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The molten rage burning in Edward from the moment he walked into the library and saw his constable smacking Lady Ivy froze in his veins like raindrops in a frigid wind.

He stood completely still. The terror in her gaze was something Edward knew well.

He’d seen it in countless victims during his fifteen-year career.

Whatever caused her to transition from fearless protector to frightened prey mattered less than what he could do to reassure her she was safe.

But the desire to uncover her secret hurts and vanquish those responsible for them washed through Edward like a rogue wave.

Not now. Later.

‘I won’t. Not until you tell me.’ He kept his hands in front of him and crouched down on his haunches, making himself as small as possible. ‘When you’re ready, I want to unlock the manacles.’

Ivy’s wide eyes darted from his face to his hands where the keys glinted in the dim light.

She swallowed, her elegant throat constricting.

Blonde hair, so light it was almost silver, fell around her in a shroud.

While her skin was always pale, it looked porcelain in the candle glow save for the red mark of the constable’s hand.

Her wide mouth was pressed tight together.

She was stunning, but fear tightened her features into something fragile.

Edward was keenly aware of how easily this strong woman might break if he wasn’t careful.

‘I’m not going to move any closer, Lady Ivy. When you’re ready, reach out your hands, and I’ll get you free of those.’ He held his breath. Waiting.

A tear tracked down Lady Ivy’s cheek, and she dashed it away with her shackled hands before sniffing. ‘I am not crazy. Or stupid. A man came in here and was going to harm the children. I swear it.’

Edward nodded his head slowly. ‘I believe you.’

Ivy took a shuddering breath. ‘You do?’

She didn’t believe him. And why should she? He had done nothing to gain her trust barrelling into her home and beating a man like some lawless barbarian.

‘Yes. I would like to hear what happened. But not while you’re in those.’ He nodded to the cuffs.

Lady Ivy swallowed, then pressed her lips together.

‘All right.’ She held out her pale arms. Something inside Edward’s chest cracked.

She was terrified, but she reached out anyway.

‘You may u-unlock these. Please.’ She sniffed loudly, her cheeks and neck becoming stained in blotches of crimson.

It was akin to watching paint bleed onto canvas, and Edward was mesmerised, curious what patterns might emerge.

He carefully wrapped one hand around her forearm to hold it steady, noting how she stiffened, her shoulders hitching closer to her ears. Her skin was warm and petal-soft in his rough palm.

He fit the key into the lock and turned it.

The click was deafening in the quiet room but not as loud as her breaths.

Pulling the metal open, Edward helped free her right wrist before repeating the process with her left.

Peony and rosemary surrounded him, a unique blend of sweet and earthy.

He pulled the scent into his lungs, not wanting to exhale.

Pale-blue veins created a network of trails beneath her skin.

He traced one with his finger before he could think better of it.

Lady Ivy inhaled a sharp breath. He glanced up, and her crystal eyes were almost eclipsed by black pupils. In another woman, he might assume it was desire. But passion wasn’t causing the pulse at her throat to beat so wildly. He pulled his hand back.

‘Forgive me. I wanted to ensure you were not harmed. If shackles are fastened too tight, they can create sores,’ Edward lied.

He never lied. But how could he admit the spiderweb of vessels carrying blood throughout her body was as beautiful as a butterfly’s wing?

Delicate and vital? He had reached to touch it with the same thoughtless wonder as a child reaching for open flame.

I’m going mad. It must be fatigue. When did I last eat? What nonsense is filling my head… spiderwebs and butterfly wings.

‘I am unharmed, Commissioner. I assure you.’ Gone was the commanding tone of the woman demanding he stop beating the constable. With no one to protect, Lady Ivy lost her courage. A warrior attempting to slip into the shadows. Yet one more contradiction to add to his list.

She rubbed where his finger had danced over her skin. The spray of colour painting her neck and chest grew darker. ‘May we postpone your interview until the morrow? I find myself overwhelmed.’

He should respect her wishes. Let her hide away as she seemed determined to do.

But something within him rebelled. She expected to be treated like a weak, broken creature because so many viewed her as such.

But just as Edward could sense a lie in others, he could sense the truth in her.

When she commanded him earlier in such a demanding tone, he did not question the veracity of her nature.

