Chapter One

London 1892

P ercy Cole had to give Lord and Lady Leishire their due; this was the least pompous, mind-numbing ball he'd been to... this week.

He took a sip of watery lemonade and resisted scratching at where his wig hid evidence of midnight curls. He accepted the less desirable aspects of his job with sport—the prosthetics, the ridiculous fashion, the itchy head pieces—the only way of rubbing elbows with the elite to don a fa?ade as paper-thin and fictitious as those of the rest of the liars of the ton .

The place was a jungle. Vines, thick as his forearm, draped across parapets of marble and coiled around pillars capped in ancient Grecian scrolls. Giant, red flowers hung above, greedily demanding attention—alive, as far as his untrained eye observed. No doubt the reason for the six fireplaces in the grand ballroom to be lit despite the warm night—keeping the plants alive while the rest of the hosts' guests suffered for air. At least they'd all perish in style.

Percy pulled at his collar under the guise of taking another sip of lemonade. He'd never understand the eccentricities of the upper classes: vines on walls; flirting glances over laced fans and calling it wanton behavior; candled chandeliers dripping wax onto esteemed guests in gilded ensembles that could feed an entire family for weeks. He'd like to see these dressed-up peacocks survive a week in the rookeries: no heat, no water, no hope for rescue.

The lady on his right made an off-hand comment about vegetables that had him wishing to stick any of the four knives on his person through the ear and into the brain, preferably his.

His attention strayed to the commotion at the edge of the dance floor, where Hamish and Charlotte Hurstfield, the Duke and Duchess of Camine, had made their first move—a poorly acted heat spell and fainting that would lead them to find a quiet room. The perfect place for a killer to slip in and finish his business.

There was no way Nic Brandt would resist going after them. Not Percy's former partner. The man who would go to any lengths to finish a mission. The same man who'd once sat shoulder to shoulder in the trenches with Percy when they'd been but children—no food, only rust-colored water to drink—all with a smile on his face as the screams of war had echoed around them.

Percy's hand went to the knife hidden in his coat pocket.

Silently working to tear apart Hamish's negotiations in Dockside, going after Charlotte in the woods... Percy hadn't seen his former partner in eight years, but it seemed Nic hadn't lost an ounce of skill or his love of machinations.

A shiver of anticipation drew the heat of the packed room away.

Finally, he'd extricate himself from these insipid people and do something worthwhile. The information he'd kept about his history with Nic from Hamish had been unfair to the duke, a man he considered a friend, but his past was a sorted one, one that would reveal too much, for all parties present.

The lady at his side turned to him, her fuchsia dress looking like wilted petals under yards of lace. "What do you think, sir? Aren't artichokes the finest vegetable?"

Percy's lips jerked upwards in semblance of an interested smile while he racked his brain to remember the woman's name. Between the yards of lace, the feathers adorning coifs, and the overabundance of bustles, it was hard to tell faces from tails, let alone faces from faces.

Memory clicking, he said, "Potatoes, Lady Blanchett. You'll find no finer vegetable on or off the field." No finer to stomp under foot and feed to the pigs.

The greying gentleman beside Lady Blanchett—her husband or lover; it was hard to tell by the way she kept brushing against the man's leg, by accident, of course —animated. "Potatoes are scarce even now after the trouble in Scotland. Do you grow them on your land, Mr. Seymour?"

Seymour? Ah, right. He'd decided to play one of his less-used aliases as an up-and-coming American merchant here with an invitation from his personal friend, the Duke of Lux.

Renard would be livid when he found out.

Percy's smile grew in sincerity. "Potatoes don't grow well in Virginia, I'm afraid, but I've a fine coconut grove imported all the way from the southern islands." Each lie rolled off his tongue more inaccurate than the last.

Lady Blanchett's maybe-husband-probably-lover exclaimed, "Astounding."

The others in their small party nodded in agreement.

Percy smiled at each of them in turn, sure he could tell the fools he spun gold and they'd keep nodding like chickens picking corn from the fields.

"Palm trees don't grow outside the tropics," someone said.

Percy's smile didn't falter. There was always a risk of discovery when spewing falsehoods like sins confessed on Sunday, but talking himself out of trouble remained his best skill.

Noting the naysayer's tone as distinctly feminine, he turned on the newcomer with his most charming smirk.

And startled.

