She nodded. “Yes—we must if we’re to make those new gowns.” Setting down her cup, she picked up her toast. “In twenty minutes—I have to check with Cook before we go.”

The rest of the day passed in the usual busy fashion; she hadn’t before noticed how little personal time she had, private time alone in which to think. If she and Adriana weren’t out, attending some function or event, then some member of the household would want to speak with her, or her brothers needed supervising, or…

She needed to think—she knew she did, knew she ought to stop and consider, and get her mind in order for when next she met Tony. She’d taken a major step, turned a hugely significant corner—one she definitely shouldn’t have turned, perhaps, but she’d willingly taken that road; it was clearly imperative she stop and take stock.

All that seemed obvious, yet when she finally found herself alone in her room, bathing, then dressing for the evening, she discovered her mind had a will of its own.

When it came to all that had passed in the night, and in the small hours of the morning, while she could recall and relive every moment, every detail, her mind flatly refused to go any further. It was as if some dominant part of her brain had decided those events were in some way sacrosant, that they stood as they were and needed no further examination. No dissection, no analysis, no clarification. They simply were.

It was, indeed, as if she’d stood at a crossroads, and now she’d gone around the corner, she couldn’t see where she’d been. Which left her facing forward along a road she’d never imagined traveling.

Putting the last touches to her coiffure, she paused and studied herself in the mirror. She still looked the same, yet…was it something in her eyes, or maybe in her posture, the way she stood, that assured her, at least, that she was no longer the same woman?

She had changed, and she didn’t regret it. There was little in this world for which she’d trade so much as a minute of the time she’d spent in Tony’s arms.

Indeed, there was no point looking back. She was his mistress now.

And if she didn’t know what that new status would bring, or how to cope, she’d just have to learn.

She looked into her eyes for a moment longer, then let her gaze run down the sleek lines of the deep purple silk gown Adriana had designed and she and Fitchett had created. The heart-shaped neckline showcased her breasts without being obvious; the cut below the high waist made the most of her slim hips and long legs, while the small off-the-shoulder sleeves left the graceful curves of her shoulders quite bare.

Turning, she picked up her shawl and reticule, then headed for the door. Luckily, she learned quickly.

The cacophonous sound of the ton in full flight rose to greet Tony as he paused at the top of the steps leading down into Lady Hamilton’s ballroom. Her ladyship’s rout was one of the events traditionally held in the week before the Season began; society’s elite were almost to a man foregathered in town—everyone who was anyone would be present.

Looking down on the sea of bright gowns, of sheening curls, of jewels winking in the light thrown by the chandeliers, he scanned the throng, relieved when he located Alicia standing by the side of the room, Adriana’s court, some steps in front of her, partially screening her. Relief died, however, when closer inspection revealed that three of the gentlemen between Alicia and Adriana were not conversing with Adriana.

Jaw setting, he strolled with feigned nonchalance down the steps; cutting through the crowd, he made his way directly to Alicia’s side.

She welcomed him with a smile that went some way toward easing his temper. “Good evening, my lord.”

He took the hand she offered, raised it brazenly to his lips, simultaneously stepping close. “Good evening, my dear.”

Her green-gold eyes widened a fraction. His easy, languid smile took on an edge as, setting her hand in the crook of his arm, he took up a stance—a clearly possessive stance—by her side.

With every evidence of well-bred boredom, he glanced at the gentlemen who had been speaking with her. “Morecombe. Everton.” He exchanged the usual nods. The last man he didn’t know.

“Allow me to present Lord Charteris.”

The tall, fair-haired dandy bowed. “Torrington.”

Tony returned the bow with an elegant nod.

Straightening, Charteris puffed out his narrow chest. “I was just describing to Mrs. Carrington the latest offering at the Theatre Royal.”

Tony allowed Charteris, who appeared to fancy himself a peacock of sorts, to entertain them with his anecdote; he judged the man safe enough. Morecombe was another matter; although married, he was a gazetted womanizer, a rake and profligate gambler. As for Everton, he was the sort no gentleman would trust with his sister. Not even with his maiden aunt.

Both clearly had their eyes on Alicia.

Behind his polite mask, he took note of the undercurrents in the small group; focused on the men, it was some minutes before he noticed the swift glances Alicia surreptitiously cast him. Only then realized she was, if not precisely skittish, then at least uncertain.

It took a minute more before he realized her uncertainty was occasioned not by any of the three gentlemen before her, but by him.

He waited only until the notes of a waltz filled the room. Glancing at her, he covered her hand on his sleeve. “My dance, I believe?”

His tone made it clear there was no doubt about the fact; as he hadn’t previously spoken, it should be patently clear that her hand being his to claim was an arrangement of some standing.

Fleetingly meeting his eyes, she acquiesced with a gracious inclination of her head.

The glances he noticed Morecombe and Everton exchange as, with a polite nod, he led her away gave him some satisfaction. With any luck, they would move on to likelier prey before the waltz ended.

Reaching the dance floor, he drew Alicia into his arms, started them revolving, then turned his full attention on her. He studied her eyes, then raised a brow. “What is it?”

Alicia looked into his eyes; she felt her lips firm, but managed not to glare. I haven’t been a nobleman’s mistress before hardly seemed worth stating. And now she was in his arms, sensing again the familiar reactions—the physical leap of her senses soothed by the feeling of comfort and safety—her earlier worries over how she should react—how he would behave and how he would expect her to respond to him—no longer seemed relevant. “Have you made any progress with your investigations?”

