Page 17 of Lady Be Good

The night was unseasonably cold. As Lilah wrenched open the door to the back passage, she shivered. Her evening gown was cut low across her bosom and left her arms entirely bare. When she had ordered this scarlet silk, and paid dearly for the seamstress to line the skirt’s brocade panels with iridescent beading, she had envisioned the liveliness of the night she would wear it—the attention she would gather, gentlemen admiring her.

She had not envisioned skulking in wait of Nick.

“Hurry,” she said as he appeared in the alley. “There are guards posted.”

Nick stepped inside, kicking the door shut with one polished shoe. In silence, she helped him strip off, hanging his coat and scarf on a nearby hook, tucking his hat out of sight behind a pile of umbrellas.

The pile tipped. She caught them before they could clatter to the floor.

“Steady, now,” he murmured.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. Dim strains of music filtered through the ceiling, the party well under way now. She picked up a brush and handed it to Nick. “Quickly.”

People who came through the front door employed footmen to knock the dust from their hems. The rest of the world did it for themselves. Nick brushed down his sleeves, then his trouser cuffs. “Aye?”

She looked him over in the dim light. The dark dress coat was cut expertly; he used a first-rate tailor. He’d stripped off his rings, confining his glitter to gold sleeve links and a gold watch chain that snaked, gleaming, over his black waistcoat. “Yes,” she said. Nobody upstairs would look twice at him. Or—no, certainly they would look. He cut a handsome figure even when rumpled, and formal wear suited him. He’d even cut his hair.

She could not resist one last attempt to change his mind. “Are you certain there’s nothing else you want of me? Something—”

“Certain as the sunrise.” He took her arm in a firm, steadying grip. “Lead on, Lily.”

She balked. “Miss Marshall. You cannot slip up here, Nick.”

His glittering gray eyes narrowed. “Mind whom you speak to. Miss Marshall.”

She took another deep breath. “Right.” Her uncle did not make mistakes. She could count on him for that.

She led him up the servant’s stair, taking care to keep her sweeping train out of his path. What he hoped to gain by mixing with the crowd, she had no idea. But he’d wanted introductions to certain clients of the auction rooms—one of the men whose letters she’d stolen, and a few others, besides. She’d had no idea how to arrange it until this party had been announced.

As they crested the stair, the music grew distinct. Young Pete had hired a full orchestra to regale the crowd—three hundred of London’s brightest lights assembled in record haste to celebrate the engagement of the year. She opened a door concealed by an arras, and Nick slipped past her.

She waited a minute longer before stepping out. He’d already disappeared, a wolf loose in the henhouse. Amazing that a trail of feathers and blood did not mark his passage.

“Lilah!” Lavender Ames swept up, grabbing her elbow. “There you are. I was looking everywhere. What kept you?”

Vinnie was too shrewd for Lilah’s comfort. She’d sensed something amiss over these last few days. It was only friendly concern that motivated her. “Too much champagne while dressing,” Lilah answered. “I’m a bit dizzy.”

“Well, you know the cure for that—another glass!” Laughing, Vinnie pulled her down the hall, into the refreshment room. A grand banquet would be laid at one o’clock; until then, guests grazed on platters of oranges and cakes, tiny French bonbons, and shrimp on ice. The staff had worked overtime, planning in days what usually required weeks.

Lilah accepted a glass of wine and then drifted away from Vinnie to the archway that opened into the ballroom. The scene looked familiar from a dozen other parties at Everleigh’s: the men in uniform black; the blondes in pastel tulle and lace, the brunettes in richer, vivid hues. If only she could remember how she usually felt at such events—how she comported herself; how she smiled. She felt as wooden as a puppet tonight.

It took a minute to spot Catherine Everleigh. She stood at the top of the room beside her new fiancé, resplendent in an emerald gown, receiving compliments from the dozen guests encircling them.

Naturally, Palmer lifted his eyes just as Lilah allowed her glance to shift to him.

