. Crane.” A voice called out. Oddly, it came from behind.

Hand on the butt of his pistol, he whirled around.

A figure alighted from the coach across the street. A dark cape fluttered behind him as he sauntered forward. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

White.

The maniacal arrogance alone gave it away.

As the man strolled across the lane, Spencer studied him, searching for anything that might give him an advantage. His unhurried pace suggested confidence. Far too much confidence, given the situation. Overconfidence was good. The man’s size was in Spencer’s favor as well, although he knew better than to think White would confront him alone.

But there was no one but a driver up on the carriage. No men loitering in doorways. No big-shouldered giants bursting from the quiet coach. Until a soft scrape, shoe leather rubbing an uneven cobble, alerted him too late.

Instinct make him jerk sideways, one hand going for the pistol in the waistband of his trousers, but he’d reacted too slowly.

A blow to the side of the head brought blinding pain.

Then blackness.

* * *

A wave of nausea—spiked by pulses of pain—dragged him back to consciousness.

Spencer’s head felt like it’d been split in half. He wanted to groan, to press his hands to his head. But he knew better. Anything that signaled he’d regained consciousness would give his attackers an upper hand. He forced himself to remain limp. Any information he could gather before they realized he was awake could make the difference.

He was lying face first on a hard floor, hands bound behind his back. No, not a hard floor, a carriage. The telltale sway and the scent of horses gave it away.

He sensed at least one other presence. Turning his head a few inches brought two pairs of boots into view inches from his face. White had to be the owner of the highly polished pair.

He closed his eyes against a fresh pulse of pain. Little could be accomplished in such tight confines, especially when both White and his man were likely armed. Nothing for it now but to let the scene play out.

“We’re almost there.” White’s voice cut through the silence. “Get him up.”

The next instant Spencer was dragged up by the back of his neck and thrown on the seat across from White. Unprepared as he was, his head smacked the side of the coach.

A soft moan escaped his lips before he could stop it.

“I’m sure you must be crazed with worry about your young sister and Miss Sweet, of course.” White’s plummy voice hammered at Spencer’s brain. “You’ll be pleased to know you’ll be joining them.”

If the words didn’t worry him, the sickening laugh did.

Spencer remained crumpled against the side of the coach. Now that he was fully conscious, he noticed the slow trickle of blood down his temple. “You won’t get the recordings now.”

“How good of you to point out the obvious.” White’s voice rang with laughter, as if he were enjoying some private joke. “I don’t need them.”

Too tired to make sense of the information, Spencer stared at the hulking form across from him. White’s hired muscle stared back, his gaze flat and disinterested.

“I can have those ridiculous things destroyed anytime I like.” White giggled. “What I do need is for you to disappear.”

“Sweet will only make more. You’ll never be sure you’ve got them all.”

White snorted. “Edison Sweet won’t be making any more recordings. Trust me when I say that’ll be taken care of directly.”

White leaned across the small distance between them. Close enough for Spencer to smell the brandy on his breath. “What I can’t do—thanks to you—is repair my reputation.”

White threw himself back into the seat cushions. “This was business. Simple business. I would’ve thought you understood that.” White exhaled. “But you had to make it personal. You’ve destroyed my reputation in society. Had you agreed to go along at the beginning, none of this would’ve happened. You’ve ruined everything.” The longer the man rambled, the higher his voice rose.

White was losing control.

Spencer sat quietly, trying to ignore the sick sense of dread vibrating through his very bones, trying to think through the blasted pain in his head.

“So it’s only fitting I ruin you.” White giggled, louder and longer than before.

The coach slowed, then ground to a halt. The wheels had barely stopped turning before White jumped out the door. “Bring him,” he commanded his silent companion.

The man spoke for the first time. “Get out.” He kicked Spencer in the ankle and shoved him out onto the pavement.

Arms still pinned behind his back, Spencer allowed himself to be manhandled. Fighting back would only encourage more blows. The bigger man shoved him into the burned-out guts of an old building. Though there was a lantern at the far end, Spencer stumbled over splintered wood, piles of molding trash, and broken glass.

“Where the hell are the guards?” White held up a small lantern. He whirled about, clearly searching for something. Spencer was pleased to see that he looked distressed. “Where’s the fucking key?” The lantern wavered wildly now, as did White’s voice. “Find the fucking key!”

Spencer was beginning to understand. The steel door there, the one with the business-looking lock. Alicia and Meena were behind it. Relief flooded him, stealing all strength from his legs. He grinned. Grinned and grinned and grinned.

They were alive.

There’d be no need of guards, no reason to lock the door, if they weren’t capable of escape. He couldn’t wait to see them. To hold them. Kiss them. Scold them.

“Here, sir.” A steady voice called out. A faint jingling told him White’s man had located the key.

Spencer tried to shake off the euphoria pumping blood through his body so fast his cheeks tingled. Any second might provide the opportunity for escape. He reached out to Meena in his mind, willing her to be ready to strike once the door opened.

Damnation, if his hands had only been in front of him. But he had his legs. And Meena.

White kicked the door. “Open it.”

The big man sent Spencer a warning look, then took his eyes off him long enough to work the lock. He shoved the door open, only to stop short. “I need the light.” He gestured to White. Holding the lantern high, he pushed the door wide.

Spencer watched them, waiting for his moment. He’d rush White, barrel straight into the lighter man and knock him straight off his feet. Then Meena would spring into action. If she could distract the big tough for a few seconds, Spencer could launch himself on the giant as well, and then—

“What the hell!”

“What?” White grabbed Spencer by the elbow and threw him into the small storeroom.

It was empty.

Nothing but a few crates piled against the back wall. He squinted at a small pile of rags near the tumbled crates. He only caught a glimpse, but it was enough to make him faint with relief. Purple gloves. Those silly purple gloves he’d won at the fair.

The women had been there. And Meena had gotten them to safety.

Relief, thanks, joy, lifted him so high, he wondered that his feet still touched the filthy floor.

It made the rest of this business irrelevant. They were safe. Nothing White could do to him mattered now.

“Find them.” White’s command held only the merest thread of sanity.

He shoved Spencer so hard he stumbled the length of the small room until his shoulder smashed into the far wall. The steel door slammed shut.

Still shaking with relief, he allowed himself to slide slowly down the wall.

They were safe.

Whatever happened now, Meena and Alicia would live. Relief flooded him, draining the last of his strength.

He leaned his head back against the wall of his cell and stretched out his legs. Cold from the rough stone floor quickly seeped through the thin wool of his trousers.

White could scarper off to any continent he chose. The man would come to an ugly end one way or another. It needn’t be by his hand. Although he couldn’t deny he’d gain a certain satisfaction from squeezing the life from the worthless sot.

He twisted sideways, trailed his fingers over the cold floor, searching for the gloves. He had to stretch a good bit to reach them, but once he snagged them, he squeezed them tight.

God, but she asked a lot of a man. Too much, he used to think.

But now that it was too late, now he understood she’d never demanded anything he wasn’t capable of giving. Spencer rubbed the thin knit between his fingers, relishing the softness, imagining the fabric itself still held a bit of her presence.

If only he’d been bright enough to recognize it. Courageous enough to try.

He’d settled for her disdain when he could have had her love.