Chapter 7

Hannah had ripped a petticoat. It dragged behind her as Miss Whittenburg led them to the ladies' retiring room.

Bloody blazes! No one needs this many layers.

‘Don't worry, Miss Simmons. We'll have you fixed in a trice. I don't know why we must wear a thousand petticoats, do you?' Miss Whittenburg's voice was pleasantly low.

Hannah laughed, her face reddening. ‘I'm not usually so clumsy. If you hadn't been there to steady me, I'm sure I would have landed in a heap.'

‘Well, we wallflowers need to stick together.' Miss Whittenburg pushed open a massive door and Hannah followed her through the room. Panels of soft pink and seafoam green silk draped the walls. Several dressing tables with attached mirrors were scattered about for women to use as needed. Miss Whittenburg helped Hannah gather her skirts to sit on the ornately gilded chair. Several maids rushed over to assist.

‘I'm sorry to be such a bother.' Hannah flinched when the maids flipped up her skirts to find the torn layer. What if they discovered the dagger tied to her thigh? Or the pistol tucked in her pocket? Or the throwing knives hidden in the cleverly designed pleats of her sleeves? Or the extra dagger stuffed in her unfashionable boots?

Miss Whittenburg leaned down, peering into the mirror behind Hannah. Her ample bosom almost spilled out of her dress. ‘Dear Lord. My hair is a mess.' She reached up to tuck a fiery red curl back into her elegant twist.

Another lady entered the room wearing an ice-blue dress, emphasising her pale skin and crystal eyes. Freckles covered the bridge of her nose. Hannah couldn't help but note how slight she was. Even with her corset, her shape was almost that of a boy's. She walked towards them with her hands extended to Miss Whittenburg.

‘Millie! I saw you making a quick exit from the ballroom and thought I would join you.' She clasped Miss Whittenburg's hands and pulled her close for a brief hug.

‘You look beautiful, Ivy.'

The delicate woman snorted. ‘I look like a plank of wood in silk and lace.'

Miss Whittenburg stepped back. ‘Balderdash!'

Hannah tried to hide her surprise. How refreshing to be around women who spoke so plainly.

Ivy turned and faced Hannah. ‘Miss Simmons, isn't it? We met briefly at Lord Bradford's dinner party.'

Hannah cleared her throat. ‘Yes, Miss Cavendale. I remember.'

Miss Cavendale smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Ladies of the peerage rarely noticed Hannah, but Ivy's keen gaze assessed Hannah astutely.

‘Petticoats and heeled slippers never play well together. Oh, but you aren't wearing slippers. What… comfortable-looking boots.' Ivy's brilliant smile almost covered her surprise at Hannah's unconventional footwear peeking beneath horsehair and cotton. She might have succumbed to a fancy dress, but Hannah would never suffer to wear the torture devices most women called dancing slippers. Certainly not for Lieutenant General Killian.

Miss Whittenburg nodded. ‘You are clever, Miss Simmons. Men traipse around in trousers and boots, oh-so-comfortable. Here we are, squeezed into corsets, suffocating in petticoats, expected to glide like swans in slippers that pinch our toes and rub our heels. I admire you.' Miss Whittenburg exposed dimples when she grinned.

It was impossible not to like these women, so Hannah didn't try.

‘Please, you must call us Ivy and Millie. And we shall call you… what shall we call you?' Ivy asked.

‘Hannah.' Heat crept from her chest to her cheeks. Ladies of the peerage never asked for the intimacy of her name. This was so different. Their interest was equal parts flattering and confounding. With so many secrets to keep hidden, friendship was a dangerous endeavour Hannah avoided. But friendship with these women might be worth the risk.

‘After surviving that dreadfully dull evening together at Lord Bradford's, I believe we've earned the right to be friends, don't you?' Millie returned her gaze to the mirror and pinched her plump cheeks until they turned rosy. ‘Of course, when a man spends so much time on the care of his moustache, he has little resources remaining to create an interesting dinner party.'

‘Millie! You are terrible.' Ivy's large eyes widened further. ‘Lord Bradford isn't as bad as all that.'

Millie shrugged before using a pot of beeswax on the table to gloss over her eyelids. ‘Or perhaps I'm just honest. Do you remember that horribly pompous military man… something or other Drake?' She shuddered, then pressed her lips together hard before opening them with a popping sound. ‘With men like that around, I'm grateful to remain a wallflower.' The red curl she had tucked away escaped again, bouncing next to her cheek. ‘Damnation. This hair! It hates me. Or perhaps it is possessed. Can hair be possessed? I must convince Father to let me hire a lady's maid. Your curls are fabulous, Ivy. How is your new girl working out? Didn't you steal her from Lady Bradford? I'm surprised she invited you to her dinner party at all.' Millie winked at Ivy.