Her heart constricted as they stared at each other. Could he divine, by her face, the tumult battling through her? In its physical force, unhappiness was not so different than desire. But it weighed far more heavily, a leaden pressure in her chest. Of late, breathing seemed the trick to master—to say nothing of getting out of bed in the morning, knowing she must report to Miss Everleigh, who seemed unusually peaceful and gentle-tempered.

Everyone had remarked on the change—even Susie Snow, whom Miss Everleigh had greeted in passing yesterday. “Love is truly a power,” Susie had said last night, rolling her eyes as she flopped into bed.

So it was. It blinded everyone else in this ballroom, Lilah prayed, to the long look she shared with Palmer now. His expression revealed nothing. But the force and directness of his gaze, as it moved slowly down her, made her suddenly hot, and far too miserable to remain here.

She turned away—and smacked directly into her uncle, who steadied her with a hand at the small of her back.

“Just what he expects,” Nick said gently. “You think he’ll thank you for helping him? We’re servants to his kind, whether or not we draw a wage.”

She sidestepped to be free of his touch. “It doesn’t matter. You offered a bargain. I’ve kept my end of it.”

“Of course you did. We don’t welsh,” he said. “You can’t say the same for them.”

She had heard this speech already. Her na?veté was a sore disappointment to him. He’d not raised her to be the kind of girl to lose her head. “Did you find your men?”

“Aimsley isn’t here.”

“I slipped his name into the invitations. He intended to come.” She forced herself to resume her survey of the ballroom, forbidding herself to look in Palmer’s direction. But of course, Aimsley made that impossible. “There—top of the room, by the . . . couple.” Catherine Everleigh was glowing.

“Where?”

“By the orchestra screen.” Mr. Aimsley, a member of the Municipal Board of Works, had a shock of gray hair, and a reputation among young girls. “He’s got a debutante on his arm.”

Nick’s slow smile looked very satisfied. “Amy’s got him around her little finger, doesn’t she?”

“Amy?” Lilah studied the young woman, a pretty redhead. “You know her?”

“Very well,” he said.

Amy wore the white muslin and the bashful, head-ducking smile of a girl raised in Mayfair. “She’s good.”

Nick cast her an odd look. “I don’t waste my time on anything less.” He touched her elbow lightly. “You remember that, Lily.”

Why, he was trying to encourage her. She managed a faint smile. Better than wallowing in misery. “What do you want of Aimsley, anyway?”

“Oh, this and that.” He returned his attention to his prey, the slight smile on his lips a fine facsimile of well-bred boredom. “It’s a wonder, Lily, what laws these fools cook up. Put a cramp in an honest man’s plans, I tell you.”

She snorted. “Then I can’t imagine they trouble you at all.”

He offered her a wry grin. “Aye, well.” He tossed back his champagne as though it were plain ale. “I might surprise you yet.”

“There you are!” Susie Snow pushed squarely into their conversation, her color high as she sketched Nick a pretty curtsy—canting low enough to show her décolletage to full advantage. As she rose, she offered him a flirtatious smile. “Introduce us, Miss Marshall.”

Susie never had been able to resist a handsome face. “Mr. Nicholas Shay, of Manchester. Mr. Shay is in textiles. Mr. Shay, may I present one of our hostesses—”

“Miss Sue-Ellen Snow,” said Susie, simpering. “But I promise, I’m not frosty in the least.”

“What a pity,” Nick said, sliding effortlessly into an upper-crust drawl. He’d required no tutor to learn it; he had a natural ear for accents, which Lilah had always envied. “I rather like getting nipped.”

Susie’s eyes widened in delight. Lilah spoke into Nick’s ear. “Don’t approach Aimsley until he’s away from Palmer.” Then she walked away, leaving him to amuse himself with Susie. Blood and feathers, indeed.

Throngs gathered around the dance floor, chatting idly. “Tremendous match for her,” Lilah heard a woman remark. “Palmer, of all men!”

