Closing her eyes, she promised to search for Sally Martin with utmost care of their position. What she could not do was simply pretend she did not know the truth of the matter.
I’ll find you.
By any means possible.
…
Devlin Niall Byrne stared at the creature who strolled down King Street with all the leisurely grace of one who promenaded down Rotten Row in Hyde Park. Though this area was only a stone’s throw away from St. James’s Street, this side of the city was not for the likes of her. King Street was littered with undesirables—brothels, gambling dens, and cutthroats. Then there were men like him, walking the line between the fringe of polite society and the dangerous knifelike edge of the seedier underbelly of London.
A foot in each world meant Devlin belonged to none and his welcome in either territory was suspect.
That suited him, for he had learned a long time ago only to rely on his cunning and ingenuity.
The great beast beside him, his closest friend—a mastiff—rumbled low in his throat.
“Easy, Conan,” Devlin murmured, biting the tip of his cheroot to reach down and smooth his pal’s head. “Let’s watch and see what is happening.”
He took a deep drag of his tobacco, then allowed the smoke to curl around him, the twisting wisps disappearing into the night as the darkness swallowed it. Devlin and his dog watched the lady as she walked closer to the patch of darkness that securely hid their presence. Dipping into the pocket of the black cape she wore, the lady withdrew a piece of paper. Her dainty heels clacked on the cobbled stone as she walked under a fog-shrouded gas lamp, unfolded the scrap of paper, and read.
The lady was truly astonishing. Even without seeing her face and full raiment, Devlin knew her to be a lady of quality—and the finest quality at that. It was in her bearing. The set of her shoulders. The petite grace of her form, the soft sway to her rounded hips, and the elegance and shimmering sensuality of her walk.
A fine piece indeed.
And a foolhardy one. Movements twisted in the dark—men, truly creatures who should not bear the appellation, pushed off from the walls, slinked from the alley, and approached her. The lady remained oblivious, staring at the large red door on the opposite side of the road.
The Golden Tavern. What could she want with this disreputable pub?
He could not see her expression, but he felt her longing. With a wry twist of his lips at his whimsy, Devlin made to move on. Yet something inexplicably arrested his motions. One of those creatures bent on robbery—or worse—reached her while the other slinked from another direction. The hood of her caped domino was violently pulled away from behind, the veil covering her features snatched off. A shocked inhalation sliced the silence of the night, and she whirled from the threat behind her, a perfect pirouette putting her some distance away from the men’s lechery.
Another sharp sound hissed, silver glinted in the dark, and the blade she withdrew from the walking cane was held with confidence and steady grace. The men paused and exchanged a glance, no doubt wondering if a lady would know how to use the rapier and if they could disarm her before she did any damage.
“Ye won’t be able to take two of us,” one of the men taunted.
“Since you are so confident, lads, I invite you to meet your demise.” She tossed her head, and a mass of black hair tumbled loose and fell in waves to her hips.
Devlin faltered into perfect stillness. Everything about him encased in shards of ice—except his heart. Only once in his lifetime had he ever seen hair that black, the sheen of raven’s feather, with a bluish hue under the banner of midnight.
Only once.
He couldn’t look away.
Thud. Thud. Thud. His damn heart was a huge drum pounding in his ears. She had been a hope he held on to for months, years, until he had begun to feel foolish in the extreme. Devlin had not allowed anything to impact him on such a profound emotional level since he had given up thoughts of finding her.
Hence his reaction now was startling…aggravating…and uncontrollable. That was the part that bothered him the most. He could not control his heartbeat or the naked longing, which felt like it erupted through his very soul.
For her.
He lifted his cane and tapped it on the cobbled surface twice. That was all it took for the men who had shuffled closer to pause and withdraw into the shadows as if they had been summoned elsewhere. Confused, the woman twisted about, her weapon held at the perfect defense angle, the wind lifting strands of hair to curl around her cheeks. Devlin walked closer, hugging to the darkness of the night, his footfall as silent as a thief. He stopped when he was close enough.
Devlin made a deliberate noise, soft and barely discernable, and she whirled in his direction.
His world ended as a force robbed him of breath and would not give it back to him. Golden-brown eyes framed by long black lashes. Eyes that were swollen and a bit red, a testament to the tears they had recently shed. The palest of skin. A wide, lush mouth that was made for kissing. And smiling. And laughter.
Her beauty was the same—lush and provocative.
It was her. Fifi.
The only thing he could recall of that girl…the one who had changed his entire life. The one whom he had called for in his delirium as fever and pain had raged through his body. The one he had searched for but never found, not even with his connections and money.
It is you…
A fog of memory wafted through him, and the words danced in his head as if they were a song. Wait for me…
But he had stopped waiting, years ago, when the memory of her had become a distant dream. Yet here she was.
He stood in the dark, watching as three footmen in livery ran toward her, fear on their faces.
“Lady Ophelia, please come with us! The marquess would skewer us if he knew you were here. Please, milady!”
He tucked away the name and carefully assessed the footmen, noting the designs of their livery and the shapes of their features. With this, he would be able to find the family to which she belonged. A stately carriage rattled down the street, and she hurriedly slipped the hood of her cloak over her head and went with the footmen. They knocked the carriage steps down for her, and with a last look behind her at that red door, she mounted the steps and entered the carriage. Devlin watched as it rumbled away, until he could no longer hear its wheels before he turned his attention to that door.
Something existed in there that was important to her.
Lady Ophelia…Fifi…I’ve found you when I was no longer looking.
“And what exactly should I do about it?”
Conan rumbled low in his throat, and Devlin replied, “I do believe you are right, my friend. Let us find out everything we can about Fifi.”
Conan growled several times, and Devlin rubbed his head.