Ivy quirked her mouth in a frown. ‘I don't know what you mean. I don't have a new lady's maid.'

‘Truly?' Millie cocked her head. ‘Lady Bradford told me one of her maids was taking a new position in your household. What was her name… Light, White…'

Hannah's heart thundered in her chest. ‘Bright? Sarah Bright?'

Dear God, no.

Could Sarah's new job have been with the Cavendale family?

Damnable luck!

She was just beginning to like Ivy. Must she now treat her as a suspect?

Millie grinned, her chocolate eyes sparkling in the candlelight. ‘Yes! That was it. Bright. Clever of you to know.'

Hannah shrugged and concentrated on keeping her voice calm. ‘A lucky guess. I hope she is working out for you, Miss Ivy.'

Ivy shook her head. ‘But that's just it. I don't have a new maid. I'm not sure why Lady Bradford thinks we stole one from her household. I feel terrible. I should speak with her. There's been a misunderstanding.'

The vice around Hannah's chest eased. Perhaps it was just a mistake, which wasn't good for the investigation but far better for her budding friendship with Ivy and Millie.

‘Maybe your father hired her as a house maid for Everly Manor,' Millie suggested while adjusting a feather in her hair. ‘That is Ivy's country estate. Well, her father's estate,' Millie informed Hannah.

Bollocks!The vice tightened again.

Ivy reached over to help Millie, expertly tucking the feather into her friend's loose twist. ‘I shall inquire with Father.' A shadow flashed across Ivy's delicate features but was quickly gone. She smiled brightly at Millie. ‘Which reminds me, we're returning to Berkshire in a week. You must come and stay with us at Everly.' Ivy turned to Hannah. ‘You are welcome to join, Hannah. Father would consider it quite an accomplishment to host someone as well respected as the Duchess of Dorset.'

‘You mean powerful. I don't know how she convinced her husband to will his money to her, but I want to learn her secrets.' Millie raised a calculating eyebrow at Hannah. ‘Do you think she'd tell us? Fortune and independence all at the cost of a husband. It's enough to make one consider marriage. Briefly.'

Hannah coughed. ‘I think Lord Winterbourne was just very devoted to her.' The words tasted of a lie. He was devoted to her mother, not Philippa. Once that would have filled her with pride, but after ten years of living and working with Philippa, Hannah's feelings about Lord Winterbourne were much murkier. He loved her mother, and he loved her. But at what cost to Philippa?

Millie blinked slowly. ‘Devotion. Yes. I'm sure that's what it was.'

Ivy pinched her friend's shoulder. ‘Really, Millie. You will scare poor Hannah off, then she won't join us. Please do come, Hannah. I'm sure I could convince father to invite Lieutenant General Killian. I know he desires a closer acquaintance with your beau. And I think the Lieutenant General could be a good influence on my eldest brother, Alfred.' Ivy's crystal eyes sparkled in the candlelight with what might have been tears. ‘He never recovered from losing Patrick. Grief is such a terrible thing, don't you think?' She blinked furiously before smiling a trifle too bright. It was the second time in as many minutes she masked her feelings with a smile. ‘Your Lieutenant General would be a welcome distraction for all of us.'

Hannah's cheeks grew warm, and her pulse fluttered. ‘I think you're mistaken. He is not mine.'

‘Tosh! Obviously, the man is smitten with you.' Millie winked at Hannah. ‘It's all the ladies can talk about.'

Hannah wasn't sure her cheeks could grow any redder, but she was about to find out.

‘Millie! Honestly. You are too bold.' Ivy put a delicate hand on Hannah's shoulder and patted her. ‘Please don't take offense, Hannah.'

‘Pardon me for being honest. I saw Lord Killian watching you from across the ballroom when you were battling your skirts. I thought the curtains might catch on fire from all the smoulder in his gaze.' She waggled her eyebrows and shimmied her shoulders, her breasts jiggling with the motion. Millie laughed. ‘I'd better be careful, or these girls will cause a scandal. Almost as big a scandal as you and Lord Killian.'

Hannah felt queasy. This kind of speculation was exactly what she hoped to avoid. ‘I don't think he's smitten. I suspect he is doing this as a favour to Lady Philippa.'

‘Just ignore Millie. She loves to stir the pot.' Ivy arched pale brows at Millie who stuck her tongue out in reply.

Hannah surprised herself with a giggle at Millie's silly expression, then slapped her hand over her mouth. She hadn't giggled since she was a young girl. The bubbling mirth in her belly was most alarming.

