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E dward approached Lady Heathbrooke with no small amount of trepidation. Upon reaching the plush velvet armchair in which she sat, he bent to place a kiss on her upturned cheek. “It’s lovely to see you again, Godmother.”

“A sentiment I may or may not share depending on how you answer my question.” She gave him a frank look. “What are your intentions toward Miss Roberts?”

It wasn’t that it was a terribly difficult question to answer but rather that he’d not had time to consider the subject overly much himself. Yet here he was now, put on the spot and ordered to bare his feelings.

Made uncomfortable by it, he said the first thing that popped into his head. “Why do you ask?”

Lady Heathbrooke’s eyes widened. She stared at him as though he were daft. “Because you waltzed with her at Eldridge House last night.”

“A dance you encouraged,” he pointed out.

Irritation flickered in the old woman’s eyes. “You also invited her to take some fresh air on the terrace with you. And now you are here. This sort of behavior suggests an interest on your part, but I worry it’s of the less honorable kind.”

Edward stiffened beneath her penetrating gaze. Though he was past his thirtieth year, this woman managed to make him feel like an insolent child. More so than his own mother.

Yet he would not allow her to question his character. “There is nothing shameful about my intentions toward Miss Roberts. She is a lovely person whose friendship I have begun to enjoy. That is all.”

Lady Heathbrooke raised her chin even as her eyes narrowed with keen suspicion. “You’ve no wish to make a conquest of her?”

Good God .

The shocking question emptied his brain of all thought. All he could do was stare at her in horrified stupefaction.

“Obviously, you can’t be thinking of marriage.”

Edward found his tongue, though barely. “Miss Roberts and I have only recently met.”

“Bah.” Lady Heathbrooke waved that thought aside as though it were a pesky fly, then homed in upon him with increased focus. “You are a marquess and she, while raised as a lady, was born to a laundress out of wedlock, which makes her a—”

“Don’t.” For some particular reason, he could not bear to hear the word bastard associated with Miss Roberts. He made an attempt to calm his breaths, to slow his racing pulse before saying, “I thought you cared for her.”

“And I do. Which is why I will not permit you to make her your mistress, which is all she can ever be to you, Marsdale.” Lady Heathbrooke sank against her seat as though exhausted from their heated exchange. “You know as well as I that the woman you marry must be born and bred into the upper class. She will be your marchioness, after all. Mother to your children. Surely you can see that it’s vital for her to be untouched by scandal so they won’t suffer.”

Edward’s teeth were clenched so hard there was a good chance they’d pulverize in his mouth. He turned from the woman he’d known his whole life and strode to the window, worried the next words he spoke would be too harsh.

He needed to take a moment to leash his anger, get his emotions under control, recognize that Lady Heathbrooke had no ill intent toward him or Miss Roberts. She was merely trying to be realistic. Something he had failed at since last night.

Those moments he’d shared with Miss Roberts on the Eldridge House terrace had been magical. They’d filled him with hope and longing and made him feel whole again.

Though his godmother’s point was valid, he could not ignore the positive effect Miss Roberts had upon him. He wasn’t ready to give up on what was between them just yet, though he had to acknowledge that she deserved more than becoming any man’s mistress.

Friendship first and foremost. It was what he had enjoyed most with Evie and what he believed to be the strongest foundation for any lasting union.

He frowned on that thought. While there was no denying his attraction toward Miss Roberts or his interest in exploring this further, the idea of courtship, marriage, or potentially taking her as his lover – what all this entailed – had not entered his head until now.

Frustrated, he muttered a curse beneath his breath. Before leaving home he’d been in good spirits, excited to visit Adrian, then enjoy Miss Roberts’s lovely company over tea. Now, his mind overflowed with concern. Which only increased his annoyance.

What business was it of anyone’s whom he chose to befriend? If he and Miss Roberts both liked spending time with each other, then why should anyone else interfere? His fingers flexed as he stared out onto the garden beyond. He’d lost his chance at a love match once and would not be foolish enough to do so again.

Though it was too soon to know if Miss Roberts could be the woman he gave his heart to, he decided there and then that if she were, he’d ask for her hand. After all, if Adrian and Samantha could manage with all the problems they had encountered, then surely he could find a way past a bit of scandal.

The sound of the front door opening and the feminine voice that followed, produced a burst of warmth within his chest. He turned, just as Miss Roberts entered the parlor. Her gaze caught his and the broad smile that followed made his pulse leap with the pleasure of knowing that she was delighted to see him.

“My lord.” Her cheeks were flushed and her breath slightly ragged from what must have been a brisk walk. She produced a quick curtsey. “What a lovely surprise, finding you here.”

His lips twitched with amusement as he sketched a bow in return. “You are as charming and radiant as always.”

Lady Heathbrooke sighed so loudly the sound filled the entire room. “Did you manage to purchase the items I asked for?”

“Indeed, I did,” Miss Roberts said. She smiled at the older woman. “Shall I ring for some tea?”

Lady Heathbrooke responded with a guttural affirmation that sent Miss Roberts across to the bell-pull. “Is that all right with you, my lord, or would you prefer coffee instead? Something else, perhaps?”

“Tea would be perfect,” Edward informed her, already moving toward the seating arrangement with measured steps. He glanced at his godmother, found her censorious gaze upon him, and chose to ignore it for now.

