Chapter 2

Hannah wiped a bead of sweat trickling from her temple to her cheek. Lady Philippa combed through her dishevelled hair. They had just completed a rousing training session with rapiers, cudgels, daggers and throwing knives, leaving both women winded.

‘Tea?' Philippa asked.

‘That would be lovely,' Hannah replied.

The duchess walked serenely to a bell pull and tugged.

Mr Stokes appeared. His upper lip curled in a dismal expression of distaste as he somehow straightened his already military posture. In the ten years since Hannah's arrival, he had not warmed to her, but she was in good company.

‘Yes, Your Grace?' His sonorous voice rumbled in the cavernous ballroom they converted into their training arena.

Lady Philippa once explained to Hannah that Mr Stokes never recovered from losing Lord Winterbourne. He struggled with a woman being the master of the house. Apparently, Stokes had mentioned this to Philippa. Repeatedly.

And so, the battle of wills between the butler and the duchess commenced.

‘Oh, there you are, Stokes. I thought you must be napping. Old age can be such a heavy burden to bear. Miss Simmons and I would like tea, please. You know how we prefer it.'

Stokes exhaled through his prodigious nose.

‘Sometime today, if your poor old bones can manage it.'

‘It would be my pleasure, Your Grace.' His tone could have frozen the Thames.

‘We shall be in my private sitting room.'

‘Of course. Shall I have Cook include refreshments? Perhaps some stewed prunes to assist with your digestive troubles?'

Philippa's mouth hardened into a tight smile. ‘Just the tea, Stokes.'

‘Certainly, Your Grace.' Stokes spun and walked away.

‘Horrid man. One day, I shall use him as target practice.'

Hannah tried to hide her smile. ‘I doubt he would move fast enough to make the effort worthwhile.'

‘Hmmm. But it would still be fun. Shall we?' Philippa led them out of the ballroom, up the stairs to the family wing, and into her private suite of rooms.

Both ladies settled themselves in the cosy sitting room. Large windows let in the late-afternoon sun and a fragrant breeze played with the sheer curtains.

A maid entered with a tea tray setting it down and curtseying before closing the door softly behind her. The staff knew Philippa preferred to pour her own tea. It allowed the duchess privacy.

‘Shall we discuss your unfortunate encounter with Lieutenant General Killian?' Philippa leaned forward, filling two delicate porcelain cups painted with sprays of bright purple violets. She handed one cup and saucer to Hannah before claiming her own.

Hannah knew the teapot was full of more whiskey than tea. She took a bracing sip and let the spirits burn down her throat. ‘I suppose we must.'

‘I specifically recall telling you to avoid him at all costs.'

Hannah carefully placed her teacup on its saucer. She soaked in the soothing shades of cream and sage decorating the sitting room before responding. ‘Yes, Your Grace. You did.'

‘Don't "Your Grace" me, Hannah. We don't stand on pretence.'

‘Sorry, Philippa. And I'm sorry about last night.' Hannah shook her head. There was no excuse for her behaviour in the study. She should never have let the man provoke her. She couldn't understand why she behaved so impulsively.

Philippa raised a jet-black eyebrow. Her keen gaze lingered on Hannah.

It was disconcerting. Philippa saw altogether too much.

‘You've grown accustomed to the shadows, Hannah. But even creatures of the dark long for sunlight's warmth. Perhaps this is why you allowed him to see you.' There was a small rip in the seam of Philippa's shoulder where Hannah's blunted rapier had caught in the fabric. Her maid would not be pleased. ‘We can use this to our advantage. Keep his focus on you and away from his own investigations.' Philippa tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the armrest.

Alarm bells rang in Hannah's head. ‘Keep his focus on me? Isn't the whole point for me to move amongst the beau monde unnoticed?' It was imperative Hannah remain a ghost hiding among shadows. Ghosts didn't experience the thrill of joy or the pain of grief. They could thwart evil without fear of consequences. Because ghosts were already damned.

Philippa pursed her red lips. ‘Lieutenant General Killian is one of the prime minister's private detectives. The Queen indicated both he and Major General Drake attended Bradford's dreadful dinner party last night for a singular purpose. They were on a mission for Prime Minister Russell. Chances are, they're focused on the same man we seek.'

