CHAPTER ONE
London, 1900
She crouched in the rose bushes, watching the long line of carriages queuing at the kerb. Eliza tried to school her breathing, desperate to still the pounding of her heart. Her pulse throbbed hard enough to send the thorny bushes quaking, thus giving her hiding place away. If she didn’t move quickly, she’d be caught.
Bloody hell, she’d picked the wrong pocket! The fellow had looked harmless enough, but she hadn’t counted on the staggering, drunken toff to employ a set of keen-eyed bodyguards.
She’d seduced him in the shadows—pretending to be a working girl—and lifted both his pocketbook and his pocket watch. When he’d sounded the alarm, Eliza had dropped the watch in terror, yet the purse, which felt thick with pound notes, remained safely nestled in her skirt pocket.
Was a good night’s take worth losing her neck over? Eliza heard the men’s booted feet pounding the pavements. They called to each other as they searched the doorways and alleyways. They called to her, too.
“We’ll find you, little kitten!”
One of them searched through a pile of street rubbish. “Here kitty, kitty!”
Eliza felt sick. They’d kill her. They’d hurt her. Christ almighty, let her out of this muddle she’d got herself into, and she would never,everpick pockets again.
She crossed her heart in earnest.
She’d reform, she swore it!
If the thugs could be distracted long enough, she would race for the line of carriages. It was a fancy party for some duchess’ daughter—she’d heard the drivers talking. Once their passengers had been dropped off for the evening, the coachmen and cabbies would return to wherever it was they came from.
She could slip into a carriage, stow far away from the men who hunted her, and simply hop out when the coast was clear. Whether she found herself in Bloomsbury or Belgravia, it did not matter. She could hoof it home easily enough.
Up ahead, a sleek, black landau pulled to the kerb. The horses fussed and tossed their great grey heads—a fine pair!—and the driver did his best to steady them as a young footman hopped down to open the door.
Eliza couldn’t see the faces of the passengers as they disembarked, but she saw silk slippers and trailing skirts as a lady stepped onto the pavements. There was a flash of sequins in the lamplight and a soft sweep of fur as she pulled her sable cloak around her.
For a breath of a second, Eliza was envious. She imagined riding in fine carriages, attending parties, and wearing such elegant clothes. If she ever got the chance to do it all over again—life, that was—she’d be a fine lady full of grace and goodness.
“Oi! You there!” She heard the sound of a whistle. The shout of a bobbie.
A policeman spotted the two thugs suspiciously rifling through folks’ private gardens, digging through street rubbish, and assaulting innocent pedestrians.
That sort of behavior might’ve passed unnoticed in other London neighborhoods, but the fine people of Mayfair would not suffer bad characters lurking ‘round their mansions.
Eliza grinned as the policeman approached the fellows. They stammered out an excuse—a bratty little pickpocket had gone to ground somewhere nearby, flush with their master’s pocketbook. Thankfully, the bobbie did not buy their tale.
While the men were distracted, she took her chance. Eliza pushed off from the damp pavement and burst through the rosebushes, tearing her dress as she made a mad dash for the landau. She heaved open the carriage door and slipped in without being spotted.
As the carriage pulled away from the kerb, she looked through the window at the men. They had not seen her make her escape.
Grinning to herself, Eliza gave the purse in her skirt pocket a pat—it was still there, still filled to the brim with pound notes. She had made a clean break.
The carriage clopped onward. The thugs grew smaller and smaller until she couldn’t see them any longer. Finally, the two matched greys turned a corner onto Park Lane and picked up speed.
Safe at last, Eliza settled back into the velvet squabs.
It was only then that she realized she wasn’t alone. A dark figure lurked in the seat across from her.
How had she missed him?
Lamplight illuminated his face. He watched her keenly.
Before she could regain her senses and leap from the moving landau, the bloke reached out as quick as lightning and latched onto her arm.
His smile was grim as he hauled her across the carriage seat. “Who the bloody hell are you?”
