Unlacing Lilly. Gail Ranstrom

for nothing, my dear.”

      Then why did she not look happier, Devlin wondered. She had dropped her gaze and would not meet the cub’s eyes. More coyness? No doubt Olney had expected her to sigh and swoon into his arms to seal their bargain with a kiss. Miss Lillian, it would seem, knew how to keep her suitor eager to advance.

      “Yes. Yes, of course…Edward.”

      “Three endless weeks. How shall I wait that long, Lillian?”

      And before she could answer, Olney took matters into his own hands. He pulled her against his chest and crushed her to him, pressing his lips to hers in an even more forceful manner than he had earlier. Miss Lillian twisted, her arms caught between them. Olney was more determined than last time and did not release her. The kiss deepened.

      Devlin’s hands twitched. He longed to wrap them around the cub’s throat and squeeze. He’d heard of Olney’s cruelty to women from the demireps and courtesans who served the elite. Olney and his father were both infamous in those circles.

      “Come now, have I not paid the price for a kiss? Give me another taste of what I might expect.”

      She pushed herself backward, opening a gap between them. Olney, however, used the maneuver to his advantage. Tightening one arm around her waist, he used the other to cup her breast and squeeze. Devlin could hear the terror in her outraged squeal. His fingers curled into fists and he tensed to go forward.

      Miss Lillian countered Olney’s ploy by bringing her slipper down sharply on his foot. “Release me! How dare you presume such familiarity?”

      “’Twill not soon matter. Give over, Lillian.”

      “If several weeks will not matter, then you can wait, my lord.”

      “Or what?” He pulled her waist against him and pressed her hips into his groin. “Will you cut me? Refuse to marry me?”

      Would she denounce him for his boorish behavior? Would she vow not to marry such a rough-handed brute? Could she even begin to see what life with Olney would be? A part of Devlin hoped she would recant, even though that would confound his own plan to use her. But a part of him was still disappointed when she answered.

      “I…I only wish to do what is proper. We should wait until we are married for such intimacies.”

      Olney leaned toward her, his hand still on her breast. “Very well, Lillian. I value your purity, so I will wait. But I expect you to be pristine on our wedding night.”

      He released her and straightened the lapels of his jacket before offering his arm to take her back to the ball. With only the slightest hesitation, she took it.

      Devlin watched them go, the clue into Olney’s thinking giving rise to a new and better plan in his mind. He’d need a bit of time to make the arrangements, but he could accomplish it all before the wedding. Oh, this rough justice would be everything he’d waited for, planned for. His game had begun at last.

      Chapter Two

      August 15, 1821

      “Devlin Farrell! Just the man I wanted to see.”

      Devlin heaved a deep sigh and looked to the side to find James Hunter had occupied a chair at the table next to his. This could not be good. Whenever a Hunter came to see him, it meant problems. “What is it, Jamie?”

      “Good to see you, too, Dev.” Jamie took a deep drink of ale from his tankard before he spoke again, scanning the barroom as if looking for trouble. “But as it happens, I do need something from you.”

      Devlin stood and tilted his head toward the back passageway. After he unlocked his office door, he left it ajar for Hunter, who he knew would follow in another minute or two. Hunter, it seemed, was no more anxious for people to know that he associated with Devlin than Devlin was. He took two glasses and a bottle of excellent rye whiskey from the cabinet behind him, poured a measure in each glass, then sat back to wait.

      A few minutes later, Hunter slipped through the office door and closed it behind him. “You’re a complicated man to see,” he said. “I meet most of my contacts at their club.”

      Devlin snorted. “I doubt I’d be admitted to one of your clubs unless I was carrying the coal scuttle. You have to go slumming if you want to see me, Hunter.”

      Despite his excellent instincts for survival, Devlin liked James Hunter. The man worked for the Home Office as a clandestine operative, he was honest and straightforward, and he never interfered with Devlin’s business. But, as a younger son of an earl, he was certainly a member of the ton, and consorting with society could give Devlin a bad name in Whitechapel.

      “Farrell’s is the best of the Whitechapel gin houses, Dev. At least I know I won’t go blind drinking what you serve. In fact, if it was in Holborn or Mayfair, it would be quite a respectable place.”

      “Aye? Well, it’s not in Mayfair. And neither am I. I’m a Whitechapel gutter rat, and here I’ll stay. But did you not see the sign outside? I’ve changed the name to The Crown and Bear.”

      Hunter shrugged. “It’s your business and your life.”

      “What do you need, Hunter?”

      His guest sipped his whiskey and looked thoughtful. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for your assistance last month at the chapel on the old Ballinger estate. We could never have stopped the Blood Wyvern Brotherhood without your assistance, and my brother would be dead without your help.”

      Devlin sipped again, remembering the incident. A degenerate group of peers looking for excitement had made a game of human sacrifice and Devlin had been drawn into the scheme by those trying to stop it—James Hunter and his brothers. “It wasn’t a fair fight. If I hadn’t thrown him a sword, someone else would have.”

      “No one else had one,” Hunter reminded him.

      “I am no hero, Hunter. Don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

      Jamie gave him a wry grin. “If you say so, Dev. But you didn’t have to be there. Did you?”

      “I felt some complicity since I told you where to find the bastards.”

      “If I recall correctly, you mentioned that you had your own reasons for being there.”

      Damn! He knew he would live to regret those unguarded words. “That’s my business, Hunter.”

      “And I won’t interfere. But my investigation is not finished. We disbanded the bloody Brotherhood, but we did not capture them all. Since they were disguised by their robes, we cannot be certain we even know everyone involved.”

      “They scattered like cockroaches in the sunlight.” Devlin chuckled. “They won’t surface again for a very long time.”

      “And that is why I’ve come.”

      “You want me to flush them out?”

      “Aye. The problem is in bringing them in. We know some of those involved, but they are lying low until the affair blows over. It will not blow over. These men are murderers and must be dealt with. We suspect some of them may be hiding in the rookeries. Thieves Kitchen. And that’s where you come in. You know things, Dev. You hear things. People will talk to you because they trust you. See what you can learn.”

      Devlin shook his head. “I’ve grown accustomed to my neck the way it is. I do not need it broken.”

      “Does it not bother you that Henley got away? Or that Lord Elwood and Percy Throckmorton are continuing on as if nothing has happened? There were others, Dev. If stopping them was not your reason for being there, what was?”

      Revenge. Rough justice. He’d waited for an opportunity like that, only to watch it disappear in an instant when he stopped to throw a sword to Hunter’s brother. “’Twas none of my business. I owed your brother a favor, and now it’s paid.”

      “There are some compelling