Meena feigned great interest in the excellent example of Spanish Realism on the wall in front of her. To her left, Edison and Briar pretended to scrutinize an odd still life glorifying grapes, lemons, and—for some odd reason—a dead fish.

To her right, Crane slumped on a bench, oblivious to the treasures surrounding him. Perhaps the British Museum was not precisely to his taste. On the other hand, given the brandy he’d consumed, his head must be aching.

Sequestered in the book shop’s dark office, she and Crane had both slept far past dawn. They’d had to rush to make it all the way to the far side of the city in time to meet her cousins. Between the omnibus and a hurried hansom ride, there had been little time to talk. That suited Meena.

Between the small back room, the books and the brandy, Meena had no desire to spend another instant in forced intimacy with Crane.

Now they were meeting in a small, obscure gallery at the back of the magnificent museum. A perfect place for the four of them to confer.

Meena only hoped her cousins would be reasonable. Crane seemed willing to pool their resources. It would be a shame to waste the opportunity. She couldn’t wait to see the last of him, but she was honest enough to admit putting their heads together would solve their mutual problem much more quickly.

Meena straightened her spine and dove in. “I propose that we work with Crane. He knows Ramsay well. And it goes without saying that we all have different skills to bring to the problem.” She kept her eyes on the fish’s unnerving stare as she talked, not wanting to let Edison’s glowering presence distract her.

“I agree.” Her cousin’s deep voice vibrated off the walls of the small gallery.

Meena blinked.

Edison glared at Crane’s hunched form. "Much as I’d like to knock his head off, he’ll be quite an asset.”

Meena swallowed hard. “That’s it then.” She couldn’t shake the feeling she might yet regret her wish.

Briar’s delightful teal walking dress swirled around her ankles as she turned toward them. “How will we find Ramsay?”

“I have no idea.” Crane shook his head. “He’s been nowhere near his usual haunts.”

Hands deep in his pockets, Edison strolled over to look at the Spanish painting. He cocked his head to the side as if mesmerized by the exquisite brushwork. “Won’t take long. We’ve got people looking into that. Plenty of people in our world know of him.”

“But what about the necklace?” Briar asked. “The police figure the two of you for the job. I don’t see how we can pin that on Ramsay. Clever of him to drop the damned thing in your bedroom.”

Meena tapped a finger on the guilt edge of the bench. “I don’t imagine we can count on him confessing.”

Edison crossed his powerful arms over his chest. “I don’t know about that.”

Crane looked up. “We don’t need Ramsay to confess. We only need him to admit it wasn't us.”

Edison’s smile was not a friendly one. “He can implicate one of his own, or he can disappear. Whichever he likes.”

Crane smirked. “I’d be satisfied with either conclusion.”

Meena sighed. “Yes, yes. That’s all well and good to manhandle Ramsay, but the truth is, we can’t force him do anything.”

Crane looked annoyed. “You have another idea?”

“I do not. No. But there’s time. We haven’t even found him yet.”

“I say turnabout is fair play.” Briar stepped closer to the odd still life, and wrinkled her nose at the limp fish, then she grinned. “Why can’t we frame him?”

Crane smiled approvingly. “That is brilliant. Make sure a few other pieces from the ball show up at Ramsay’s lodgings. Then it would be obvious he was trying to implicate us.” He sat up taller, clearly energized. “Blackborough might even go after him himself.”

Edison chuckled. “A bonus. I like it.”

Briar smiled, acknowledging his praise. “I have an entire collection of maid’s costumes. It’ll be nothing to gain access to Blackborough’s neighbors. A necklace here, a signet ring there, and Ramsay will be in it deep.”

A young couple rushed around the corner into the gallery, their arms linked. Their faces fell when they saw they wouldn’t be alone.

Meena stood and straightened her wrinkled skirts. She strolled out of the gallery. The others followed at a leisurely pace.

“I believe we’ve the beginnings of a most excellent plan,” she said once they’d moved into the next room. “Crane and I must simply keep out of sight until you find Ramsay.”

Briar fished in her reticule and held out a large brass key. “That’s already handled.” She dropped it into Meena’s palm. “A Mr. and Mrs. Dickens are registered at the Excelsior. I’ve already dropped off your things."

Meena raised an eyebrow. “The Excelsior? That’s—”

“Indecently expensive.” Breyer grinned. “I know. The inspector won't think to search for you there.”

Meena’s fingers curled around the key. “You have a point. But can’t we find something less… married?”

“You’d never be allowed in any respectable hotel on your own.” Crane seemed to guess her meaning.

He was right. Blast it. After yesterday, she wanted breathing room. She wanted her own kitchen. She wanted her own bed. Most of all, she wanted away from Spencer Crane.

