Emily wore her second-best gown for the Landstones’ ball. The dress bore up well under the weight of the added lace, mostly intended to hide the more worn spots of the gown. With her hair curled nicely to hang by her face and a pair of comfortable slippers on her feet, she felt certain tonight would be an excellent evening. She needed a good haul if she was going to make up the ground she had lost due to Cooper’s relentless interruptions.

It seemed every time she was about to slip off to acquire a few new items at a ball, the dratted man popped up and hustled her off into some deserted alcove or empty library. Granted, she thoroughly enjoyed their activities once they were there, but nonetheless, they were a distraction. Once more, she divested herself of Lady Vardy—and, to her great surprise, her brother—and moved toward the ladies’ retiring room.

Typically, when Arthur deigned to attend a ball with her, he disappeared into the card room upon their arrival. Tonight, after depositing Aunt Hortense with the other matrons, he had opted to remain with her and Lady Vardy—in the ballroom! He’d even gone so far as to commit to a number of dances. Emily wondered if he might be making a foray into the marriage market.

Happily, she had yet to see Cooper at the ball, so she took the opportunity to slip upstairs and take care of what had become rather pressing business. As usual, she made her way down the darkened hall, opening each door in turn until she found what appeared to be Lady Landstone’s bedroom.

With a sigh of relief, she slipped inside the room and closed the door behind her. In the chamber, moonlight filtered in through the window, providing the only source of light. Unlike the owners of many of the other bedchambers she had stolen into over the previous months, Lady Landstone appeared to be fastidious. Emily commenced searching the drawers for any valuables. Finding none, she moved to the closet.

As she was opening a drawer, the soft click of the bedroom door closing alerted her that someone had come in. Instantly, her heart skipped a beat. If she were caught digging through Lady Landstone’s closet, there was no question she would be in a great deal of trouble. Leaving off where she was, she crept to the closet door and peeked into the chamber.

To her horror, it was no maid in the room.

She gasped, drawing the notice of the man—he had a short but broad build—who spun around with a curse.

Emily dashed toward the bedroom door, determined to flee certain disaster. Despite her cumbersome skirts, she was nearly to the point of her escape when a meaty fist snagged the back of her dress. The man yanked on the material to halt her advance, much to the detriment of the lace embellishment. She heard the shredding sound of her middling stitchwork giving way as all momentum stopped.

“What ’ave we here?” The man’s rough speech indicated to Emily that he was certainly not one of her peers.

It was something of a relief as it made it highly unlikely she would be identified and humiliated in a public fashion by a fellow thief. But it did not mean the man was not a threat to her person. He spun her about and grabbed her wrist, his hand as strong as any manacle.

He dragged her closer to the window so he could get a look at her. “My, my. A real lady, I’d warrant.”

Emily mustered her best outraged-lady tone. “Unhand me this instant.”

The man laughed. “I think not. I came for the pretty baubles, but I seem to have found a whole different set.”

Terrified, she placed her hands against his chest and attempted to push him away to no avail. Far stronger than she, he leered at her breasts and then reached up to fist the front of her gown and yank. Fabric rended, but not so much as to grant him access.

Out of the corner of her eye, Emily spotted a hefty candleholder. Shifting one hand from holding him off, she reached for the heavy artifact. The man managed to lean in, grabbing her breast through her clothes. His shift in weight brought her that much closer to the candleholder and allowed her to wrap her hand around it.

Removing her other hand, she let him come closer still as she raised the metal ornament with both hands and crashed it down on the back of his head. With a muffled umph, he collapsed on the floor, letting her go. Tears welling in her eyes, she dropped the household weapon and fled the chamber.

Her feet skimmed the hallway as quickly as her skirts would allow. Heaving for air, whether from the fear pulsing through her body, the constriction of her corset, her uncontrollable sobbing, or the simple act of running when she had not moved so quickly since she was a girl, she didn’t know. Nor did she particularly care at the moment. Regardless of the cause, it was making breathing difficult.

