Chapter 17

Hannah scanned the ballroom and resisted tugging up her dress. She didn't remember the neckline dipping so scandalously low at the modiste's. She brushed her hand against her skirt, taking comfort in the hard outline of her dagger. Hannah lived on the fringes of the crowd, never capturing the centre of attention. But tonight, she was trapped in the crosshairs of society's notice. It was distinctly uncomfortable.

‘Don't look now, but I think the Earl of Plynth is heading this way, and his eyes are glued on you, Hannah,' Ivy spoke behind a glass of ratafia.

‘Oh, dear. He's a notorious rake and a terrible dancer. Mind your slippers. He will tread all over your toes.' Millie hissed before popping a strawberry into her mouth.

‘You'll be missing your boots tonight,' Ivy agreed. ‘Although, those heeled slippers are lovely, Hannah.'

Hannah grimaced. ‘Not lovely enough to be worth the blisters.'

They had positioned themselves in front of the refreshment table, hoping to avoid the eligible gentlemen looking for a distraction from quiet country evenings. The Everly Ball was a highly anticipated event. Everyone who was anyone jumped at the chance to wear their finest and preen in front of each other after weeks of absence from London's feverish social calendar. Hannah, Ivy, and Millie were happy to watch the show but had no interest in being participants.

Regrettably, the Earl of Plynth had other plans.

‘Forgive my impertinence, Miss Ivy Cavendale, Miss Millicent Whittenburg, but I beg an introduction to your lovely companion.' He tipped forward at the waist, nearly burying his nose in Hannah's breasts. Grasping her hand, he pressed his wet mouth against her callused knuckles.

Hannah endeavoured not to gag. The man had been availing himself of his own refreshments, judging by the sour scent of gin on his breath.

‘This is our dear friend, Miss Hannah Simmons.' Millie flicked her fan in a gesture as vicious as a rapier parry, nearly taking off the earl's nose. He stumbled backward. Hannah wiped her hand against her skirt.

The Earl of Plynth regained his equilibrium and stepped closer to Hannah. His eyes remained glued to her humble cleavage. ‘Allow me to prevail upon you for a dance, Miss Simmons. If your card is not yet full?' He spoke directly to her neckline.

Hannah didn't even have a dance card, let alone names to place upon it. She was out of her depths. ‘I…' Words failed her. It would be far easier to punch the man in his solar plexus than devise a clever evasion.

‘This dance is spoken for. Miss Simmons promised me the next waltz.'

Killian's deep voice reverberated behind her and sent shivers of awareness across her skin like a warm breeze. Judging by her thwarted dance partner's wide eyes, Killian's tone sent different shivers through the Earl of Plynth.

‘Err, of course. Forgive me,' the gentleman sputtered as he hastily spun and walked away.

Hannah turned to face Killian, her body tingling with awareness. He stood tall and proud in a black dress coat. A crisp, white shirt and equally snowy cravat highlighted his sun-darkened skin. His vest was embroidered with deep-green stitching echoed in the shade of his eyes. Hannah's mouth went dry. Her belly clenched.

‘Damnation,' she breathed.

‘Oh my. What a useful trick to rid someone of unwanted company,' Millie whispered, loud enough for Killian to hear.

Major General Drake, who stood just behind Killian's left shoulder, snorted rudely.

‘Shall we?' Killian reached out his hand to Hannah and clenched his jaw.

‘Oh my, indeed,' Ivy murmured.

Killian grasped her fingers and placed her hand in the crook of his arm, gliding through the crowd to the dance floor.

Hannah's face heated. ‘Everyone is looking. I don't… you know I can't dance.'

‘I know you move like wind through the leaves. Follow my lead, just this once. I won't let you fall.' Killian squeezed her fingers and spun her to face him. He placed her hand on his shoulder and clasped her other in his own warm grip as his right hand drifted down to her waist. They stood frozen, suspended in time, waiting for the music to begin.

