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“What are you looking for?”

“Release me.” She wrenched at her arm. To no avail. She cried out when he tightened his hand in a blindingly painful grip.

“You’d be wise to have a care. Nothing good can come from a woman visiting these—”

With a sharp jerk of her knee, Verity brought it betwixt the stranger’s legs.

A hiss exploded from his lips as he crumpled to the ground. His umbrella fell to the pavement, and then the wind whipped it along. The fine article caught a lamppost and ceased its tumbling down the street. “You bitch,” he barked, and then he grabbed for her.

Verity already had her knee up, catching him square in the chest.

He tilted, and then lost his already precarious balance, toppling onto his side. His temple struck an uneven cobblestone.

The stranger’s mouth formed a small, surprised circle, and then his eyes slid shut as he fell facedown.

Verity didn’t move, hovering there, standing over the gentleman. Unable to breathe past the horror.

As she’d been wrong on every score earlier ... the night indeed had gotten worse.

Good God, she’d killed a man.

Chapter 6

THE LONDONER

QUESTIONS!

Of all the questions about the Earl of Maxwell, there is one pressing question for now ... Where does he live? And more ... where has he lived these past two decades ... ?

V. Lovelace

Two things were confirmed in short order: one, Verity Lovelace, the suspicious woman in the sewers, had found herself in another spot of trouble; and two, she certainly hadn’t required any rescuing from Malcom.

She leaned over the unconscious form of a well-dressed man at her feet.

“You’re incapable of finding anything but trouble.”

With a loud gasp, Verity retrieved her umbrella and wielded it like a rapier she was prepared to spear him with. She stared at him through blank, unblinking eyes for several moments, and then her lashes drifted slowly down and up. “You,” she muttered, lowering her makeshift weapon.

And then she followed his gaze to the prone form behind her. “Are you gonna finish him off?” he asked curiously.

The young woman blinked those enormous eyes. “Finish him ...” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “No. Of course not. I’dnever...”

Aye, and her shock at that supposition was just another clue that marked her an outsider to the rookeries.

And yet even with that, the small slip of a woman had managed to fell a man more than a foot taller than her and a good stone heavier. Despite himself, admiration for the peculiar creature stirred. Nay, she hadn’t needed rescuing. Not this time.

As such, he should go ...

The young woman hugged her arms around her middle. “I think I’ve killed him.”

Alas, she was determined to keep him at her side. “Would it be so awful if you did?”

“Yes.” Her voice emerged threadbare. She’d faced down an army of rats and flooded sewers, and yet this is what should affect her. And shivering in a soaking gown as she was, with her hair hanging in a tangle of equally sopping curls, and barefoot, against all better judgment, Malcom found he couldn’t leave her. Just as he’d been unable to turn out Giles, who’d had his hand severed. Or Fowler, with his damned leg. Or ...

Bloody hell.

Malcom joined her at the nob’s side. Falling to a knee, he felt around the man’s neck.