Once she reached the top of the stairs that led back to the public areas of the Landstones’ home, she paused for a moment and tried to calm herself. Cheeks wet with tears and face warm from her exertions, she was certain she looked a fright. A stop in the ladies’ retiring room was most certainly in order, and then, if possible, a speedy departure. If she could alert the Landstones to the prowler, she would. But she had no way to explain her presence upstairs. Pushing the guilt aside, she headed for the relative safety of the retiring room, when all she wanted was to retreat to her bedroom, sip a cup of hot chocolate, and curl up under the covers.

As it turned out, her wishes were not to be.

Emily hovered just outside the busy room for the female attendees, crossing her arms to hide her damaged bodice while a gaggle of young girls tittered and walked by. More than one looked at her queerly as they passed. Finally able to pass, she took a single step forward when a masculine hand on her arm waylaid her. Shocked by such a familiar gesture, she did not need to look to gather who the owner of the hand was. But despite her desperate desire to flee into the retiring room, Cooper turned her about.

“Lady Emmaline—” A sharp indrawn breath cut off whatever he’d been about to say. “What the devil happened to you?”

“Lord Brougham, please. I’d like to make use of the retiring room. I’m sure whatever you needed can wait a few moments.” She struggled not to plead and hoped he didn’t detect the waver in her voice.

Without a further word of acknowledgment, he turned unceremoniously and dragged her behind him into a nearby drawing room. With the door closed and the two of them alone, he pulled her into his arms. “What has happened?”

His simple question, but more so the obvious concern that laced his words, caused her tears to return in full force. The next thing she knew, she had soaked Cooper’s waistcoat and shirtfront as her fear rolled through her body like a squall hitting the shore. Time slipped away as she let her heart-wrenching fear escape along with her tears. As she calmed, Cooper rubbed her back and crooned soft, meaningless words to her until all that remained were the soft hiccups of the emotionally spent.

“Now—” He set her back from him slightly, and for the first time, she was sure, took in her total appearance. His gaze touched on the torn front of her bodice, her tearstained face, and her disheveled hair. A low, fearsome growl escaped him. “Whoever did this to you…I shall kill him.”

Emily blinked, surprised by the ferocious anger that rolled off him in waves. “Cooper, I—” She tried to form the words to explain. But all her thoughts rushed through her mind at once, tripping and tumbling over each other. Strangely, she could sit back and understand the occurrence for what it was. Clearly, she had had a shock.

“Did someone attack you?” He barked the question at her, his impatience for an answer as plain as the soaked necktie drooping around his throat.

“Yes, but—” Dread shot through her. He would be furious when she told him what had happened. But mostly—she was afraid—furious with her.

He growled again. “Bloody hell, woman! Tell me who did this to you so I may avenge your honor!”

Her own fury rising at his belligerent demand, she snarled at him. “It is none of your concern.”

“The hell it’s not. Tell me this instant, or I shall go find your brother and bring him back here.”

The glint in his eye warned her the threat to retrieve her brother was not made idly.

Damn the man to perdition. “Fine. I was upstairs making a new acquisition when I ran into an unexpected prowler. We tussled a bit, but I escaped and came directly downstairs.”

Cooper looked as if he wanted to kill someone, and, as she had worried, she wasn’t sure if it was her or the other thief.

Once more his gaze touched on her disarray, but with each spot on her person he shifted to, something in his eyes grew wilder, darker. And Emily could admit to herself that his darkness, the profound commanding anger that flared to life deep in the chocolate depths of his eyes, roused something in her, soothing the panic and fear in a most unexpected way.

And then he hauled her into his arms and snared her mouth with his. She melted against him, a strangely safe harbor in the momentary storm. Tongues twined as their bodies fused as closely as fashion allowed. If they had been at The Market, she would have happily stripped bare so that she could absorb his heat and the succor he offered. For the moment, his arms and lips would have to suffice.

The steely embrace pressed her closer to him, so she slid her arms up around his neck. Hanging on for dear life as he took possession of her mouth and perhaps a small part of her soul, she reveled in the taste of fine whisky, a hint of tobacco, and some indefinable spice that was all Cooper. He moaned into the kiss, even as his growing erection became more prominent.

