Chapter Three

The scoundrel's lips curved upward at her fury.

"We can't talk here. Come on." He caught her elbow and steered her gently through the crowd.

Ellie went willingly, but as soon as they reached a quiet corridor beyond the ballroom, she tugged her arm from his grasp and whirled around to face him.

He shook his head, silently indicating a group of women to their left who were talking and fanning themselves as they took a break from the dancing.

"Still too many people."

With a growl, she marched along the corridor, opened a door at random, and stepped into a small study. The elegant furniture, pale pink walls, and proliferation of porcelain figurines suggested it was a room favored by the lady of the house.

Ellie turned to face her tormentor as he closed the door behind him with a click.

"Of all the outrageous, presumptuous, dishonest—"

His laugh made her stomach somersault. "You have an excellent vocabulary, Miss Law. Are words with three syllables your favorite?"

Ellie glared at him. "Not at all. In fact, here are some shorter ones: Explain, you fraud."

He sank gracefully into a comfy-looking armchair on one side of the fire, and with a sweep of his hand indicated its pair, opposite. "Please, sit down."

She complied with a huff, arranging her skirts so as not to crease them, then raised her brows in regal indication that she was waiting for him to speak.

"You're right," he said, "Henri Bonheur is not my real name. Neither, of course, is Charles King. Because, as we both know, Charles King doesn't exist."

Ellie's heart missed a beat, but she schooled her expression to hide her alarm. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"Because I've been trying to make his acquaintance for some time. And while plenty of people know him by reputation, I've failed to find a single one who's actually met him in person. Every one of his previous clients have been dealt with by his able ‘assistants': yourself, the Duchess of Wansford, and Dorothea Hamilton."

"He's a very busy man," Ellie lied.

"He's a very fictional man," he countered with a chuckle.

Ellie pressed her lips together, stubbornly refusing to either confirm or deny his theory. Who was he? And why had he been trying to find Charles King? Was his plan to blackmail them with the threat of revealing the truth about their female-led agency—and thereby ruin the business? Why would he do such a thing? Was he a competitor? Or was it purely for money? He seemed rich enough. Then again, appearances could be deceiving.

"What is your real name?" she demanded.

His shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. "I wish I could tell you. I was orphaned at a young age, and whatever records were made at the time were lost."

"That sounds just as much of a fairy tale as ‘Puss in Boots,' my Lord Carabas," she said acidly.

"Ah, you caught that reference, did you?" His dimples flashed. "I thought you might. Nevertheless, it's true. I've had many names because—and I trust I have your complete discretion on this, Eleanor—for the past ten years I've had an extremely successful career as a criminal."

Ellie blinked. "That's a risky thing to confess to the daughter of England's Lord Chief Justice."

"Perhaps. My best work has been on the Continent, in Italy and France, although I can't say I haven't broken a few laws here in England too."

"What sort of crimes?" Ellie's heart pounded against her breastbone. She was usually a fair judge of character. Had she made a terrible mistake and allowed herself to be lured into a private room with a murderer? A rapist?

His lips curved as if he knew precisely the direction of her thoughts.

"Nothing too dreadful, I promise you. A little burglary, some light pickpocketing. A heist or two. I can crack a safe, pick a lock, cheat at cards, and forge a variety of documents. Perhaps you read about the disappearance of Raphael's Madonna and Child from the archbishop's palace in Rome?"

"That was you?"

He gave a pleased nod. "I held it for ransom until the archbishop paid for its safe return. And in my defense, he was a thoroughly unpleasant individual who'd bribed and blackmailed his way to the top and very much deserved the aggravation. I donated all but a small percentage of the proceeds to a foundling hospital in Venice."

"Why are you telling me this? And why are you here, in London? Are you planning another crime?"

He crossed one long leg over the other, resting his ankle on the opposite knee, and studied her intently. Ellie felt her body heat.

"Quite the contrary. I've decided to go straight."

"Because you've realized the error of your ways?"

"Of course not. I'd do precisely the same again, given the chance." He sent her an unrepentant grin. "But a good player knows when it's time to quit the game. One can possess extraordinary talent, but the element of chance can never be discounted. A single, unexpected event can ruin the best-laid plans, which is why the most successful criminals are the ones you've never heard of. They're the ones who stopped before they were caught, whose executions never made the news sheets, who lived out their days in blissful obscurity."

Ellie shook her head, even as she smiled. "You've decided to stop before your luck runs out?"

"Precisely. I have no desire to be the richest man in the cemetery. Wise men do it for the money. Dead men do it for the fame."

"But why are you here?"

"For the same reason you're working for ‘Charles King.'"

"Which is…?"

"Stimulation."

Her brows shot up and he chuckled. "Let me clarify that. You, Ellie Law, have a brilliant, enquiring mind. You need to fill your days with something challenging, something rewarding, or you'll go completely mad."

Ellie's heart gave an odd little twist. This man was a stranger, a criminal, the complete antithesis of everything she stood for, and yet he could read her as easily as if she were an open book. She felt exposed, seen , as if he'd delved into the deepest part of her soul and pulled out all her frustrations and desires, her drive and ambition, and laid them out on the floor.

His lips curved as he watched her face, and he tilted his head. "And besides, you need me."

She didn't hide her instinctive snort. "How have you arrived at that conclusion?"

"I'm sure you've heard the phrase ‘it takes a thief to catch a thief'?"

"Of course."