Hannah sat forward. ‘Why would the Queen have us looking for a killer if the prime minister already assigned this case to Lord Killian and Lord Drake?'

Philippa erupted into laughter. ‘Prime Minister Russell trusts in the House of Lords to hold this gentleman accountable for his crimes. The Queen does not share his confidence.'

‘Does Prime Minister Russell know Queen Victoria has dispatched her own investigators?'

Queen Victoria had no qualms establishing her own agenda. But to actively work against the prime minister seemed rather bold, even for the rebellious Queen.

‘There are many things happily ignored by men like Prime Minister Russell if it doesn't suit their purpose. The corruption in his government, for instance. Do you know how many peers have been tried in the House of Lords since this new century began?'

Hannah knew, but she kept quiet. Her patroness was not looking for an answer but rather a platform from which to preach.

Philippa's dark eyes flashed with passion. ‘One. One man. The sodding Earl of Cardigan. And do you know what happened to that man?'

Again, Hannah remained mute.

‘He was acquitted. Do you know why he was acquitted?'

Hannah pressed her lips together and waited.

‘A technicality. Some stupid discrepancy in the terms of the charge. Do you really think we can gather enough evidence to convince all the bloody peers in the whole sodding House of Lords to convict one of their own?'

Hannah opened her mouth, then paused.

‘Speak your piece, Hannah. You know I hate it when you stay silent.'

‘I don't think they would convict one of their own. And I was only staying silent because you wanted to vent your spleen.'

Philippa blinked slowly. ‘A duchess does not vent her spleen, Hannah. She expresses her opinions with eloquence and vigour.' She poured herself more tea before continuing. ‘But you are correct. They shan't convict one of their brethren even if his guilt is proven. Queen Victoria is well aware of this, which is why she has assigned us to the task. We must find the blackguard and hold him accountable for his crimes before those bloody men get involved and ruin everything.'

‘Exactly. Which is an excellent reason to keep Lieutenant General Killian as far away from us as possible. Drawing his focus to me will not benefit our cause.' The idea of capturing Lord Killian's attention inspired an unfamiliar need for Hannah to retreat rather than attack.

Philippa's full mouth curved into a wicked smile. ‘Hannah, you forget. Men become incredibly stupid when their tackle gets involved. If he's busy chasing you, he won't have time to pursue this killer.'

Imagining Lieutenant General Killian's tackle had Hannah sipping too deeply from her tea. She spluttered, covering her mouth with her hand.

‘Are you quite alright?' Philippa placed her cup and saucer on the table. She joined Hannah on the couch, patting her roughly on the back.

Hannah nodded her head but couldn't speak around the burn in her throat.

‘You aren't worried, are you? About Lord Killian?' Philippa asked.

‘Of course not.' Alcohol roughened Hannah's voice.

‘You've fought men as big and skilled as Lieutenant General Killian. Don't be intimidated by his military credentials. I know how capable you are. I dare say you are even more deadly than me. You must develop more confidence in yourself.'

‘I'm confident in fighting him, but that's my point.'

Philippa's brows drew down, and she cocked her head. ‘I don't understand.'

‘You aren't asking me to fight him.' Hannah wished the room wasn't so warm. She must still be heated from their sparring, or perhaps it was the whiskey. ‘You're asking me to entice him. To flirt with him. I…' The words died on Hannah's tongue.

In a rare gesture of comfort, Philippa reached out and took Hannah's hand in her own. ‘Ah. I see. You don't think you know how. Or are you frightened?'

Hannah hated admitting any weakness, but she couldn't lie to Philippa. ‘Yes. To both.' Hannah bit her lip. Worse than the fear was the burgeoning desire. To draw his interest. To capture his undivided attention. It was madness.

Philippa exhaled heavily and squeezed Hannah's hand. Her perfume was a heady blend of jasmine and something darker. ‘I remember the night you came to me ten years ago. The night your mother was murdered. The night you stood up to a monster. The rumours I heard about your mother's lover, Lord Smythe, were not pleasant. I've never asked, but often wondered if he didn't hurt you in… other ways.'

Hannah's shoulders tightened. ‘No. This has nothing to do with that night.' She refused to revisit what happened with Lord Raymond Smythe, the Baron Ragnor. Just hearing his name filled her with rage and revulsion so bitter, it burned like bubbling tar on her skin.

This was not an issue they ever discussed.

