Delaney and Hawk had both pretended not to have met before, and it hadn’t seemed that Delaney held a grudge. All the same, Hawk wondered how many thorns from his past would turn up to jab him.

Thorns from his present, as well.

He returned to the Red Lion and ate a mediocre breakfast, waiting for fashionable Brighton to emerge. Waiting for Clarissa Greystone to become vulnerable to his Hawk’s eye and talons.

The fashionable throng kept earlier hours at Brighton, so by eleven he could go out to stroll among them. He circled the open grassy area called the Steyne, chatting to the occasional acquaintance, many of them military, casually keeping an eye out for his quarry.

He recognized Miss Trist first. Or rather, he was alerted by a swirl of attention around a lovely lady in a white dress trimmed with periwinkle blue, and then saw who it was. It took him a moment to recognize the lively creature beside her as Clarissa Greystone.

No sign of the unsophisticated schoolgirl now. What an excellent actress she was.

She wasn’t wearing a bonnet. Instead, a daringly elegant hat with a small curved brim revealed all of her face and quite a lot of her stylishly dressed curls. It didn’t make her a beauty, but it gave a vibrancy to her features. To protect her complexion, she carried the latest thing, a pagoda-style parasol. Or, to be precise, she twirled it. Even at a distance she looked confident, full of the zest of life—and dangerous.

Her gown was an off-white color strongly trimmed with rust-colored braid and edged around the hem with a deep fringe. As she walked, that fringe swung, giving tantalizing glimpses of shapely ankles emphasized by cream-and-rust-striped stockings.

Every man on the Steyne was doubtless looking at those ankles.

He jerked his own eyes up, steadied himself, and planned his intercept. He saw others making a direct line, including a number of military men. The last thing he wanted was the heiress in the protection of another man. Disguising his urgency, he moved in swiftly for the kill.

“I say, Aunt Arabella, fancy seeing you here! And in such charming company!”

Clarissa started. She’d been so intent on looking carefree and confident despite feeling sick with nerves that she hadn’t noticed the dark-haired, dark-eyed young officer until he was upon them.

Miss Hurstman stopped and looked him up and down. “Afraid the mold’ll rub off on them, Trevor? You were a big-eared gawk when I saw you last. Heard you did well at Waterloo, though. Good boy. You don’t want to chatter to me, I’m sure. I know what you want. Miss Trist and Miss Greystone. Consider yourself introduced. Lieutenant Lord Trevor Ffyfe. He’ll be a safe flirt for you because he knows I’ll cut his nose off if he ain’t.”

The young man laughed. “Remarkable woman, my aunt. Are you new to Brighton, ladies? You must be. I couldn’t possibly have missed two such beauties…”

After a few moments of his flattering, chattering company, Clarissa’s nerves began to settle, and tentative joy crept in. Was it really going to work? Was Miss Hurstman going to perform the miracle and gain her entrance to society? This was what she’d dreamed of—becoming clothes, a fashionable throng, and a gallant, even titled, flirt.

She and Althea had lived in seclusion for two days while Mrs. Howell and her assistants rushed backward and forward doing final fittings on the gowns. They hadn’t been bored, because there had been the hairdresser, the dancing master, and Miss Hurstman’s own drill in perfect, confident behavior.

“Never fluster!” she commanded Clarissa. “Althea can be as demure and uncertain as she pleases, but if you are, they’ll eat you alive. Look them in the eye, remember your fortune, and dare them to turn their backs.”

Now she was being hatched, and in very fine feathers. She loved the bold colors of this one, and the deep, daring fringe. Perhaps in fine feathers she became a little bit of a fine bird?

She kept her chin up, her smile in place, and prepared to look anyone and everyone in the eye.

“Do say that you’ll give me a dance at the assembly on Friday, Miss Greystone.”

Clarissa focused on handsome Lord Trevor, and her smile became genuine. “I’d be delighted to, my lord.”

“I consider myself the most fortunate of men, Miss Greystone!” He was attempting to sound sincere, but she could tell that his dazed attention was more on Althea than herself. She didn’t mind. That was the true purpose of this adventure.

More or less.

She couldn’t resist glancing around in search of Major Hawkinville. There was no reason under the sun for him to be here today, but she couldn’t help but look.

Imagine being able to talk with him at leisure.

Imagine him asking her to reserve a dance.

But then, perhaps the dazzling appeal had been a figment of the moment and here, among so many fine military men, he would be ordinary.