"It comes from an Ancient Greek chap called Callimachus. He said, ‘Being a thief myself, I recognize the tracks of a thief.'"

"You're very well-read, for a criminal."

"The two are not mutually exclusive. I'm sure you're very well-read, too, for an investigator. Either way, you must see there are obvious benefits to having an ex-criminal by your side in a professional capacity. Someone who knows every trick in the book."

It was Ellie's turn to laugh. "You want to work with me? At King and Company?"

"Precisely. You're successful now, but just think how much more successful you could be with my help."

"So you want a job? A salary?"

He waved his hand in an elegant, dismissive gesture. "Pfft, no. I've enough money to last me two lifetimes. Three, probably. What I need is a vocation. A reason to get up in the mornings."

"You could do what most other rich, bored gentlemen do. Buy a stable of racehorses, join a club like White's or Brooks's, spend a fortune at the tailors and bootmakers on Bond Street."

He indicated his beautifully fitted boots. "I already spend a fortune on Bond Street. Horse racing is dull. And most of the men who drink and game their days away in the clubs are even duller."

"With your particular skills, you should become a politician," she said cynically.

"And be surrounded by even more crooks? No thank you. I might as well take lodgings in Newgate."

He sent her a pathetic, pleading look, like that of a puppy begging for a morsel of ham. "Think of me as a rehabilitation project. If I'm not helping you solve crimes, I'll be so bored I'll start committing them again, which is not a good outcome for anyone."

Ellie rolled her eyes at his ridiculousness.

"Saving me from a sticky end on the gallows would be an act of mercy," he pressed. "Employing me would practically be a public service. You'll be preventing as many crimes as you'll be solving."

She gave an inelegant snort. "Why choose King and Company? Why not approach the Bow Street runners, or any of the other private investigative firms in town?"

"Because I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. Admit it, there is no Charles King, is there?"

Ellie weighed her options. He'd already guessed their secret, and in admitting his criminal past he'd already entrusted her with plenty of incriminating information. She might as well reciprocate.

"Very well, you're right. We made him up. Daisy, Tess, and I run King and Company."

He nodded, unsurprised. "As someone with a fictional name myself, I feel a particular kinship with Charles King. It's almost like fate brought us together. I'm in need of a new start, a new name. You're in need of someone to embody your fictional employer in order to deal with fools like Bullock. Why refuse five hundred pounds when a simple solution has presented itself?"

Because the thought of working with someone as handsome as you makes my stomach flutter.

No, she couldn't say that.

Ellie frowned. "The past has a nasty way of catching up with people. What if someone who knew you in Italy or France comes to London and recognizes you? You'll be revealed as a fraud and jeopardize the case."

"It's a risk, of course, but there are risks involved in any endeavor. It's low enough to be acceptable, in my view."

"I'm not the only one who makes the decisions at King and Company. I'll have to discuss your proposition with my partners."

"Of course. I'm sure they'll see the benefits of having me around." He uncrossed his legs and stood, and Ellie did the same, trying not to notice how beautifully proportioned his long, lean body was. Or how tempting his lips were.

She'd kissed those lips. She still couldn't believe it.

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a large gold-cased pocket watch on a thick albert chain, and held it out to her. "Here."

"What's this?" She took it from his outstretched hand automatically, then frowned as she read the monogram engraved on the back. WB.

"Just a trifle, to prove how useful I can be. It's Bullock's."

"You stole it?"

"Just now. From his pocket, while he was talking with us." His eyes gleamed with devilry. "You can return it to him when he comes to your office tomorrow. It will put him in a good mood."

"And how will I explain it being in my possession?" Ellie demanded, aghast.

"Say you saw him drop it when he walked away, but by the time you'd picked it up, you'd lost him in the crowd."

Such sleight of hand was annoyingly impressive, but Ellie sent him a disapproving frown. "Let me make this quite clear, Mr. whatever-your-name-is. I do not condone using illegal means of any sort to solve a case. Is that understood?"

"Of course. Completely. I simply wished to give you some proof of my claims. In case you thought I was a charlatan."

"You are a charlatan. By you own admission."

He shrugged. "A talented, useful charlatan."

The watch was still warm from his body heat. She slipped it into her skirt pocket with an unwelcome shiver of awareness.

He gestured toward the door. "If that's all, we should both get back to the ball. I'll be at King and Company tomorrow morning at nine o'clock sharp, to see what decision you and your colleagues have made. Bullock is coming at ten, don't forget."

It was hard to look businesslike when his physical attractiveness was so distracting. The elegant severity of his coat emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, and his form-fitting breeches made it surprisingly difficult to concentrate.

"I want you to swear to me that you won't tell anyone what we've discussed."

His smile made her pulse flutter. "Trust goes both ways, Miss Law. You could have me swinging from the gallows before the week is out, with the things I've told you about myself."

" If they're true," she said cynically.

"Oh, they are. But if it puts your mind at ease, then I also give you my word. Both as a gentleman, and as a thief."

"Fine. That is acceptable." She cleared her throat. "I promise not to send you to the gallows."

He nodded, but she saw his lips twitch in amusement as he gestured toward the door. "You go first. I'll wait a few moments so we're not seen together."

"Yes, heaven forbid we should do anything that causes a scandal." Ellie injected a little acid into her tone. "Good evening, sir."

His smile made her remember their kiss again, and she bustled out into the corridor to hide her blush. His " Good night, Eleanor ," floated behind her like a ghost.