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When Olivia came to Ivy with the idea of running the orphanage, both women were of a like mind.

They wished All Souls to operate differently than other institutions.

Education and training were top priorities.

Finding apprenticeships or positions in a field of interest for the children was the main goal of the Committee of Concerned Ladies for Community Betterment.

To this end, the morning hours were spent educating the younger children while the older boys and girls attended apprenticeships.

The afternoons were devoted to healthful physical activities and chores, and the evening was meant for resting and reflection.

The children seemed to appreciate the opportunities they were given and completed their chores with minimal squabbles.

Ivy wondered if shooting a man on her first day of work might have been a useful strategy for earning some respect.

The few times she needed to intervene in an argument or scuffle, a sharp look and a few reminders of how respectful young men and women should behave seemed to silence the children into wide-eyed obedience.

She didn’t think it was her commanding presence that inspired such immediate positive responses, but she wasn’t going to question her good luck.

In the midst of it all, Ivy was able to help Henry and his bunkmate in room ten move their few belongings into room nine. His doe-eyed devotion to Ivy worried her a bit, but he wouldn’t hear a whisper of complaint from his friend which made the transition much smoother than Ivy anticipated.

Evening arrived in a mad rush of young people flurrying from task to task.

Their supper included a lively cacophony of young voices, clattering plates and spoons, and the satisfying exhaustion resulting from a day of productivity.

Ivy wasn’t sure she’d ever felt such contentment.

Until she remembered their new house guest would be arriving sometime that night.

She wished with a fervency bordering on desperation to visit Millie for a cup of tea and some comfort before her fateful evening with Commissioner Worthington.

Of all Ivy’s friends, Millie had known her the longest. While Ivy never told her of the troubles she had with her father, Millie was a bright woman with sharp powers of observation.

She might not know, but she certainly suspected.

It would be such a relief to finally tell her friend everything and ask for advice about living with a man.

Living with a man. Ivy Cavendale. How is this happening? And not just any man. The Commissioner of Scotland Yard.

He inspired something far more dangerous than the habitual fear she’d grown accustomed to managing.

Commissioner Worthington aroused her curiosity.

While fear kept her cautious, watchful, and safe, curiosity was another matter entirely.

It was a known killer of cats and ladies alike.

Something Ivy should squash immediately. If she only knew how.

Only a coward would retreat to her room instead of waiting for the commissioner to arrive.

I can live with being a coward. I’m exceedingly good at it.

When the last child was tucked into bed, she rushed into the kitchen to make a small pot of hot chocolate with a dash of whiskey for good measure.

A forbidden treat, but one she was willing to sacrifice new ribbons and fripperies to purchase.

When she lived in her father’s house, she was only allowed the rich beverage on very special occasions.

He showed excessive concern over her figure and complexion, believing the chocolate might ruin both.

So, Ivy was allowed one cup on her birthday and Christmas.

Upon leaving his house to live with her aunt, she was determined to have a cup of hot chocolate whenever she pleased.

Her father left her a small inheritance, but it required excessive economy if she wished it to last for her life’s entirety.

And she did, as the only other option would be marrying.

It was another reason why Olivia’s offer was so appealing.

The position came with free room and board and a small income.

But even without her new position, Ivy would budget ruthlessly to afford her treat.

Hot chocolate was much more than just a delicious drink.

It was a symbol of her autonomy. With her father’s and brothers’ deaths, she had less wealth, less standing in the beau monde, and certainly less companionship.

But she would never have less hot chocolate.

After such a trying day, she planned on climbing into her narrow bed, snuggling the kitten, sipping her cup of dark delight, and becoming engrossed in a penny dreadful.

The ghastly stories should frighten her into sleeplessness, but there was something about the fanciful violence that made her feel incongruently safe.

She poured her steaming chocolate into the little pot already holding a dram of whiskey and took the tray through the grand entry toward the stairs.

Far too grand an entry for an orphanage.

Towering columns led up to a painted, albeit faded, ceiling.

A sweeping staircase, wide enough to fit ten large men, teetered unevenly upward.

Papered walls displayed darker squares, rectangles, and ovals where pictures once hung.

But it was the marble floors echoing ominously with each step she took that Ivy truly despised.

The front door flew open and Commissioner Worthington entered.

Oh my!

He looked nothing like the neatly presented gentleman Ivy knew.

‘Drat,’ she muttered, almost dropping the tray carrying her precious pot. A crime she would have held against Commissioner Worthington for the rest of his days. She froze, words spilling from her mouth before she could stop them. ‘What are you wearing?’

Scruffy breeches hung loose on his muscular frame, hiding the shape of his thighs.

Not that I’ve noticed his thighs. Or that I want to notice them now. I couldn’t care less if the man has tree trunks for legs. Let him wear silly pants that hide the hard lines of muscle running along his ? —

Forcing her eyes away from his legs, she took in a battered waistcoat of once green material that was now a greyish brown. Under that, the commissioner wore a plain spun linen shirt, unbuttoned at his neck. No starched collar. No cravat. Just an intriguing peek at the hollow of his throat.

Dear God. Is that chest hair? Just there, where his shirt buttons?

She was no idiot. She knew men had hair in places women did not. But she never imagined she might see Commissioner Worthington’s body hair.

The very idea! I wonder if it covers his legs as well…

No. She would not permit her gaze to wander south again. All the air was mysteriously sucked from the room and Ivy struggled to draw in a deep breath.

Commissioner Worthington stretched out both arms, displaying himself proudly.

His inky hair was mussed, his shirtsleeves rolled up to mid-forearm, revealing more intriguing black hair sprinkled over his arms and lending credence to Ivy’s theory that it must also cover his lower extremities.

