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He would never stop missing Liza. Never stop grieving her. Never stop wondering what life would be like if she was still present. But mayhap it was time to forgive himself. To finally do as his sister asked and not live a life of lonely misery.

‘She isn’t the only person I miss, Philippa.’

In lieu of a response, Philippa pulled a fan from her pocket and scratched her nail over one of the jewels.

‘I miss you. The friendship we shared once so long ago. If you are asking me to forgive myself, then I am asking you to let me back into your life. We are the only two people who really knew Liza. Can we not start there and rebuild our friendship?’

Philippa’s shoulders tightened. ‘You ask too much.’

‘I’m just following your example, Philippa.’

‘As painful as it is for me to admit, there are times – seldom and fleeting though they may be – when I also miss your friendship, but I don’t know if I have room in my busy schedule for anyone else.’

Standing, Edward crossed the distance between them and gripped her hand in his. ‘What about old friends who are sometimes prone to be melodramatic sad sacks?’

She sniffed. ‘Perhaps.’

It was as close as Edward would get to her agreement. ‘Thank you, Philippa.’ His voice cracked with a dangerous cocktail of grief, love, and hope.

She pulled from his grasp. ‘Don’t become maudlin.

I can’t abide blubbering fools. We have a charity ball tonight and much to be done in the meantime.

Namely, tucking your tail between your legs and devising an apology speech for Ivy to rival all others.

Think of what you said here and then improve it by one thousand. ’

‘Ah. There is the duchess I’ve grown to cherish.’

‘Fix this with Ivy so we can refocus on our mission. It’s time to capture a wolf.’

Philippa pulled the decorative rope to summon Stokes. After waiting several seconds, she pulled again. Harder.

Eventually, the door creaked open, and Stokes slowly entered, his back ramrod straight. His eyes focused on the floor three feet to the left of Philippa. ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

‘Fetch me my writing supplies, Stokes.’

The butler shifted his gaze to the writing desk tucked in the corner. He tipped his chin. ‘You mean, those writing supplies?’

Philippa rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be a fool. Those are for formal letters. This is just a little note to invite Ivy to take advantage of my lady’s maid and dress for the ball here instead of at the orphanage.’

‘You wish me to fetch informal stationery?’

Philippa looked at Edward and shook her head sadly. ‘Poor old stodger. He’s getting a bit…’ She looped a finger in circles next to her temple before refocusing on the butler. ‘Should I use smaller sentences? Is that the problem? Or just shout louder? Ink. Quill. Parchment.’

‘Of course, Your Grace.’ Stokes strode sedately over to the writing desk, pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, dropped it on the floor, and trod on it. He bent, pinched the corner, and walked over to Philippa, holding out the slightly crumpled paper. ‘Casual notepaper, Your Grace.’

‘I sometimes wonder what life might be like without you, Stokes, but such fantasies are too good to ever be true.’

‘Certainly, Your Grace.’

Curling her lip like she had just eaten an unripe strawberry, Philippa rolled her eyes. ‘I’m sure there’s something you should be doing to prepare for tonight, Stokes.’

‘Yes, Your Grace. I was doing important work. But then you summoned me.’

‘Well, that was certainly a waste of everyone’s time, wasn’t it?’

‘Of course, Your Grace.’ Inclining his head in a regal bow, he turned and left as slowly as he arrived.

‘One day.’

‘Yes, yes. You’ll sack him. I know.’ Edward failed to hide his smile. While danger awaited only a few hours away as they prepared to draw out the Wolf, for the first time in forever, he felt a sense of hope.

* * *

Ivy must have lost her mind. She never should have agreed to let Philippa’s incredibly talented lady’s maid dress her for the ball.

Delacroix was like a military general, pulling, tugging, pinning, twisting.

But the effects were astounding. Her fair hair was twisted into a sleek knot at her crown.

Wisps spilled out like a waterfall of silvery blonde around her face.

Rubies were clipped strategically to look like clusters of roses.

Looking at herself in the full-length glass, Ivy was lost for words.

Her dress – another Madame Collette miracle – was crimson red.

A colour Ivy would never choose. It drew far too much attention.

And the cut of her neckline was two sneezes away from being completely indecent.

Delacroix had done some magic with Ivy’s corset.

While she was fairly confident her ribs were broken, she no longer resembled a flat plank of wood.

‘One of the advantages to small breasts is much more plunging necklines. You look marvellous, Ivy.’ Millie stood on one side of her as Hannah came from behind with a wickedly sharp dagger.

‘Here, put this in the pocket. Do you have a pistol?’

Ivy nodded. ‘Yes.’ She patted one side of her skirt and slipped the dagger into the other side. ‘I don’t know what to say to Edward.’

‘Tell him he’s being a right blockhead. If that doesn’t work, drag him to Philippa’s back parlour and show him exactly what he’ll be giving up if he doesn’t pull his head out of his arse.’ Penny stood behind Ivy.

When Ivy arrived at Philippa’s after receiving her note, she expected her mentor would be there.

She did not expect to see Millie, Hannah, and Penny with their own maids, all crowded into Philippa’s private suite of rooms. Apparently, Philippa had extended her invitation to all the Queen’s Deadly Damsels.

Ivy spent the afternoon letting Delacroix work her magic while she poured her heartache out to her friends.

They had much advice to give, ranging from cutting off his bollocks – thank you, Hannah – kidnapping him and stealing away to a cottage in the woods until he came to his senses – wonderful idea, Millie, though I don’t have any spare cottages at the moment – and now dragging him to an empty room during a charity ball and accosting the man – interesting tactic, Penny, but requiring a mite more confidence than I currently claim.