Spending an entire night with him had been unsettling. The edges of her anger were eroding, and she didn’t like that one bit. Being angry with Spencer Crane hurt so much less than the alternative.

She would have her way soon enough, however. Now was no time to be a ninny. A few more days couldn’t cause too much damage.

She hoped.

“It’s shocking. Just shocking.” A red-faced gentlemen and his tall stick of a wife passed by the doorway to the gallery. His face was aflame, his thick ears red as beets. “Nothing but filth.”

A museum guard trailed after the couple. He looked over their group and continued on his way.

Meena moved toward the entrance to the gallery, her attention on the guard. “Wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.”

“Oh wait.” Briar reached back into her bag and held out a thick gold band. “Here. We’ve got to make this look good.”

A wedding ring.

Meena tried not to cringe. She took the piece and shoved it on her finger. It felt cold. Heavy.

And entirely wrong.

* * *

“This featherbed is delicious.”

Meena sank back on the thick mattress with a happy groan. Amazing what a bath and some proper tea could do for one’s mood. Now that she was no longer rumpled and tired and hungry, the next few days with Crane didn’t seem so insurmountable.

“It’s divine here, isn’t it?” Briar sailed through the connecting doorway from Crane’s room. She sighed heartily. “He has absolutely nothing intriguing among his things.”

“Briar! Shouldn’t we afford the man some privacy?”

Her cousin considered for a moment before shaking her head. “No. He’s the reason we’re in this mess.”

Meena wrapped her dressing gown more tightly around herself and re-tied the sash. “What did you expect him to bring, a bag of stolen jewels? No, wait.” She thought for a moment. “A journal. The Jonquil’s journal, with detailed descriptions of every heist.”

“And interesting anecdotes about all the society nobs he’s robbed, and the ladies he’s bedded.” Briar winced. “I’m sorry.”

“No need.” Meena waved away her apology. “I am immune to Spencer Crane.”

Mostly.

Meena rolled onto her stomach. Although she was in much better spirits, she was grateful her cousins had seen fit to get them adjoining rooms. Having to spend the night in such sumptuous surroundings with Crane would have been asking far too much.

Even with separate chambers, the suite felt too decadent. The rich decor, the elegant bedding, and the vases brimming with deep red roses seemed staged for an assignation.

Meena rubbed her hand over the green satin coverlet, wondering how many women had lain there, whiling away the time sipping champagne, awaiting their lovers.

Briar crossed to the French doors that opened onto a tiny balcony and studied the street one story below. “I hope they hurry. I’m famished.”

Meena watched her cousin pick at the last crumbs on the tea tray. Between the four of them, they made short work of the small sandwiches and scones before Edison and Crane headed off to check in with some of Edison’s acquaintances regarding Ramsay.

As she studied the sturdy cart, Meena realized she could do with a proper meal herself.

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, twisting the unfamiliar band around her finger. “You don’t think Edison will hurt him, do you?”

Briar shrugged. “Probably not. He seems to be over that part.” She eyed Meena suspiciously. “I wasn’t certain you’d care.”

“I don’t,” she lied. “I just think we need all the help we can get until this business is done with.”

Briar flopped down in the upholstered chair nestled in the corner near the balcony doors. “You’re handling this business with Crane very well.”

Meena studied the fine crown moulding that edged the ceiling like thick white fondant. “That’s all old business now. And clearly, it was for the best.”

Briar looked unconvinced.

“Even if Crane weren’t such a cad, he’s too wild. To undisciplined. We would never have suited.”

“Hmmm.” Briar studied her with narrowed eyes, all the while twisting an auburn ringlet around her finger. “I can’t agree. You could use more excitement in your life.”

Meena sat up and spread her arms wide. “Is this not enough excitement?”

“You know what I mean. Manly excitement.” She waved dismissively. “This bother is just the cost of doing business.”

Meena flopped back down on the delightful mattress. “I have no need of excessive stimulation. What I admire in a man is steadiness, responsibility, loyalty.”

“Sounds like your perfect man would make an excellent house pet. You’d be bored before dinner.”

“I could surprise you.”

Briar snorted. “And Mr. Steady won’t care one whit that you crack open the odd safe now and again?”

That was the rub.

Meena closed her eyes. How many steady, loyal men would she find willing to put up with her avocation? She rolled onto her side and propped her head up on her hand. None of that mattered anyway. She was not currently in the market for a romantic relationship.

A wicked little smile tugged a Briar’s lips.

Meena frowned. “What?”

“I was just thinking. You know that Mr. Quigley, at the end of the block?”

Meena pictured their neighbors. “The one who lives with his mother?” She shuddered.

“That’s the one. He’s rather handsome, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”

“He’s some sort of physician I believe. Perfectly respectable. We should have him to tea.”