‘Do I not look like your common working man, hired by the kind ladies of the Committee for Community Betterment to be a general dogsbody for whatever needs doing?’

Ivy opened her mouth but found no words.

Nothing about him looked common. He was intimidating in the proper clothing of a gentleman.

But dressed in the casual garb of a normal man, his distinctive features were highlighted to an obscene degree.

A strong brow, Roman nose, firm lips, sharp cheekbones, and the shadow-beard painting his hard jawline.

The clenching was back, low in her belly. And the rush of heat as though someone pulled aside the curtains inside her body and let in the summer’s sunlight. An echoing thud in her chest resonated in her bones.

What is wrong with me? Mayhap I’m catching the ague. Or this is the beginning stages of consumption.

She couldn’t check her forehead for fever as she was still holding the tray with her pot of chocolate and a teacup.

‘Did you not hear me, Lady Ivy? Or have I missed the mark? Reading said it was the perfect disguise, but I never know with that man if he is just trying to hornswoggle me.’

‘No, you look just… um, well. You look perfect, Commissioner.’

‘Please. We are going to be seeing quite a lot of each other. You can’t keep calling me Commissioner. Especially not when I’m dressed like this.’

Ivy’s face grew warm. Her cursed blush, a horrid stain erupting with the slightest provocation, was likely spreading over her neck.

She hated being so easily unsettled. And he would know it.

Of course he would with her neck looking like it was covered in an unsightly rash.

‘I certainly can’t use your Christian name. ’

Commissioner Worthington’s eyes grew wide. ‘Heavens, no. The very pedestals of propriety might crumble before us should you presume such a familiarity.’

A strange, bubbling giggle tried to escape her mouth, but she clamped down hard.

I will not simper in front of this man.

The painful thump in her chest was back.

‘Only, I don’t think we need be quite so formal, do you?’

Did she? Think they should be formal? A thousand thoughts raced through her mind, but not one of them answered his question.

‘Erm…’ she dithered.

‘At least not when it is just the two of us,’ Commissioner Worthington continued as if she’d contributed something meaningful to the conversation.

Struggling to regain her composure, Ivy clenched the tray so hard, she wondered if she might break the wood. ‘What do you suggest?’

‘Would you call me Worthington? Only when no one else is about. And only if you are comfortable with that.’

Worthington. Such an innocent combination of vowels and consonants, and yet she could almost taste them in her mouth, as decadent and addictive as her hot chocolate.

‘Perhaps. I shall consider it.’

He nodded. ‘Of course.’ His clever gaze dipped down to her tray. ‘Is that hot chocolate?’

Instinctively, she turned away, hiding part of the tray from him as if he might take it.

Laughing, he put his hands up in mock surrender. ‘I won’t steal your precious treat, Lady Ivy. My sister was mad for the stuff when she was a girl.’ He stiffened and pressed his mouth together.

Ivy quirked her head to the side. ‘You have a sister?’

‘Had.’ One word spoke volumes when paired with the flash of anguish in his eyes. The lines in his face instantly deepened.

Grief. She knew that emotion intimately.

Loss. Sorrow. All the feelings one experiences when someone they love is ripped away.

She felt the fierceness of it when she was only a child of eight and her mother died.

A pain too big to fit inside her body, and yet she stuffed it there with determination because it was all she had left of the woman who loved her with nothing but gentle touches, warm smiles, tight hugs.

Worthington carried that same agony and, while his body was much bigger than hers, it still wasn’t big enough to contain it.

She saw it pushing out of him like a ropey vine.

She would have to be a true skinflint to deny him a little of her chocolate. And while Ivy was many terrible things, she wasn’t selfish. Dipping her chin in a sharp nod, she turned back toward him. ‘I’m sure I can find another cup. If you’d like some, that is.’

The small smile creasing his cheeks was so sad, Ivy felt compelled to reach out to him. Offer some kind of comfort. Which was impossible.

I’m carrying a tray, after all.

‘I wouldn’t dream of depriving you, Lady Ivy. Perhaps we should postpone our planning of the investigation until the morrow. You’ve had a long day. And I find myself in need of rest.’

A pang of disappointment cut through her before she remembered to be relieved. ‘Yes, that would be… I mean to say, I am rather weary. Err, well. I hope you find your rest. If your room is not as it should be, you need only let me know.’

He nodded. ‘Is it just up the stairs?’

‘Oh. Of course. You haven’t had a chance to explore the house.

Please, follow me. All of the rooms are on the eastern wing.

The western wing has more rooms, but we’ve left those largely untouched for now.

’ Turning, Ivy hastily ascended the stairs, not looking back to see if he was following her.

There was something incredibly intimate about guiding a man to her bedchamber.

Or at least, the hallway leading to her bedchamber.

Ivy refused to think about it any further.

She couldn’t. All the particles of her body might fly apart if she did, releasing her soul to rise into the night air like mist and dissipate into eternity.

When she reached the second floor, she made a fast right turn.

Her swift steps matched her heartbeat as she counted each footfall.

Sometimes, frightening tasks were best done quickly.

Seven long strides from the stairs to the hallway.

Four more to room number ten. She turned partly and noted he was close behind her.

Close enough that she could discern where his neck turned from golden honey to pale eggshell. ‘Your room is here.’

‘And yours?’

Ivy’s shoulders tightened.

‘Should there be any trouble, I would need to know where you are. Only for that, Lady Ivy. I swear it.’

He was right, of course. And she was being ridiculous. A silly, missish girl when, in fact, she was nearing her third decade. ‘I’m at the end of the hall. The last door on the left. Goodnight, Commissioner Worthington.’

Spinning tightly on her heel, she did not wait for his response.