Murmurs rose around her. She glanced over her shoulder as Lady Hastings whispered behind her fan to Lady Bradford.

‘What are you doing, Killian? A duke does not dance with a wallflower.'

Killian stretched his mouth into a wide grin. His teeth flashed white in the glittering lights and his eyes sparked with heat. ‘A duke does whatever he damn well pleases. And you are no wallflower, my dear Miss Simmons. You are a jungle of wicked thorns and wild blooms.' He leaned close to her ear. ‘A man could get lost in the colour and scent of you.'

Hannah pressed her lips together to hide their trembling.

Insufferable, perfect man!

How she had missed him.

The whispers around them grew in fervour, but the strains of the strings drowned the gossips out in a melodic swell.

Killian's arms hardened to granite as his body moved forward. Hannah almost crashed into him. ‘Keep your frame tight, and let your feet flow, Hannah. Remember our dance lesson on the terrace? Read me like you would in a fight. Predict my steps and match them with your own.' His forest-green gaze burned into hers, and she was lost.

She stopped thinking and let herself slip along the swells and dips of sound and motion. When he spun, she twirled. When he stepped with his left, she followed with her right. Their bodies created a rhythm of advance and retreat, give and take, rise and fall. Their movements as ageless and endless as the tides.

‘I missed you. Every moment that I was gone was a bleak eternity,' Killian murmured against her cheek.

Hannah was too full of emotion to leave space for words. Relief. Anger. Confusion. Desire.

Love.

But he had abandoned her. ‘Why did you leave?' Perhaps she sounded desperate, but she needed to know.

‘I received a message from Sarah Bright's brother.'

Hannah missed her step, but Killian lifted her from the floor, keeping their bodies in sync.

‘Billy Bright? He sent a message?' She struggled to keep her voice low as her feet skimmed over the marble slabs.

Killian swirled them to the edge of the dance floor. He leaned closer, his lips tickling her ear. ‘Not here. Come with me.'

Hannah knew what it would look like. The Duke of Covington leaving the ballroom with a woman who lived on the goodwill of her patroness. If they exited together, people would notice. Assumptions would be made. Accusations would be hurled. She couldn't melt into the shadows when standing in the centre of society's censure. If the beau monde believed she and the duke were involved in a tryst, her anonymity would be compromised. Right along with her hypothetical virtue. While she couldn't care less about the latter, she was deeply invested in the former.

The music reached its crescendo, then eased into silence as the dancers slowed to a stop.

Hannah knew the perfect place to meet where no one would be watching. ‘The library, just past the ladies' retiring room. Five minutes.' She curtsied to him and turned away, walking back to Ivy and Millie with her head held high.

‘Dear lord, I thought the floor might catch fire from the sparks flying between you two. You've set the gossips' tongues wagging. Just look.' Millie nodded toward Lady Hastings whispering furiously to her daughter, Miss Anna Hastings.

Ivy huffed out a breath. ‘I wish Anna Hastings did not have her cap set so firmly in my brother's direction. With a mother like that, family gatherings will be unbearable.' Ivy bit her lip and her pale-blue eyes clouded.

‘They can go suck eggs,' Hannah hissed. ‘I need your help, ladies. I am meeting Lord Killian in a few minutes. Will you join me on a trip to the retiring room?'

Millie's dimples emerged. ‘You wicked woman! A scandalous liaison with the delicious Lieutenant General? Of course we shall accompany you.'

Ivy clasped Hannah's shoulder. ‘Are you quite certain you know what you're doing?'

‘Of course.' Hannah tried to fill her smile with confidence.

I've no bloody clue what I'm doing.

‘Alright.' Ivy grasped Hannah's hand. ‘To the retiring room.' She led the way, staying close to the edges of the crowd.

Killian strode out of the ballroom, wound up the stairs, and turned right. He didn't have to wonder which door led to the ladies' retiring room. The shrill sound of feminine laughter and a pervading scent of lilies and pearl powder emanated from an open door halfway down the corridor.