A gentleman replied, his envy plain. “Oh, I would say the bargain is fair. I’ve never seen the Ice Queen smile before. Quite fetching.”

“Yes, you’ve already pointed that out. But why the rush? You don’t think—”

“Bother that. I only want to know, how the devil did he manage it? Even the Prince of Wales couldn’t—”

“It is called charm, Stanley. Pity you don’t have an ounce of it.”

Miss Everleigh had warned her once against eavesdropping. Lilah would have been glad to retire to some quiet room to wait out the party, but with Nick on the loose, it felt too risky. Fear thrummed quietly through her, a low, unsettling fever. He could still undo her, if he wished. It would only take a few words—to Susie, perhaps.

“Beautiful couple,” someone else said in passing.

“Isn’t she lovely? I never thought—”

Lilah was standing by one of the small salons. The door stood closed, for the Russian wares had been removed in preparation for auction, and the curators had yet to arrange the exhibition to follow.

“Just look at them, I imagine they’ll be the toast of the—”

She opened the door and stepped inside. Shut the door soundly and exhaled. “Burned toast,” she muttered.

The empty room amplified the sound of her voice. She allowed herself a slight smile. A pity, indeed—Stanley had no charm, and she had no wit.

Take hold of yourself. Nick was right; she’d been raised to do better than this. To have more pride than this. She crossed her arms, pacing a small circle in the echoing room. Why should she be the only one to suffer? She would go outside, find a man to flirt with. She would show Christian that his fiancée was not the only woman in the room who—

The door opened. She wheeled. Christian stepped inside. “What the hell is he doing here?”

She stared at him. His impassivity had fractured in recent minutes. He looked furious, flint-jawed, vibrating with rage. He looked beautiful. That evening suit fit him like a glove. “Who do you mean?”

“Do not play the idiot. Your fence.”

“Keep your voice down,” she said quickly. “That door doesn’t lock.”

He cast a glowering glance around the room, then took her by the arm and dragged her into the same curtained alcove where she had once, so long ago, lectured an incompetent pickpocket. “Why is he here? You were done with that business!”

She laid her hand over his, her intention to push him away. But the shock of his skin, the warmth of his hand, riveted her. “Is that any of your concern?”

His glance fell to where she touched him. His nostrils flared. “You have a talent for trouble, don’t you? I should have packed you off. Let you stew with my mother.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Had he truly entertained that possibility? “But why? I’m a stranger to you.” She stroked her thumb over his knuckles, and was rewarded by the way his mouth tightened as he looked down into her eyes.

“Get him out of here,” he said very softly.

“You no longer command me.”

He grabbed her chin. “Will you gamble on that?”

Delight coursed through her. Yes, this was what she’d needed—his attention, his undivided focus.

She shrugged, letting him see how immune she was to intimidation. “Call for the guards, then. Have him thrown out yourself.”

“Yes.” He released her and pushed aside the curtain. “I think I will.”

“But—” She waited for him to turn back. “That’s my uncle.”

“Your . . .” He stared at her as though weighing whether or not to believe her. Nobody ever expected Saint Nick to be so young.

“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “My uncle. And if you called the guards down on him, he might be forced to say how he got inside. That would be very inconvenient, since I was the one who admitted him.”

His eyes narrowed. Such a dangerous look. “What are you about, Lily?”

“Lilah,” she corrected. “Better yet, Miss Marshall. We are strangers, are we not? Indeed, what do you care for my convenience? Go ahead; summon the guards.”

He let the curtain drop shut. “I told you,” he said. “I told you I did not want him involved. I told you to keep yourself out of this!”

“And I am.” She shrugged. “I will not tell you that Nick has already turned up three solid leads in Bethnal Green. Is your Russian graying? Built like Napoleon?”

He swore, then pressed his hands together against his mouth. Diamonds as small as pinpricks glittered in his crisply starched cuffs. “You have a taste for death,” he said. “Is that it?”

