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Edward knew his proximity unsettled Lady Ivy.

But he also knew people found it harder to lie when they were flustered.

Not a kind thing to do, but he wasn’t a kind man.

He was the Commissioner of Scotland Yard.

It was his mission to determine truth from falsehood.

That was the only reason he sat so obscenely close to Lady Cavendale, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

Not because it brought the scent of peony and rosemary into his lungs.

Not because he could discern the faint sprinkling of caramel freckles across the bridge of her proud nose.

Not because this close, he could watch her pale skin transform into a crimson sunset as her peculiar blush painted speckled patterns across her throat, disappearing into the high-necked pale-blue morning gown she wore.

I want to be close to her to better detect the truth. That is all.

He had to stop his eyes from rolling at the blatant lie.

‘Let’s start with what first alerted you to an intruder.

’ He kept his voice even, noting how Ivy’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

If she did not calm down, he feared she might faint.

And then he would be forced to hold her in his arms, press a cold cloth against her forehead, whisper comforting words into the delicate shell of her ear until she regained consciousness.

Nonsense! I am the Commissioner of Scotland Yard. I don’t whisper comforting words into women’s ears. Reading is a much better candidate for such nonsense.

Though the thought of Reading holding Ivy sent a wave of itchy heat through him. Edward forced his focus back to Ivy. She was struggling to find words.

‘There is no need to rush, Lady Ivy. Take your time. It might help to close your eyes, take a few deep breaths, and let your thoughts drift back to last night.’

Lady Ivy pressed her wide mouth together, breathing deeply through her nose and holding it for, by his count, at least five. The action seemed to bolster her. ‘No. I don’t think I shall close my eyes, Commissioner Worthington. I prefer to keep a careful watch on the happenings around me.’

‘Is that what you do in the shadows of a ballroom, Lady Cavendale? Keenly observe the beau monde in their mad antics without ever being tempted to join?’

Damnation.

The question had nothing to do with his investigation.

But Edward had first noticed Ivy at the Marquess of Stoneway’s masque ball because of her tendency to slip quietly into the shadowed corners of every room she inhabited.

Her clear desire to remain unnoticed struck him as singularly odd.

She was beautiful, young, intelligent, and healthy.

She was also single, and her circumstances would be greatly improved by a fortunate match.

Not that every young woman wished for marriage, Philippa certainly never had and for good reason, but what was Ivy’s reason?

It tickled at him like a stray hair in his collar.

While he was here to determine who invaded the orphanage, he couldn’t deny he also wished to gain a greater understanding of Lady Ivy Cavendale.

Perhaps if he could untangle the contradictory nature of her actions and spirit, she would cease to claim his thoughts in such an alarming manner.

Because despite her tendency to withdraw, Ivy Cavendale was a fierce fighter.

Edward knew this in the marrow of his bones.

So did Philippa, or she wouldn’t have taken the woman under her tutelage.

Yet she acted like a meek, demure milksop of a maiden. It made no sense.

‘What relevance does my behaviour at balls have to do with an intruder climbing through the window and terrorising the girls within, Commissioner Worthington?’

She had him there. He blinked, refused to glance at Reading, whose ears were no doubt flaming beacons of moral outrage, and reassembled his thoughts.

‘Merely trying to determine your character, Lady Ivy.’

Ivy’s pupils dilated. ‘Ah, yes. Trying to determine if you can trust a woman whose bloodline is steeped in madness and murder. Perhaps I am victim to the same evil that claimed my brother and father only last year.’ He didn’t miss the convulsive spasm of her throat as she nearly choked on the word ‘father’.

‘Is that your aim in asking such an inconsequential question? The answer is simple. I am shy. And the edges are safer than the centre, Commissioner.’

Edward knew of Lord Cavendale’s death. And his son, Alfred.

Philippa and the Queen kept him well informed.

He was also privy to the whisperings among the beau monde of Lord Cavendale’s more perfidious inclinations.

One hoped a man drawn to such disgusting sexual depravities would keep his twisted affections away from his own children, but Edward had seen all manner of sins in his time as commissioner.

Is that what plagued Ivy so grievously? Had her father?—

His mind recoiled from the idea even as his investigator’s instincts smelled the metal tang of truth.