‘I know your mother chose men who were not… kind. Including my husband.' It was another topic best left buried in the past. Hannah's father was Philippa's husband. It was the reason Hannah now lived with Philippa. While many women would feel jealousy and anger toward their husband's by-blow, Philippa had felt responsible to care for Hannah. To provide a home and vocation for her. It defied logic unless you understood Philippa.

Hannah's memories of her father were opaque from age, but she remembered some things. The smell of cloves. Rich laughter. The way her mother would glow when he came for his bi-weekly visits. But during her time with Philippa, Hannah learned the gentle man she remembered from early childhood had another face not so benevolent.

Philippa straightened her shoulders. ‘Not all men are like the ones your mother chose. I'm sure some are quite nice. While no man has ever appealed to me, it's highly possible one might appeal to you.'

Hannah had wondered about Philippa's inclinations. It was another topic best left hidden. But on the streets of London, where Hannah did most of her work, she had seen many things in the shadowed corners of White Chapel, Wapping, and St Giles. In the darkest parts of London, damned lovers had a certain freedom not found in society's bright lights. But even there, it was dangerous for two men or two women to be caught in a moment of passion.

If joy and pleasure could be found between consenting adults, Hannah didn't understand the fuss about whether those adults shared the same anatomy. But she worried about Philippa's safety if her suspicions were true. Thankfully, her patroness seemed to prefer a solitary existence, so Hannah kept her nose out of it.

Apparently, Philippa felt no such qualms about delving into Hannah's intimate life.

‘Are your jitters an indicator of… curiosity for the dashing Lieutenant General?' Philippa narrowed her gaze.

Hannah toyed with a loose button on her dress. Her heart thundered. ‘Don't be ridiculous.'

The night she failed to save her mother from being murdered by Lord Smythe, the night she struck out into the cold, damp, London fog with a letter clasped to her chest, blood soaking her dress, and a single destination in mind, she put to rest any dreams of a normal life. She hadn't been strong enough to save Cynthia, but with Philippa's help and years of training, Hannah had honed herself into a powerful weapon capable of protecting other innocents.

But weapons were built for destruction, not desire.

Hannah had no interest in the distractingly attractive, potentially dangerous, devilishly wicked duke. None whatsoever. ‘Lieutenant General Killian is not dashing. He tackled me, Philippa. I have a bruise on my hip because of him!' Hannah's voice pitched perilously high.

‘Mm. Yes. Not many get one over on you. Isn't that interesting.'

Hannah scoffed. ‘Well, it won't happen again.' Because she would squelch this ridiculous need to be noticed by a man who infuriated her. It was stupid to imagine any kind of attraction between herself and a duke. Preposterous.

‘Are you sure there aren't parts of him that interest you?' Philippa raised both eyebrows, her lips tilting in the hint of a smile.

‘Parts of him?' Hannah's eyes widened. This entire conversation was madness. ‘Exactly what parts are you talking about? He's not a pistol I can break into pieces, clean, and then put back together.'

Philippa scrunched her nose. ‘I'm making a hash of this. I'm just saying, you are four and twenty. Given your mother's situation, I'm sure you are aware of the particulars between a man and a woman.' Hannah's mother had been a professional mistress. Hannah had seen far more than any child should, though her mother had always protected her. Indeed, Cynthia died fighting for Hannah's safety.

‘I'm not some ignorant fool.'

‘Yes, but we've never discussed the tenderness one might feel towards, er, another.'

‘Did you ever feel tenderness for Lord Winterbourne?' Distracting Philippa from her line of interrogation was becoming desperately imperative. Hannah was willing to latch onto any topic. Even the forbidden ones.

Philippa's mouth hardened. ‘Decidedly not. He quickly realised any inclination of affection he had toward me was best abandoned. In truth, I encouraged his unfaithfulness. We were happiest when apart, so we strove to maintain distance.'

‘Was he so terrible?' He used to always bring Hannah lemon drops when he came to visit because he knew they were her favourite. But one couldn't always trust kindness.

‘The man I knew was very different from the one who visited you and your mother.' Philippa rubbed her finger against her thumb rhythmically. A clear sign she was upset.

Hannah's stomach churned. She hated the stain of her birth. A bastard child. Knowing her father was Philippa's husband added another sticky layer of guilt to the weight Hannah carried.