“I have a taste for you.”

He stepped toward her, crowding her against the wall. She lifted her chin, drinking in every detail of him—the glimmer of his oncoming stubble. The shadow in the bow of his upper lip, where it joined his sharp philtrum. The amber striations in his honey-colored eyes.

“I expected better of you,” he said very softly. “You are wiser than this.”

She was disappointing men left and right, it seemed. “Yes, I’m quite a dolt. I would like to help you stay alive.” She offered him a half smile. “Very indecent of me, really, taking such an interest in another woman’s betrothed.”

“You think this is a game?”

“No.” She looked him over. “Were it a game, you would look far less imposed upon. Or is it indifferent?”

He stepped into her. The full pressure and weight of his body crushed her into the wall; she was forced to turn her head aside.

“Do you feel that?” he asked softly in her ear.

She did. Through the layers of cotton and silk, wool and cashmere, he was hardening.

“That is not indifference,” he growled.

The success of her ploy thrilled her on some primal level. Her body wanted to loosen, to part, to yield—here, behind a curtain, in an unlocked room adjoining the crowd. “That’s lust,” she managed. “Hardly rarer than indifference. Why, errant fiancés are the lifeblood of this place. Why else do all the men buy jewelry, but to apologize?”

His mouth touched her ear. “Is that what you want? For me to fuck you, right here?”

The thought swam through her like the finest vintage Chateau Lafite Gilet had ever produced. “Would you?”

“Yes.” He pulled her face around to his. “And then, Lily, I might as well put a half-emptied gun to your head, and spin the chamber before I fired. It would be one and the same.”

“I know that game,” she said. “Funny enough, I believe it’s Russian.”

He cursed and shoved away from her. “You are worth more than this. Whatever it took to persuade your uncle—” He paused, spearing her with a blazing look. “What was it? What was his price?”

“Not so much.”

He took her face in his hands, gripping hard. “Whatever it was, you are worth more. More than his sorry hide, and certainly worth more than—”

“You?” She laid her hands over his, holding them there. “Maybe so. Maybe you’re the fool here. Where I come from, we know better than to scorn a friend’s help.”

“You are not my goddamned friend.”

“Then what am I?”

His kiss was savage. Deep, furious, a claiming that she welcomed with lips and tongue and teeth. He slammed her against the wall, and she hooked her arms around his shoulders to hold him there, kissing him back, the beading on her gown digging into her flesh, silk rustling between them. He cursed and ripped free of her.

“This is done,” he bit out. “Done, do you hear me? If you won’t see reason, then that bastard will.” He turned on his heel and stalked out.

God in heaven. Did he mean to confront Nick? She loosed a shaking breath, then knocked her skirts into place and hurried after him.

Christian’s long legs outpaced hers. Heads turned as she flew past, trying to catch up with him. From the corner of her eye, she saw Miss Everleigh take notice, but she could not afford to slow. She must catch him before he found her uncle.

In the hall, she cast off all regard for witnesses and lunged to grab his elbow. “Please, you—”

He shrugged her off. He had spotted Nick ahead, turning away from one of the men on the list. That man, Mr. Morris, looked pale and distressed, and made a quick exit down the grand staircase for the lobby.

That left Nick alone in the hall. He saw them coming. He faced Christian squarely, and smiled.

“Why, if it isn’t Lord Palmer! Fancy meeting you here.” His glance flicked to Lilah, who frantically shook her head and waved for him to follow Morris down the stairs.

He ignored her. Of course he did. He had never backed away from anybody.

“You do not belong here,” Christian bit out.

“Not in public!” She wrested a pin from her hair and picked the lock on the nearest door—a small room stocked with odds and ends, chairs and crates of candles. “If you must—”

Nick waved toward the door with a mocking flourish. “If the good Lord Palmer wishes it.” He walked through the door. Christian stalked after him.

