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I need your help, most urgently. I must meet with the Duke of Blackwood, and the sooner, the better.

I know where he lives, but I have no way of getting there without being noticed. Might I borrow your carriage? If so,could you send the carriage to pick me up at eleven o’clock tonight?

And, my dear friend, I know that you will want to accompany me, but I must make this trip alone. Please, Anna, I need your help. You do not need to respond to this note, only send the carriage. I promise I will be alright and tell you everything as soon as I can. Thank you.

Your worried friend,

Beatrice.

Letting out a long sigh, Beatrice folded the paper into a neat square and marked it with a curling, looping initial:A. It was how they had correspondence for years, and Anna would know immediately who had sent the letter and just how urgent it was.

Steeling herself, Beatrice withdrew a second piece of paper and began to write a new letter, much more carefully this time.

To His Grace, the Duke of Blackwood,

I am coming. I shall be there after eleven o’clock.

Miss Haversham.

CHAPTER 8

The streets of London were deserted at eleven o’clock at night.

At least, they were inthatpart of London. Beatrice had heard horror stories about the poorer areas—Whitechapel, for instance—where ladies of ill repute stalked the streets, along with murderers and thieves of the worst order, all looking for victims.

Beatrice had read her fair share of penny dreadfuls, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine the dark, quiet streets that they trundled along filled with all sorts of villains, all waiting to leap on the unsuspecting carriage and the naive lady inside. Soon, she found herself wrapping her cloak around herself a little tighter and pressing back into the corner of the carriage, her eyes fixed on the window.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so terrible if Annahadcome, after all.

When Beatrice slipped out of her quiet home at five minutes to eleven, she had half expected not to find the carriage there at all. When she did see the familiar black lacquered coach with the crest on the side, she was entirely sure that Anna had come anyway, regardless of her wishes.

Well, the carriagewasempty, and the coachman clearly had his orders.

“I’m to wait for you,” he responded, sounding bored already, “and take you home after. Her Grace said so.”

“Thank you,” Beatrice said, feeling like a child on a forbidden jaunt.

And now here she was, bowling through the deserted streets, on her way to meet with a famously scandalous man who had earned the nameBlackheartfor himself.

A man to whom she owed a favor.

What on earth have you done, Beatrice?

She pressed her head back against the carriage upholstery, closed her eyes, and tried not to think too much about anything.

Her reasons were all too clear in her head. Her future was bleak, but her disgrace would also affect her parents and John. Her father, perhaps, boresomeblame for it all, but it was her mother and her brother who would suffer the most.

It must be nice,Beatrice thought miserably,to be the sort of woman who couldn’t care less about her family, and could simply go on her way with a sort of bold, devil-may-care attitude, acting first and then seeking forgiveness later.

There had been a number of ladies like that in the penny dreadfuls she’d read and in a few more risqué novels.

The carriage took a sharp turn to a street lined with huge, expensive houses, the sort of houses to which Beatrice and her family had not been invited in quite a long time.

We’re nearly there.

She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the last time she came here.

In a hired cab, can you believe it? What a fool I was. If I could have a do-over, I would do things differently. But then, would I be married to the Marquess by now?