The lady was a goddess made flesh. Tanned skin, as if the lady didn't care a wink for staying out unprotected in the sun. The dark tone set off the amber of her eyes and complemented the lovely, walnut-colored hair pinned on top of her head. She wore no ornaments anywhere except for a velvet reticule that matched that dress... Percy had never seen a gown so perfectly tailored to showcase a woman's body as she moved.

His mouth went dry as she popped out a hip, the navy-colored satin going taut across the curve.

She looked him over with a hard set to her jaw, her expression hiding nothing of her suspicion of him. Without a stitch of lace or bustle in sight—and the crafted brilliance of her form-highlighting dress—she was the epitome of real.

And Percy couldn't stop staring.

He shook himself from wandering thoughts of that hip and bowed his head. "Are you familiar with the tropics, then, Miss...?"

She offered her hand with a frown and pulled her fingers from his grasp before his lips grazed her glove. "I've read extensively on the islands and their culture. Virginia's colder seasons aren't conducive to plants of the tropical variety. So unless you've a greenhouse the size of the Crystal Palace, your boasts are unfounded."

The lady was prickly, decidedly not taking his hint for introductions. Clever, then, too.

Percy found he could spare a moment more before he must leap into a knife fight. The delicious opponent in front of him deserved attention. And Percy never said ‘no' to anything delicious.

"Reading is not the same as visiting." His condescending tone was enough to send most women spitting fire. He added a flourish of his hand for extra effect. "Women should not speak of things they do not know."

The lady didn't so much as nibble at the bait. She grinned instead, her teeth flashing against lovely, full lips. "Neither should men."

Percy decided then and there he had to have her.

Lady Blanchett gasped. "Daniella, that is no way to speak to a guest of the esteemed Duke of Lux."

The woman, Daniella, offered a nod of acknowledgment. "Apologies, Aunt. Perhaps I was mistaken." The glare she shot Percy's way said she didn't mean a word.

A thrill went through his chest. What a thinly veiled attempt at civility. If the woman was a niece of Lady Blanchett, that most likely made her Lady Daniella, the ton 's much-anticipated debutante, the eldest daughter of Lord William Deime, Earl of Bromley. Yet there was no charm, no airs. The woman stared him down like they were rifled combatants on a battlefield, and he was in her scope.

He was delighted.

"Very good." Lady Blanchett nodded. "Mr. Seymour, may I present my niece, Lady Daniella Deime. Daniella, this is Mr. Seymour from America, a friend of the Duke of Lux."

This time, the lady had no choice but to offer her hand again, which Percy took with no small amount of satisfaction, and he brought her knuckles to his lips, where the heat of her skin through her glove sank into his soul.

"What of the animal variety?" husband-or-lover said. "With all the wilds in America, hunting must be a fine fare. What breeds do you keep?"

Lady Daniella's hand was so tense, and the insulting limp wrist was such a tantalizing challenge. Percy wished the other man would choke on his lemonade for interrupting. "Breeds?"

"Dogs, of course."

Percy reluctantly released Lady Daniella's hand and refrained from rolling his eyes. A gentleman wouldn't understand most people had to work for a living. Brutally hunting down innocent animals was of no appeal. Hunting down the guilty and treacherous of the human variety, however... "Can't stand the beasts. I keep cats on my farm to control the vermin, but then they are barely tolerable in their illusive manners."

"But dogs are so loyal, and so economic," Lady Blanchett said.

"And far too fond of coconut for my taste." Percy shot his next statement towards the lovely lady in blue. "Can't get the dogs from the adjoining estate to stop digging up the coconuts as they drop and swallowing them whole. A terrible inconvenience."

Lady Daniella stiffened, no doubt ready for another volley of insults at the ludicrous idea of coconuts being the size of seeds.

That hint of fiery temper earlier needed no kindling. If only he could invite her into a quiet room, he'd see how hot he could stoke those flames. Away from all these simple-minded automatons, he'd no doubt she'd set the entire world ablaze.

"Is that the Duke and Duchess of Camine leaving the ballroom?" Lady Blanchett asked.

Lady Daniella nodded, as if she knew firsthand. "Her Grace was overcome with the heat."

"Will they return?" Lady Blanchett craned her neck to look over the heads of the crowd. "I have yet to offer my congratulations on their recent marriage."

Percy, a head taller than most of the guests, watched Her Grace vanish into Lord Leishire's library, a concerned Duke of Camine in tow, and right on time.