She followed, pulling the door shut. “This isn’t necessary,” she said. “Christian, I tell you, he means only to help!”

“Go, Lilah.” Christian kept his eyes locked on her uncle, who hooked his thumbs in his pockets and fell into a slouching posture, his half smile speaking a taunt. “You needn’t be here.”

“Such concern for her.” Nick tsked. “One would almost imagine you cared.”

“I’ll be damned if you manipulate her again.”

“Pot preaching to the kettle, I think.” Nick tilted his head toward Lilah. “Remind me, Lily, how you earned back my letters?”

“I told you—”

“The letters you blackmailed her to steal?” Christian spoke very coldly. “Great care you take with your kin, O’Shea.”

Nick laughed. “Aye, and you lot talk a fine game, no doubt about it. Much lip service to high ideals. Meanwhile you’re rolling in it. Easy to judge, from on high.”

Christian made a noise of disgust. He pulled open the door. “Get out, or I’ll have you thrown out.”

She braced herself, for she knew that reckless look on Nick’s face. He was done suffering disrespect. “Now, that you won’t do,” he said in a soft, controlled voice. “That is . . . unless you want me to take Lily along.”

“I’ll go,” Lilah said quickly. “If that’s what it takes—”

“I would sooner send her to hell.”

Nick’s brows lifted. “This is the bloke you want me to help, Lily? Quite grateful he seems.”

“Nick.” Had these men been dogs, their hackles would have been raised. “Please. You have a cooler head than this.” She turned to Christian, whose murderous gaze still fixed on Nick. “Someone will hear. Is that what you want? For us to be discovered here, together? Nick—” She swallowed. “Just go. Please.”

“Not yet.” Nick sidestepped around her, his eyes locked on Christian. “I’ve still got a few people to see in that ballroom. In an hour, maybe.”

Christian shut the door with ominous care. “You have no friends here.”

“Oh, I’ve got one or two. But I’m not sure what to make of my niece right now. She’s clearly got some poor taste, lifting her skirts for the likes of you—”

Christian backhanded him. The cracking blow sent Nick sprawling into the crates. Lilah cried out and scrambled forward to help her uncle up. “Please,” she said, though she knew it was useless; he would not listen now. “Think—”

He stepped around her and drove his fist into Christian’s face.

They went down in a brawling heap. As they rolled, she leapt clear, her hands at her mouth to trap a hysterical sound.

They were well matched. Too much so. Grappling, they staggered together to their feet, neither gaining purchase. They would kill each other before this was over. Nick drew back his fist—

The door flew open. It slammed into Nick and sent him staggering sideways.

Miss Everleigh gasped, then stepped inside and closed the door. “What is going on here?”

Panting, Nick wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. The sight of blood on his cuff seemed to amuse him. He shoved himself slowly up the wall to his full height, a showy, provocative move that made Miss Everleigh take one startled step away from him.

He made a low, amused noise. A click of his tongue. “Easy, darling. I won’t bite you.”

She shot an alarmed look at Lilah. “I am calling the guards.” She turned for the door, but Nick slammed his palm against it.

“Your assistant won’t like that,” he said.

Christian growled. Lilah caught his elbow. “Stop it,” she hissed. “Both of you.”

“Well, Miss Marshall?” Nick was smiling at her employer. “Won’t you introduce us? I’ve long wanted to meet this pretty thing.”

Miss Everleigh drew herself to her full height. “Who is this man?”

“Nobody,” Lilah said miserably. “He’s leaving.”

Nick cast her a sharp glance. “I’m not done here yet.”

“You’re bloody.” She touched her mouth to show him where. “You can’t go back into the ballroom.”

“You have five seconds,” Christian said coolly.

Nick turned to face him, looking amused. “Says who?”

“No,” Lilah snapped into the gathering weight of their silence. “Yes, Nick, you must go—or I will call the guards!”

He glanced toward her. “Breaking the bargain, then?”

She took a deep, miserable breath. “Yes.”

