Too smart for her own good. “We import ice, Lady Felicity. It’s all very aboveboard.”

“Oh, yes,” she scoffed. “Aboveboard is one of the top three adjectives I would use to describe you. Immediately following proper and uninteresting.”

He smirked. “Those three words all mean the same thing.”

She gave a little, breathy laugh, and the June night went unseasonably warm. “Do you have the key to unstick the lock?”

Chubb locks were known for their perfect security. They were unable to be picked because at the first sign (or, in Felicity’s case, the umpteenth sign) of picking, they locked up, and could only be reset with a special key. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

He extracted the key from his trouser pocket, and she shot to her feet, reaching for it. “May I?”

He snatched it back. “So you might learn my secrets? Why would I allow that?”

She shrugged her shoulder. “As I shall learn them anyway, I see no reason why you shouldn’t save me some time.”

Christ, he liked this girl.

No. He didn’t. He couldn’t. If he liked her, he wouldn’t be able to use her as needed.

He held the key straight up toward her, waiting for her to reach for it. When she did, he snatched it back again. “How did you find the warehouse?”

She met his gaze. “I followed you.”

What in—“How?” It was impossible. He would have noticed someone following him.

“I imagine the normal way one follows another. From behind.”

If he hadn’t been so consumed with thoughts of the ball the night before, he would have noticed. Christ. What had this girl done to him? “No one stopped you.”

She happily shook her head.

He paid men a great deal of money to ensure that he wasn’t killed on the streets of Covent Garden. You’d think one of them would think to apprise him of this woman shadowing him through the rookeries. “You could have been killed.” Worse.

She tilted her head. “I don’t think so. I think you made it more than clear that I was untouchable. Just before I was given free rein of your turf.”

“You were never given free rein of my turf.”

“How was it you put it?” Placing her hands on her hips, she lowered her voice to a register he assumed was supposed to sound like his. “No one touches her. She belongs to me.” She relaxed her arms with a smile. “It was rather primitive, that, though, I’ll admit, fairly empowering.”

Goddammit. “Why are you here?”

“I’ll tell you if you give me the Chubb key.”

He laughed at her attempted negotiation. “No, no, kitten. You haven’t the power here.”

She tilted her head. “Are you sure?”

He wasn’t, if he was honest. He pocketed the key once more. “No one has power here but me.”

Her gaze lingered on the place where the key had disappeared and for a long, terrifying moment, he thought she might come for it. Terrifying, because in that moment he wanted her to do just that.

But damn if the woman didn’t turn her back to him and crouch once more at the lock. Reaching into her coif, she extracted another hairpin. “Fine then. I shall do it myself.”

Stubborn woman. He watched as she straightened the pin and kinked it at the end. “The Chubb is unpickable, darling.”

“So far, it is, yes.”

“You intend to pick it in the dead of night?”

“I do, indeed,” she said. “What I know is that your key works in the reverse of normal keys, no? It resets the tumblers. In which case, if I can pick the sticking mechanism, I can learn how the lock works.”

He watched as she inserted her newly made pick into the lock alongside a second tool, and came around to lean against the door, crossing his boots and his arms and watching her. “Why did you follow me?”

She scraped the inside of the lock. “Because you were leaving when I arrived.”

“And why did you come see me in the first place?”

Again, a futile effort. “Because you didn’t come to see me.”

He stilled at that, at the implication that she’d wanted him to come and see her. “Did we have an appointment?”

“No,” she said, calmly, as though they were in Hyde Park in the middle of the day and not in one of London’s most dangerous neighborhoods in the dead of night. “But I would have thought that you would have checked in on me.”

He had checked in on her. He had a watch checking in on her every minute of the day. “To what end?”

“To see if your promise was made good upon.”

“My promise?”

“The Duke of Marwick, mad for me.”

He gritted his teeth, remembering Ewan’s lips on her silk-covered knuckles. She wasn’t wearing gloves now, and Devil wanted to burn away any memory of Marwick’s touch with his own lips. On her bare skin.

“And was it?”

She didn’t reply. She was distracted by her pins in the lock.

“Felicity Faircloth,” he repeated.

