He turned the knob. Good at finding his way in the dark, he went to her dressing table and lit the lamp. The flaring light revealed faded green walls and fragile, spindly-legged furnishings, bringing forth a stream of memories: Caroline’s lovely smile. Her cornsilk hair slipping through his fingers. The suffocating weight of her sorrow and pain and despair.
As he stood there, he reflected that Melinda had been wrong about him. He wasn’t cold but numb. He doused the lamp, dimming the past. He exited, each step taking him away from the secrets and ghosts. All that he could not change.
In his study, Hawk was greeted by a crackling hearth and the comforting smells of leather and ink. He poured himself a whisky and went to his desk, which was covered in stacks of papers. At the top of one pile was the latest edition ofPhilosophical Transactions. Instead of opening it, he reached into his dressing gown pocket and took out the earring.
He didn’t know why he’d taken to carrying the bit of jewelry around. Nor could he explain the instinct that had led him to filch it from the raven-haired light-skirt when they’d parted. He’d just wanted a piece of that moment. Of her boldness and ingenuity and fire. Of the transient yet intense connection that had made him feel…not alone.
While the earbob’s weight suggested it was made of tin and the Egyptian-inspired design was far from authentic, the gold felt warm and real in his palm. He wondered if his mystery lady knew that he’d taken it. If she ever thought of him. If she ever fantasized about what they could have done on that desk if they hadn’t been interrupted…
Feeling his body stir, he closed his fingers briefly around the earring before pocketing it again. He shifted his attention to work, removing files from a hidden compartment in his desk. With methodical precision, he reviewed documents and began writing his report for the Quorum.
Three
Two days later, Fi hurried into the private parlor adjacent to Lady Charlotte Fayne’s study. Livy and Glory were already there, waiting for Lady Fayne—Charlie to intimates—to bring in the latest client. Through discreet peepholes, the Angels could watch their mentor conduct interviews. Charlie was the face of the covert society. She informed clients that she had “contacts” who could secure information. No one suspected that the agency’s work was, in fact, carried out by ladies and debutantes.
Untying the ribbons of her bonnet, Fi said, “Sorry I’m late.”
“The client isn’t here yet.” Livy poured Fi a cup of tea. “All you’ve missed are some delicious baked goods.”
“And there are plenty left to go around,” Glory said cheerfully.
She had an assortment of pastries on her plate. Her ferret Ferdinand, nicknamed FF II, sat upon her periwinkle skirts, his furry white paws outstretched for a share of her almond tart.
Perusing the hamper piled with treats, Fi said, “Mrs. Fisher doesn’t have to keep sending gifts. She paid us a generous fee and set up a scholarship fund for future clients in need.”
“She’s grateful,” Livy said simply. “And she wants to show it.”
Fi recalled Emily Fisher’s visit when Charlie had returned her letters. Her back ramrod-straight, the blonde businesswoman had scanned each note before throwing the stack into the fire.
“My former lover told me he’d burned these, and it was my fault for trusting him,”Mrs. Fisher had said in a brittle voice.“You have saved me from scandal and ruin, Lady Fayne, and I cannot thank you enough.”
Knowing that she’d helped Mrs. Fisher, Fi felt a swell of pride.
“What delayed you this morning?” Livy asked.
“Parental troubles.” Fi took a fortifying drink of tea. “I’m parched from all the excuses I had to make in order to get here.”
Living a secret life had its challenges, especially for the unmarried girls. Livy and Pippa—the fourth Angel who was currently away on a trip with her new husband—could do as they wished now that they were wed and had supportive spouses. Fiona and Glory, however, still had to keep their unorthodox activities hidden from their parents.
Charlie had provided them with a cover: the girls were supposedly doing genteel work for her charity, the Society of Angels. Their parents were told that they spent their time engaged in good works, from delivering baskets to workhouses to writing pamphlets and raising money for various causes. For Fiona, however, the excuse was beginning to get stale.
“You do look a trifle peaked,” Livy said.
“It is the stress of dealing with Papa,” Fi said with a sigh. “Every time I try to leave the house, he has so manyquestions. Why am I spending so much time here, what are the specifics of what I am doing? I suppose it is my own fault for slipping up…twice.”
The first time, her mama had caught her getting dressed after her bath. On a mission the day before, Fiona had scuffled with a brute. She had emerged victorious but not unscathed.
“Oh, my goodness!”Mama had gasped at the large, purpling bruise on Fiona’s arm.“What happened to you, my darling?”
“I, um, fell.”Fi had hurriedly ducked behind her dressing screen.“When I was bringing supplies to the women in the workhouse. Please don’t worry about it, Mama. It looks far worse than it really is, and I have the perfect gown with sleeves to hide it…”
Of course, Mama had worriedandtold Papa about it. The pair had cautioned her about being overzealous.
“Remember you are a debutante first and a do-gooder second,”Papa had admonished in stern tones.“No cause is more important than your well-being, Fiona.”
That was before Fi’s second mistake, which had occurred the night she encountered the thief.She’d given her parents the excuse that she was staying over at Livy’s. When she and Livy had arrived home after the mission, Livy’s husband, the Duke of Hadleigh, had informed them grimly that Fiona’s papa had stopped by, ostensibly to drop off a satchel Fi had forgotten to bring.
Hadleigh had made the best excuse he could—something involving a charity emergency—but Fi knew her father did not buy it. Adam Garrity was nobody’s fool. The fact that he had decided to bring the satchel himself, rather than send a footman, was evidence that he sensed something was afoot. In general, Fi was proud of her papa’s razor-sharp intellect…except when she needed to keep things under wraps from him.
