He glanced up and down the street. It was late. No one was around. His gaze swept the buildings. If anyone else was awake and watching, he couldn’t see them. A good thing, as he suddenly had a savage possessive urge to pound on doors and threaten anyone who so much as glimpsed her.

What the devil was wrong with him? Nothing more than the pest of an idle lord, she would be in and out of Swindler’s life in the blink of an eye.

How was it that she managed to bring forth these barbaric thoughts of doing whatever necessary to protect her? His nature was to stand for the innocent, but his feelings where she was concerned scraped the bottom of his soul, didn’t allow him to retain his aloof demeanor, which allowed him to act without emotion. He needed to keep a cool head about him so nothing tainted his objectivity.

Swindler turned his attention back to her. Having stopped brushing her hair, she was only partially visible now. He was unable to determine where she looked. What was she thinking about? If he called on her now-

He shook his head at the absurd thought. He certainly couldn’t knock on the front door. But ever since he was a lad, he’d developed a skill for climbing. It was quite possible that he could work his way to her window.

And accomplish what?

For God’s sake, did he think she was going to pull open the window and allow him entry? Did he think she was going to grant him leave to take the brush from her and glide it through her hair a hundred times?

Reaching up, she pulled the draperies closed. It should have been less torturous with her no longer visible. Instead he imagined her crawling beneath the sheets and settling in to sleep, imagined himself gliding in beside her and folding himself around her.

The light in the window disappeared, and the air seemed to rush out of him. Did she sleep on her stomach, her back, curled in a ball on her side? If he were in the bed with her, would she snuggle against him? Strange to suddenly realize that he’d never slept with a woman in his arms. When business was done-

Business? Was that all it had ever been for him? Had he fooled himself into believing that because he’d taken care with the ladies, it was something more than a bit of fun, a way to while away a few hours on a lonely night?

Christ, where were these thoughts coming from? He’d wanted some evidence that she wasn’t out prowling the streets. He had it. She was lost in slumber. It was past time for him to retire as well. But devil take it, he knew it was going to be long hours before his tense body relaxed enough for sleep to claim him.


Seduce him.

The words were an endless litany whispering through her mind with the constancy of the sea always rushing onto the shore, only to retreat and return again.

Seduce him.

Lying in the bed, she stared at the shadows dancing across the ceiling.

Seduce him.

What did she know of seduction? She’d acknowledged the young gentlemen of the village, but never encouraged their suit because she’d always hoped to come to London, to have a Season, to find a suitable husband. She’d always planned to watch the other ladies in the ballroom and mimic them. She’d always thought that when the time came, her womanly instincts would rise to the fore and she would know exactly what to do to capture a man’s attentions.

She’d been restless all evening. She’d read for a while, but couldn’t concentrate on the words. She’d spent time on her needlework but hadn’t been pleased with the stitches. Finally she’d unfolded the map that Mr. Swindler had given her and spent an hour tracing her finger over all the various streets. It was a souvenir map. It showed where the Crystal Palace had been built in Hyde Park to display the Great Exhibition. She wondered if he’d walked through it and seen all the marvels. She wondered what he was doing tonight. Was he with friends or alone? Was he in the company of a lady?

She didn’t like the unease that stirred within her at the thought of him with another woman. It was silly of her to be so possessive of a man she’d only just met.

Eventually she’d prepared herself for bed and decided to brush her hair by the window in an attempt to relax. At home, she often sat by the window in her bedchamber, brushing her hair and listening as the roaring sea dashed against the cliffs. But tonight she hadn’t heard crashing surf. All she’d heard was the echo of Mr. Swindler’s promise to meet her tomorrow.

If not for her desire for revenge, she wondered if something more could develop between them. He was handsome in a rough sort of way. Gentle, yet strong. At times she’d thought he was keeping himself tethered, that he wanted to touch her in improper ways. She needed to exploit whatever passions she might stir within him. The thought excited and terrified her.

She wondered if Elisabeth had felt that way about Rockberry. Elisabeth had written about how he’d stirred her passions, and then he’d used those very passions to betray her in the worst way imaginable.

She rolled over in the bed, brought her knees up and slipped her hand beneath her cheek. While brushing her hair, she’d had the sense that she was being watched, and she imagined it was James Swindler, yearning to be with her. Closing her eyes, she knew sleep wouldn’t arrive for a while, but she was in no hurry to drift off. If James Swindler occupied her thoughts long enough, perhaps he would inhabit her dreams and ward off the nightmares that frequented her on a regular basis.

Perhaps in her dreams he would even kiss her.

Dangerous, dangerous thoughts. Nothing more could exist between them, even if she wished it, because in the end, no matter what happened between them, he would despise her.

She had a horrible, sinking feeling that she might despise herself as well.

Chapter 4

It was deuced stupid for him to be so blasted nervous, Swindler told himself. He had inspected every inch of the carriage. It sported not a single scratch. The leather seat was thick and comfortable. The driver and groom, splendidly turned out in the noted Claybourne livery, were almost as well matched as the pair of grays.