He walked swiftly past. The next door was closed. If Hannah was right, it led to the library. Killian turned, leaning his back against the thick, mahogany wood. She would be along soon. He was happy to wait for her.

Hannah didn't keep him in suspense. He checked his watch as three women walked toward him: Hannah, Miss Ivy Cavendale, and Miss Millicent Whittenburg. Only a foolish man would refuse to admire such a variety of feminine charm. Killian was not a foolish man.

Hannah moved like a cat. Sleek, economical, deadly. Killian had touched every inch of her body, but she was still a mystery to him. One he hoped to spend a lifetime trying to solve.

He had thought his heart was going to stop when he first saw her on the ballroom floor. If there had been any doubt about his love for her, that moment would have confirmed the truth. She was the only woman for him.

His overtaxed heart stuttered as she strode closer. Her dress was sinfully crafted. The cascading confection of bronze silk and cream lace encapsulated her body like an embrace. She shone like a woodland creature caught in moonlight. Always draped in colours of the earth, she transcended into a wild thing of myth. The ache in his chest grew exponentially and his body hardened as he imagined all the ways he could separate her from her gown.

‘My lord, I believe we have important matters to discuss.' Hannah nodded to her companions. Miss Millie winked at her while Miss Ivy glanced at Killian. Her mouth tightened.

‘Take care, Lieutenant General Killian. She is our friend, and we will protect her, even from someone as fearful as you.' Miss Ivy's voice was hard with determination.

Killian was surprised. The delicate woman had grit and courage. He nodded to her. ‘I would expect nothing less, Miss Cavendale.'

‘Hmph.'

Killian couldn't decide if the sound indicated approval or dismissal.

She turned back to Hannah. ‘We shall wait for you in the retiring room.'

‘I shan't be long.' Hannah smiled at her friends, then faced him. Her garnet eyes flashed with what he hoped was desire. ‘Shall we?'

Killian didn't need further invitation.

He jerked down on the door handle and pulled her into the darkened library, shutting it on Ivy's gasp and Millie's wicked chuckle.

‘I think your friends might challenge me to a duel after this.' Killian murmured against Hannah's soft hair.

She backed away from him. He couldn't see her expression in the shadows, making it impossible to gauge her emotions.

‘You would lose.' Hannah's voice was strained. ‘But I did not come here to discuss my friends.'

‘Nor did I.' Killian pulled her close, pressing his mouth against the soft hollow of her neck. When she melted into him, he sucked and nipped his way to her earlobe, nibbling on the delicate skin.

‘Stop. First, we must talk. There is information I have that you need to know. And you must tell me about your meeting with Billy Bright.' Hannah pushed him away, and he reluctantly relented.

‘Of course. Forgive me. Being apart from you has ripped away my vestiges of propriety. I am raw and aching. But you are right. We should talk.' He backed up, because it was impossible not to touch her when she was within his reach.

He used the burning coals from the library's banked fire to light a taper. Walking back to the table, he fumbled for a lamp. When he adjusted the wick, he turned to appreciate Hannah in the soft light.

‘What did Billy tell you?' Hannah's eyes were luminous.

Killian smiled and shook his head. ‘I don't think so, Miss Simmons. You first.'

A line formed between her brows as she harrumphed. Killian never thought such a sound could be sexy, but she managed to stoke his fires with minimal effort.

‘Fine. I found myself in Alfred Cavendale's room.'

‘You just found yourself there? Like one might find a lost shoe or a misplaced ribbon?' Killian raised a sceptical eyebrow.

‘Yes. Just like that. At any rate, I discovered a letter implicating Alfred in the murder.'

A jolt of adrenaline rushed through him. ‘Do you have this letter?'

‘Of course. I mean, not on me, but in my room.'

‘And it implicates him by name?'