Philippa shook her head. ‘That was badly done of me, Hannah. I didn't mean to speak ill of your father.'

‘Please. You have done nothing badly. I am more grateful to you than I could ever express.' Disgrace tasted like ash in Hannah's mouth. She did not deserve the lavish life Philippa provided, so she must never stop striving to earn her second chance.

Philippa brushed the whole awkward conversation away like a pesky gnat. ‘Let's get back to the point. Namely, your interest in Lieutenant General Killian.'

The woman was impossible!

‘I am not interested in him.' Hannah's voice rose with exasperation. ‘Besides, what could I do even if I were interested? Flirtation ruins reputations.' She shook her head, resolute. ‘I wouldn't dare bring such shame on you. Not after everything you've done for me. I am not a creature built for love.'

Whiskey-laced tea steamed in Philippa's cup as she brought it slowly to her lips and sipped again. She held Hannah's gaze. ‘All creatures deserve love, Hannah. And no woman should feel shame for her desires. Men certainly don't. If you wish to explore physical intimacy with a worthy partner, I'd never think less of you. Besides, I'm too wealthy and too well connected to care much about the opinions of others. Most people are dolts. Their judgements are irrelevant.'

Hannah exhaled. While she knew Philippa was wrong about all creatures deserving love, her words were an unexpected boon. Love was out of the question, but desire? Perhaps one day, she might be tempted to indulge her curiosity and see what all the fuss was about. Especially knowing she could pursue a dalliance without risking her place in Philippa's house or her patroness' esteem.

‘Thank you. As marriage is not my goal, I always assumed my options were considerably limited in that arena. Perhaps with the right man, I might want to… well, anyway. It doesn't matter because Lieutenant General Killian is not the right man. He's far too…'

‘Potent?' Philippa's eyes sparkled with mischief.

‘Inappropriate. He's a duke and I'm… well, me. I wouldn't have the first idea how to flirt with him.'

‘I'm going to tell you a secret about men. Prepare yourself as it will shock you.'

Hannah straightened her shoulders and nodded, ready for any helpful advice.

‘All men are fascinated… with themselves. Just keep the conversation focused on him.'

‘That is a revelation.' Hannah rolled her eyes, leaning back into the soft cushions of the love seat. ‘I thought you were going to be helpful.'

Philippa patted Hannah's hand. ‘Don't fret. You'll be fine. I have complete faith in you.'

Hannah sighed. ‘I appreciate your vote of confidence, but I still don't think it's wise to draw Lord Killian's notice.' Nor did she trust herself to remain invisible in his presence. ‘Let's stick to our original plan. After my discovery last night, I can prove Sarah Bright was a servant of Lord Bradford's until two weeks before her body was found. The ledger shows her last wages were paid on that date. It clearly links her to him. Or at least to his house. He could easily be our killer.'

‘Fine. We shall carry on as planned.' Philippa placed her tea back on the saucer and stood. She walked to the bell pull and tugged. ‘He could be our killer, but it's not enough. We must be sure of his guilt before exacting judgment. There is another avenue of inquiry I want you to explore. I received a message from the Queen.'

Hannah nodded for her to continue.

‘Apparently, Sarah Bright's father is a handloom weaver. I want you to have a little chat with Sarah Bright's parents. Perhaps they can shed some light on the last two weeks of her life.'

Hannah stood. ‘Well, if the Queen commands it, I'd better be off.'

‘May I share a piece of advice with you before you go?'

Hannah paused, her hand on the door handle. ‘Of course.'

‘If you aren't going to distract Lieutenant General Killian, then you really must stay out of his way. Prime Minister Russell does not choose his detectives for their stupidity or clumsiness.' Philippa's cobalt eyes held a warning. And concern.

Hannah smiled. ‘Don't worry, Philippa. I'll stay well out of his way. Trust me.'

Lieutenant General Killian's sharp green gaze flashed in her memory, and heat flooded her cheeks. He wasn't for her, but when she remembered the feeling of his weight upon her, his hard hands holding her still, something in her belly clenched and her skin tingled.

She reached up to feather her fingers over her first scar, ten years healed. Hannah's soul was steeped in damnation for failing to protect her mother. But at least there would be justice for girls like Sarah Bright. Sacrificing the fantasy of love was a trade-off she could accept.