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Gideon bowed politely to the little girl. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Alice.”

Alice said nothing; she merely stared, bug-eyed and stone-faced and silent, up at Gideon.

And then Gideon smiled at Alice. Lily watched the smile happen, the slow lift of his fine mouth, the soft warmth flooding his eyes. And she couldn’t help it, really; her own heart skipped a beat.

Before Lily’s very eyes, Alice melted. She grinned up at Gideon with the gap-toothed grin normally reserved for Lily.
Little traitor
, Lily thought.

“I’ll need some of my things, Mr. Cole.” Lily wasn’t anxious for Gideon Cole to get a look at their meager little room. “I can fetch them myself now, if you’ll just… let…
go
….” Lily tugged fruitlessly away from the warm fingers curled loosely around her arm. Surely his fingers would have cramped by now. Surely no one could maintain a
clutching
position this long.

“Oh, I am sure you
can
fetch them yourself, Miss Masters.” Gideon sounded amused. “But I will accompany you to your room.
Thirty pounds,”
he added softly, a reminder of her debt to him.

Lily glowered and inhaled sharply, but that turned out to be a bit of a mistake; the scent of Gideon Cole rushed into her. Sometimes a stiff wind blew in from the sea, strong and cold enough to be scoured clean of the London odors that usually rode it, and his scent was a little like that: fresh, sharp, a hint of portent. It worked on her senses like gin; her glower wavered, along with her courage.

She was out of her depth with this man.

Lily lifted her chin and met Gideon’s dark eyes with a stare that she hoped belied her own quivering uncertainty. His eyes might be amused now, but she’d seen them coolly murderous when he’d first caught her hand in his pocket. As civilized as he appeared at the moment, Gideon Cole was very likely not a man to be trifled with. And he
had
threatened her with Newgate.

And though it was his own bloody fault he was out thirty pounds, it was
her
own bloody fault she’d needed rescuing at all. She wasn’t without a sense of honor.

Or gratitude.

Or, for that matter… curiosity.

And then Mr. Cole surprised her: he slowly uncurled his fingers from her arm and smiled down at her faintly. His eyes were amused; one eyebrow was lifted. A dare.
Show me how honorable you really are, Miss Masters
.

Lily almost smiled; she appreciated a good dare. She decided to opt for dignity: instead of kneeing him in the cods and fleeing, she lifted her chin haughtily. “Very well, Mr. Cole. Follow me.”

Gideon turned to the lodging house proprietress with a gentle smile. “If you will excuse us, Mrs. Smythe?”

Wordlessly, Mrs. Smythe stepped aside, as though she too were ceding her authority to Mr. Cole.

Lily and Alice Masters were curled up against each other on the coach seat across from Gideon, asleep, their ragged brown-gray skirts falling about them like the wings of molting doves. They were both much too thin, their wrists and the ankles above their dirty bare feet seemed much too fragile.

And now that the initial rush of giddiness that typically accompanied a risk had ebbed, Gideon suspected Kilmartin’s initial assessment was correct: He
was
mad.

He laughed softly, ruefully, to himself, and shook his head.
Am I truly this desperate
? Had everything in his life, including the ragged girl sitting across from him, become a means to an end?

And yet, a wicked little voice in his head said:
Imagine what it would be like to pull one over on the
ton.

His behavior had been faultless for years; he’d learned that if one hadn’t a title or money, one’s behavior had
better
be faultless. He’d stifled impulses, channeled his temper, an attempt to build a life more stable than the one his dazzling, reckless father had provided for his family.

And yet… was he truly any better off? Was Helen?

His Master Plan. He’d formulated it from the wreckage of his family’s fortunes: wealth and property and position, security and permanence—all of the things his father had managed to smash to kindling—he’d have them all before the age of thirty. How ironic if a page from his father’s book—the book of reckless gambles—turned out to be the thing that won Constance at last, and opened the door to the future he’d envisioned for a decade.

If this works, I’ll never take a risk again
, he told himself.

Ha
! was what the wicked little voice in his head had to say to that.

Gideon turned to the source of folly, the pickpocket he intended to turn into a diamond of the first water. Lily’s long dark lashes quivered against her cheek; asleep, she looked as innocent as her sister. And yet he had difficulty believing she was at
all
innocent.