“Oh ho,” he said. “Very well. Gives me the chance I’d been wanting.” He turned for the door—but instead seized Miss Everleigh’s hand. With a flourish he bowed over it, kissing her knuckles as she gaped at him. “Nicholas O’Shea at your service, miss. Admirer of your fine good looks, and uncle to your deeply confused assistant, Lily Monroe, who once assisted me. Despite her current bafflement, she’s a girl of great wit, I think you’ll agree. For certain, I can’t think of another impostor clever enough to worm into your service.” He chucked her chin to close her slack jaw, then offered her a wink. “God knows many will have tried.”

Lilah sagged back against a crate. A hand closed over her arm, a steadying grip. Christian’s. She could not look into his face. She could not look at Miss Everleigh, either.

“The devil take you,” she said to her uncle.

He shook his head. “The devil prefers lies, Lily. And if this lot dislikes your truth so much, they’re not worth the bother. You come home where you belong. Not a person in Whitechapel won’t welcome you.”

He let himself out. The sound of the latch seemed to echo. Small click. Sound of a guillotine dropping.

She squared her shoulders and made herself look at her employer. Miss Everleigh was staring elsewhere—at Christian’s hand on her arm.

Lilah jerked away.

A line formed between the woman’s pale brows. “You will meet me in my office, Miss Marshall.” She turned on her heel and left.

Silence settled, pure and deep—the hush after a terrible accident. Or before one.

She rounded on Palmer. “There,” she said. “Now you’ve done it. No better than Nick!”

“Lily,” he said gently, but she shoved him away when he stepped toward her.

“You’re not the only one who knows how to fight.” She spat the words. “Will serve me well, when I’m back in Whitechapel.”

“That won’t happen,” he said flatly.

Some toxic stew was bubbling up inside, anger and panic and disbelief intermixed. Nick had done it now. Christian had ensured it. “You said we weren’t friends? I guess you meant it. You didn’t care for a moment what your brawling would cost me.”

“He has no power over you now,” he said sharply. “The truth is out. You’re free of him.”

“Was that your plan?” Her laughter sawed, jagged pieces in her throat. Nick had been right about him, in a way. He stood before her, tall and beautiful in a suit that would cost a working man a year’s wages, arrogantly oblivious to the wreckage he and her uncle had just made of her life. “You can’t solve anything.”

“Lily—”

She started for the door, but he grabbed her elbow. She didn’t fight this time. All the fight had left her. “Call me Lilah, then.” Her voice sounded funny. Rough. “I might as well enjoy it one last time.”

“Enjoy it?” He paused a long moment. “Do you prefer that name?”

What a strange question. She stared at the door. “I did. I thought it more elegant.”

“Whereas I rather prefer Lily.” She felt his hand brush her face. The touch was tender. Soothing. The way one might stroke the face of a feverish child.

She turned her head away. “I must go speak with her.”

“And then we’ll leave,” he said. “I’m taking you to my family.”

The room grew blurry. She blinked very rapidly, till it came back into focus. She would not cry. That would be childish indeed. “What point? I’ll be safe enough.” She blew out a breath. “Besides, how would you explain me to your mother? You’re engaged to someone else.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

She turned to him on a deep breath. “But I won’t go. Because you are marrying Catherine Everleigh. Aren’t you?”

He gave her a long, inscrutable look. “I could take the choice out of your hands.”

“Yes. You could be just like Nick, if you wanted. You’ve already made a fine start tonight.”

His face darkened. “Very well. Then she’ll keep you on. I’ll make certain of it.”

If he meant that to comfort her, then he was an even greater fool than she. “Don’t bully your future wife for my sake,” she said, and had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch before she left.

Lilah had braced herself for a torrent of accusations. But as she stepped into the office, she was startled by Miss Everleigh’s first words.

“I asked you.” The woman paced in a tight circle, causing layers of taffeta to froth and crunch. “I asked you if you loved him. You said no. Did you not?”

