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Angelique hadn’t been to Vauxhall in over a year, but it hadn’t changed as far as she could see. It was still as dark and merry as she remembered, filled with people in every mode of dress from elegant to working-class best. The orchestra was better this year, she thought, but the punch was worse.

“What if he’s not here tonight?” Avery’s expression was easy even though his eyes roved constantly over the crowd. They had been at the gardens for over an hour with no sign of anyone who could be Davis Hurst.

“We return tomorrow.”

He shot her a sideways glance. “Will that interfere with your plans?”

She pressed her lips together. “My plans, Mr. Avery, are to find our man, whether here, in Newgate, or in the halls of Parliament.”

“My name is Nate,” he said under his breath. “My dearest Angelique.”

She tried to ignore it; he was trying to provoke her. He had threatened to call her by name the other day, but this was the first time he’d done so. Being called by name didn’t bother her, but the rest did, too much. “If I call you by name, will you relent on the endearments?”

He gave her one of those wary sideways glances he seemed prone to. Mr. Avery was still trying to puzzle her out, it seemed. Much luck to him, she thought, keeping her face serene.

“Yes,” he said, drawing out the word as if he would qualify it but didn’t.

She smiled coolly, lifting her fan to wave it languidly in front of her face. Calling him by name didn’t bother her, either. “Then we have an agreement, Nate.”

He beamed in response, a wide, delighted grin. They walked some more, making desultory conversation from time to time. They certainly attracted some attention, by design. She had dressed in a provocative dress and smiled boldly back at everyone who nodded to them. Her information about Hurst indicated he let himself be guided by his privy parts, and engaged in numerous clandestine encounters. Most were with prostitutes, but reports were that he wasn’t above taking advantage of women he considered beneath him, particularly if they left themselves vulnerable. Angelique saw this as a fatal weakness on Hurst’s part, and one she could exploit. She had told Nate that at the first sign of the man, he was to walk away and leave Hurst to her.

But in order to manipulate the man into revealing his secrets, she first had to locate him, and no one fitting Hurst’s description was anywhere to be seen in the pleasure gardens. By the time Nate pulled out his watch to check the time, she was beginning to think tonight would be a waste after all.

“Shall we go?” he asked. “Surely it’s getting late for a man to arrive for the evening.”

She fanned herself some more. “Before the fireworks?” He cocked his head, and she smiled faintly, admitting her joke. “Soon. Fashionable London is out late into the night.”

“Very well.” He put away his watch. “Would you like some wine?”

Angelique nodded. “Thank you.”

He left her in a quiet spot and headed toward the Grand Pavilion. Angelique drifted a little more into the shadows. Part of the reason she hadn’t been to Vauxhall in so long was the density and variety of people here. There was safety in the masses, but also loss of control. Just as she could become anyone and anything in the crowd, so could others, and it was much harder to track them when throngs of people were in the way. She preferred to work in the background, where she was less likely to be noticed. When she did call attention to herself, as she’d done tonight, it was deliberately and carefully done, but it wasn’t without risk.

“I say,” said a voice behind her, punctuating her thoughts. “Don’t I know you?”

Angelique didn’t turn, as if she hadn’t realized he addressed her. She had noticed a man watching her some time ago. That alone didn’t trouble her; it was the expression on his face as he watched her, rather puzzled and determined, as if he recognized her but couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

It was an ever-present hazard in her line of work, and the most she could do about it was try to keep her distance at all costs. Nate’s constant motion had helped in that regard, and no doubt his presence had deterred the man approaching her—until now. Not for the first time, she cursed Stafford for sending her on this assignment.

But this fellow must have remembered where he had seen her, or become too curious to ignore it, because he persisted even as she ignored his question. He touched her shoulder, letting his fingers linger a moment too long. She turned, arranging her face in offended surprise, and saw him smiling at her, a little coldly.

Suddenly she remembered all too well where he had seen her before, and who he was. There was no doubt it had been on another of Stafford’s assignments. She breathed deep to calm the fluttering in her stomach, and prepared to lie.

“Good evening, madam,” he said. He had the upper-class drawl she had come to associate with the self-indulgent sort of nobleman who gambled too much, whored too frequently, and was too easily tempted by troublemakers. Fortunately, they weren’t often that clever, although this one unfortunately had enough wit to remember her face.

“Good evening, sir,” she said, dipping a shallow curtsey. She needed to hold him off only a few moments, surely, until Nate returned. It couldn’t take long to fetch a glass of wine.

He leaned closer, inspecting her face. He was a viscount, Angelique remembered suddenly, who liked French brandy and young girls. He was a companion of the Marquis of Bethwell, whom she had been assigned to spy on while posing as his private nurse, just a few months past. He and the marquis were evenly matched in their depravity. She suspected the viscount had the French pox, by the rash she had once seen on his palms, but she couldn’t remember his name.

“I remember you,” he announced.

“Remember me?” She blinked, widening her eyes in astonishment. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met, sir.” Deliberately she repressed all but a trace of her accent, mimicking Nate’s flat American tones. When she worked for Bethwell, she had spoken crisp King’s English. Hopefully, it would be enough…

The viscount tilted his head, studying her. He didn’t look fooled. “Not formally. I always wondered... No nurse ever looked like you. And I see you’ve given it up, along with those drab gray dresses.”

Angelique silently cursed even as her heart kicked against her ribs. God above, he did remember her. He must have seen her a handful of times at Bethwell’s mansion, tending to the marquis’s hypochondria. She had always wondered why a man so obsessed with his own health could tolerate being around such an obviously pox-ridden friend. Now the friend turned out to have an alarming memory as well. And where the devil was Nathaniel Avery when she would finally have welcomed his presence? Had he gone all the way to Marylebone for the damned wine?

She pasted a confused look on her face. “Nurse? I don’t understand. I’m not a nurse.”