Rockberry finally cleared his throat. “Miss Elisabeth Watkins met with an untimely end. It’s quite possible her sister holds me responsible, which is ludicrous, as I was nowhere near the silly chit when she encountered her demise. Miss Eleanor Watkins has never confronted me. She doesn’t speak to me. She merely watches. Near a lamppost or from beside a tree in the park. I’ll be taking a stroll and I’ll have a sense of being spied upon. I glance back and there she is, watching…always watching. When I try to approach her to determine her purpose, she walks away, disappears in the crowd, and I’m left to wonder if I truly saw her at all. Because of her uncanny resemblance to Elisabeth, I was beginning to think Elisabeth had returned to haunt me. But as I said, we only danced, so I can determine no reason for this annoying game.”

With his repeated “we only danced,” Swindler wondered who his lordship was seeking to convince: Swindler or himself.

“So you’ll continue to follow her, Swindler, see what she’s about,” Sir David said sharply in a tone that meant he’d brook no further arguments on this matter.

Swindler gave his attention back to his superior. He liked Sir David, admired him, but this matter was beyond the pale. “As I was forced to approach her, I assume you have no objection to my approaching her again.”

“Handle this matter however you deem best.”

Swindler heard the frustration and annoyance in Sir David’s voice. Sir David was no happier about this situation than he was. If Swindler had his way, he’d make the matter go away on the morrow.

Chapter 2

The following afternoon Swindler discreetly followed Miss Watkins from her lodgings to Hyde Park. Holding a pink parasol over her left shoulder, she wore a dress of pale pink and a bonnet with matching ribbons. Her attire possessed a touch of innocence. He couldn’t fathom that she had it in for Lord Rockberry-regardless of how annoying he found the man. If the young lady was aware of Swindler’s presence, she gave no indication.

As usual, the park was teeming with ladies and gentlemen parading their wares-their fine clothing, their haughtiness, their steadfast belief that they were better than the common man. Swindler had little tolerance for the upper crust-except when it involved his friends who were moving into the ranks of the nobility with alarming regularity. Several years back they had discovered that from birth Lucian Langdon had been destined to become the Earl of Claybourne. Last year Jack Dodger had taken a widowed duchess as his wife. And Frannie Darling, the only woman Swindler ever truly loved, had recently married the Duke of Greystone. Swindler was sincerely happy for her. He’d always been unselfish in regard to Frannie, but unselfishness came with a steep price. His father had taught him that hard lesson, and Swindler had been paying for it ever since.

While his friends didn’t lord their stations over him, neither did they move around in the same circles any longer. It was the way of things. He didn’t resent their rise from the gutter, but he also recognized that he would always be known as the son of a thief.

He’d loved his father as he’d never since loved any other, save Frannie. Yet his father had left him with an incredible burden to bear. When he was a lad, some nights he’d wept beneath the weight of it. During others the fury had ruled him and he’d destroyed whatever came within his path. He’d lost track of the number of times when Frannie tended his hurts, gently wrapping his bleeding knuckles. His hands constantly ached from the abuse he’d delivered to them. His features had weathered the fights as well, leaving faint scars and a less than perfect profile in their wake. He wasn’t what he’d consider handsome, but he hoped there was at least strength in his countenance.

Not that he ever expected to attract a lady with it. Frannie was the only one he’d ever truly wanted. While she’d recently married, it had been a little over a year since she gave her heart to Greystone. Swindler wasn’t of a mind to seek another lady. He’d given Frannie his heart, and with her, it would remain. All he required now was an occasional woman to satisfy his baser needs. As he was known for giving women his undivided attention and serving up pleasure-even to those who’d never before experienced it-he had no trouble finding women wishing to spend an evening in his company. Even those accustomed to taking coins seldom took one of his.

Of late, while he satisfied women, none satisfied him, his actions more mechanical, derived from habit. He was always left with an ache in his chest-no doubt the result of his no longer possessing a heart. Although God help him, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a woman to bed.

Miss Eleanor Watkins saved him from his own deep thoughts, as she went to stand beside a tree that gave her a clear view of Rotten Row, no doubt awaiting the arrival of her quarry on his fine steed. While Swindler was supposed to be focused on the lady, he’d made a few inquiries regarding Rockberry. He now knew as well as she probably did that Lord Rockberry took a jaunt about the park every afternoon at precisely half past five.

No one seemed to pay any heed to her. The other ladies were occupied seeking to garner the men’s attention, and the men were more interested in the ladies who wanted to be seen, rather than the one who didn’t. It was all part of the ritual of shopping for a spouse. Approaching her might put her reputation at risk, but he was anxious to get on with this job.

Swindler began to amble toward Miss Watkins. He’d given considerable thought to how he would approach her. He would take on the role of interested gentleman, earn her trust, and then discern the reasons for her fascination with Rockberry-as well as exactly what she intended where the poppycock lord was concerned.

As he came up behind her, Swindler was hit with the fragrance of roses wafting from her. He didn’t remember the fragrance from last night. Perhaps it was because it was earlier in the day, the rose water only recently applied. It teased his nostrils as the scent of most women didn’t.

“Miss Watkins?”

She spun around. Her eyes-the shade of a cloudless sky-widened and her plump, rosy lips parted slightly. She quickly regained control. “Why, Mr. Swindler, isn’t it? What a surprise. I’d not expected to see you again.”

