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“Tell me everything Sir Huxley says.” Lavinia sighed. “You are so lucky.” She adjusted Beatrice’s curls one last time and then stood. “There…you are ready.”

Beatrice blinked at the mirror, actually shocked by her reflection.

In mere moments, Elle and Lavinia had improved her hair, added jewelry, and fixed her makeup, and the end result was that Beatrice looked like a Londoner for the first time.

She still did not know what about her appearance had made her look so provincial, so Swampshirian, yet whatever it was, it was gone now.

She was staring at a cosmopolitan young lady who actually belonged among the city dwellers.

“How can I ever repay your kindness?” she wondered aloud.

“This is what friends do for one another!” Lavinia told her.

“Trust me, I could not do this for you,” Beatrice said, gesturing to her now-intricate hair and makeup. “But I will find some way to be a valuable ally.” She felt warm inside at Lavinia’s words. She was not alone here in London. She had friends.

“Enough dallying, my darling. We perfected the bait…now you must cast the line,” Elle told her.

She and Lavinia pulled Beatrice back into the ballroom just as the orchestra began to play a slow, sensual tune. Before Beatrice knew what was happening, she was in front of Sir Huxley, and her dance card was in his hand.

“Well, well, well,” he said with a smile. “It seems I already requested the honor. How could I have forgotten? Too much Sweetbriar punch, perhaps…but nonetheless…shall we?” He swept her onto the dance floor before Beatrice could protest.

He knew the moves well, his steps effortless and graceful as he swept her into a coordinated routine. She was surprised to find that, in his arms, she was able to dance somewhat elegantly as well. Apart from stepping on his feet two or three times.

It would be good, she told herself, to engage in conversation with the formerly mustachioed detective. After all, he was on the case—perhaps she might uncover something of use. This was the reason she had so easily accepted the suggestion that they dance, of course.

The strange fluttering she felt as he held her was something quite separate.

“You look radiant tonight, Miss Steele,” Sir Huxley said once they had settled into the steps. “What need have we for the summer sun when you shine so brightly?”

“We really don’t have a need for it at the moment, since it is night,” she replied.

“You are so sharp, so quick-witted, Miss Steele. Most women can only swoon in my presence,” Sir Huxley said. He lifted her hand and twirled her, making her feel much dizzier than she normally felt from a simple spin.

“Perhaps it is that you are not doing a very good job of listening. I have met several witty women here in London,” Beatrice assured him. “Lavinia Lee, for one, is so kind, and wonderful to converse with—”

“It is your remarks I wish to hear. I believe I could listen to them all day. Or night,” Sir Huxley replied.

“So it is my mind you are after? Now, that statement would make any woman swoon,” Beatrice said, unable to suppress a smile. “If it were true.”

“It is,” Huxley insisted. “Though I suppose you will not reveal anything about what you might have seen from your hiding place in a certain closet, as it pertains to my current case?”

Beatrice’s breath caught in her throat. She looked around to ensure no one was listening, before saying in a low voice, “I saw nothing.”

“As I suspected,” Sir Huxley said, nodding. “Which is why I said nothing.”

“And here I was, thinking you stayed quiet so I would be in your debt,” Beatrice shot back.

“How could I resist?” Sir Huxley’s eyes sparkled. “You owe me a favor, Miss Steele.” He suddenly pulled Beatrice closer to him. “I must have more than just a dance,” he said, breathless.

Such a sentiment would have been scandalous in Swampshire, Beatrice thought, feeling slightly shocked. Were gentlemen in London normally so bold?

“Whatever do you mean?” she demanded.

“Will you come with me to the opera?”

Beatrice blinked, taken aback.

“The third installment of Figaro debuts tomorrow night, and Mr. and Mrs. Vane have reserved both boxes. They offered me one,” Huxley said in a rush. “I would be honored if you accompanied me. We would have a real chance to talk, not just a few words exchanged over the course of one short waltz.”

“You would go to Figaro, when the lead actor is your lead suspect in a murder investigation?” Beatrice blurted out.

“Percival Nash cannot commit murder while onstage, unless he sings atrociously enough, and we all know he has perfect pitch,” Huxley assured her. “Besides, it is prudent that I keep a close watch on him. I may as well enjoy your company in the meantime.”

“And this is the favor you want from me?”

“Of course not. It would be my gift to you,” Huxley insisted.

Stunned, Beatrice looked up into his handsome face, with his chiseled features and those dimples. But before she could give a reply to his invitation, someone else took hold of her hands.

Inspector Drake had cutin.

