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Edward’s feet hurt and he was desperate to loosen his cravat.

He wondered how long it might take Ivy to deal with whatever problem the Committee of Concerned Ladies for Community Betterment was having.

Mayhap they could leave the ball within the next half-hour.

He was desperate to enlighten Ivy on the finer points of lovemaking in a carriage.

All the bouncing caused by cobblestones could be quite…

invigorating. Just imagining her sitting backward on his lap, her skirts around her waist, his hard length penetrating deeper with every rut they jolted over.

He would direct the driver to take the long route back to Islington.

‘Right. That’s it. I shall just go find her myself,’ he muttered to no one in particular. As he was winding through the thinning crowds, a servant approached him with a sealed note.

‘For you, Commissioner Worthington.’ The servant held out the missive, his head bowed.

As soon as Edward took the note, the man disappeared back into the crowd. Glancing down, Edward’s stomach dropped.

The head of a crow. The body of a wolf. The tail of a snake.

Ripping the note open, his hands began to shake.

Ivy is in danger. Go to the stables.

He should alert the others, but glancing around, he couldn’t see any of them.

They may have left already. Hannah and Killian had said something about needing to end the evening early.

The last he saw of Millie and Drake, the couple were making their way to the entry.

He hadn’t the time or patience to try and locate Penny and Liam.

He turned and fled the ballroom, nearly knocking Philippa over in his haste.

‘What is wrong?’ Philippa gripped his arm, holding him steady when he needed to run.

‘Ivy. Stables.’ He shoved the note into Philippa’s hand then wrenched free, his feet flying across the polished floor toward the kitchen. It was the fastest route to the stables. The fastest route to Ivy.

* * *

‘I’m so, so sorry, Ivy. I had no choice.’ Olivia’s beautiful eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. She bit her lip so hard, Ivy nearly winced. Her sweet friend looked absolutely miserable, and she would have felt awful for her.

Except she’s pointing a bloody gun at my chest.

‘You are part of this?’ It was impossible.

Damnation! Philippa was right again . She told me not to trust Olivia.

Rage swept through her blood and Ivy forgot to be afraid.

She spent her whole life fearing men like Smithwick.

Men like her father. His smug smile, the triumph flashing in his eyes.

The confidence that no mere woman could ever upset his plans.

But to think, in the end, she’d been betrayed by her friend.

Olivia was wrong. There was always a choice. And Ivy chose to resist. If she died tonight, it would be fighting, not cowering in fear. But she would also do what she could to free her children.

Olivia had made poor use of the weapon Ivy slipped her.

She had no doubt Sarah and Henry would do much better.

As she stood, she snuck her hand into her other pocket, took the dagger and cut a hole in the lining so the weapon could fall to the floor beneath her skirts.

She toed the thing behind her, feeling it bump into Henry’s leg.

His small gasp was all the confirmation she needed.

If they could cut their bonds, they could run. Ivy just needed to give them a chance.

‘Of course she is part of this. She is my wife, to command as I please, aren’t you, dear?’ The cold glint in Smithwick’s eyes left no doubt as to the kind of cruelty he exacted upon his wife.

She almost felt sorry for Olivia. Almost.

‘You promised nothing would happen to the children, Percy. You said we would let them go.’

‘Don’t call me that. You know I hate when you call me that. And what do you know of promises kept? You promised to love, honour, and obey your husband. How long did that promise last? Months? Weeks? Not even days. One broken promise deserves another. We have quotas to fill, Olivia.’

Olivia pressed a hand over her mouth. Her wide gaze flicked from Ivy back to Smithwick. ‘I can’t…’

‘You know what is at stake if you do not.’

Ivy saw the horror fill Olivia’s eyes. Whatever threat Smithwick held over her, it was a powerful one. Perhaps Olivia had less choice than Ivy assumed.

‘Take the children to the carriage waiting in the mews. Some of my men will be there to pick up the delivery, then hurry back here, wife. I’ll need help getting rid of her body.’