Standing in front of Miss Watkins’s lodgings, he fought not to pace. He checked that his neckcloth was still properly in place and his buttons done up. He wore the same jacket and trousers as the day before, but his waistcoat was dark green brocade, his neckcloth a pale yellow. When he’d gone to Claybourne’s to retrieve the carriage, he’d allowed enough time so Claybourne’s manservant could trim his hair and nails, as well as shave him. He was not a man accustomed to uncertainty, nor was he generally taken with vanity, but both dogged his heels as the hour of his outing with Miss Watkins approached.

He’d considered waiting in the parlor but didn’t think he could manage to sit still. He had sent the groom around to make a discreet inquiry at the servants’ door, so he knew the lady had not yet left for the park. He asked the driver for the time for what must have been the tenth time in as many minutes. When had the afternoon begun to creep by?

The lady should be making her appearance at any-

The door echoed a resounding click, and he came to attention as though the queen were passing by.

With a startled gasp, Miss Watkins froze halfway onto the stoop. Then her face blossomed into a beautiful smile that caused Swindler’s chest to swell with satisfaction. He’d never in his life courted a woman, not even Frannie, because he’d known she would never return his feelings, that she favored Claybourne and Jack above him. Still, while he was not engaged in courtship at that moment, he thought he could definitely see the appeal in pleasing one woman above all others.

He’d always extended small courtesies to Frannie, and she’d always been appreciative, but he had always known that in spite of his best efforts, he’d never possess her heart. Miss Watkins, on the other hand-he didn’t want her heart, but he couldn’t explain this unheralded contentment that swept through him with her obvious pleasure. She was once again dressed in pale pink, her parasol in one hand, her reticule dangling from her wrist, her bonnet secured beneath her chin with a perfect pink bow. She was elegance and grace. Her father might have been merely a viscount, but she had undoubtedly been brought up to expect to walk among the aristocracy. He told himself that he needed to focus on his assignment, that she was so far above him as to be unreachable, but it was his own selfish desires that were causing him to want to make his discoveries about her pleasant for them both.

Her blue eyes took in the carriage, driver, groom, and horses before returning to linger on Swindler, as though she were taking in his full measure and discovering that he was not lacking in any regard. Finally closing the door behind her, she descended the steps and came to stand before him, her head tilted back so she could hold his gaze. “What a fine carriage you have, Mr. Swindler.”

“I must confess that I’ve merely borrowed it from a friend. The Earl of Claybourne. You’d mentioned that you wished to see London.” He opened the carriage door. “Shall we?”

She glanced in the direction of the park.

“It’ll be there tomorrow,” he said quietly, disappointed that she hesitated, knowing her thoughts were focused on Rockberry. He couldn’t deny the spark of jealousy that threatened to ignite into a full blaze. What if he’d misconstrued her interest in Rockberry? What if she wished to replace her sister’s role in his life-whatever that role, however misguided, had been?

She smiled at him, and the warmth and sincerity of it were enough to tamp down his own misguided feelings. For this small moment in time he’d won out over a lord. “Of course it will,” she said. “How silly of me to give the park even a second’s thought when I have a lovely carriage at my disposal.” She placed her hand in his offered one and he assisted her up.

Once he settled in beside her, he urged the driver on.

“I suppose if I knew anyone in London, my reputation would be thoroughly ruined with this little outing,” she said demurely.

“I’ve never quite understood this practice of chaperones. In the rookeries, where I grew up, girls came and went as they pleased.”

“And what of their reputations?”

He gave her a wry grin. “They came and went as well.” In spite of a thousand little voices in his head urging him against it, he wrapped his gloved hand around hers. “If you were moving about in Society and were known, I would have brought a chaperone. I can still procure one if you wish.”

He had little doubt that Catherine would accommodate his request.

The familiar blush that he was coming to adore crept over Miss Watkins’s cheeks. “I don’t, not really. Besides, it would make things terribly crowded, wouldn’t it?”

“It would indeed, so relax and enjoy your tour of London.” While he fully intended to enjoy every facet of her.


While he avoided Hyde Park, Swindler ordered the driver to take them through other parks. He found it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes off Miss Watkins as she took in the sights. Her face revealed such exquisite pleasure, her lips continually curling into a smile, her deep blue eyes sparkling with delight.

As a rule, Swindler was not one to talk overmuch, but Miss Watkins was fascinated with everything, and she had the occasional question.

Had he toured Madame Tussaud’s?

He hadn’t.

Was the inside of Westminster Abbey as impressive as the outside?

It was.

He’d finally ordered the driver to stop at a spot near a river where rowboats were rented. After a couple of false starts-it had taken him a few attempts to get the gist of handling the oars-they were now gliding seamlessly along. A few other couples were in nearby boats. It occurred to Swindler that he’d never taken time to simply enjoy London. In his youth, he’d struggled to survive. As he got older, he’d struggled to learn. As a man, he’d become obsessed with his occupation, with being the very best at what he did. It seemed odd to suddenly find himself doing little more than gazing at the woman in the boat with him. She’d opened her pink parasol so it could provide some shade against the late afternoon sun. She appeared serene, as though she’d left her troubles on the bank of the river.

Yet Swindler couldn’t seem to stop himself from imagining Rockberry with her sister, watching her, enjoying her fascination with everything. “Your sister. Did you look exactly alike?” He regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth and she grew somber.

“Exactly. But it was more than our features. Our mannerisms, our interests, were the same. No one could tell us apart, not even our father.”