Hannah bit her lip. Killian had to force his eyes away from her red mouth and white teeth. ‘Well, that's the thing. It never mentions his name. But finding it in his room is pretty damning.'

‘Not enough to ensure conviction in the House of Lords.'

‘You forget, I'm not bound by the House of Lords. If the Queen is convinced, that's good enough for me.'

Killian's jaw dropped in shock. ‘The bloody Queen? Of fucking England? That's who you work for?'

Hannah squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. ‘Perhaps.'

Killian noticed how the movement pressed her breasts against the neckline of her dress.

Get control, man.

But he didn't want to be in control. He wanted to let his heart lead him and damn the consequences.

‘Fascinating woman!' Before she could deny it, he continued. ‘You play a dangerous game, Miss Simmons. Letting one person make the ultimate decision about another person's life.'

Hannah tsked. ‘Please. Men do it all the time. Besides, in this case, I agree with the Queen. As does Philippa, and I'm guessing as do you. That's four people. Five if we included Major General Drake. Do you deny that he would agree to our deductions?'

Killian resisted the urge to smile. God, she was clever. And brave. And fearsome. And driving him mad with desire. ‘Five people hardly equal the entire House of Lords, or the justice system they have comprised.' He couldn't stop himself from arguing with her if only to see her eyes flash and her mind race to best him.

‘They place a title of justice on a corrupt system. It does not protect the innocent or uphold the truth. I trust our judgment over a group of men driven by greed and a need for power any day.'

Killian was charmed that she included himself and Drake in her small circle of formidable women that included the Queen. Drake would never believe him.

Hannah crossed her arms in front of her and cocked her hip. ‘Your turn. What did Billy Bright tell you?' She tapped her foot as he pulled his scattered thoughts together.

‘Apparently, Sarah Bright had an interview for a job. With Alfred Cavendale. It does seem his name is coming up quite often.'

She shook her head. ‘I think we'll only discover the truth by questioning Alfred.'

While Killian knew Hannah was adept at protecting herself, the idea of her being close to a monster capable of such heinous crimes made his skin crawl and his hands fist into weapons of protection. ‘Leave that to me. If he is responsible for one death, he won't hesitate to commit another murder, especially a woman with as little social consequence as you.'

As soon as the words escaped, she flinched.

Shit. I am an absolute idiot!

He reached out and grasped her hand. ‘Hannah, you know that's not how I see you.'

‘Actually, sir, you made it clear the last time we spoke that is exactly how you see me.'

Killian could have cut out his tongue. ‘I merely meant to say, men like Alfred would view you as a liability easily removed. I know that isn't true, but I won't put you in danger.'

‘No, you won't. You won't put me anywhere because you don't make choices about my life, Lieutenant General Killian. Not now. Not ever.' Her voice was brittle, her eyes flashing daggers.

‘I'm not trying to…' But he was. And he was going to lose this battle. Because she was right. Even if his goal was protection, he had no right to make decisions for her. ‘I'm sorry. Of course, you get to make your own choices. But I would ask you to let me speak with Alfred first. If he reacts violently, I would feel much better being the target of his aggression than subjecting you to a man who is larger and potentially better armed.'

‘It wouldn't be the first time. It won't be the last. And so far, it hasn't affected my success.' She blinked slowly. He wondered if the Queen taught her that move. ‘But I'll agree to let you speak to him first on one condition. I'm certain he won't confess to you. So, you must turn the other way when I get his admission of guilt and deliver his punishment.'

‘You don't want me to force your hand, but you would force mine?'

‘I'm not forcing anything. Philippa has orders from the Queen, and we will exact justice on Alfred Cavendale. If I get his confession and you do not, you will not interfere. That is my condition. How confident are you that you'll beat me to the truth, Lord Killian?'

Not very.

But it just meant he must try harder. He would move heaven and earth if it kept Hannah from danger.