Ivy returned her attention back to Hannah. ‘Lieutenant General Killian would never toy with your reputation by courting you without intentions of marriage. And if you must have a husband, you could do far worse than him.'

You shouldn't waste yourself on someone like me. His words haunted her.

Could a man whose blood runs black with sin understand the monster living in my dark centre?

She had neither time nor interest in answering such a question. He might be compelling in a contradictory kind of way. And he might do wicked things to her against a balustrade. He might dance like a dream and kiss like a devil, but that meant nothing. She was not interested in Lord Killian. Not for marriage or anything else.

Although, if she wanted a dalliance with the duke, Philippa had made it clear Hannah could pursue an affair. She would never bring disgrace on Philippa, but with the duchess's assurance of continued support regardless of Hannah's behaviour, her virtue only held what value she placed upon it. And there was no guarantee she would get another chance to answer lingering questions she had about desire.

In this instance, engaging in a physical liaison with her enemy might actually hold merit. She wouldn't have to worry about her heart becoming involved, and the duke was certainly not at risk of emotional entanglement. Their kiss on the balcony proved they shared attraction, even if they lacked trust. But that was also beneficial. She wouldn't have to pretend affection to satisfy her curiosity.

‘Hannah, you look positively flushed. Shall I get you a cup of water? Perhaps some lemonade?' Ivy fluttered around her like a mother hen.

‘No, I'm fine.' Hannah wisely kept her thoughts to herself. It wouldn't do to scare her new friends off with her illicit wonderings.

The maids had mended her petticoats without discovering her weaponry, thank heavens. Hannah resettled her overskirt in place. ‘Thank you so much.' She smiled at them.

The two girls curtsied and bustled off to wait for the next dishevelled lady.

Hannah turned to Millie and Ivy. ‘You are both imagining things between the duke and me. We barely know each other.'

‘Men don't have to know a woman to want her. In fact, knowing a woman generally puts a damper on wanting them.' Millie tugged on the front of her dress, adjusting the fabric to cover as much of her ample décolletage as the silk could manage without splitting at the seams.

‘Don't listen to her. Millie's had a rough go, but that doesn't mean all men are heartless, cold blackguards like Lord Franklin St George. It's such rotten luck he's best friends with my brother. Alfred's always been the victim of poor friendships.'

‘Lord Franklin St George is a blackguard, your brother is far too trusting, and I have no wish to speak further on the subject.' Millie pinched her cheeks a final time, but Hannah didn't miss the quiver in Millie's chin. There was a story there Hannah wanted to discover. But she couldn't lose focus on finding Sarah Bright's killer.

‘I shall send an invitation to the duchess for our house party. Please do come, Hannah.' Ivy looked at Hannah with the same wide-eyed expression a puppy employed to get its way. It was a devastatingly successful trick.

Hannah forced her lips to tip up in a smile. Would Ivy be so welcoming if she knew Hannah's sole purpose in joining the party was to potentially expose Ivy's father as a sadistic murderer? Doubtful.

‘I would love to join, but I shall defer to Lady Winterbourne. My activities are limited to her interests.'

‘Well, I'm sure you can exert some influence over her, Hannah.' Millie squeezed Hannah's hand. ‘Now, mind your skirts, ladies. We're on the move.'

Hannah fell in step behind them. Philippa would most definitely accept the invitation to Ivy's house party. After hearing Millie and Ivy discussing Sarah Bright's possible position in the Cavendale household, turning down an opportunity to have such unfettered access to investigate their home was unthinkable.

A house party would give Hannah limitless opportunities to slip away and poke her nose into countless nooks and crannies where one might hide evidence of a murder. Her traitorous thoughts slipped to other things that might happen in the dark and empty rooms of the Cavendale's country estate. If Lord Killian attended, which he doubtlessly would, she might bump into him on a daily basis. Hannah's stomach fluttered.

An unexpected longing to be a normal woman with normal goals of love and marriage washed through Hannah like a rogue tide. But she pushed those thoughts back into the depths. To allow herself to get caught in a fantasy she neither wanted nor deserved was dangerous to her mission.

Her attendance at the house party was for a singular purpose. She would need to fade back into the shadows where she belonged. It was there the demons hid, and there, she would hunt a killer.

Killian looked for an opportunity to get Miss Simmons alone all evening with damnable success. She was avoiding him. But she couldn't avoid him forever. He breathed a grateful sigh when Philippa nodded to him, signalling her desire to leave. One did not argue with the Duchess of Dorset. Of that, he was certain.

As they trundled home in the carriage, Killian plotted his next move.

‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Lord Killian.' Lady Philippa moved to the carriage door with an agility belying her years. Again, she did not wait for Killian, alighting as soon as the step was set. She swept up the stairs of her stone entrance and into the house before Killian could settle his boots on the pavement. Miss Simmons's patroness seemed determined to introduce a scandal into her household by leaving them alone. Killian would have to find some way of thanking her.

‘Do you think she's trying to give us some privacy?' He enjoyed the feeling of Miss Simmons's hand in his, holding onto her even when she was safely down the carriage steps.

‘Why would she want that?' Miss Simmons was nervous. She wouldn't hold his gaze.

Killian pulled her hand into the crook of his elbow and turned toward the house. ‘Perhaps she means to encourage our little charade.'

‘Philippa is not in the habit of encouraging farce. Unless it serves her purpose. And this does not, I assure you.' Her words were clipped as she tried to pull her hand free. ‘I can walk myself to the steps, Your Grace.'

He put his gloved hand over hers, halting her escape. ‘What kind of gentleman would I be to abandon you on the street?'

‘The same kind who pins a lady to the floor, blackmails her, accuses her of being a lightskirt. Ringing any bells, Your Grace?' Her cheeks were flushed, and she swallowed.

He was ashamed of calling her a lightskirt, but nothing else. Killian remembered the first night they met with startling clarity. The feel of her small, lithe body beneath his. The thrill of confrontation sweetened by the heat of attraction. His body hardened and he cursed his lack of self-control. ‘The last was a terrible breach of etiquette on my part. As for the rest, you can hardly blame me for acting like a duke. And you are no better, madame. The night we met, you were snooping around with a dagger in your pocket.'

‘One I would very much like returned to me.'

Killian widened his eyes in mock innocence. ‘And if I had it, you would see its return immediately. I imagine some lucky footman possesses it now. But allow me to redeem myself by escorting you to the door and showing you what a gentleman I can be.' He pulled her close enough to feel the swish of her skirts as they walked up the path.

Lady Philippa's house was impressive, boasting no less than six Grecian columns on either side of the stairs leading to the entrance. A grand oak door, wide enough for three men to pass through at once, stood open. The butler must have followed Lady Philippa into the house, for the entryway was empty.

Miss Simmons paused on the last step. He was one behind her. When she turned to face him, they stood almost eye-level. ‘Do you recall our agreement? You who never forgets anything.'

The chill evening air embraced him as rain and coal smoke mingled with Miss Simmons's citrus and cream. London's weather was as inconstant as fate. Even in the heart of summer, it could turn frigid in a moment's notice. ‘You refer to limiting our flirtations to the public arena. Yes, I remember.'

‘Perhaps I might amend that arrangement.' She still wouldn't look in his eyes. Her gaze was firmly fixed over his left shoulder.

Killian leaned closer. He let his hand rest on her hip, curling his fingers around the curve of her waist. It was the same place he held her during their dance but standing this close on the front steps of her house, the position felt scandalously intimate.

‘I've always considered myself open-minded to amending agreements when the reasoning is sound. What exactly were you thinking?' He didn't dare move for fear of unravelling the gossamer threads holding this moment together.

Her breath hitched and she bit her lip. Killian's entire body tightened. He hadn't wanted a woman so painfully since, well, maybe ever.

‘I have no illusions of marriage. It is not my goal, nor my desire to be under the rule of a man.'

Killian cupped her cheek with his free hand and turned her head, forcing her gaze to meet his. He had no wish to marry Miss Simmons either, but something in him rejected the idea of a lovely woman being consigned to the lonely life of a spinster. ‘Your view of marriage seems rather dim.'

‘After your description of matrimony, I hazard our views on the topic align. For men like you, marriage is a duty you cannot shirk. For women like me, marriage is a yoke I strive to evade.' She tipped her chin, freeing herself from his grasp.

Killian blinked. He never considered how a woman might feel about marriage. He was rather more concerned with his own opinions on the subject. But now, he was forced to look at the establishment through a different lens. Her lens. For a fiercely independent woman like Miss Simmons, it was easy to see how the bonds of marriage would bring constraint rather than comfort.

Miss Simmons smiled at him. ‘You look truly flummoxed. Have you never considered that a woman might not desire marriage?'

‘I suppose I never gave it much thought. Marriage provides women with security and protection.'

‘I don't need a man's security or protection. I provide that for myself.'