There was only one way to find out.

Another survey showed no sign of him. Patience, she told herself, and concentrated on the increasing number of fine military men. It was as if Lord Trevor had breached the walls—they were surrounded by uniforms, all seeking introductions.

Only one said to Clarissa, “Oh, I say, aren’t you—?” and then shut up, turning red.

“Dunce,” said Lord Trevor with a reassuring smile at Clarissa.

But her nerves started to churn again. She was still the Devil’s Heiress. It was all very well to be swarmed by young officers. Would other parts of society accept her?

The officers all had excellent manners, at least, and shared their attention between Althea and herself. Since all she wanted from them was the lightest flirtation, it was heavenly.

But what about the major? She glanced around again, searching the clusters of people dotting the fashionable gathering place. She was sure that if he was here he would stand out for her…

And he did!

After just one glimpse, her heart started a nervous patter.

She instantly turned back to the group, smiling brightly at a lieutenant whose name had flown right out of her head, chattering to him in what was probably a stream of nonsense.

Remember, he is a fortune hunter. This is only for amusement, not for life.

“Miss Greystone. Miss Trist. How delightful to see you here.”

Clarissa turned, putting on what she hoped was a merely warm smile. “Major Hawkinville. What a lovely surprise.”

His smiling eyes held a distinct hint of wickedness. “Not entirely a surprise, Miss Greystone. We did speak of it.”

A little shocked by that betrayal, Clarissa was still seeking the right response when a poke in her side alerted her to Miss Hurstman, expecting to be introduced. She grasped the escape, and her chaperone asked a few pointed questions before giving him the nod. Clarissa was surprised to detect something negative in her dragon. Wariness? Concern? Was there something wrong with his family? His reputation?

But then she had it. Probably Miss Hurstman knew him to be a man in need of marrying a fortune. Sad to have that confirmed, but not a shock. She could still enjoy him. In fact, it could be seen as educational. Once word escaped, she was bound to be swarmed by fortune hunters. She would learn from the major what to expect, and how to handle it.

“Major Hawkinville!” Lord Trevor said. “I say, sir, how good to see you again. And now you meet my redoubtable Aunt Arabella.”

Miss Hurstman’s eyes narrowed. “Been gossiping about me in the mess, Trevor?”

Lord Trevor went red and stammered a denial.

“He was singing your praises,” said the major, “about some work you did helping young workhouse girls.”

Miss Hurstman looked between them. “Strange topic for officers.”

“We try to be eclectic. Educate the subalterns, you know.” Hawk turned to Clarissa. “Are you enjoying Brighton, Miss Greystone?”

“Perfectly,” she said, adding a silent now.

She’d wondered whether he would seem as special away from riot and adventure, but if anything, he was more so, even when surrounded by other eligible men. He was remarkably elegant, without being foppish. She wasn’t sure how that came about, but she would be happy to study the question.

What was her fortune hunter going to do next?

He chatted to the other men for a moment or two, then he held out his arm to her. Concealing a smile, she put her hand on it, and let him cut her out of the group to stroll about the Steyne.

A simple and direct first step. She approved.

How would he open his wooing?

“You’ve acquired a formidable dragon, Miss Greystone.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Miss Hurstman? She was hired by my trustees, Major.”

“Ffyfe’s aunt?”

“Is that so extraordinary?”

“Ffyfe’s aunt, I believe, is actually cousin to his father, the Marquess of Mayne, rather than sister. However, she’s sister to one viscount, aunt to another, and granddaughter of a duke. Hardly the type to hire herself out for the season.”

“You’re surprisingly well informed, Major.” She supposed a fortune hunter needed to gather information about his quarry, but such blatant evidence of it dismayed her. And where was the amusing flattery and charm she had anticipated?

But then he smiled rather wryly. “I’m blessed—or cursed—with a retentive memory, Miss Greystone. Facts stick. You may wish to be a little on your guard.”

“Against your retentive memory?”

It came out rather snappishly, and he looked startled. “Against Ffyfe’s aunt.” But then he added, “Ignore me, please. Someone who’s been in battle often jumps at loud noises. My active service had more to do with puzzles than cannon fire, but I’m left with a sharp reaction to things and people that seem amiss.”

“You see Miss Hurstman as amiss?” Clarissa asked, beginning to be intrigued by the puzzle. “I’d think her eminent background would put her beyond reproach.”