“Hmm?” She paused. Then, “Ah, I see.” Another pause. “I beg your pardon, was what?”

“My promise. Was it made good upon? Did you meet your duke?”

“Oh,” she said again. “Yes. We met. He was very handsome. And possibly . . . well . . . what they say about him might be true.”

“What do they say about him?”

“That he is mad.”

Ewan wasn’t mad. He was obsessed.

“He danced like a dream.”

Devil shouldn’t be irritated by that statement. Wasn’t this what he wanted? Ewan thinking he’d won Felicity? So it hurt more when Devil stole her away?

He wanted to put a fist through a wall at the idea of them dancing. He couldn’t resist scoffing. “Like a dream?”

“Mmm,” she said distractedly. “He has lovely form. Makes you feel as though you’re a cloud.”

“A cloud,” Devil said, working to keep his teeth from clenching.

“Mmm,” she said, again.

He was so irritated with the vision of cloudlike dancing that he snapped, “You don’t just come to see me, Felicity.”

“Why not? I’ve something to discuss with you.”

“It doesn’t matter. When we’ve things to discuss, I shall find you. You don’t just turn up in the rookery.”

“Is this a rookery? I’ve never been to one.”

He would have laughed if it weren’t all so laughable. Rookeries were full of stink and filth, death and destruction. They held the worst of the world—too often given to those who deserved the best of it. Of course, Lady Felicity Faircloth had never been to a rookery. She’d as likely have been to the moon.

“It’s very quiet. I would have thought it would be otherwise.”

“It’s quiet because you’re deep within the most protected part of it. But you could have easily lost your way.”

“Nonsense. I followed you.” She leaned toward the door and whispered, “That’s it, darling.”

Devil went hard as a rock. He straightened, coming off the door and shoving his hands into his pockets to keep her from noticing his untimely affliction. Clearing his throat, he said, “Giving you my direction was a grave mistake, as you seem unable to deliver a written message to my offices like any other normal human female.” He paused. “Is it possible you are unable to write? Has your brother’s poverty limited the amount of ink in your home? The quantity of paper?”

“Paper is not exactly the least expensive commodity,” she offered.

Click.

Devil’s jaw dropped. Impossible.

“Gorgeous, gorgeous girl. Well done.” Felicity Faircloth stood up and raised her arms, deftly returning her hairpins to their proper seats. “Shall we see just how aboveboard you are, then?”






Chapter Fourteen

She’d shocked him.

The unmovable Devil, all powerful and controlling, impenetrable and domineering, and she had shocked him. She knew it, because his eyes went wide and his jaw went slack, and for a heartbeat she thought he might have swallowed something too large. He looked to her, then the lock, then back again. “You did it.”

“I did,” she said, happily.

He shook his head. “How?”

She couldn’t control her proud grin. “Be careful, Devil. I shall begin to imagine you thought me without use.”

“You’re supposed to be without use!”

“I beg your pardon,” she said. “Ladies are not supposed to be without use. We’re supposed to speak several languages, and play the pianoforte, and needlepoint with aplomb, and lead a house party in a rousing game of blindman’s buff.”

He looked away and took a deep breath, making her think he might be searching for calm. “All so useful. Do you do all that?”

“I speak English and imperfect French.”

“And the rest?”

She hesitated. “I’m quite good at needlepoint.” He cut her a look, and she added, “I hate it, but I’m fairly decent at it.”

“And the pianoforte?”

She tilted her head. “Less so that.”

“Blindman’s buff?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I can’t remember the last time I played.”

“So, we are left with lockpicking.”

She grinned. “I’m very good at that.”

“And is it useful?”

Not knowing where she summoned the brash courage, Felicity set her hand to the handle of the great steel door she’d just unlocked. “Let’s see, shall we?” She didn’t wait, too eager to see inside the warehouse and too afraid he’d stop her. She pulled at the door, using her whole weight to open it a half inch before he did just that.

The door slammed shut, one of his enormous hands splayed wide at her head. She fixed her gaze on that hand, its silver rings glinting in the dark, when he leaned in to her ear and said, “You should not have come.”

She swallowed, refusing to let him win. “Why not?”