Duty called.

"Apologies, Lady Blanchett." Percy bowed to his companions, his mind racing ahead to what came next. "I must take my leave."

"So soon?" Lady Blanchett exclaimed with abject horror. "But you've not met anyone!"

"Alas, I depart tomorrow for America, and vessels are notorious for early starts on long voyages." He took her offered hand and brushed a chaste kiss upon her knuckles. "Now that I'm privileged to know such charming women on this side of the ocean, I'll be sure to visit more."

Lady Blanchett preened and snapped the fan attached to her wrist open with a womanly flourish. "Mr. Seymour, you are incorrigible."

He winked and glanced at Lady Daniella's lovely, scowling face before offering another bow. A tip of his hat to his opponent, and a goodbye that left a hollow feeling in his chest he could not fathom. "A pleasure."

The ballroom's insufferable heat vanished as soon as he extricated himself from the crowd. Bypassing the main hall, he slipped down a darkened hall and into a central courtyard that would lead him the long way around to the back rooms, and a particular room that adjoined the library from the southern side.

Taking a moment to collect himself—and rid his mind of a particularly distracting pair of eyes—he looked up at the full moon above and breathed in the fresh air and slight dampness from the nearby fountain.

His head was spinning, and it had nothing to do with the heat. Lady Daniella was special. It didn't take a trained agent to see the confidence in her stance or hear the authority in her speech, none of it to do with position or title.

She was a woman who knew her own mind and spoke it without shame. What a treasure to find in this jungle.

"Ha! I knew it. You aren't leaving," a woman said.

Percy snapped out of his reverie and groaned. Here he was too busy imagining plundering the chit to hear she'd followed him. Damn silent slippers. Women should be made to wear boots and bells at all times.

He turned to see Lady Daniella bathed in moonlight, her satin dress looking like waves rippling over her body. His groin went sail taut and mast hard.

"I appear to be lost." He used his best chagrined smile. "You wouldn't be able to point me in the direction of a water closet, could you?"

"Are you here to rob Lord and Lady Leishire?"

Percy blinked. No games, no misdirection. Another time, another place, he'd have fallen at her feet and begged for a direct assault. "Lady Daniella, I fear we've gotten off on the wrong coconut grove. I am here as a visitor, a friend of—"

"The Duke of Lux. Yes. I met the Duchess of Camine but a quarter of an hour previous. His sister, if I'm not mistaken? I wonder, are you not a friend of hers as well? She took ill on the dance floor and went to a quiet room. But I'm sure you're aware of that."

Percy's gut instincts roared at him to end this conversation now. The gleam in her eye was trouble, not only for the fact that her reputation—like that of all ladies—was as flimsy as crinoline. If they were found here together, in the dark and secluded courtyard, she'd be ruined. What an impetuous creature. Any decent man with sense would have walked out.

He stepped closer. "And what has that got to do with me?"

Her breath hitched at his nearness, and Percy fought the urge to close the remaining inches between them. "Come, then, Lady Daniella. Pray tell, what nefarious deeds am I to commit?"

The lady bit her lip, her confidence slipping for the first time. "Y-You hope to rendezvous with your friend's sister."

"You object for morality's sake?" He smiled at that. "Too bad the lady is very much in love with her husband."

Pause. "Do you mean to deface Lord Leishire's home as a political statement?"

"Petty vandalism? Not my style. Try again."

She scowled, a charming puckering of lips and brows. "You are up to no good, sir. Prevaricate all you like, but there is no use denying it!"

"I've no intention to. Please, continue. Shall I rob the baron and baroness of their priceless jewels and paintings?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps."

"And slip out the backdoor, the pilfered items tucked beneath my arm?"

"I wouldn't put it past you to leave all the items in the attic and worry the authorities for nothing. Then flee through the garden and ruin Lady Leishire's prized roses in spite."

He laughed, unable to hold in his delight. She'd pegged him right. Brazen, insulting—the woman was a revelation. "A capital idea," he said. He was quite determined to do just as the lady envisioned if there was time. "What a wild life I lead." He glanced down at his Hessians. "Though my boots would be utterly ruined climbing down the garden trestle."

"Feign innocence all you like." She crossed her arms over her chest, her pout indignant. "I see through you, sir."

He played with a curl that had escaped her coif, no longer able to resist. "Let's hope that's not true."