What had started as an angry exchange had ignited into white-hot passion that was quickly flaring out of control. And in that moment, Emily was happy to burn.

A loud gasp that had clearly not come from either her or Cooper ended their kiss as they broke apart and turned to face her brother, Lord and Lady Landstone, as well as another man Emily did not recognize.

The unknown party raised a finger and pointed at them. “There is your thief.”

Emily blanched, all the blood draining from her face. Did he mean her? Was he the man she had encountered upstairs? Everything had happened so quickly, and with the shadows of the room, she would hardly recognize her attacker were he standing two feet from her in a ballroom.

Lady Landstone took in the vignette before her and bellowed loud enough half the ballroom could hear. “Lord Brougham, Lady Emmaline, what is the meaning of this?”

Emily suddenly noticed the cooler air caressing her bosom and remembered her damaged bodice. “Oh!” She gathered the sagging fabric to her chest and stared Lady Landstone down. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The stranger once again inserted himself into the moment. “She must be the thief.”

Cooper grew agitated with the man’s more specific pronouncement. “I do not know who you are, sir. But I suggest you cease your baseless conjecture and”—he eyed the man’s rougher clothing—“stay out of dealings that do not concern you.”

Lord Landstone stepped forward. “Here now, Lord Brougham. This man is here at my behest. Afraid of being robbed during the ball, we hired Mr. Paget as some insurance against the possibility. As we had feared, he caught a man red-handed.”

A gusty sigh escaped Cooper. “My lord, if you say he caught a man, why would he stand there and claim Lady Emmaline is a thief?”

Mr. Paget harrumphed loudly. “The man I apprehended stated that he had a run-in with a lady thief, which was why he was so easily detained. The lady in question had knocked him out with a candleholder during a struggle.”

Cooper cast a wary glance at her, and Emily swallowed, trying to regain her composure in light of the situation. She was trying to step in as the discussion continued to flow around her as though she were not the accused.

“And since when did the word of a thief become worthy of levying such accusations against a lady?” Cooper demanded.

“Since we opened the door of our drawing room only to discover Lady Emmaline’s dress has been damaged as though she were part of a struggle.” Lady Landstone answered, daring to point out the glaringly obvious disarray of Emily’s garments.

The room fell silent as a low murmur swept from the Landstones backward across the ballroom.

Emily suddenly lurched into the hushed chasm. “I am no thief. Such accusations are ridiculous.”

Lady Landstone’s gaze grew sharp and probing. “Then please, explain how your dress came to be in such a state.”

Emily looked down and hesitated. One heartbeat. Two. “I’m terribly clumsy. I was attempting to slip in here for a small reprieve from the festivities, and my bodice caught on the door latch, tearing a bit as I came in.”

Mr. Paget snorted in clear disbelief. Lord Landstone eyed the height of the door handle and then Emily’s bodice. She could see the moment he rejected her version of events.

“Lady Emmaline, it pains me to point out that the hardware on the door is not of sufficient height to cause such damage.” Lord Landstone’s slightly jowly face had something of a hangdog expression.

Cooper straightened up and tugged on the front lapels of his frock coat. “Lady Emmaline is attempting to protect me, I am afraid.”

“You are the thief?” Lady Landstone sounded as confused as Emily felt.

“No, my lady. But I am guilty of ravishing her here in your drawing room. Which is how her dress became damaged. I was a bit carried away by the intimate moment.”

Everyone froze as his words landed like loose pearls on a parquet floor. Explosive little pings pierced the quiet, followed by the soft rolling hum of news flying through the ballroom. Emily stood there in shock as her reputation disintegrated before her very eyes. She looked at Cooper, horror and sadness overwhelming her surprise. “Please, my lord. Do not do this.”

He shook his head. “I merely speak the truth, my lady. I refuse to see you stand accused a thief.”

Fury rushed through her at his interference, but there was little she could do. The damage was done. She was ruined.