There was a knock on the door, and Philippa’s butler, a portly man with the posture of a military commander, stepped inside. ‘Lord Drake, Lord Killian, and Lord Reynard have arrived.’

Millie pinched her cheeks in the mirror and pressed her lips together.

‘We should go down. The guests will be arriving any minute. Don’t be nervous, Ivy.

We’re all here to support you. Just stand up there in front of the entire beau monde and convince those self-absorbed, horrible prigs to give a fig about orphans.

Then, wait for the Wolf to emerge. Simple as a Sunday pudding. ’

Ivy felt ill. ‘Yes. Well. I’ve always hated pudding.’

Hannah squeezed her arm. ‘You’ll do grand, Ivy. Try imagining everyone with peacock feathers coming out of their noses.’

‘Or that no one is wearing trousers, but they all have chicken legs,’ Penny added helpfully.

As the women rustled to the door in layers of silk, crinoline, and lace, Philippa approached from where she had been staring out of a large window to the grounds beneath. ‘Ivy, may I have a word before we descend?’

Millie was at the door and paused, turning back to them. ‘Is anything amiss?’

Philippa waved her on. ‘No, I just need a private moment with Ivy.’

‘Right. We’ll see you down there.’ With a little wave, she hurried after Hannah and Penny.

Ivy’s belly dropped as she looked at her mentor. Philippa’s sharp gaze, usually so direct, seemed to land on every object in the room except for Ivy. ‘What is wrong, Philippa? You look… anxious. And you never look anxious.’

‘I want you to be careful tonight, Ivy. Remember your training. And if there is any unforeseen trouble, stay calm. Trust your instincts. And don’t hesitate to strike if you’re given an opportunity.’

In the flurry of activity leading up to the ball, it was easy for Ivy to forget the inherent danger.

But members of the Devil’s Sons would be leading ladies around the dance floor, sipping on the ratafia, smoking their cheroots, and watching.

Always watching as Ivy took centre stage and threw down her gauntlet.

Instead of fear, Ivy felt a defiant pulse of anger course through her.

Good. Let them watch . Let them hear her words and know their brotherhood was under attack.

Ivy had no intention of losing this war. They should fear her.

‘I won’t hesitate, Philippa. You have trained me well. I’m ready.’

‘I would speak to you about another issue.’

Ivy nodded as Philippa flicked open her fan and examined the jewelled patterns.

‘Edward came to see me today.’

Every muscle in Ivy’s body tightened. The pulse in her neck beat hard against her skin. ‘Did he?’ She tried to remain nonchalant, but the words emerged as a squeak.

‘He did. I know he spoke to you of Liza.’

Ivy’s heart dropped with heavy grief for her friend. ‘I am so sorry for your loss, Philippa. I can’t imagine how painful it is for you.’

Philippa gently closed the fan and caught Ivy’s gaze in the mirror’s reflection.

Love. Devastation. Grief. They all swirled in varying shades of sapphire, cobalt, and indigo.

Philippa blinked, and her eyes cleared, but the pain did not.

‘Losing one’s partner is an agony I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

And never experiencing the kind of love I was blessed to know – even if it was only for a short time – is not something I would wish for you, Ivy.

Edward is a good man, and he loves you, but he is also an idiot.

Luckily, he is less stupid now than he used to be.

He shouldn’t have left you this morning.

But sometimes, our own demons chase so close behind, the only option we have is to flee.

At least for a time. A feeling you are most familiar with, and therefore best able to understand, I think. ’

As usual, Philippa was correct. Ivy did understand the need to run at times. But if he was running away, how could they move forward? ‘What should I do, Philippa?’

‘While I credit Hannah, Millie, and Penny for giving sound advice, I think an honest conversation might be the best route. Lay out your cards, Ivy. Tell him what you want. Ask what he wants in return. What he is capable of giving.’

I never know what I want.

But for the first time in her life, it wasn’t true.

I want Edward.

And she wasn’t about to let a little fear stand in the way of claiming him.

‘Thank you, Philippa. Your advice is sound as always. I wonder if you would take some from me.’

Philippa raised a black brow. ‘You have found your courage. Rarely does someone dare give me advice. Except Stokes, perhaps, but that man lives to vex me. Please.’ She nodded her head, granting Ivy permission.

‘I can’t imagine how painful it must be to lose someone you loved so deeply. But I don’t believe opening your heart again to the possibility of a new love dishonours what you shared with Liza.’

Philippa’s eyes flashed, and Ivy nearly retreated. But this was too important to back down. She turned to face the duchess and gripped both of her shoulders. The jewels sewn into Philippa’s deep purple gown dug into Ivy’s fingers. ‘Liza would want you to find happiness again, Philippa.’

Philippa tried to pull back, but Ivy refused to loosen her grip. ‘If circumstances were reversed, would you wish her to remain alone for the rest of her days? Denied the comforts of companionship? Never again experiencing the beauty of loving and being loved?’

Philippa swallowed. She turned her head to look over Ivy’s shoulder. Ivy squeezed Philippa’s shoulders. ‘I know it is easier to remain in the shadows. Believe me. I’ve spent years safely tucked away. But it’s a half-life, Philippa. And you deserve more than that.’

Clearing her throat, Philippa met Ivy’s gaze. ‘I find receiving advice is far less enjoyable than giving it.’

Despite the weight of their conversation, the danger they would soon face, the impending conversation Ivy needed to have with Edward, a giggle bubbled up from her belly, and she let it burst free. ‘Very true. I shall endeavour to keep my advice to a very minimum henceforth.’

‘Thank you, Ivy. I will consider your words.’

Ivy let her hands drop free and brushed them over the softness of her silk skirts. ‘Shall we?’

‘We shall.’ Philippa led them out of her rooms and into the fray.