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It was a bond he didn’t want to share with her.

“What am I to do with you, Verity?” he murmured, speaking that question aloud as much for her as it was for him. Of their own volition, Malcom’s fingers caught her soaking plait from the water and squeezed the residual drops from those dark strands. “You’re clever enough to know the fate of one who lies and gains entry into an earl’s household. The resulting end for a thief”—her lower lip shook, and she caught it between pearl-white teeth. She knew, but he finished the reminder, anyway—“Newgate. A hanging.”

“And is that what you intend? To turn me over to the constables?”

Sliding to his knees, he positioned himself directly behind her. “What should I do with you, Verity?”

Verity angled her head back so she might meet his gaze.

This closeness to her in all her naked splendor had been a mistake. Placing himself so very near her, her body flushed with the heat of her bath. And a porcelain tub the only divide between them.

Aye, it had been a mistake. He was weak.Shewas his weakness.

He lowered his mouth to hers.

The door exploded open. The moment was shattered, and he was already on his feet with a pistol drawn.

“He is here,” a young girl exclaimed. “The earl ...” And then her eyes rounded as she took in the gun pointed at her chest. “Oh,” she whispered.

“Livvie,” Verity said sharply. The water splashed and rocked as droplets sprayed Malcom, indicating the young woman had stood. There was a faint snap of fabric, and then Verity rushed over to the silent, still, wide-eyed girl hovering at the open doorway.

“I ... was going to tell you he had arrived,” the girl—Livvie—whispered. She peeked out past Verity’s shoulder.

“I know,” Verity said tightly.

“I ... Do you intend to introduce us?”

So temerity ran between them, then.

Verity opened her mouth to speak.

Turning his gun, with the barrel toward the floor, Malcom returned it to the waistband of his trousers and dropped a bow. “Miss Lovelace, I gather?” he murmured, and two sets of near-identical eyes went to him. “Or rather, my sister-in-law?” He cast a jeering glance over the top of the girl’s head to her furiously blushing sister.

The girl was either too innocent or too oblivious to note the mocking edge in his tone. She offered a hesitant curtsy.

“I’ve heard so very much about you, Miss Lovelace.”

The younger Miss Lovelace widened her eyes. “You’ve spoken about me with Verity?”

Said sister closed the remaining distance between her and the girl. Verity’s frantic movements sent the towel she wore about her slender frame gaping. “Livvie,” Verity began warningly.

“Oh, indeed,” Malcom continued on over her. “She spoke of the great sacrifice you made, giving over your slippers.” If looks could slay, he’d have been split in half from the one being cast by hiswife.

Darting out from behind her sister, Livvie Lovelace skipped over to Malcom. “My sister has spoken of you often, too.”

His intrigue doubled. “Indeed?” he drawled, shooting another look over at the thorn in his side. “All wonderful, loving things, I take it,wife?”

Verity gnashed her teeth hard enough that the grinding punctuated the quiet.

“She spoke about how you rescued her.” Saved the foolish chit who’d taken her life into her hands, navigating an underground hell that only devils like Malcom managed to survive in. A wistful, far-off glimmer lit the girl’s eyes. “I told Verity she should come to you and try once more to sway you.”

That struck somewhere in his chest, an uncomfortable pain that proved him ... human. Her sister had put her up to it.

Then, contrary to his own inner tumult, a wide smile wreathed the younger Miss Lovelace’s plump cheeks. “And look! Because of my guidance, you and Verity are now happily married.”

“Happily married,” he echoed. This time, he favored his fictional wife with a mocking look. “The happiest, are we not, love?”

If Verity’s cheeks went any redder, she was going to catch fire. “Livvie, we’ll continue introductions later,” Verity snapped.