‘I agree to your terms, but I have my own condition.' He didn't give her time to think or answer or retreat. Grasping her hips, he pulled her to him, crushing his mouth against hers in a kiss of desperation. Hunger. Need.

Hannah's first instinct was to pull away, but the moment their mouths met, she was lost to her own frustrated desires. He had only been gone a few days, but it felt like eternity. She knew how her body could feel with his hands touching her, his teeth scraping over her skin, his mouth sucking her sensitive flesh, and she wanted everything. All of him. Now.

Killian lifted her and plunked her bottom upon a conveniently placed desk.

He pressed his lips against hers, hot and hungry. His tongue tested the seam of her mouth before plunging in to taste and tempt. Hannah dove her fingers into his hair, revelling in his growl as she tugged. His scent consumed her. Mint, leather, bergamot, and spice.

‘I missed you too,' she moaned against his mouth. It was easier in the dim lamplight of the lonely library. To admit her feelings. To reveal her weakness.

‘I want you. Now. Hard and fast. If you don't want this, tell me. I'll stop.' His voice was raw with need and tripped along her senses like lightning and fire.

‘Don't stop.' She bit his lip and unleashed a demon.

Killian's hands were everywhere. His fingers dipped into the neckline of her dress, teasing her nipple before he pulled her bodice down and covered her other breast with his mouth. He pinched with his hand and nibbled with his teeth, scraping them over her budded flesh. Hannah almost flew apart. She gripped his head and pulled him closer. Mad with need, she grappled with his cravat, attacking the buttons of his shirt and vest to spread the material wide and expose his hot, hard flesh to her questing fingers.

‘I don't want to be gentle,' he growled against her skin.

‘I'm not fragile. I can handle roughness, but be warned, I'll give you back the same.' She grabbed his thick hair and fisted her hand. He hissed, turning his head to her forearm and nipping her skin before smoothing the bite with a kiss.

She felt wild. And free. And consumed. She pulled him to her and pressed her lips against his, licking and biting, drowning in the flavour of whiskey and mint and something uniquely Killian.

Rucking up her skirts, he spread her thighs wide with his hips. The granite ridge of his erection, trapped within his breeches, crushed against her lace drawers. A slit exposed her intimate flesh to the cold air. He slid his hand along her thigh, toying with the dagger tied to her leg with a silk ribbon.

‘Fuck,' he groaned. ‘Do you know how seductive you are, Miss Simmons? With your daggers and pistols? Knowing you could destroy me with a single thrust?'

She demonstrated her skill, rubbing her wet cleft against his covered erection. ‘As could you, Your Grace.'

He fumbled with his breeches. Moments later, his unsheathed cock pressed against her entrance. Without warning, he plunged deep, gliding along her clitoris in a devastating stroke of friction. She cried out at the sudden invasion. Her body wept with joy.

He pulled almost entirely out before slamming back in. Deeper. Harder.

Hannah wrapped her legs around his hips. Killian reached beneath her, his unrelenting fingers digging into the soft flesh of her bottom. He pulled her to him. They were a frenzy of motion. His mouth feasted on her skin. Her moans melted into his groans. Skin slapped hard against skin. The desk creaked in protest of such abuse, but their bodies rejoiced as his ruthless rhythm drove her higher, sweeter, hotter, deeper into the abyss.

She imploded into a thousand jagged pieces of light as his cock stretched her taut flesh even tighter. Her body clenched around him. She felt his shudder of release as Killian plunged into her and held tight, pulsing in rhythm to her heartbeat.

‘My God. Hannah.' His deep voice thundered along her nerve endings, intensifying the echo of her climax.

‘Killian,' she breathed his name like a prayer. How could she let him go?

They stayed frozen in a desperate embrace until slowly Hannah's soul returned to her body. She loosened her grip and melted against him.

‘We must talk.'

Hannah pressed a kiss to his chest as the laughter bubbled up. ‘Talk? Now? I can barely breathe.'

