Amarantha was not hiding.

Not any longer.

Not at least monumentally as Anne Foster, tea shop girl.

And not precisely hiding.

She just happened to be passing behind a potted palm when, from its other side, she heard her quarry’s name uttered in an agitated hush. Not his actual name, the name that never failed to create a tickle of guilty pleasure in her stomach: Gabriel. Nor his family’s name: Hume. Nor his title: Loch Irvine. Rather, the name everybody still seemed to prefer for him, despite the lack of disappearing maidens since the previous spring.

The assembly rooms were aglitter, chandeliers bathing all in a golden glow. Jewels twinkled, coy glances sparkled, and music spun temptingly through the night. She longed to dance; dancing had been one of her many joys that Paul had quashed.

But she had no time for frivolities now. Tonight she had come for gossip.

“The Devil’s Duke, you say?” exclaimed the matron whose headdress sported a peacock feather that danced above the tips of the palm.

“The very one!” replied her companion, whose gown of pineapple pin-striped taffeta glared visibly through the fronds. “He has returned to Edinburgh, I tell you! I myself had a glimpse of him the other day on High Street. He rode a wild black stallion, huge and haughty for everybody to see.”

“The man has no shame.” The peacock feather quivered. “And with those two poor lasses still missing!”

“No doubt he’s still got them chained up in his dungeons.”

“And never saying a word to defend himself, as though he’d not a care that everybody thinks the worst of him!”

“They say he is still in need of a fortune to restore Haiknayes,” Pineapple whispered ominously. “He will be looking for a bride again, mark my words.”

This was news to Amarantha. She had thought Haiknayes was still locked up tight, as though the present duke cared nothing for his estate so close to Edinburgh.

“He’ll not get his hands on my daughter!” Peacock said, aghast. “I shall lock her away myself before I will allow her within a mile of that devil.”

For a moment Amarantha’s thoughts were taken up with the memory of a young naval officer’s hand, large and strong, on her.

“And that isn’t all,” said Pineapple in horrified accents. “They say he has hired a house here in Leith!”

Amarantha’s heart did a turnabout. This was excellent news. If he were here, Dr. Shaw would certainly call on him.

While living with Constance and Saint in Edinburgh, at whose home Dr. John Shaw and his daughter, Elizabeth, were regular visitors, Amarantha had learned that during the previous spring the Duke of Loch Irvine had in fact spent more time in the company of young Libby and the doctor than he had courting Constance. It seemed he was as unusual as ever.

Now he was in Leith. The end of her long quest was in sight. She felt downright giddy.

“Don’t tell me you are hiding, Mrs. Garland,” came a pleasant voice at her shoulder. “I refuse to believe that you are shy.”

She swiveled to meet the familiar crisp blue gaze of Thomas Bellarmine. Cousin to Amarantha and Libby’s fondest acquaintances in Leith, he called regularly at the Shaw’s house.

“Oh, I am not hiding, Mr. Bellarmine. I am eavesdropping.” Honesty was her new life’s plan: no more false identities, no more subterfuge, and no lies—not even little lies—not since she discovered Emily had been so desperately worried that she had traveled the length of England and half of Scotland to find her. That she had distressed Emily as thoroughly as Penny’s disappearance had distressed her made her the worst sort of hypocrite.

Henceforth, even though the object of her pursuit lived in shadowy mystery, she would go forward openly and honestly.

“How shocking, madam.” Mr. Bellarmine’s conspiratorial grin made him handsome. “Have you heard anything of particular interest?”

“They,” she said, gesturing toward the plant, “are discussing the return to town of the Duke of Loch Irvine.”

“The Devil’s Duke? Aha. Excellent fodder for gossip, of course.”

“Do you believe the gossip?”

“It is a curious conundrum, in truth. One cannot deny that he is a mysterious character. But I once did business for my uncle with Loch Irvine’s agent in Portsmouth, a Mr. Du Lac. Most unassuming fellow you would ever meet. French West Indian, I believe, which was a curiosity, to be sure. An honest man, though. I cannot imagine him working for a villain. Have the rumors intrigued you?”

“No.” They made her more eager than ever to discover if anything remained in him of the young man she had known.

“I have heard ladies admire darkly dangerous men,” Mr. Bellarmine said.

“I suppose some ladies might.” If they were young, naïve, and impetuous. “The music is delightful tonight, isn’t it?”

“Aha: a swift change in subject. I will gallantly reply, yes, positively delightful. It makes a man want to ask the loveliest woman in the place to dance. Will you do me the honor?”

“Thank you, sir. But I cannot—”

“I shan’t take no for an answer, especially since as I approached you I noticed that your toe was tapping.”

“Was it? How unguarded I am! I do want to dance—it’s true.” The good news was cause for celebration.

“Then dance you must, madam.” He extended his arm.

She accepted it.

As the patterns began, she looked over the ballgoers. To find an heiress bride, the duke might attend parties. High society in Leith was modest. But he must have reason to have hired a house here instead of in nearby Edinburgh. Invitations to parties arrived for her regularly now. She would meet him again, if not in Dr. Shaw’s home then in some society matron’s drawing room. It was as simple as that.

Her stomach spun with nerves. She wanted to laugh.

“—heard a word I’ve said just now,” Mr. Bellarmine said as the musicians played the final chords of the set. “How dispiriting to compose compliments and have them fall on deaf ears.”

“Forgive me, sir. I am lost in thought tonight.”

“I wonder what can you be thinking of. A gentleman, no doubt. Lucky bloke.”

She blinked. “A gentleman?”

“I am not the only man here tonight to rejoice that you have put off your mourning black, Mrs. Garland. Who, I wonder, will have the honor of winning the fair lady’s admiration?” His smile was friendly as he looked about the ballroom as though searching for the gentleman in question. “For correct me if I am mistaken, but you have come out this evening with suitors in mind, haven’t you?”

“I have not.”

His sandy brows rose.

“I am sorry to be obliged to correct you after all,” she said. “Widowhood suits me.”

“Madam, I admit myself astonished! You are—well, that is—you are so young. And lovely.”

“Thank you, sir.” She dipped a curtsy. “But I am happy in my present situation. I do not wish to change it.” Ever. “Now, I have left Miss Shaw alone too long. Good evening,” she said, probably too cheerfully, and made her way through ballgoers to the stairs.

Libby had retreated to the reading room upstairs almost as soon as they arrived. And Amarantha had learned what she had come to this ball to discover. They needn’t remain longer, especially if nice young men would take from it the false idea that she wished to be courted.

She opened the reading room door into near darkness. It smelled of wood polish and the deep musty sweetness of books: the scent of her father’s library at Willows Hall, and comforting.

A lamp on a table near the far end of the room lit the side of a tall wingback chair and, in that chair, a gentleman’s shoulder, arm, and crossed legs. A book rested upon his knee, open. His hand glittered with a jewel as he turned the page.

In the rest of the dim room, no Libby stirred. But Amarantha had occasionally found the crowd-wary girl in unlit corners, on rooftops, and once hiding in a cabinet. She went forward.

“Libby? Are you here?”

The gentleman’s hand paused with the page half turned.

Amarantha raised her voice. “I beg pardon for disturbing you, sir. I am searching for a friend. Have you seen a young lady in this room tonight?”

With hands that seemed incongruously strong around a mere book, he closed the volume and laid it on the table. Unfolding himself, he arose from the chair and faced her.

Amarantha’s lungs seized up then plunged into her toes.

Across the shadows, the Duke of Loch Irvine rested his dark gaze upon her.

“Aye,” he said. “I have now.”