If that were the case, he needed to proceed with the utmost care.

Such hidden wounds were unpredictable and could bleed anew at the slightest provocation.

He had seen first-hand the damage women sustained and how it could twist and poison their lives.

But he had also witnessed the resiliency of what society deemed the ‘weaker sex’.

He knew ‘delicate’ ladies could show more endurance, courage, and fortitude than any of their male counterparts.

Edward’s respect for women was forged in painful experience, and he would never again doubt their ability to recover from the most devastating injuries.

‘A shy woman brave enough to stand off against an intruder?’

Ivy shook her head. ‘Not brave. Just desperate. There was no one else to protect the children. I had no choice.’

‘You could have run. Or stayed locked in your room.’

Ivy clicked her tongue and tapped her finger against her skirt. ‘Only a monster would have abandoned these children.’

‘Then I know a great many monsters, Lady Ivy. Dancing in ballrooms, eating ices at Gunter’s, promenading along Bond Street.’

‘What about leading Scotland Yard?’ She sucked in a breath and glanced over his shoulder, breaking their eye contact.

She didn’t mean to ask that. But she wants to know if I can be trusted. Because she doesn’t trust men.

The image of Lord Cavendale flashed in his mind, a hazy picture of a kindly-looking gentleman from some long-ago event. Edward imagined ploughing his fist into the bastard’s ingratiating smile. Over. And over. And over.

‘Please forgive me.’ Her low voice was barely a whisper. ‘Of course you aren’t anything of the sort.’

Edward wanted to reach out and run his finger down the length of her petal-pale cheek. He wanted to offer comfort and sanctuary. Which was impossible. He had no comfort to give. And a man condemned to solitude knew nothing of sanctuary.

So, he gave her what he could: honesty. ‘I’ve made monstrous decisions in my past. Not intentionally, but what good are intentions when it is action that determines one’s destiny? Intentions cannot reverse time. But actions cut so deep a soul is cleaved in two.’

‘You admit to being a monster?’

‘In truth, I believe we all have the capacity to become fiends. To let the darkness seep in a little at a time until one day, we have been sucked so deep into the quagmire, we’ve forgotten what it is to stand in the sunlight. We recoil from its warmth.’

Ivy refocused on him, her ice-blue eyes holding him frozen. ‘If that is true, then we are all doomed,’ she whispered.

Edward softened his mouth into a near smile.

‘Ah, but there is another side to this coin of humanity. You see, I also believe we have the courage to stand up against insurmountable odds. To sacrifice our own happiness, safety, and fortune to provide succour for others. To learn from our mistakes. Grow from even the most grievous sins. Become better versions of ourselves, even if we are irrevocably flawed. Like men who devote their lives to pursuing justice for innocent victims. Or women who stand in front of vulnerable children and refuse to abandon them for their own safety.’

‘So we are beasts and beauties combined?’

‘Some of us are more beautiful than others.’

A sharp cough came from Edward’s left.

Ah, yes. Reading. Thin little compass of morality.

But he was annoyingly right. Edward should never have let the thought escape. He should never have had the thought in the first place, no matter how true it might be.

Of all the women in Edward’s acquaintance, Lady Ivy seemed the most resistant to flattery of any kind.

And he had no desire to woo her with pretty words.

Understand her, perhaps. Unravel the tangle of contradictions comprising her person, most certainly.

Determine the best course to ensure her safety, decidedly so.

But to embark on any path more intimate was completely out of the question.

Men like Edward did not deserve the affections of a woman like Ivy Cavendale.

‘I’ve taken us off-track.’

‘I’m not sure we can even see the track from here,’ Reading muttered from the settee.

Edward’s withering glare was wasted on the man as he refused to look up from his parchment.

‘Perhaps we should get back to the questions, Commissioner. Unless you have what you need?’ Her reasonable request only highlighted the foolishness of his earlier comment.

An odd hollow ache in the vicinity of his chest thrummed an answer.

No. I don’t have what I need. Not even close.

Terrible time for self-revelations when he was in the middle of an investigation.

He tried to focus on her question. ‘I apologise, but we still have much to discuss.’ Leaning back in his chair, he noted her body slowly softening with his diminished proximity. ‘Do you recall what time it was you first became aware of an intruder?’