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And then Gideon watched a slow flush paint Constance’s face up to her eyebrows as she realized precisely what she’d revealed.

Bloody hell. So it’s “Malcolm,” is it?

And so it seemed the betting books had the right of it.

Violins and cellos measured off a subtly charged moment. “I can see why he might be,” Gideon managed smoothly at last. “It
is
a handsome property.”

“Yes,” Constance agreed just as evenly. “I always thought it would make a wonderful wedding present for some fortunate young woman.”

And then she laughed, a breathy girlish laugh. But the words were not lightly intended; a gauntlet of sorts had been thrown down. Gideon noted the message with no halt in rhythm or change of expression. A cold little knot formed in the pit of his stomach; his mind whirred.

“Will you miss me when I’m in the country?” Constance’s head inclined coyly.

Gideon knew mere compliments would no longer do; strategy was now required. Gideon’s barrister’s mind swiftly rifled through the facts. Constance wanted only the best of everything, and clearly Constance had begun to believe Jarvis had as much, possibly more, to offer her than Gideon Cole.

But
why
did Constance want the best of everything? Because Lady Constance Clary not only
loved
to win—she
needed
to win. Because she always won. And Kilmartin was right: in the absence of a title and fortune, what Gideon needed—what he needed
for
her—was a worthy rival. Quickly. One capable of convincing Constance that what she
needed
to win… was Gideon Cole.

And if a rival would not obligingly, magically appear…

He would invent one.

Gideon gazed out over the ballroom and saw Kilmartin sail by in the clutches of Lady Anne Clapham, his face, as usual, dreamy with contentment. They puzzled Gideon a little, Kilmartin and Lady Anne Clapham. Gideon typically felt something more…
active
in Constance’s presence. Admiration, uncertainty… things that kept him alert, tensed the muscles of his stomach.

“Forgive my distraction, Constance. It’s just that when I saw Kilmartin, I recalled he has a cousin he would like me to meet”

“A cousin?” Constance sounded almost incredulous. She was usually the first to know and assess any newcomer; no doubt she found it nearly impossible that Kilmartin could have a cousin she knew nothing about.

“Yes. I cannot quite recall her name…” Gideon’s voice drifted—strategically—along with his gaze. Constance’s fingers tensed in his hand; she was nearly vibrating with curiosity now.

Gideon returned his gaze to Constance. “But I shall of course miss you while you’re away, Constance.”

And he would of course buy a town house while she was away, as well.

The waltz came to an end, and Gideon looked lingeringly into Constance’s eyes, which now held a faint light of uncertainty; he bowed lingeringly over her hand and reluctantly took his leave of her.
Take that, Constance. I was a soldier, and now I am a barrister. I know how to win
.

Chapter Two

Lily was of two minds about portly men: they often made good quarry, because they tended to move more slowly. However, sometimes they strained their clothing, and tight clothing allowed pickpockets scant room to maneuver.

But the particular portly man Lily had her eye on looked prosperous; the walking stick he clutched in his huge fist sported what appeared to be a genuine gold top, and his clothing, at least his coat and trousers, was beautifully made and generously cut. Most importantly, a chain dangled tantalizingly from his coat pocket.
A watch
. Splendid! Successfully retrieving this particular watch would make up for yesterday’s failure.

Her dress had long ago faded to somewhere between gray and brown, and this was a great help when it came to blending into masses of people and disappearing into shadows. She sidled through the crowd, her head lowered, until she was flush with the man and within reaching distance of his pocket. Heart racing, she stretched out her hand. It vanished into his pocket and closed over the delicious smooth metal of the watch; her touch was expert, almost indiscernible; if it was detected at all, it was usually mistaken for a breeze.

And then…

Well, it happened so quickly.

Someone in the crowd stumbled and swore, jostling her quarry, who stumbled and swore in turn, and took an awkward step to right himself, his head turning to watch his feet—

Just as Lily was extracting her hand from his pocket.

His hand clamped around Lily’s arm. “
What the bloody hell do you think you ‘re doing
?” He squeezed until she cried out in pain; her fingers splayed open and the lovely watch fell and skittered, winking in the sunlight, across the ground. The man bent forward to sweep it up, dragging her down with him; his grip didn’t slacken. She twisted and kicked out, but it was becoming horribly clear he did not intend to release her.