He’s talking about me. My body.

Sarah’s sobs grew louder and more frantic.

‘What good does killing me do, Smithwick? Worthington won’t stand for it. He’ll hunt you down like a rabid dog.’ She needed more time to think. To find an opening. To create an opportunity for the children to escape.

‘He won’t have a reason to. That’s why we must get rid of your body, Lady Cavendale. No body, no crime. And the note he finds in your reticule, the one you so helpfully left with your coat upon arrival, will confirm his worst suspicions.’

Ivy cocked her head. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Of course you don’t. A woman’s delicate brain couldn’t possibly be strong enough to hold the plans men create. Your dear friend Olivia here was kind enough to forge a letter from your lover. It’s already been placed in your bag awaiting discovery.’

Edward? But I haven’t told Olivia about Edward.

‘Not a real man, of course. Who would want to seduce a cold plank of wood like yourself? But no one need know that. According to his letter, the two of you were plotting to steal the money from this charity event and escape to the Americas. When Commissioner Worthington finds the money gone and you with it, convincing him to abandon his task force and track down a thieving bitch who betrayed him will be easier than convincing Olivia here to follow the commands of her husband. By the by, aren’t you supposed to be taking those children to the mews? ’ He raised a brow at Olivia.

Olivia brushed past Ivy. ‘I am so sorry,’ she whispered.

But her apology only increased Ivy’s fury. ‘What good does that do? Don’t be sorry. Be better. Fight with me,’ she hissed.

Olivia wouldn’t meet her gaze as she awkwardly tucked the gun under her arm, knelt beside Henry and untied his feet. Then Sarah’s. Ivy wished she could bash Olivia over the head and knock some sense into the woman.

‘Come along, children.’ Olivia spoke the same way she’d done when inviting them to the kitchen for pudding.

‘Upsy-daisy.’ She stood, grabbing the gun in one shaky hand, then reached down to help Henry up, but pulled back her arm as if she’d been bit.

A crimson stain soaked through the sleeve of her gown.

She looked rather dumbfounded at the wound. ‘He c-cut me.’

Henry lunged for her again, his eyes wild, his lips pulled back in a snarl. This was the boy who’d spent years on the streets, fighting for his survival. ‘Get away from us,’ he screamed, brandishing the dagger as he put his body between Olivia and Sarah.

Smithwick swung his gun around. He cocked the pistol. The weapon was pointed at Henry. He was going to shoot the boy.

With a feral war cry, Ivy launched herself at Smithwick.

He didn’t have time to retrain his weapon before Ivy was on him.

The force of her attack toppled them over and she landed on top of Smithwick.

Gripping him tightly between her thighs, she scrabbled for the gun.

Grabbing his wrist, she slammed his hand against the cobblestones once.

Twice. Three times until he lost his grip.

The weapon fell free and Ivy dove for it.

Sharp pain nearly stole her breath as he gripped her hair, wrenching her back. But not before she grabbed the pistol.

‘Not so fast, you skinny little bitch.’ He was in an awkward position on the floor, his hand twisted in her hair, but she ignored the pain.

While he surpassed her in strength, Ivy fought with wild abandon.

She couldn’t fire the gun at such close quarters, but there was more than one way to subdue an adversary.

Thrusting her elbow behind her into his ribs, air exploded from him as he lost his grip on her hair.

Twisting her torso, she arced the pistol through the air, using it as a cudgel against his cheekbone.

The hard metal cut into his skin, opening a wide gash that spewed blood.

She fisted her other hand and slammed it into his throat, revelling in his choked gasp.

Scrambling to her feet, she kicked him with all her might, aiming for his soft belly.

Curling into a foetal position, one hand pressed against his gushing cheek, the other trying to protect his middle, Ivy kicked him again. His high-pitched scream was like music.

Ivy stood over him, the pistol held tightly in her hands. One flick of her finger and it would be done. Smithwick would be dead.

‘Ivy, don’t pull the trigger.’ Edward’s voice was like a shock wave through her system.