That, at least, was something she could ask.

“Yes.” For a moment, he looked down at her as if waiting for her to say something else, then he looked up for the turn, and went on, “I heard from Jack Hendon this morning—he’s confirmed all that your brothers learned.” Glancing down, he met her gaze. “Incidentally, he was impressed—you might tell them.”

“They don’t need any encouragement.”

His lips twitched. “Perhaps not.” He looked up again, drawing her fractionally closer as they came out of the turn and headed up the long room. “Jack’s pursuing the matter, trying to find a pattern to the ships that were taken versus those that were not. With luck, that might shine some light on who benefited from the losses.”

He met her gaze. “I haven’t yet heard back from the friend scouting down in Devon—he has contacts with smugglers and wreckers along that coast. As for myself, now I’ve got something specific to ask, I’ll start putting out feelers among my own contacts.”

He’d kept his voice low; she did the same. “Does that mean you’ll be leaving London?”

The prospect filled her with a curious disquiet. An odd, novel, uncomfortable feeling; she’d never relied on others before—she’d always been self-sufficient. Yet the thought of coping with the unfolding events stemming from Ruskin’s death by herself…

His arm around her tightened, drawing her attention and her gaze back to him.

“No—my contacts are primarily along the southeastern coast, from Southampton to Ramsgate, all within half a day from town. I can cover them in single-day journeys. Aside from all else, I need to be here to assess what the others discover, Jack Hendon from Lloyd’s and the shipping lines, and Gervase Tregarth in Devon.”

She nodded, aware of relief, but they were now too close, her bodice brushing his coat, her silk-sheathed thighs shushing against his…yet with the press of other couples about them, it was unlikely any would notice. And to the ton, she was still a widow after all.

Tony hesitated, debating, then murmured, “Incidentally, I’ve arranged for some men to keep a watch on your house. They’ll be in the street—you won’t know they’re there, but… just in case you have need, there’ll always be someone watching your front door.”

She stared up at him; he could see her thoughts whirling behind the green-gold of her eyes. First Maggs, now…“Why?”

He had his argument ready. “First the rumor, then the Watch. I want to make sure whoever A. C. is, he gets no chance to do anything more to implicate you. Or your family.”

He felt confident those last words would see her accept his arrangements without further question.

She frowned at him, but proved him right. “If you really think there’s a need…”

Whether there was or not, he would feel much happier knowing that when he journeyed out of the capital, more of his trusted minions had her and her brood under their eye. The three men he’d set to keep a constant watch on the Waverton Street house were one hundred percent reliable; nothing suspicious would escape them.

The music slowed, then ended; they whirled to a halt. Reluctantly releasing her, he tucked her hand in his arm and turned her away from Adriana’s court. “I’ll go down to Southampton tomorrow.”

Looking at him, she nodded, then cast a glance back up the room. “We should—”

“Behave as if we’re lovers.”

Her gaze snapped back to his face. “What?”

He resisted the urge to narrow his eyes at her; he opened them wide instead. “No one will find anything odd in that—it’s what they’re expecting.” Given he’d laid the appropriate groundwork over the past several weeks.

She frowned. “Yes, but—” Again she glanced back toward Adriana.

“Stop worrying about Adriana. Geoffrey’s beside her, and even if he’s distracted, there’s always Sir Freddie.” He paused. “Has he made an offer yet?”

“Sir Freddie? No, thank heavens.” She turned and settled to stroll by his side.

“Why so relieved? I thought you wanted Adriana to be able to choose among many?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I did. But as you very well know, she’s already made her choice, so Sir Freddie making an offer will simply be an unnecessary complication.”

He grinned, making a mental note to prod Geoffrey when next he had a chance. “Actually, I’m surprised you haven’t been inundated with offers.”

“I daresay I would have been if Adriana hadn’t hinted many of them away.” She shot him a severe glance.

“Strange to tell, she seems to feel that avoiding trying Geoffrey’s temper unnecessarily is a sound idea.”

He looked down at her—and hoped she read the message in his eyes; he concurred with her sister’s judgment and sincerely hoped she herself would exercise similar restraint.

The way she looked away, the hoity angle to which she elevated her nose, suggested she understood him well enough. Hiding an inward grimace at his own susceptibility, he steered her to where his godmother waited, surrounded by a number of her extremely interested friends.

Despite their interest and that shown by any number of the ton’s matrons in the relationship between them, the rest of the evening passed well enough. Through a combination of exemplary scouting and good management, he kept Alicia to himself throughout, avoiding the other gentlemen who, prowling through the crowd and attracted by the faintly exotic, definitely sensual picture she presented in her deep purple gown—something he fully intended to enjoy removing later—continually hove on her horizon.

They indulged in another waltz, after which she insisted on returning to check on Adriana and her court. Instead of permitting her to hang back as she usually did, he led her to join the circle of gentlemen and two other enterprising young ladies gathered about Adriana.

Alicia shot him a suspicious glance, which he met with a bland, wholly deceptive smile, but she consented to do as he wished. Thus protected from further incursions— the gentlemen who looked her way were not the sort to dance attendance among the younger crew—they saw out the end of the evening.