Terror sucked the air from her lungs.

God help me
, she prayed. And then, absurdly,
Mrs. Smythe, shall I sweep the floor today
?

In a mere hour, thanks to Mr. Wesley’s thirty pounds, Gideon would be the owner of a London town house: the one on the corner of Grosvenor Square. He consulted his watch and superstitiously quickened his pace toward the square, as though Jarvis was racing across town to buy it out from beneath him. He’d been assured by the seller’s solicitor that tins was not the case, and yet—

A sudden barrage of
basso
bellows and curses stopped him cold. Good
God
, what an unholy racket. Gideon scanned the crowd for its source: something—or rather, someone—was thrashing in the grip of an enormous man, and this enormous man was doing the shouting.

Curiosity and a strange sense of urgency propelled Gideon closer; the fluttering of a tattered skirt told him the captive was a woman. A
small
woman.

“Here now, what is this?” he demanded in his barrister voice.

“
This wench tried to steal my watch
!” the enormous man roared indignantly. The girl continued to twist so violently in the man’s grasp that her face was a blur, but the man obviously had manacles for hands; she couldn’t free herself. Finally she stopped thrashing, panting desperately, and her eyes flicked toward Gideon.

Good God! Those
eyes
. It was the girl who had tried to steal
his
watch the day before. “You really ought to give this up,” he told her dryly. “Clearly you aren’t any good at it.”

She merely scowled at him and kicked out at her captor, whose nether regions, unfortunately for her, were protected by great rolls of flesh. The enormous man effortlessly held her at a safe distance from his person and gave her a hard shake, like a terrier with a rat in its jaws.

Fury warped the air in front of Gideon’s eyes. She might be a thief, but the man dwarfed her, and he was deliberately hurting her now. “Let her go,” he heard himself say. “She won’t do it again.”

“Let her
go
?” The man was aghast. “I will not! My grandfather’s watch! The little pestilence belongs in Newgate! I’ve a mind to take her straight there.”

“I sympathize, but surely—”

“She needs to be taught a lesson!” the man bellowed, freshly enraged. He shook the girl again. Her head snapped forward and back, like the head on a doll.

The metallic tang of rage burned the back of Gideon’s throat, crawled over his skin on cold spiky legs, tightened his lungs until his breath came shallow. Oh, a clean fist to the jaw would take this beast down easily.

But he didn’t do that sort of thing anymore.

“Five pounds if you release her,” he said quietly instead, his voice a deadly thing.

The man suddenly went still, surprised by the offer; his fist remained securely wrapped around the girl’s arm. She gave a token twist, but winced the moment she did.

Gideon couldn’t bear it.

“No, sir,” the large man reiterated. “I don’t know what you want with her, but she’s going to prison, if I have any say in it.”

“Ten pounds.”

“Not for any price, sir.”

“Not for thirty pounds?”

A loaded silence fell over the strange little trio. The enormous man studied Gideon curiously for a moment.
Say no
, Gideon thought.
Ignore my insanity, and I’ll be on my way
.

“Show it to me,” the man demanded instead.

Gideon looked at the girl. Her entire body heaved with her breathing; her eyes fluttered closed. The flesh of her thin arm, covered in the worn cloth of her dress, bulged between the man’s huge fingers.

Slowly, as if in a dream, Gideon pulled the precious thirty pounds from his pocket.

The enormous man snatched it and pushed the girl at Gideon.

“Enjoy your prize, sir.” He stalked off.

When Kilmartin opened the door to his lodgings, he found a thunderous-looking Gideon Cole clutching a filthy scrap of a girl by the arm.

“Congratulate me, Kilmartin. I seem to have purchased a pickpocket.”

“What on—what have you—” Kilmartin spluttered as Gideon pushed past him into the house, dragging the girl along with him.

Gideon pushed the pickpocket firmly into one of his friend’s sitting room chairs. “Don’t move a hair,” he commanded her. She glared back at him sullenly, but remained perfectly still, apart from the rapid rise and fall of her breathing. Her chin went up; her spine stiffened.
Proud for a thief
.