Killian frowned. His gaze caught on her scar, and he resisted the urge to press his lips against her cheek and test the contrast of textures. ‘There are quite a few men who value the independence of being a bachelor. I suppose a woman could feel the same.' After consideration, there were far more reasons for a woman to wish for independence than a man. Very few women were ever granted the kind of freedom he had grown to expect. Lady Winterbourne, and by extension, Miss Simmons, were two of the rare ladies in his acquaintance who need not bow to the whim of a husband or father. It made sense she wouldn't want to give up that autonomy.

‘Yes, it's truly remarkable how a woman can feel things just like a man, think as logically, fight as fiercely. Almost as if we were essentially the same.' Her smile faltered. ‘I believe a woman's desires can also be of equal measure.'

Killian tightened his fingers around her waist. Their conversation had momentarily engaged his mind and distracted his body. But with one word from Miss Simmons, his senses realigned. Desires. Such a simple combination of vowels and consonants with endless possibilities.

‘You have my undivided attention, Miss Simmons.'

‘Perhaps, under the circumstances, you could call me Hannah.'

Something deep within Killian wanted to howl in triumph that she granted him such a familiarity. He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing her cheek as he whispered in her ear. ‘Then, you have my undivided attention, Hannah.' Her name felt soft and sensuous in his mouth.

She pushed him back, and he reluctantly retreated. ‘I would control the pace. And the, er, depths.'

He couldn't stop the rumble of laughter. ‘Depths?'

‘Lengths, then. I don't know. I would control how far we travel down this path.' She was back to looking over his shoulder.

‘So, you suggest we continue our… flirtations, shall we say, in private. But you decide how fast and how far we go?'

She glanced at him and gave a curt nod. ‘Exactly so.'

‘Because while you don't plan on marrying, you do feel… desires.' Even saying the word made his cock harden further.

Enough light spilled out from the open door for him to see her blush. She turned away and stomped her foot in a display of frustration that had him biting his cheek to stop from smiling. ‘Yes. I have desires. And I won't feel shame for that. As I said before, women are not so dissimilar to men, even if the rules placed upon us are vastly different. We have passions that run just as hot, yet we are given no freedom to express these feelings.'

Killian had never engaged in such an illuminating discussion. She was absolutely right. ‘I owe you an apology, Hannah.'

She frowned at him. ‘For what?'

‘Earlier, I implied you were a lightskirt. You are not. Please forgive me.'

He loved surprising her. There was a unique sense of pride in knowing he momentarily derailed her wickedly sharp thoughts.

She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. ‘Fine. You are forgiven.' Squaring her shoulders, Hannah tipped down her chin. ‘I take this to mean you are disinclined to accept my amendment to our agreement. Please forget I broached the subject.' She stepped towards the door.

Killian caught her arm and pulled her back to him. He took her gloved hand and tugged at each finger before slowly dragging the silk over her skin, revealing her one inch at a time. When her hand was completely bare, he brought it to his mouth, turned it palm up, and pressed a kiss to her wrist.

Her pulse beat wildly against his lips. Her scent was stronger here. He inhaled her into his lungs. Pressing a second kiss to her palm, he revelled in her gasp as her fingers curled over his cheek. Killian trapped her hand against his face. ‘I only mean that if we do this, I will not consider you with any less respect than I do now. You have questions that deserve answers. How can I stand in the way of education? I would be honoured to embark on this journey with you.' He brought her wrist to his mouth again, this time scraping his teeth over her delicate skin.

Hannah's sharp intake of air had Killian groaning.

She pulled her hand back. ‘At my pace.' Her voice was rough.

Killian tucked her glove in his pocket. ‘Of course.' He now had her dagger and her glove. It was becoming quite the collection.

‘And only as far as I'm willing to go. You stopped earlier when I asked. I expect you will continue to do so.' Hannah's pink cheeks darkened further to a beguiling rose.

‘I shall endeavour to keep myself on the tightest of leashes.'

She nodded. ‘Excellent. We have an accord. Well. Good night then, Lord Killian.'

‘Just one thing.' He backed up a step.

Hannah lifted a single brow. A goddess deigning to grant him a boon.

‘While marriage isn't either of our desires, if our explorations ever breach your boundary of innocence, I will make you my wife, Hannah. I may be damned, but I have not fallen so far as to become a libertine.' He had no wish to cage someone as wild and magnificent as Miss Simmons within an unwanted marriage, but enough of his father was left in him to recoil from ruining a woman, no matter the cost. ‘I will not take advantage of a lady such as you without ensuring your honour remains intact.'

‘I'm no lady, Your Grace. And my honour is not yours to worry about,' she said so softly, he almost missed it. Turning from him, Miss Simmons walked into the house, shutting the door behind her.

‘Liar.' He spoke into the empty night.

He was in serious trouble.