Lilah nodded.

“So I will not take the blame for this mess. I will not undo it. I require a husband. He promised not to interfere with my business. And my brother won’t dare cross me. Not as Palmer’s wife.”

Thrown off guard, Lilah said softly, “I imagine not.”

“So I won’t break this engagement.” Miss Everleigh pivoted to face her. “I will marry him.”

“Yes.”

“But . . .” Miss Everleigh’s mouth twisted. “You do love him. Don’t you?”

“It makes no difference.”

“No. It doesn’t. Not now.” A pause. “Oh, why didn’t you tell me then?”

Lilah smiled, though she felt no humor. “You said it yourself, once. The butcher or the clerk—those are my choices. I must not aim above my station.”

“There would be no aiming required on your part!” Miss Everleigh pressed a hand to her mouth. “I heard what he said! I saw how he—” She shook her head, then fell into the chair behind her desk. “No. You’re right, of course. It would be a terrible mésalliance on his part.”

“No doubt.”

“Yet would it matter?” She yanked her shawl from her shoulders, kneaded it furiously. “Palmer could get away with murder, if he liked. The public worships him! Why, he could marry an East End factory girl, and they would only . . .”

Lilah saw her register her mistake. “A girl of my background, do you mean?”

She had never witnessed her employer at a loss for words. But suddenly Miss Everleigh could not meet her eyes. “Is it true, then? What he said? That dreadful man? I think . . . I think I recognized his name.”

Lilah sighed. “Yes. From the newspapers, no doubt. Nick O’Shea is my uncle.”

“Your uncle!” She pulled her shawl to her chest in a convulsive recoil. “Why, he was so . . . So pert! So forward! A more ill-bred man I’ve never met!”

“Probably not,” Lilah agreed. “If it’s any consolation, I think he meant his compliments to you.”

Miss Everleigh blushed. “Very odd compliments, if so.” She hesitated, looking at Lilah in open bewilderment. “Nicholas O’Shea. Doesn’t he run some . . . illegal house of cards?”

“Among other things.”

“And you . . . worked for him there?”

“No.” Lilah sat down across from her. “But everything he said was true.” She would give her uncle the credit: he’d chosen his words very carefully. His brand of honor was not, perhaps, the kind that Miss Everleigh would recognize, but in his own twisted way, he adhered to a code. “I did assist him, though. The activities were often illegal.”

“Well.” Frowning, Miss Everleigh smoothed the shawl across the desktop. For a moment she appeared lost in the pattern it presented. “That is very . . . But you don’t still break the law?”

“No.” Lilah cleared her throat. “Not recently, miss.” As long as one was very conservative in one’s definition of recently.

Miss Everleigh spoke to the shawl. “I should sack you, of course. That is the . . . proper thing to do.”

“I expect nothing else.”

Miss Everleigh took an audible breath. “Have you ever lied to me about other things? Things aside from your name?”

“Yes,” Lilah said. “I told you I did not answer to the viscount. But I did then. He knew of my past. He had caught me in a compromising situation. And he used me to pry into your business.”

“Because of the Russian man.”

“Yes.”

Miss Everleigh nodded slowly. “What did Palmer use to persuade you?”

“I took something from your brother. Letters from his associates on the Municipal Board of Works.” She added in a rush, “It was the only time I have broken the law since I joined Everleigh’s. But my uncle threatened to expose me if I didn’t get the letters for him.”

“You stole from Peter?” Miss Everleigh struggled to contain her smile, but failed. “Really?”

Lilah nodded.

“But . . . only once?”

“Yes.”

“And you did it to . . . keep your uncle happy.”

“I knew I could not keep my position here if he told you the truth about my past.”

Miss Everleigh picked at the fringe on her shawl. “It’s really so important to you, to work at Everleigh’s?”