Meena bolted upright. “No, we should not. He isn’t… He doesn’t…” She shook her head in frustration. “He’s not interesting.”

“Ah. So we must add interesting to the list.” Briar was silent for a moment. “Crane is interesting.”

Meena laughed. “The Jonquil is entirely too interesting. And too headstrong, and too much of a womanizer. Other than that, I’m sure he’s perfect.”

Briar put a finger to her lips, her gaze on the ceiling. “Perhaps the locksmith next to the dressmaker’s shop. You’d have a great deal in common.”

Her deep blue gaze met Meena’s, and they both dissolved in a heap of giggles.

Meena was still laughing when the door to her room crashed open. A burly, bearded man with thick forearms, wild eyes, and a large pistol barreled in.

She was up off the bed before she was even aware of it.

Briar was on her feet as well, a wicked little throwing dagger already in her hand. She raised her arm to heave it at the intruder, but before it left her fingers, another man burst in from the balcony behind her, knocking her to the ground.

The dagger tumbled harmlessly out of reach.

The first attacker lunged at Meena. He seized her by the upper arms, shaking her so hard her teeth rattled. “This here’s the one.”

“What in the blazing—” Meena protested.

The brute smacked her across the face, knocking her sideways.

She staggered back and fell hard across the tea cart, crashing to the floor on top of it.

Pain stabbed her hips and shins where they’d banged into the cart’s metal edges. She ignored it, desperately trying to scramble to her feet. Before she could fill her lungs to scream, her attacker grabbed her by the back of neck and dragged her upright.

As he pulled her up, Meena saw that Briar was on her side, watching for an opening to strike.

Meena’s attacker yanked hard at the neck of her dressing gown, trying to pull her back toward the door. She resisted, sagging back against him, making him haul her dead weight.

“Bloody hell!” Briar’s assailant screamed. “You little bitch.”

The man was bent over, clutching his thigh, one of Briar’s hat pins planted firmly in the center of his leg. The pistol swung from his fingers, forgotten.

Briar grabbed the weapon and leveled it at the man’s chest. She cocked the pistol. “Call off your man.”

Howling in anger, Meena’s attacker shook her like a wet dog. “You’re the one we came for.”

His face was so close, Meena could see the dirt ringing his thick neck. His hot breath washed across her face, making her stomach heave.

Ignoring Briar, he dragged her toward the open door.

Even with her attacker wounded, Meena knew Briar dare not take her gun off him. She needed her own weapon most desperately. Her parasol was on the far side of the room. A hot rush of anger sent a surge of strength through her. She reached out, fingers clawing toward the large silver teapot on the floor, but it was just out of reach.

Seeing her dilemma, Briar leapt forward, her skirts held high, and kicked the teapot straight at her. Meena wrapped her fingers tightly around the handle and bashed her assailant straight in the face, hitting him so hard the teapot dented.

“Well done!” Briar called out.

Bellowing in pain, the man stumbled back, pulling her with him. As he dragged her back, Meena scooped up the stray lemon slices from the broken dish on the floor and squirted him in the eyes.

The man released his grip, and thrust his hands over his stinging eyes. “Holy bleeding hell,” he yelled as he staggered off down the hallway.

Meena turned her attention to Briar’s man. As she suspected, her cousin already had things in hand. Their second attacker had backed himself into the wall next to the open balcony doors. The hat pin no longer stuck out of his thigh, but his hands were still wrapped around his injured leg. If looks could kill, the rage in his close-set eyes would have felled them on the spot.

But rage was no match for a loaded weapon.

Both she and Briar advanced on him, each watching for another weapon, another attack. But the tough had had enough. He limped back out to the balcony. They gave chase, but before they could reach him, he vaulted over the ledge.

By the time they reached the railing, he was sliding down the canvas awning that shaded the ground floor windows. Like a child hurtling down a slide, he flew over the edge of the awning and tumbled out into the street. A figure darted out from under the building and dragged him to his feet.

Jameson Ramsay.

Meena locked gazes with her cousin.

Briar’s face was blank with shock. “Looks like we’re in the thick of it now.”

* * *

Ramsay shifted from foot to foot, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his overcoat. It wasn’t the cold that kept him moving. He only wished it were a chill that made his arms, his shoulders, his legs, so tense they trembled.

The old wharf was dark and foul. It smelled of machine oil, and the particular stench of Thames’ black water that swirled around the pilings beneath the worn planks. A small animal skittered through the refuse that had blown into the corners of the building in front of him. He shuddered.

His employer slipped out of the shadow of the dilapidated shack. “Let me see if I understand this.”

He strolled toward Ramsay and his men, his pace unhurried, though something about the set of his shoulders made Ramsay want to flee.

