Prologue
1850
London, England
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a well-bred debutante should not go skulking around a strange gentleman’s bedchamber. Being intelligent and pragmatic, Miss Fiona Garrity was aware of this fact. At nineteen, she had been deemed an “Incomparable” by Society and had a queue of suitors vying for her hand. Yet she yearned for more than social success.
She wanted freedom and adventure. A life lived to its fullest.
Luckily, she’d found an outlet for her independent spirit. Two years ago, she and her bosom friends, Ladies Olivia “Livy” Wodehouse and Glory Cavendish, had joined a secret society. Founded by Lady Charlotte Fayne, the Society of Angels was, on the surface, a genteel charity; the true purpose of the organization, however, was to conduct investigations on behalf of women in need. Although leading a double life was challenging—it was no small feat to pull the wool over her parents’ eyes—Fiona adored investigating. It gave her meaning and purpose and fulfilled her craving for excitement.
Hence her presence at Count von Essen’s house party this eve. An infamous roué, von Essen was blackmailing the Angels’ latest client, Emily Fisher. Mrs. Fisher was a wealthy widow who’d inherited her husband’s modest bakeshop and transformed it into Fisher’s Fine Foods, a thriving company that produced delicacies enjoyed by London’s elite. Mrs. Fisher had been on the cusp of receiving a royal warrant when disaster struck.
“Count von Essen has obtained private letters that I wrote to a former lover, and he is demanding that I pay him for his silence.”A handsome blonde in her fifties, Mrs. Fisher’s voice had trembled during her interview with Lady Charlotte.“Not only do these letters contain details of an exceedingly intimate nature, but my lover was an employee and younger than me by some twenty years. If news of this gets out, I, and my company, will be ruined. You are my last hope. Will you help me?”
The Angels had planned their strategy accordingly. This evening, von Essen was hosting a private masquerade at his town house, and the place was teeming with light-skirts. This allowed Fiona and Livy, her partner for the mission, to infiltrate the count’s domain disguised as trollops. Their identities concealed by wigs, heavy paint, and demi-masks, the pair had navigated the party incognito.
At present, Livy was downstairs searching the study while Fi made her way up to von Essen’s bedchamber. Dressed as an Ancient Egyptian queen in a tunic that required no unmentionables, Fi moved with easy stealth. Her sandaled feet whispered over the carpeted corridor as she headed for the master suite.
Taking a quick glance around, she tried the knob. Locked…not surprising given the disreputable crowd downstairs and the secrets her host undoubtedly had to hide. Plucking a pair of hairpins from her raven-black wig, she gained swift entry. The bedchamber was dim, the fire in the hearth casting shadows over the ruby damask walls. A large tester bed sat to the left, facing a pair of windows covered by voluminous velvet drapes. To the right, she spotted what she was looking for.
She hurried over to the kidney-shaped desk. The flickering lamp on its surface burnished the walnut burl and the gold frame of the landscape on the wall behind it. Fi jiggled the drawers; they didn’t budge.
Crouching, she employed her hairpins again. She rifled through the drawers, finding no letters. She emptied the contents of the deepest drawer, tapping her knuckles against the bottom; the hollow sound verified her suspicions. Running her fingertips along the edges, she found the hidden latch that released the false bottom. Inside the hidden compartment lay a bundle of letters.
With a feeling of triumph, Fi lifted out the stack. There were six letters, just as Mrs. Fisher had described. To verify that they belonged to the client, Fi unfolded the top note.
My darling master,
I have dreamt of you since our last meeting. Never has anyone taken hold of my imagination so completely. In the world’s eyes, I am a strong and practical matron; in your arms, I become the weakest of wantons. I long for your dominance, for the sting of your whip upon my naughty bottom, for the discipline of your mighty manhood where I need it most. I yearn to prove my obedience, to worship you upon my knees. I count the days, hours, and minutes until I can service you again.
Your adoring,
Emily
Sweet heavens.The wickedness made Fi’s heartbeat gallop; her cheeks were so hot she feared her face paint might melt off.No wonder Mrs. Fisher wants these letters back.
Shoving the bundle into the hidden pocket of her tunic, Fi was about to leave when a faint scraping noise made her freeze. The sound of a window opening? Fi peered over the desk and saw a large male figure emerge from the curtains. Diving into the cove beneath the desk, she pressed her back against the wood, making herself as small as possible.
Her blood rushed in her ears.Do not panic.Keep your head clear.
If necessary, Fi could fight her way out of the room, but the last thing she wanted was exposure. She’d secured the client’s letters. What she needed now was a clean exit.
She listened for the intruder; whoever he was, he possessed astonishing stealth. She couldn’t hear him at all, yet shesensedhis presence. As if he was silently…waiting. The hairs stirred on her nape, and she strove to quiet her breathing. A pair of large black shoes and long trousered legs materialized in front of her.
Is he going to see me?Quivering, she braced for discovery.
Instead, the man turned and faced the wall behind the desk. From her vantage point, Fi couldn’t see what he was doing, but she pictured the landscape painting that hung in his line of vision. Was he trying to steal it? When she heard a click and faint squeal of hinges, it dawned upon her.
There is something concealed behind the painting. An iron box, perhaps?
Her conclusion was corroborated by the unmistakable sounds of a lock being picked. And by no amateur, either; the man knew what he was about. In less than a minute, she heard the release of a locking mechanism, followed by sounds of careful rummaging.
What was the thief—for there was no question that that was the man’s occupation—looking for? Jewels, gold, something even more interesting? It took all of Fi’s willpower to resist curiosity’s pull. To not sneak a peek at the thief at work.
Stay put. He will be done soon. Then you can leave.
It was a pity that she would end her adventure without seeing the rogue. She had never met a professional burglar before; she wondered what this one looked like. Judging from his lower extremities, he was tall and lean. His dark trousers had a perfect fit, his shoes a buffed-to-perfection shine. She would wager her favorite pair of gloves that his tailoring came from Bond Street—