He pulled away from her, and chill air raised goosebumps over her skin. ‘I love you, Hannah.'

Time stopped. Hannah's heartbeat tripled; her lungs froze. ‘What?'

‘I love you. And I don't want to marry you because of duty.'

Hannah unwrapped her legs, and unsteadily balanced her weight on the ground. She pulled her bodice up, reclaiming some modesty.

He loved her, but he didn't want to marry her. Okay. That made no sense. But fine. She didn't want to marry him either. The bastard. ‘At least we can agree upon that.'

Killian quickly buttoned his pants before gripping her shoulders. ‘You don't understand. You said before that I was a man of honour. That the war didn't take anything from me. And I have spent the last four days thinking about your words. Thinking about you. I've reached a conclusion that will likely become a regular habit for me. You were right. You are right.'

Well, that was some small consolation. He wouldn't marry her, but at least she could remind herself on cold, lonely nights that she was right. She opened her mouth to reply, but he kept talking.

‘I am a man of honour. But I don't want to marry you because of my ideals. Or my beliefs. Or my familial obligations.'

Dear God. He didn't have to beat her to death with it. He didn't want to marry her. Wonderful. She wasn't thick. She understood him the first time.

‘I'm not asking you to marry me,' she hissed pushing into the anger. ‘Marrying you is the last thing I want.' Or the only thing. But that was inconsequential.

Killian blinked. ‘Well, that's unfortunate. Because I desperately want to marry you.'

Come again?

‘Come again?' she asked.

‘I want to marry you. Not for honour, not for duty, but because I love you, Hannah. Only you. And I can't imagine any kind of joy in my life if you aren't by my side.'

There was a loud buzzing in her ears. She shook her head. She couldn't have heard him correctly. Hannah's brain wasn't working. Her body still vibrated with the ecstasy of their union. Her heart stuttered at his declaration.

‘I'm sorry, what?'

Killian's laughter was strained. ‘I love you, Hannah. Please, marry me.'

She hadn't misheard that. He wanted to marry her. But could she actually marry him? What about her career? Her freedom? She felt like she was trudging through treacle and making no headway. ‘I don't understand… what about Philippa?'

Killian's second attempt at laughter held more mirth. His dark chuckle stroked along her nerves like a silken caress. ‘I don't want to marry the duchess, Hannah. I want to marry you.'

Hannah pushed him away, grasping at a safe emotion. Annoyance. ‘Of course you don't want to marry her. I mean, what about my, er, relationship with Philippa?'

‘That depends on what kind of relationship you're describing. Do you wish to marry Philippa? For a woman who is so opposed to scandal, that seems rather bold.'

Hannah scowled as panic licked up her veins and overwhelmed her heart. ‘Impossible man! You're being ridiculous.'

‘I'm being ridiculous?' He raised an annoying eyebrow, his sinful mouth curving into a lazy smile that Hannah wanted to slap from his beautiful face. He was enjoying this.

‘Obviously, I don't want to marry Philippa. But she is my patroness. I have my mission to think of. How could I continue with my investigations if we were married? A husband controls his wife. Her finances, her housing, her activities, even her friends. I could never submit to the rule of a man, Killian. Not even a man I trusted. Not even you.'

Killian grasped her hand and pressed her fingers against his lips. ‘Do you really believe I would expect obedience from you? Do not think me quite so na?ve or so stupid. I value all my appendages and wish to keep them attached to my body.'

Hannah refused to laugh. This was not funny. ‘You would let me continue with my work? Willingly allowing me to traipse into the dangerous night hunting violent men? You just asked me not to confront Alfred Cavendale because you were worried for me. That would change if we were married?'

‘I asked you not to. I didn't command you. I didn't force you. I never will. I haven't thought out all the details. Of course, I don't want you wandering into danger alone, but you wouldn't be alone. Our goals are not so dissimilar. Besides, most marriages have some level of conflict. We can work out the specifics, but none of that really matters. There is only one thing that does. Do you love me, Hannah?'