Her breath hitched at his touch, but her voice remained steady. "You hide behind grins and sarcasm. Your fallacies of American crops are idiotic. And I've never heard an American pronounce ‘America' in a decidedly English manner."

Percy flinched. He never could remember to keep his ‘e's short and nasally when impersonating Westerners. She was a marvel for noticing his perfectly rounded vowels. "Name-calling isn't nice."

Her hair was like silk. Would the rest of her feel as smooth?

"You mislead people from even the smallest truth."

He made a grunt of agreement, then caught himself. "Truly, your imagination is getting the best of—"

"You like dogs," she said.

Percy froze and that tantalizing curl fell from his grasp.

She nodded at his silence. "And cats and even, I daresay, fish. And you hate potatoes," she said. "I'd wager my life on it."

His normal, stone-cold calm cracked with a chest full of unknown emotion that tasted like coal and sank into his gut with truth. "Don't waste something so precious on such poor odds."

"You're a scoundrel." She poked him in the chest, her finger not nearly as sharp as her tongue. "I shall expose your plot. You won't get away with whatever scheme you've planned."

Percy pushed the strange feeling away and dropped his mask, letting his easy smile turn cold. The lady didn't know whom she threatened, and he'd been on the receiving end of a gun enough times to know when it was loaded. "I wish you'd have left your thoughts unspoken, my lady. For now, I must do something unpleasant."

She stuck out her chin. "You won't hurt me."

"No?" He closed the space in an instant, catching her by the arms and pinning her to one of the stone pillars before her gasp finished. "You don't know me, Lady Daniella. A woman as perceptive as you should know better. Corner an animal..." He nipped at her nose, tasting clove on her skin. "You'll find we bite."

Understanding cooled those lovely, blazing eyes. She swallowed audibly, but her gaze didn't stray from his.

She was bricky. He'd give her that. To accuse him of such things, in a private courtyard, no less. The last man who'd found himself in a similar position hadn't left the yard, open or otherwise. Not in one piece, anyway.

Pulling a knife from his vest, he ignored the internal war raging inside at treating her thus. "Now, how shall I keep you quiet?"

The lady's pulse jumped beneath his palm where it lay indecently against the bare skin at her throat—as silky as he'd imagined—but her eyes didn't widen in panic like they should have.

An expert at deciphering body language, he took in her parted lips and dilated pupils and jolted. "You're aroused?"

Her gaze jumped to his.

He saw the answer there, and his own body coiled into a hard spring.

He'd heard of people having particular tastes, usually revolving around dominance and submission. His friend, the Duke of Camine, had a rather unexpected taste for restraints, but Percy had never heard of a woman finding such things palatable.

Percy laid the flat of the blade against her mouth and watched, mesmerized, as her tongue flicked out to lick the metal.

His body sprung apart. He gritted his teeth and imagined cold storms and that insufferable genius, Gregori, and his less-than-desirable ideas of house cleaning, willing his arousal to deflate.

He forced his mind back to task. Any one of the Leishires' guests could happen upon them in pursuit of their own pleasure.

Feeling the mental power back in his control, he leaned down and whispered in Lady Daniella's ear, "That's a dangerous secret you've got there, my lady. What would your precious ton think of such a naughty obsession?"

Shame cleared the lust from her expression.

Percy hated himself for being the cause.

No . He needed her scared, ashamed—anything to awaken the monster she'd unmasked. She was just another mark. Not a person. She couldn't be unique or beautifully intriguing. That was how someone like him got stupidly garroted in a gentleman's townhouse.

"Go on." She pushed against the blade still at chin level with her jaw. "You've drawn it. Go ahead and use it."

As far as bluffs went, it was magnificent. Too bad the haunted look in her eyes ruined the play.

His smile was real. "You shouldn't say such things to a hardened killer. I won't hesitate."

"Then why are you shaking?"

Percy took note of his trembling hands with interest. He didn't remember the last time he'd displayed so much as a tick with a knife at someone's throat.

First, he'd dropped his guard, and now this? Masquerading as the Duke of Camine's bodyguard and runner had made him soft.

Percy released her as if burned, dropping the knife atop the flagstones with a flash of sparks, and stepped back. "Run, my lady." His voice was robotic, his body a maelstrom of confusion. "Run back to the lights and sparkle of polite society, where you belong."

