A Rake by Midnight. Gail Ranstrom

she warned. “Unless you have a secret tendresse for one of the Thayer twins.”

      The hint of a smile twitched his lips. “Redheaded hoydens. Trouble, if ever there was any, and certainly incapable of keeping you out of it. That would be like setting the fox to guard the henhouse.”

      “I do not need anyone to keep me out of trouble. I am quite capable of that, myself.”

      His gaze swept her from head to toe. “Really?”

      A flash of heat washed through her. Was he thinking of that night in the catacombs beneath the chapel? He was right—she had gotten herself in trouble before.

      She drew herself up and spun on her heel to go back to the ballroom. He will not humiliate me into doing as he wants, and he will not intimidate me, either!

      Jamie watched her go, half wanting to go after her, and half wanting to lock her away in some safe place until this business with Henley was finished. Why had he never noticed that stubborn streak?

      He plucked a rose from a bush climbing the arbor he passed on his way to the stables and held it to his nose. Sweet and blossoming, like Miss Eugenia, herself. His body stirred with the thought of her soft heated flesh beneath him, her dark hair spread upon his pillow and those lush lips parted with a sigh as he entered her. He groaned and shook his head. He had no right to be thinking of her in that way. She’d made it plain that she disliked him.

      Happily, there were many who did, and he was not adverse to settling when his first choice was not available. He’d find Devlin, see if there was any news, and then go look for female companionship. Perhaps that would take the edge off his adolescent yearning for Miss O’Rourke. And Charlie? Well, Charlie would catch up when he could. Aye, Charlie always knew where to find him—some sort of brotherly instinct.

      He tossed a coin to the stable boy who brought his horse, then mounted, turning southeast toward Whitefriars and the Crown and Bear. If Devlin was not there, Jamie would have a drink or two and go find ease at Alice’s. Her girls were known for their enthusiasm and accommodating nature. God knows he could use a bit of that.

      Clouds had gathered, obscuring the moon and bringing a chill. This was a night made for chicanery and it was early yet in Whitefriars. Anyone who made an honest living was home abed, and the others…well, the others never slept. As he arrived at the Crown and Bear, the place was alive with noise and laughter. Somewhere down an alley, voices raised in a quarrel carried to him as he left his horse in the stable yard behind the tavern and tossed another coin to Cox, the toothless and bald man who tended the stock.

      A few faces turned to look when he entered, then went back to their tankards. A quick scan of the room told him that Farrell wasn’t there. He crossed to the bar and waited while Mick Haddon, the barkeeper, poured a measure of his favorite rye whiskey and brought it to him. Haddon was a good man fallen on hard times, and a cut above the usual trade in the Crown and Bear.

      “Farrell in back?” he asked.

      “Home. Rarely see him these days,” Haddon answered.

      Jamie raised his glass. “To domestic bliss,” he said before he swallowed the contents.

      Mick snorted in reply. “Anything I can do for you?”

      “What has Farrell told you?”

      “To keep an eye out for Henley, and an ear to the ground.”

      “And?”

      “Nothing, though this is the sort of place Henley would come if he were in a drinking mood. And had he not already crossed Farrell.”

      Silently, Jamie agreed. Henley wouldn’t go to his club or to any reputable tavern or gambling hell. He’d frequent only the dregs of London. Places where he’d be unlikely to run into any of his old friends or new enemies. But someone, somewhere, knew where he was and was helping him. Sooner or later, Jamie would find him. He was a very patient man.

      “Any unusual activity? Rumors?” he asked.

      “Just the usual sort,” Haddon said as he poured another measure for Jamie. “A woman turned up dead in an alley not far from here last night. The charleys were asking around, but it seems she and her husband had a row, and you can guess the rest. I believe the husband has been taken away.”

      “Domestic bliss,” Jamie repeated as he finished his drink.

      Haddon laughed this time and nodded.

      Jamie left his glass on the bar and returned to the stable yard. Old Cox handed him the reins and ducked his head, as if avoiding Jamie’s eyes. His horse danced sideways, skittish about something. Rather than mount, he led his horse out of the yard to the cobblestones, an uneasy feeling raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right.

      He bent down to slip the dagger from his boot just as the report of a gunshot sounded close at hand. Brick and mortar scattered in a wide pattern behind him and his horse reared, frightened by the noise. He released the reins, knowing the well-trained animal would not bolt. He rolled to the side, coming up on his feet again near a doorway, his dagger in hand.

      Suddenly the price on his head was not quite so amusing. He’d left his pocket pistol at home, not anticipating that he’d be visiting the rookeries tonight. The sound of running footsteps down an adjacent alley told him that the assassin had taken his best shot and was now making his escape.

      He was in full pursuit down the alley, gaining on the culprit, when it occurred to him that this had all gone off too smoothly. He knew these streets well enough to know the assassin was leading him toward a blind alley. An ambush? But who would be waiting for him? Henley? The Gibbons brothers? He was alone. Should he take the chance?

      “Oh! I nearly swooned when I saw him waltz you out the terrace door!”

      Gina gave Hortense a bland smile. “Nothing happened. He was merely inquiring as to my mother’s health.”

      “Was he, indeed?” Harriett teased. “And why should your mother’s health be a concern of his?”

      Gina laughed. “My mother’s health is everyone’s concern. She makes it so at every encounter.”

      “Then you cannot confirm or deny the rumors concerning Mr. Hunter’s…skills?”

      “Alas.” Indeed. The memory of that brief moment of promise brought a little smile to her lips.

      “Ah! I see you are gaining confidence, Gina.” Harriett squeezed her hand and winked at her sister. “Our little protégé is blooming.”

      Yes, she was gaining confidence but she was far from being at ease. She was acutely aware that there could be men present who had heard of her ordeal. Perhaps even a few who had been there, who had seen her. Though they were unlikely to mention it, she had felt the weight of clandestine eyes upon her.

      She glanced around the ballroom as they strolled toward the punch bowl, wondering if James Hunter was still there, watching her. When her eye caught Miss Metcalfe dancing a lively reel with an eager young man, she was suddenly struck with a memory. Metcalfe! Was that not a name she’d heard before? A man who had been a friend of Mr. Henley and who had been at that scandalous tableau?

      “Harriett, what can you tell me about Miss Metcalfe?” she asked. “Does she have family?”

      “Goodness, yes! A handsome brother by the name of Stanley.”

      “Is he here tonight?”

      Hortense craned her neck to look about in one direction while Harriett scanned the other. “I do not see him. Come to think of it, Harri, have we seen him at all in the last few weeks?”

      Harriett chortled. “No, but it does not matter. I do not think he would suit you, Gina.”

      “Oh?”

      “He is engaged to a dear friend of ours. Miss Christina Race. Have you met her?”

      Gina shook her head. In truth,