Before she could answer, the door burst open. A gentleman stumbled into the library. A giggling woman in pink feathers and white silk traipsed behind him.

‘Bollocks,' Hannah and Killian said in unison.

The besotted man was so intent on his conquest, he didn't notice Hannah and Killian as they ducked behind the desk. The man swept the woman into his embrace, and they landed in a tangled heap on an unsuspecting chaise. Hannah couldn't help but note the library was equipped with incredibly accommodating furniture.

Killian and Hannah crawled along the shadowed wall to a door on the far side of the room. Killian reached up and slowly pulled down the handle. The door creaked open wide enough for Hannah to slip through. In a trice, he was standing next to her farther down the same corridor where they entered the library.

Alfred Cavendale alighted the top stair at the end of the hall.

‘Bloody hell.' Hannah hissed.

Killian followed her gaze. ‘Bloody hell is right.'

Hannah's hair was a mess, and her dress was dishevelled. Killian's own clothes were in a hasty state of disarray. She couldn't exactly confront a potential murderer looking like a common strumpet. If Alfred Cavendale caught them together like this, whether or not he was guilty of any crimes, it would be Hannah whose freedom would be lost. She wouldn't have a choice of marrying Killian or not. It would be decided for her by the gossips of the beau monde. Even worse, it meant Killian would be able to interrogate Alfred first. He would beat her to a confession. Which concerned her less than his safety.

There was no denying it. She loved the idiot.

‘I must go. We will talk later. Please don't confront Alfred alone. If he is the killer, I don't want anything to happen to you.' Hannah wanted to say more. She wanted to tell him that she loved him. That she was terrified of trusting him, but even more terrified of losing him. That she couldn't imagine a future without him, but neither could she devise one where they might live together in harmony. There was no time. She needed to make a hasty exit before Alfred saw them together.

The ladies' retiring room was her best chance of escape. Hannah nodded to Killian and stepped away as he quickly buttoned his shirt and retied his cravat. She glanced back at Killian and then walked into the lily-scented room. If only she could read the expression in his eyes as easily as she deciphered the desire in his body.

Ivy and Millie rushed up to her in a flurry of silk and lace.

Ivy's hand fluttered around Hannah's falling curls. ‘Oh, dear. I knew that dastardly duke was up to no good. How dare he take advantage of an innocent girl?'

Hannah pressed her lips together to stop the laughter. She was about as innocent as the Devil in a dance hall.

Ivy's hand curled into a fist, her pale skin almost translucent in the bright light from the blazing lamps. Her slight frame shook with rage. ‘I'll kill him. Well, I won't, obviously. But I'll have Alfred challenge him to a duel.' Ivy chewed on her nail as her brow drew down in worry. ‘No, then he'd just kill Alfred. Father would be a better choice.' She looked back at Hannah, her pale-blue eyes alight with the indignant fire. ‘I'll have father challenge him to a duel.'

Dear God. If Alfred is the killer, what does that mean for my friendship with Ivy? How could she possibly forgive me for what I must do?

For a moment, Hannah wished Killian would confront Alfred. That he would bear the burden of justice and save her the cost of what would undoubtedly be her budding friendship with Ivy. But that was cowardly. And Hannah was no coward.

‘Calm yourself, Ivy. Hannah hardly looks distraught. If anything, dear, you look like my cat after she's lapped up a bowl of cream.' Millie winked at Hannah. ‘Let's just be glad no one else is here to see you. Never fear, we'll set you to rights, and then you can tell us exactly what happened.' She led Hannah to a vanity and pushed her into an overstuffed chair.

The women called over several maids who attacked Hannah's hair with the skill and precision of a military brigade. In moments, no one would guess Hannah had been madly kissing the Duke of Covington, in the library, with her dagger sheathed.