A Rake by Midnight. Gail Ranstrom

get in the way. Make me conspicuous. And do not think to set them on me without my knowledge. I’d mistake them for bounty hunters and have to kill them.”

      Devlin did not look happy. “I might have a lead for you. If you handle it with your usual skill, you could end this thing quickly.”

      Jamie sat forward and lowered his voice. “What do you have up your sleeve, Devlin?”

      “That night, at the ritual, when the charleys arrived and the brotherhood scattered down the tunnels, I recognized a few men. Some, you already know about. But I haven’t mentioned that I saw Stanley Metcalfe and Adam Booth. They looked confused and frightened and, unless I miss my guess, that was their first time at a ritual, and is the reason I did not pursue them. They’ve kept their noses clean since, though.”

      How like Devlin to keep that information to himself until it was needed. Until Metcalfe or Booth could prove useful. “And?”

      “As the last men on the periphery of the brotherhood still free, they might be useful to you. Might have some information. One of them could be in touch with Henley. They might know his family and have knowledge of… Well, you can imagine how helpful they might be.”

      If they could be trusted. And if they were still alive.

      Jamie dropped some coins on the table and stood. “Get home to Lilly. And thanks for the tip. I’ll be looking for them tomorrow.”

      Massive crystal chandeliers glittered multicolored shards of light across the room, laughter was shrill and the wine was free-flowing. The evening promised to be a huge success. Alas, Lord Auberville hadn’t been able to tell him who, precisely, had been invited to the ball, so Jamie concluded he’d just have to see for himself. Charlie left him at the door to find the card room and a game of whist, leaving Jamie free to wander the perimeter of the dance floor. With a nod here and a smile there, he acknowledged a few friends and acquaintances, but nary a sign of Stanley Metcalfe or Adam Booth. Had someone tipped them off?

      He was thinking he’d take any Metcalfe at this point, and there, in answer to his prayer, was Stanley Metcalfe’s sister, Missy. Dressed in deceptive white, she was holding court in a circle of men. He wondered if she realized her popularity was attributable to the poorly kept secret that she granted certain…liberties, if one could get her alone in a garden.

      He advanced on the group, knowing that most of the men would depart when the music stopped. The rest…well, he would just have to be quicker. He greeted the men, took Missy’s hand and bowed over it.

      “Miss Metcalfe, you are looking especially lovely tonight.”

      She twinkled at him and giggled. “How kind of you to say, Mr. Hunter.”

      “Just giving you your due, Miss Metcalfe.”

      The orchestra finished the set and one young man stepped forward. “I say, Miss Metcalfe, would you do me the honor—”

      Jamie smiled apologetically at the young man. “Taken. I shall return her to you directly after.” He took Missy’s hand and led her away as she muffled yet another giggle.

      “How naughty of you, Mr. Hunter,” she said as the next dance, a sedate reel, began. “I have no recollection of granting you a dance.”

      “Then I must thank you for not giving me away.” There would be an unavoidable risk in carrying on their conversation as they met between steps, so he led her into the dance, waited until they met for a turn, and then tugged her toward the terrace doors.

      “Oh!” She pressed one dainty hand against her chest when they were outside and the terrace door closed behind them. Her eyes widened in feigned innocence. “We really shouldn’t…”

      He really wouldn’t. But Missy needn’t know that. “You break a man’s heart, my dear.”

      She gave him a pretty pout. “What else am I to do? You dance with a girl now and then, and ignore her the rest of the time. Is that fair?”

      “Fair? Oh, my dear, more fair than you can know. If I were to subject myself to your charms too often, why there is no telling what I might do. Perhaps I ought to take my pleas to your brother.”

      “No need for that, Mr. Hunter. He would likely just refuse you.”

      “Or he could give me his blessing to call upon you. Is he here?”

      “No. He…he is keeping to himself these days.”

      “Do you know where I might find him? His club, perhaps?”

      “You’d do better to petition my father, sir, but he is ill at the moment, and not receiving.”

      How coincidental that all the males in her family were currently unavailable. And suspicious. Something was being covered up, of that he was sure. “Is there no recourse for me at all?”

      She moved closer until her breasts were pressed against his chest, and looked up at him with a sloe-eyed heat. “You could take what you want. I like men who take what they want.”

      He groaned. What was the harm in taking what was freely offered? He spanned her waist with his hands and held her still as he tilted his head down to hers. “You are too tempting, Miss Metcalfe,” he said against her lips. When he deepened the contact and she moaned, he waited for the excitement, the rush of pleasure and anticipation. In vain. All he could think was that the rosewater she had splashed on was rather overpowering, and not at all like the stirring scent of Miss O’Rourke’s skin.

      Fortunately, he already had what he needed from Missy—she did not know where her brother was. And she was not what he wanted.

      He stepped back from her. “We must get you back inside before anyone notices you’re gone. I would dislike people talking about you.”

      She stamped her foot in frustration and was about to protest when the terrace doors opened and her erstwhile swain appeared. Thank God they’d broken contact or Jamie suspected he’d be fighting a duel at dawn.

      “Miss Metcalfe became overheated,” he explained. “Do keep her company whilst she cools down.”

      He edged past the young man and into the ballroom. When he glanced back, Missy Metcalfe was watching him with consternation. He gave her a wink, thinking she could prove useful in the future.

      Inside, he scanned the room before leaving, but stopped dead when he met deep hazel eyes at a distance. Could it be? Yes. Miss O’Rourke was standing between Hortense and Harriett Thayer, looking a bit bemused as one of the twins—he could not tell them apart—told a story. Eugenia was dressed in a pink confection that complemented her complexion perfectly. Her lustrous golden-brown hair was done up in a perfect cluster from which ringlets fell to dance below her shoulders. He tried to imagine how those ringlets would feel tangled between his fingers.

      What the bloody hell was Miss O’Rourke doing here? Did she not realize she was at risk for as long as a single member of the brotherhood was on the loose? She was one of the few people left alive who could recognize them.

      The sound of conversation was nearly deafening but Gina could barely hear it over the thundering of her own heartbeat. Even supported by the Thayer twins, she wondered what had ever made her think she was prepared for this.

      Standing in the ballroom, she could not banish the thought that one of the men present may have been at the chapel that night. Someone who might have been a part of her abduction, had hoped to be a part of her ultimate shame and death.

      She shuddered and forced the thoughts from her mind. She had known entering society would not be easy. She could not let that stop her. She was running out of time if she meant to have her justice.

      Just as she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, her fears materialized. She glimpsed James Hunter in a group of revelers. James, who had been there. Who had seen her as nature had made her. But he, at least, had not meant her ill.

      “Oh, look! There’s