“Yes, for thirty pounds.” Gideon turned to Kilmartin and gave a short, near-hysterical laugh. “She tried to steal a watch from a huge fellow, who planned to turn her over to the authorities, and so I gave him thirty pounds to turn her over to me instead.
And
—you’ll enjoy this part, Kilmartin—she’s the very wench who tried to steal my watch yesterday.”

“But Gideon…” Kilmartin spoke gently, rather the way one would address an escapee from Bedlam. “
Why
?”

Gideon yanked off his hat and pushed an agitated hand through his hair. “God, I wish I knew. It was… a reflex. It just… it just infuriated me to watch that enormous man shake a girl who could never possibly defend herself against him.”

“But she’s a
thief,”
Kilmartin explained, straining for patience. “And you’re a
barrister.”

“I know,” Gideon groaned.

“Why didn’t you just
hit
him?”

“I don’t
do
that anymore, Laurie.”

“And why did you bring her to my lodgings? She’ll get fleas or some other vermin on the furniture, no doubt.”

“Oh, please, Kilmartin. Your furniture would be improved by the addition of a few fleas.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Gideon thought he saw the girl’s mouth twitch a little. He turned swiftly to look at her, but found her face a sullen blank. Perhaps he’d imagined it.

They turned to look at the pickpocket, who was now scanning the room with her huge eyes. “Calculating how much you can get for the candlesticks?” Gideon snapped. She glanced at him—guiltily, he thought—and returned to gazing straight ahead, her hands folded in her lap. And then Gideon pictured the man’s hand clamped around her thin arm; the girl would likely have a bracelet of bruises. More gently he asked, “Did that man hurt you? Are you injured?”

The pickpocket’s eyes widened in surprise; she gave her head a little shake: no.

“You could just turn her loose, like a rat,” Kilmartin suggested hopefully.

“
Thirty pounds
, Kilmartin. Every penny I had. I was on my way to buy the town house in Grosvenor Square. I rather hoped to make a wedding gift of it.” Gideon threw himself onto Kilmartin’s settee and slouched in frustration.

“Perhaps you can give the pickpocket to Constance as a wedding gift instead.”

“Oh,
very
amusing, Laurie. Do you know what I now have to offer Constance? Precisely nothing.”

“And here I thought Constance loved you for your own dear self.”

Gideon hurled his hat at Kilmartin, who dodged it.

“You know I would loan the money to you if I could, Gideon. But my father still controls my funds.”

“I know you would loan it, Laurie, and I thank you. But I would never ask it of you. I must do this myself.”

“Doing things yourself is vastly overrated, Gideon.”

“If you say so, Laurie.” There was a pause; Gideon jounced his knee in thought. “Perhaps we can find the girl some sort of employment.”

“Does she talk?”

“She hasn’t yet. I’ve considered that she may be mute. Though she seems to understand English well enough.”

“Ah. So you’ve purchased a mute female pickpocket. I must say, Gideon, it doesn’t rank among your wiser investments.”

A little gingerly, Kilmartin moved closer to the girl and peered into her face. She turned to glare at him. He reared back in surprise.

“Good God, Gideon. She’s a bit of a looker, isn’t she? Those
eyes
. Freakishly lovely, really. You didn’t have something less…
savory
in mind for her, did you, when you bought her?” Kilmartin turned back to Gideon looking half worried, half intrigued.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Kilmartin.” Gideon was disgusted. “And take care not to get too close. She kicks.”

“I also
bite
… if sufficiently provoked.”

The two men swiveled in unison.

She
spoke
.

Not only could she speak, but that… that
voice
. A low drawl with an edge of ragged velvet, it was unlike anything Gideon had ever heard. It shivered through him, like a tongue applied to the back of his neck, or fingernails dragged gently up his back. In that voice, “I also bite” sounded less like a threat and more like… an erotic
promise
.

His own voice seemed to have retreated in deference to the splendor of hers. “So you
can
talk,” he finally managed. “Why have you not spoken until now?”

“Perhaps the
mood
did not take me.” She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly.

Impudent wench
. And again, that voice. There was nothing of the street urchin in either her timbre or phrasing. She sounded like a grown woman, like a
lady
. More like a lady, in fact, than most of the young things that romped about in reels at balls and parties all over the
ton
.