Lilah spoke honestly. “It was always my dream to live decently. As for how I did it . . . I was happier as your assistant than as a hostess. I truly did aim to make a career for myself. But either position would have been preferable to working for my uncle again.” She sighed. “And I knew that would be the only choice remaining to me, if I were exposed by him.”

“But how awful,” Miss Everleigh murmured. “What a wretched predicament.”

The sympathy surprised Lilah. But she knew better than to hope. She merely shrugged.

Miss Everleigh shoved her shawl aside. “So. Does he mean to help, your uncle? With this Russian idiot?”

“No idiot, I think. More’s the pity. He’s a danger to you, miss.”

“So Palmer says. But a man like your uncle . . .” Miss Everleigh cleared her throat. “He must have a good deal of experience in dealing with brutes.”

“Palmer will not take his help.”

Miss Everleigh sputtered. “Palmer is mad! What does he know of such matters?”

Lilah bit her tongue. But this show of ignorance grated unbearably. “Lord Palmer is hardly clawless.”

“No, no, of course not. But honorable men, raised decently, can hardly begin to understand the criminal . . .” Miss Everleigh colored. “The criminal mind. Not your kind of mind. But the true, hardened, criminal mind.”

This conversation suddenly struck her as blackly humorous. “You needn’t spare my feelings. It’s all right. I won’t be offended.”

“But perhaps it’s time someone did spare you.” Miss Everleigh scowled. “Bullied by your uncle, extorted by Palmer . . . I am very sorry for it, Lilah.”

Lilah sat back, astonished. “I . . . thank you.”

But Miss Everleigh was not finished. “You have a fine mind. It seems a waste to cast you back into the criminal world. I fear you would excel too well there. You would become as hardened as your uncle.” She offered a crooked smile. “Who knows? Perhaps you would even come to take over his business. What a sad end that would be! I think we must spare you that.” On a brisk nod, she rose. “I see no reason for your uncle’s revelations to travel further than they have already spread—provided, of course, that you are ready to swear off any lingering obligations to him.”

Lilah’s chest suddenly felt very full. Her throat as well. She barely managed to get the words out. “I feel none. I assure you. And I . . . I cannot tell you, Miss Everleigh, how much I—”

“Catherine. In private, we can be informal, can we not?” She took Lilah’s hands, pulling her to her feet. “Will you do me one favor, though? I would like to speak with your uncle privately.”

Lilah recoiled. “I don’t think that’s wise. He’s—”

“I only wish to entreat his help,” Catherine said blandly, “in this matter of defeating the Russian. Palmer need never know of it.”

Was she mad? “You saw the words they exchanged. He won’t lift a finger to help the viscount.”

“Then perhaps he will help me.” Catherine smoothed down her skirts. “If Lord Palmer is to be believed, I’m in as much danger as anyone.”

“You don’t know my uncle. He’s not sentimental. That you’re a woman won’t matter in the slightest.”

Catherine gave her a small, hard smile. “Good. I’m not sentimental, either. But I am wealthy. I think your uncle and I can reach an understanding. I can afford it.”

Nick certainly appreciated a rich payday. But he’d turned down money before, when disrespect had attached to it. And Christian had certainly insulted him tonight. “I don’t know if he’ll listen,” she said. “But . . . I suppose I can speak to him.”

“No. I will deal with him directly.”

Lilah recognized that stubborn look. “He can’t come here. I would take you to him, but—”

“No. Give me his direction, and I will arrange a tête-à-tête. There, another lesson for you: that is French, for a private meeting involving two people.” She cast Lilah a speaking glance. “And only two.”

“I don’t think . . .”

“Having you there would only muddle matters.” Catherine snapped her shawl open; a delicate scent filled the air as the cashmere settled around her shoulders. “Or do you fear for my safety? Would he molest me, do you think?”

“No,” Lilah said slowly. Then, recalling the scene in the storeroom, she revised her opinion. “Not unless you . . . requested it.”

It was a night of spectacles. Catherine Everleigh blushed and ducked her head, but could not quite hide her smile.