All the more so when he noticed the evil-looking giant with him. Standing a head taller than most men, just the sight of the bodyguard would be enough to send most men running.

His employer waved a silver topped cane at Ramsay and his men. “So I’m to believe you men came out looking like this? Against two unarmed women?”

Ramsay swallowed hard. He stared down at the stained wood, waiting for the storm to blow over. If he was lucky enough to make it out of this mess alive, he’d never deal with the quality again.

The taller of his accomplices sniffed and sent a wad of spittle arcing off into the darkness. “They wasn’t no normal women.” He stepped forward until Ramsay could see the big bruise covering the side of his face. “Fought like men. Unnatural I calls it.” He cocked his head toward Ramsay. “He told us they was ladies. They wasn’t no such thing.”

Ramsay moved to put a hand on the man’s arm, to stop him, but he thought better of it. Leyland White appeared every inch the polished nob, but the man had a hair trigger.

“I see.” White eyed them as if they were dung splattered on his shoes. “How distressing that must have been.”

Ramsay’s other accomplice shuffled backwards, hampered by his game leg.

Silence settled over the empty wharf, eating at his nerves. His fingers worked at the buttons of his overcoat. “I underestimated them, sir. It won’t happen again.” He rushed on. “I’ve got the size of them now.”

If anything, the man looked bored. Ramsay didn’t find that reassuring.

“We did get the ledger.” He hurried to point out.

“As to that—” White snapped his fingers. The giant slipped a leather-bound book into his hands. He launched it out into the river with a vicious heave. “It’s a fake.”

Chills, then burning heat raced from the soles of Ramsay’s feet to the top of his head. He wondered if he might faint. “But it came straight from Blackborough’s safe. I took it from the woman myself.”

White waved away his concern. “Don’t fret. I believe you.” His eyes narrowed. “This time.” The man sighed. “It’s of no import. It was merely a test. I wanted to see if Mr. Crane and Miss Sweet were as capable as you say.”

He smiled. “Fake or not, they passed. I have every confidence they’ll be able to perform the tasks I have set for them. Now, it’s time for you to step up, Mr. Ramsay. I won’t tolerate another failure.”

Ramsay was trembling so hard, he wasn’t sure his tongue would work. “I’ll get Crane. And the woman. I can—”

“Yes, yes.” White’s gaze veered off over the oily water. “I’m sure you will.” Then he glared straight at him, pinning him to the spot. “You do know what awaits if you fail?”

Ramsay’s mouth was so dry, his tongue stuck to his teeth. He swallowed once, twice, three times, before he could make his lips move. “I do, My Lord. I do. I’ve got a better plan now. You’ll have them soon.”

His employer laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

“For your continued health, Mr. Ramsay, I hope that’s true.”

White took a step toward him. He tried to remain calm, but he couldn’t stop himself from flinching as the man closed in. He cursed himself under his breath.

Showing fear to a man like White would be the death of him.

Legs trembling, Ramsay forced himself to remain still as the man and his lumbering body guard brushed past. The body guard swung wide, smashing a broad shoulder into his bruised companion, almost knocking him off his feet.

White reached the door of his waiting coach. One foot on the step, he stopped, and turned back toward Ramsay and his men. With a careless motion, he pointed at them with the tip of his black cane.

Before Ramsay could blink, the body guard whipped around to face them, a dagger in his meaty hand.

“Bless the Lord our God—” Ramsay whispered the only line of prayer he knew.

But the body guard passed by him. With an agonizing groan, the bruised robber to his right clutched his chest and crumpled to the ground.

The giant pulled his knife from the man’s body and wiped it clean on the man’s own coat. Then he threw a questioning glance back at their employer.

“You two.” The cane pointed at Ramsay and his hobbled companion. “Toss the body in the river.”

The squeal of the springs as the big body guard climbed into the coach cut through the awful silence. Ramsay and his remaining assistant stared at each other, neither man moving to touch the body, until the coach rumbled off.

As if by design, he and the smaller man nodded at each other, and bent in unison to pick up the body.

Ramsay’s hands were shaking so badly, he could barely grip the dead man’s jacket. Each inch forward seemed to take an hour. The awful sound of the man’s body scraping along the uneven planks of the pier would be with him for a lifetime.

White’s carriage was long gone before they made it to the edge of the wharf.

With a glance around to make sure they were unobserved, Ramsay nodded at his crippled helper. They bent low and rolled the heavy body over the side.

It hit the water with a loud splash, then disappeared into the blackness with sickening speed. With a wince, he straightened his aching back and wiped a hand over the chilled sweat running down the sides of his face. He’d deliver Crane and Meena Sweet, trussed up better than Christmas geese.

Then he would run. He’d run until he found a place no earl’s git would dare venture.