Not as he was doing now. ‘Truly? You seem far more in control of yourself than most would be after experiencing such traumatic events.’

She stood from her seat and stepped behind it, putting the chair between them. A meagre shield, but something, nonetheless. She gripped the back of it, and he had no doubt she would lift the thing and use it as a weapon if he came any closer.

Overwhelmed, indeed.

‘I assure you, I am quite beside myself, sir. A woman’s constitution is not meant for such violent acts. I can understand why your constable had trouble believing me. I hardly credit it myself. I’m sure I couldn’t fire that weapon again if I was forced to.’

‘It is ungentlemanly to contradict a lady, but I find in this instance, I must. You forget, Lady Ivy, I know your friend, the Duchess of Dorsett. If Philippa has taught me anything, it is the vicious nature of women. They are far more fearful creatures than any man I have encountered, myself included. And they are far more deserving of respect than most men display.’

‘Yourself included?’ she fairly whispered before pressing her wide mouth together in a tight line.

‘I certainly hope not, Lady Ivy.’

‘Then respect my request, Commissioner Worthington. Allow me to retire. I cannot think clearly and will be of no further use to you this evening.’

Damnation. I walked right into that.

Edward stepped back and bowed. ‘Well played, Lady Ivy. How can I question you now without declaring myself a cad?’

Lady Ivy didn’t respond. Instead, she tapped her forefinger against the chair and dropped her chin, her eyes fixed on a spot directly in front of her feet.

He fought a smile. ‘I concede to your demands. A reprieve for tonight. But I shall return tomorrow afternoon. And I must insist you answer my questions then.’

‘As you wish, Commissioner.’ She kept her gaze down, refusing to face him. The diminutive wallflower, easily overlooked, easily forgotten.

But not by me. I see you, and I am determined to uncover your secrets.

‘Until the morrow, Lady Ivy.’ He bowed sharply and forced himself to turn and walk away.

* * *

Lady Olivia Smithwick was a striking woman.

Her hair was as fair as Ivy’s but contrasted Ivy’s smooth chignon with an untamed style highlighting her unruly curls.

The wild waves coiled into a loose twist, and a waterfall of spirals framed her high cheekbones.

Bold eyes – as green as Ivy’s kitten – missed nothing, and her lush mouth drew the attention of every man in the room.

When there were men in the room to be distracted by such a singularly beautiful woman.

Thankfully, this particular room was blessedly free of men.

For now. But the threat of Commissioner Worthington’s commanding presence loomed.

It was one of the reasons Ivy invited Olivia to join her and was in the process of imploring her to stay for the commissioner’s interview.

No one noticed the paler, softer, far less dramatic Ivy when Marchioness Brightmore walked into a room.

Ivy had scrawled a hasty note to Olivia early that morning to request her assistance instead of Millie, Hannah, Penny, or Philippa for this very reason.

Commissioner Worthington was sure to be distracted by the flirtatious, charming Lady Olivia.

The last thing I need is for his notice to capture me.

She had felt just so the night before. Arrested by the commissioner’s dark gaze. Imprisoned by his firm hands as his rough fingers traced over her skin.

What kind of touch creates such sparks and fires in one’s blood? It is unaccountable.

And yet, when she escaped Commissioner Worthington the night before to curl in her single bed with the kitten purring against her belly, it wasn’t fear that caused her hands to tremor.

It was something else entirely. Something quite unnameable.

She couldn’t dispel the fizzing heat washing through her veins nor acknowledge what it might mean.

She had been frightened at first, but then it changed into something else.

When he held back instead of pushing forward, talked of respecting women, brushed his hand over her arm so carefully. A breathless kind of curiosity bloomed.

Desire.

No. Not that. Never that. Ivy had long known she wasn’t like other women in that department.

Her father made sure any interest she might have in the opposite sex was completely squashed by fear and revulsion.

While her childhood friend, Millie, spent their younger years dreaming of passionate romances with handsome men, Ivy preferred to imagine a life of safe solitude.

Her father had broken that part of her. Lord Cavendale secretly and systematically amputated any interest Ivy might have in male company.

‘ Once you are wed, your husband will take you any way he wishes, little Ivy. And as often as he pleases. How I envy him that privilege.’

Ivy swallowed down the bile threatening to rise, refusing to remember the details.