“One normally waits until the conclusion of a dance to find a new partner,” Sir Huxley said evenly. Whereas Drake’s eye was flashing with fury, Huxley maintained a collected, calm demeanor.

Beatrice felt only panic.

What was Drake doing?

“I know what’s going on here,” Drake snapped at Huxley.

“Nothing is going on, apart from me inviting Miss Steele to the opera,” Sir Huxley said, still calm.

“Aha,” Drake said, tightening his grip on Beatrice’s hand. “My theory was correct: You mean to do everything in your power to ensure that my investigative business fails. Starting by poaching my partner!”

“ Our investigative business,” Beatrice said, correcting him.

“This would be a purely social excursion,” Sir Huxley said. Somehow he did not look awkward, standing on the dance floor with no partner, even while other couples danced around them. “You are welcome to join us,” he added to Drake.

“What?” Drake sputtered with surprise.

“Yes, you must come as well,” Sir Huxley said, nodding. “We have been at odds for too long, Vivek. This magnificent woman has brought us back together again; let us bury the hatchet in the box at Figaro . What do you say?”

He looked from Drake to Beatrice. Drake was obviously too conflicted to reply. Would he endure his enemy if it meant a coveted box seat at his beloved opera?

“We will be there,” Beatrice said finally.

“I am delighted to hear it,” Sir Huxley said, his face breaking into a smile. “I shall pick you up at eight.”

With that, he whisked away, leaving Beatrice and Drake alone on the dance floor. Beatrice turned to depart to the side of the room, but Drake swept her up in his arms and they began to dance.

“You know how to waltz,” she said, shocked to find that he not only knew—he was good atit.

“Do not sound so surprised. When you signed us up for the Season, I learned,” he replied.

“You practiced dancing for me?” she asked, still shocked.

“Clearly I would do all manner of things for you,” Drake said softly. “I mean, for our investigation.”

“I thought you weren’t coming,” she said. She should have been relieved by his presence, but at the moment, all she felt was confusion.

“Of course I came,” Drake replied, but despite the sureness in his voice, Beatrice knew his attendance had been anything but confirmed.

She struggled to come up with a reply as Drake spun her in time with the music.

She tripped, and he steadied her. She suddenly found herself very close to him, the subtle scent of cinnamon and oranges lingering in the air.

“Is that why you accepted a dance with Huxley?” Drake asked, his voice tight. “Because you doubted that I would attend this evening? Or because of some connection with him?”

“Inspector—” she began, but Drake interrupted her.

“You must know,” he said, his jaw set, “Huxley is using you. He always does this.”

“Does what? Invites women to the opera?” Beatrice could not help but laugh at Drake’s seriousness. “That is hardly a cause célèbre—pardon my French,” she added.

“No, I mean that he tries to court every interesting woman he encounters,” Drake said, still stern. “But these flirtations never come to anything. No doubt he will drop you the moment a new debutante catches his eye.”

“I am not pinning any hopes on Sir Huxley, Inspector,” Beatrice assured him. She was not sure whether to be flattered or insulted by Drake’s concern, but either way, it was misplaced. If Huxley was using her as a diversion, it did not matter—she was using him too, for access. Everyone could win.

“So you say.” Drake’s eye dropped down to her lips and then came back up to meet her gaze. “But I know how persuasive he can be. It is a distraction from the case you are meant to be solving with me .”

“Yes, we are meant to be solving this case together,” Beatrice said, a sudden irritation rising.

Did he really think so little of her that he did not believe she could handle herself?

Why was he doubting her, when he was the one who was being so unreliable?

“Yet,” she went on, “you have made it increasingly difficult to depend on you. You work without me, I never know where you are, you don’t take the elements of our investigation that you don’t like seriously. At every turn, you are not there.”

“But I was—”

“At least Huxley thinks I am an interesting woman,” Beatrice interrupted. “Evidently you believe I have nothing to offer this case, as you keep actively working without me.”

“No, Miss Steele…that’s not…” Drake faltered, his voice suddenly softening.

“Inspector Steele,” she said, correcting him.

“In spite of your behavior, I am still your partner. Though perhaps it isn’t the investigation that you don’t take seriously…

but me.” She tried to stay firm, but her voice wavered when she added: “You, of all people, should know how frustrating that feels.”

Drake winced. “I assure you, I take…everything seriously.”

“Good. Then thanks to the tickets I secured for us, I will see you at the opera. I doubt they will hold the curtain, even for their biggest fan, so I suggest that you arrive on time.”

With that, Beatrice dropped Drake’s hands and deserted the dance floor. She had had quite enough of dancing.