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“My apologies,” he said, glancing down before fixing his eyes on Hermia again. He did not want to lose sight of her. But the sweet scent of rose oil caught him off guard, and he turned back to the offender in his path.

“I’m afraid the fault is all mine, my lord. I stepped into your path,” she said.

“I…” He blinked at the woman, somewhat confused. Then his heartbeat accelerated. She wore a blue mask with a blue dress; nonetheless, her scent was unmistakable. As were those green eyes and those plump, pink lips. It was her. “Did Dove-Lyon send you?” he asked, feeling entranced.

“No, she doesn’t know I’m here. But I came because I wish to thank you,” she said. “You saved me from—”

“There’s no need to thank me, miss…” He’d held her in his arms as she’d lain on top of him, but he had not yet been introduced to her. The thought almost made him laugh. One was not even permitted to talk to a lady without a proper introduction.

Her cheeks pinked. “Wentworth,” she said. “I’m sorry to be so forward, my lord, but it feels like we know one another already.”

“Yes,” he said, gazing at her and recalling the feel of her. He’d been with many of the women upstairs, but it had been a long time since he’d felt the sort of intoxicating desire Miss Wentworth engendered in him.

She must have noticed him staring because she shifted her stance and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I must go. I shouldn’t be down here. Only, I wanted to give you my thanks, and I didn’t think I’d get another chance.”

“Go? Why?” He couldn’t help but feel bitterly disappointed.

“I shan’t see you again, but I am glad I had the opportunity to thank you for helping me…both times.”

“Both times?” he said, confused, but she was already moving through the crowd. “Wait,” he called, going after her. But Hermia, who seemed to appear out of thin air, quickly blocked his path.

“Lord Cadwell, you look distressed. Is there something I can help you with?”

“No.” Jude strained his neck, trying to see over Hermia, but she was a tall woman and had thoroughly obstructed his view.

“Are you certain, my lord?” Hermia said, moving aside. But it was too late. Miss Wentworth was gone.

“Actually, there is.” Jude sighed. “I desire a meeting with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

Hermia smiled. “Certainly, my lord. As it happens, she’s free this very moment.”

Jude followed Hermia to the widow’s office like a lamb to the slaughter. He was aware that the widow had set him a trap, but what could he do about it? If he wanted more of Miss Wentworth, he had to go through Dove-Lyon. The best he could do now was keep his wits about him.

The widow was sharp. He had to be sharper.

“Lord Cadwell,” the widow said, rising from behind her desk to greet him as he entered her office. “Do take a seat.”

He sat on one of the lush red chairs facing her desk. She started to pour him a brandy, but he held up his hand and shook his head. “No, thank you. I’ve had quite enough tonight.”

“This one shall be for me, then,” she said, taking the drink and returning to her seat. “Now, I presume you are here about our young lady.”

“My interest in her is purely one of concern,” Jude said.

“No, it isn’t,” the widow said bluntly.

Damn her. She has a way of unnerving people, ferreting things out. But this time she’s wrong. I’m only trying to do the decent thing.

He turned back to the widow, determined to set her right. “Actually, it is,” he insisted. “I don’t know this young lady. She quite literally fell into my life, and now I feel responsible for her somehow, ridiculous as that sounds. Furthermore, I’m disturbed by your earlier comments,” he said, wishing that he had the brandy in hand now. “You mentioned that she might be in peril or in need of protection.”

“Indeed, it’s true. She is facing danger from a man you know to be quite menacing.”

“A man I know…” He stopped, as the memory of one of his previous visits to the Lyon’s Den occurred and a coldness washed over him. It couldn’t be…

“Yes, in fact, you inadvertently helped cause this situation. That night, when you intervened on her behalf against Tidworth.”

“Good Lord, is the woman who fell from the balcony Tidworth’s mistress?” Jude physically recoiled. The thought of that lovely woman anywhere near the earl…the man was vile. Pure evil. How could she have wanted Tidworth?

“She was his mistress,” the widow said, “but no longer. He’s grown tired of her, as you could tell from his behavior. And if you ask me, it’s lucky for her. The man is a maggot.”