“You must be thrilled,” Miss Roberts said once they were all seated, she on the sofa adjacent to where Lady Heathbrooke sat. He in another armchair across from the dowager marchioness. Miss Roberts collected the teapot from the tray a maid had delivered and proceeded to fill the three cups. “Today’s edition of The Morning Post claims all charges against Mr. Croft have been dropped. As his friend, I expect you’re very pleased for him.”

“I am,” he admitted, emotion turning his voice a bit raspy, not only because of the huge relief he experienced on Adrian’s behalf but also because of the thoughtfulness imbedded in Miss Roberts’s words. “Seeing the case against Croft overturned has given me hope.”

“For what, if I may ask?” Lady Heathbrooke regarded him with open curiosity. “Did Mr. Croft not kill a man?”

“He did, but—”

“Then the charge made against him was sound and he should have been found guilty of murder. As he was. How his sentencing came about is irrelevant in my opinion. The only matter of consequence is that he deserves to hang.”

Edward clenched his jaw and reminded himself that few people knew what Adrian was truly like and that he would not have killed Lawrence without good reason. A point underscored by the article in the paper.

He prepared to say as much when Miss Roberts spoke. “I believe it’s a question of rules being broken in order to force a particular verdict. Rushing the case to a quick conclusion prevented Bow Street from conducting a full investigation. Consequently, Mr. Croft was found guilty of murdering an innocent and defenseless man. Which simply isn’t true since we now know Lawrence lied about his impairment, using it to get away with three heinous crimes. In my opinion, there is nothing wrong with doing away with such a monster. Especially since I am sure Mr. Croft acted in his own defense when he killed him.”

Finished with her statement, Miss Roberts raised her cup to her lips and sipped her tea. Edward couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her defense of Adrian greatly impressed him. More than that, it proved she accepted his closest friend – a man who was like a brother to him – which meant more to him than he could express.

“Murder is murder,” Lady Heathbrooke muttered. “And murderers have no place among us, regardless of their rank or their intentions.”

“There are likely those who share your opinion,” Edward told her gently. He picked up his own cup, then met Miss Roberts’s gaze while adding, “I, however, am not one of them.”

Miss Roberts smiled, and it was as though the bond that had formed between them, steadily growing with each encounter, was instantly pulled taut. Whatever effort Lady Heathbrooke had made to try and discourage him from pursuing Miss Roberts was proving to be a spectacular failure.

If anything, he was more intrigued and determined to further his acquaintance with her now than before he’d arrived here. Though this was not something he would be sharing with anyone yet. Not even with Miss Roberts herself.

* * *

Dorian Harlowe hastened up the steps of St. George’s Hospital. The missive he had received upon waking worried him to no end. With one agent already out of commission, he could not afford to lose another.

“How is she?” he asked the nurse who showed him to the room where Hazel was resting.

“Exhausted and weak. The wound she sustained is significant, though it shows no sign of festering. However, a period of recuperation will be required before she can test the use of her leg. You should know that reduced mobility will be expected.”

Disheartened by the news, Dorian approached the bed in which Hazel lay and saw that she was awake. A soft smile formed on her lips when she saw him, though her gaze remained slightly guarded, as though she worried he might reprimand her for failing in her mission.

Hoping to put her mind at ease, he moved to the side of her bed and took her hand in his. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Hazel’s expression tightened. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

It was clear that she blamed herself for what had gone wrong. Wanting to understand, he asked the one question to which he dreaded the answer. “Was this Samantha’s doing?”

Hazel’s eyes widened ever so slightly before she relaxed against her pillow. “No. She was there, but she wasn’t the one who shot me.”

What followed was an incredulous story of how Hazel had tracked Samantha and Adrian down. The gunfight that had ensued between all three of them and four child-smugglers. The aftermath and the subsequent arrival of Kendrick. Their journey back to London.

“You should know that Samantha has returned to Croft House with her husband.” Dorian spoke the words with mixed feelings.

On one hand, he remained concerned about Samantha’s shift in allegiance and what this might mean for The Nightingale Project’s continued success. On the other, he could not deny the relief he experienced over knowing she was safe, that Hazel had been unsuccessful in her mission, and that he would not have to do what he had been dreading these past few days. Not yet, at least.

Terminating Samantha had thankfully been delayed, though he knew in his heart that it was but a matter of time before he’d be forced to do the inevitable. She knew too much about him and The Nightingale Project. As a rogue agent, she was therefore a risk he would have to deal with sooner rather than later.

* * *

Comfortably seated in a corner of White’s, the gentleman considered the man who had joined him for a drink. Lord Liverpool looked immensely pleased. And why wouldn’t he when he’d acquired Croft’s infamous files and convinced him to put his criminal ways behind him?

All in the space of one evening.

Or so Liverpool believed.

The gentleman wasn’t so sure anyone possessing the kind of influence Croft had wielded could ever be made to give it up entirely. It would be like forcing a member of the peerage to stop using their title for personal gain.

Impossible.

More likely, Croft had promised to go along with Liverpool’s request for appearances only. It was what he personally hoped for since there was much work yet to be done. The news his informant had brought him that morning suggested a new series of sinister offenses might already be in the works.

Additional information would have to be gathered to know for certain. If it were true, however, then Croft would have to be alerted. But would he be willing to risk the freedom he’d recently gained?

Yes, the gentleman decided while sipping his brandy. If heinous crimes were being committed, Croft would be incapable of turning a blind eye. Yet extra care would have to be taken to make sure the punishments he meted out in future would not be traced back to him.

Perhaps an open collaboration with Bow Street could help ensure this?

It was certainly an idea worth looking into.