She watched him, her fingers pressed to her neck where his hand had been, but she made no attempt to flee. "You're letting me go?"

Was there a note of regret in her tone? He was the one imagining things now. "There's no need to hurt you, Lady Daniella." He said her name slowly, sounding out the syllables in an unspoken threat so the woman would know he'd not forget. "Not when you'll never see me again."

He turned away, needing her out of view to keep from reaching for her and the forbidden fruit she represented. His excuse was paper thin, and he knew it.

The truth was, he didn't want her hurt. For a terrifying moment, staring down at those sharp eyes and smart mouth, the black heart in his chest had risen from the shadows and given a red-blooded thump of approval.

"What if I don't want you to go?"

Percy closed his eyes at her words, whispered and husky, as if she asked in self-consciousness. Definitely imagining things.

"What would you ask of me if I stayed?" He kept his back to her. The lady was bluffing, like before. Did she expect him to turn himself in? How he wished she'd ask something else of him, something far less likely and appropriate. It was his imagination that ran rampant, conjuring scenes of wanton embraces and mutual pleasure.

"I won't say a word," she said.

He huffed. "If?"

His ears strained too hard not to hear her next words clearly.

"A kiss."

He froze. His mind repeated her request over and over until the meaning sank in.

"Fuck." He spun around and sealed his mouth over hers, pressing her against the pillar and running his hands down her arms before interlacing their fingers. Silk and fire. Percy never imagined sparks could ignite against something so smooth, but the friction did more than catch. It blazed.

He needed to leave. Needed to set this woman aside. Even if he didn't have a pressing engagement with the end of a knife, this woman was nothing but a danger.

He knew everyone and, more importantly, knew their secrets. It was his business to know. And when it dictated a gentleman's ruin, it was a true pleasure, but he didn't know her . Alarming was an understatement. She could have been an opposing agent. Some of the more progressive foreign offices employed women and children. Lady Daniella Deime could be as she seemed, and still be just as dangerous.

It was her spirit that had snared him. The way she challenged him, questioned him, the way her lips and tongue pressed unsurely against his own. The essence of her was in everything she did and said, and Percy was defenseless against such blatant honesty.

She could go straight to the authorities with his description. Not that it mattered. He changed clothes and demeanor as often as socks as it suited him.

Her tongue flicked against his, her confidence growing.

He could teach her everything.

He broke the kiss and a piece of his soul broke hearing the strangled sound that emerged from her. Years of honed cruelty and coldness were the only things that kept his gaze and voice steady as he looked into those heavy-lidded eyes and told the greatest lie of his life.

"Now keep your mouth closed about me, or I'll kill you."

He fled into the dark, leaving her alone and flushed and God above hopefully as aching as himself.

This had never happened. He'd strike the memory from his mind like so many others. He wouldn't form intimate attachments, so he'd have no regrets and no concerns over what the lady might do.

She'd never recognize him again because she would never see him again. No one saw him . Lady Daniella may have thought she wanted to play with the shadows and live off the thrill of escaping a blade's edge, but no one stared into the darkness after facing a monster and wanted more.

He'd done her a favor.

Percy ducked into an adjoining room off the library and listened to the sounds of male voices through the wall. He tore off his wig and unbuttoned his coat for easier movement and prayed his friend, the Duke of Camine, wouldn't resemble a pin cushion when he jumped into the fray.

Easing out of the room, he pressed an ear to the door and waited for the sounds of raised voices, knowing there was a fifty-fifty chance he wouldn't walk away from the fight to come. Nor would anyone be the less over his corpse. He cared for nothing and no one.

Lady Daniella's face flashed in his mind, along with an asinine vision of a warm home in the country and her waiting arms.

Hands clenching into fists at his sides, Percy shredded the image with the edges of reality. He was not a gentleman, not a wealthy merchant, certainly not a blasted coconut farmer. He'd never be welcomed in polite society, nor would he have anything save for shadows and death to offer a woman of any station.

He preferred the shadows and lies. No amount of leisure or fantasies of a quiet life in the country would change who and what he was.

Even if some traitorous inner voice whispered for a woman of silk and fire.

Sounds of a scuffle on the other side of the door had Percy pulling a knife from his waist, thoughts of being in the same room as Lady Daniella as he was now laughable.

In what world would the starched and pressed fools of the ton ever accept Percy Cole, humble thief and murderer?