“Pippa.” He liked the feel of her rolling off his tongue. “That’s a right pretty name.”
Although her cheeks turned pink, her gaze was amused. “Sir, are you flirting with me while sporting a pair of shiners?”
He flushed. Jesus wept, what was he about, trying to dally with this goddess when he looked like something the cat dragged in?
“I didn’t mean no offense,” he said.
“None taken.” A smile edged her lips. “I had best inform Mama and Papa that you are awake; they’ll want Dr. Abernathy to take another look at you.”
She turned to go.
“Wait,” he called.
She pivoted slightly, looking over her shoulder. “Yes?”
Don’t go. Stay wif me. Let me rest me sore eyes on you, ’ear your sweet birdsong voice…
“I…I’ll be seeing you later, then?”
She smiled. “If you wish, Cull. Now get some rest.”
He watched her leave the room. Surrounded by soft linens and her lingering scent, he drifted off. And when he dreamed, his dreams were of her.
1
1849
Pippa Hunt Lumley tracked her target, Viscount Hastings, through the dusk-filled streets of Limehouse. The close of the week drew out the rowdiness of the neighborhood, home to those involved in the seafaring trades. She avoided the sailors stumbling in and out of the dockside taverns and bawdy houses, situated conveniently side by side. Some men opted for the cheaper prostitutes flitting beneath the streetlamps like gaudy butterflies.
As Pippa passed a dark vein between two buildings, animal sounds spilled out. The glow of a fire pit limned two figures, a man leaning against a brick wall, a woman on her knees in front of him, her head bobbing. A shiver chased up Pippa’s spine; she ignored it and continued on.
At eight-and-twenty, she was no innocent miss. She was a widow whose husband had died because of his involvement in a disreputable business. The last year had made her immune to shock.
The past is done,she told herself.Concentrate on the mission.
Pippa continued her discreet surveillance of Hastings. She’d followed him from a dockside gaming house, where he’d lost a sizeable sum in less than an hour. When he turned onto a narrow lane, she counted to ten before following him. This was an infamous street, the glow of opium dens forming a red constellation, the sweet scent of oblivion perfuming the air. Despite Limehouse’s shady reputation, opium lured men from all strata of society to its crooked streets.
Pain pierced Pippa’s chest like a swift dagger. Her dead husband, Edwin, the Earl of Longmere, had been a victim of a terrible drug…and she had failed to help him. Failed to see through his excuses and lies until it was too late.
Hastings paused in the street, pivoting suddenly, his gaze landing on her.
Months of training kept her composure in place. As she and Hastings traveled in the same circles, she knew him to be an immoral rake. On several occasions, with their spouses within earshot, he’d suggested that they “get to know one another better” beyond the ballroom. The advances, and the predatory flash in his eyes when she’d refused him, had made her skin crawl.
Despite his prior lewd interest, she doubted that he would see through her present disguise. She looked nothing like the Countess of Longmere, paragon and grieving widow. She’d tucked her blonde tresses beneath a short brown wig, a battered cap shadowing her eyes and a mustache obscuring the shape of her face. The drab, loose uniform of a dock worker concealed her figure as she adopted the stumbling gait of a fellow three sheets to the wind.
Losing interest in her, Hastings started down the lane again.
Pippa felt a spark of triumph. The months of training under the guidance of Lady Charlotte Fayne, founder of the Society of Angels, a covert female investigative agency, were paying off.
Pippa had joined the agency after Edwin’s death. Tonight, she and the other agents, known as Angels, were working on behalf of Lady Julianna Hastings, who’d hired them to monitor her husband’s activities. Armed with information, Lady Hastings could make better decisions about her future. She would not have to stumble in the dark of ignorance, filled with uncertainty and fear…
Tamping down her emotions, Pippa continued after the viscount. She conceded with a pang that Jeremy Hastings reminded her of Edwin. He was tall and handsome, with a similar refined build. Clad in exquisite tailoring, he moved with arrogant assurance, a peacock ripe for the plucking to the denizens watching him from the shadows. When he took another turn, this time down an alleyway into a courtyard bordered by decrepit tenements, Pippa hesitated.
Lady Charlie’s instructions rang in her head.Observe Jeremy Hastings, but do not leave the dockside until reinforcement arrives. Angels work best as a team, and you must not take any unnecessary risks. I mean it, Pippa.
Pippa was on thin ice because of the last mission, when she’d tracked down a jewel thief. With insufficient time to alert her fellow Angels, she had made the decision to apprehend the target on her own. Despite Pippa’s successful handling of the case, and the reward paid by the grateful client, Charlie had deemed Pippa’s behavior “reckless.”
For most of her life, Pippa had been the opposite of rash. She was the conventional and easy-going member of her family. Mama was a famous novelist who wrote dashing sensation novels, and Papa had risen from the underbelly of London to become a successful industrialist and philanthropist. Pippa’s younger brothers, Garrett and Hugh, were lovable rogues prone to mayhem.