Whatever words he’d planned to deliver to disarm her jumbled in his mind like rattled dice within a cup. By the light of day she was an entirely different creature. So much had been hidden from him in the shadows of the night. Her skin was remarkably flawless, creamy alabaster with a hint of blush curving over her high cheekbones. Her eyes held innocence, softness he’d not noticed before. Her hair peeking out from beneath her bonnet was a pale moonlight, almost white. He was staring at the same woman he’d confronted last night, yet she was more lovely than he recalled. Something about her in the daylight managed to give him a sharp blow to the chest, making it difficult to draw in a breath-which he desperately wanted to do if for no other reason than to enjoy her scent once more.

She bestowed upon him a whimsical smile. “You’re not following me about, are you?”

He gave a brisk shake of his head and cleared his throat, giving himself time to regain his wits. Women didn’t have this power over him. Ever. Even the most skilled seductress might turn his body to mush, but never his mind.

“No,” he finally responded, hoping to charm her with one of his warmest smiles. As a child he’d collected a host of expressions that could be brought forth to help him acquire whatever he needed. Sad eyes when he was hungry and hoping for a scrap of food from a grocer or a cook at the back door of a residence, tears when he needed to draw a lady nearer in order to pilfer her hidden pockets. Cockiness when it was warranted. Humility when it would best serve to garner the prize. There were times when he’d decided he was a vast wasteland absent of emotions, except for those in his arsenal that he could conjure upon command. “Well, yes, I suppose I am in a way. I found something that I thought you might like to have. I was in the process of taking it to your lodgings when I spotted you walking up the street. I decided to present it personally rather than leave it with your landlady.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he removed a folded map of London and held it out to her. “So you might never again become lost.”

Her face lit with surprise and she laughed, a light airy sound that competed with the birds singing in the trees. As she took the map, her gloved fingers grazed his, and his gut tightened with the thought of her grazing something else entirely. He swallowed hard, striving to regain his bearings. She was only a woman, after all. A mark. And his facade had been carefully built just for her-it didn’t reflect his true self. That, he showed to only a select few.

“How very thoughtful.” Her expression was open when she lifted her gaze to his. How in God’s name did anyone think she’d inflict harm on a fly, much less a man? “You must have gone to a great deal of bother to find it.”

He’d gone to none at all. He’d bought it last year, when mapmakers had flooded the city with maps in anticipation of the many visitors who would come to London in order to view the Great Exhibition. He gave her a daring combination of humility and confidence. “Going to the bother was part of the gift.”

He hated the false words he uttered. It had never bothered him before to fool someone into revealing what he needed revealed. But then he feared he wanted more from her than was practical. He wanted her on his arm. He wanted her rising up on her toes as he lowered his head to meet her lips in a passionate kiss. He wanted her sharing his bed, whispering wicked words in his ear-even as he doubted her vocabulary included the vulgar words about which he was thinking. But he could teach her. He suspected she was a quick study.

But more, he yearned to have her sitting beside him before a fire, listening as he recounted his day, offering words of solace when he bore witness to the brutality and inhumanity of man. It was the last of these that made his desire for her impractical, because the horrors he encountered had no place in her safe world or her innocent mind.

He gave himself a hard mental shake. Whatever was wrong with him to have such fanciful thoughts? It was unlike him to think in such poetic terms. He was a realist. Practical.

“I truly have no idea how I shall ever repay your kindness,” she said.

“Perhaps you’d be so kind as to take a turn about the park with me.”

She glanced quickly around, and he wondered if she was searching for Rockberry or striving to ensure that no one she knew would see her with Swindler. “I don’t suppose it’ll do my reputation any harm. After all, you can’t take advantage here.”

She was innocent. Why ever did she think women required chaperones? A man would always take advantage if the opportunity to do so presented itself. Especially when the lady was as enticing as she was.

He gallantly offered his arm. When her small gloved hand lighted upon it, he felt the touch clear to the souls of his feet. As part of his attempt to gain her trust, he’d dressed the part of a gentleman: gloves, hat, a fine jacket, waistcoat, and cravat. He preferred clothes a bit more plain, but he always dressed better when his mark was a woman. Women seemed to appreciate a man who was well turned out. And he needed every advantage he could muster. Next to her, he felt like a clumsy clod, rather than Scotland Yard’s most brilliant and accomplished detective.

“You seem to have recovered very well from the ordeal you faced last night,” Swindler said, striving to keep his mind on the task at hand rather than his fanciful musings.

“Yes, quite. Thanks entirely to your efforts.”

“No lingering ill effects?”

“No, not even a bruise. It was frightfully silly of me to go out so late. I’m not quite sure what I was thinking. I shall certainly take more care in the future.”

“I’m relieved to hear that. Have you been in London long?” Swindler asked.

“What gives you the impression I didn’t grow up within the city?”

Tilting his head, he gave her a wry smile. “You became lost.”

She blushed, her cheeks turning the most becoming shade of rose. “Oh, yes. Quite. I’ve been in town for only a week.”

“Was there something in particular that brought you to London?”

She shook her head. “I wanted to see it.” She looked up at the sky as though searching for answers. “My sister visited last year. She was quite enamored with the sights. So I thought I’d come this summer.”