There was the little matter of the books, for instance. Lily Masters had brought six books with her, as matter-of-factly as if they were necessities. An encyclopedia filled with drawings of animals. A volume of Greek myths.
Pride and Prejudice
. A collection of Shakespeare’s works.
Robinson Crusoe
.

And a book filled with erotic stories written entirely in French.

While Lily and Alice slept across from him, Gideon surreptitiously read a few pages of the book. And then another few pages. And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he read half the book. The author certainly had a way with description: sensual demands, soft moans, expert stroking, complicated positions—everyone in that book, men and women alike, seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely, in chairs in front of mirrors…

Over and over and over.

Gideon clapped the little French book shut and slid it a safe distance away from him on the coach seat. The stories were too stirring for a man who hadn’t done any flesh-wallowing for far too long now.

Je parle français un petit peu
, Lily Masters had said.
I speak a little French
. To what use did she put that French? Was this little book a
manual
of sorts? And yet…
a good choice for yer first
, the prostitute had shouted down to her. He remembered her blush in Kilmartin’s lodgings. If she had been initiated into the flesh trade, it had likely been only recently.

Gideon shook his head ruefully again. He
was
mad. So be it. He now knew the extent of his own need to win. His own equivalent of bribing the dressmaker.

He felt in his pocket for his grandfather’s watch, and was relieved to find it.

Lily stirred and opened her eyes, then sat up abruptly and leaned forward to peer out of the coach’s tiny window.

They were hurtling up a drive lined with trees, tall straight ones, prim as sentries. Through them she could see a flash of something red—brick? And then more and more and still more red brick unfurled before her disbelieving eyes, and the afternoon light struck sheets of light from the correspondingly endless rows of windows. She dropped her gaze to the vast pillared portico, tinted amber in the lowering sun. A fountain leaped skyward in the courtyard.

She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the brilliance of the place; her heart swelled with its beauty.

“My uncle’s home,” Gideon said simply. “Aster Park.”

Lily merely nodded once, an admirable attempt at feigning indifference. Somehow she suspected Newgate didn’t hold a candle to Aster Park.

Lily and Alice stood in the grand tiled entryway of the house, gripping each other’s hands. Lily’s eyes had gone huge, expanding to accommodate the grandeur of the room in which they stood. Gideon watched her shoulders go back and her chin go up, as though the house itself was an adversary she intended to best.

He was reminded of Constance’s first visit to Aster Park. Her beauty, her confident tranquillity, her bloodline—Constance had seemed as touchable as a star then. She’d stood in nearly the same place as Lily stood now, her cool gray eyes assessing fixtures and furniture, and her verdict, delivered lightly—“I wouldn’t mind living here myself, Mr. Cole”—had landed on Gideon’s ears like a benediction.

From that moment, an understanding had slowly grown between them; that understanding, it seemed, had been too long on the vine. He fought back another surge of restlessness.

“Is tins our palace?” Gideon heard Alice whisper to Lily.

“Very like is,” Lily whispered back.

“Then is Mr. Cole the prince?”

“
Prince
?” Lily scoffed. “He hasn’t even a title.”

Once again, despite himself, Gideon found himself fighting a smile. The
cheek
of the girl.

He stepped forward to speak to Gregson, the footman. “How do you fare, Gregson? Someday you really must tell me your secret. You never age a day.”

The elderly footman, who was almost as bent as an inverted
J
but still taller than Gideon by inches, looked pleased. ‘Thank you, sir. ’Tis the air at Aster Park, to be sure. I am happy to see you, sir, and your uncle will be delighted as well. “

“And is Uncle Edward still dying, Gregson?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is he dying any worse than before?”

“No, sir. The same as always, sir.”

“Very good. I’ll be up to see him as soon I get the dust off. And by the way, Gregson, may I introduce to you Miss Lily Masters and her sister, Miss Alice Masters? They are cousins of my dear friend Lord Kilmartin, who should arrive tomorrow, and will be my guests here for some time. Will you kindly see that rooms are prepared?”

Gregson goggled at the bedraggled, barefoot girls.

“And we’ll need two baths drawn at once, if you would, Gregson.”

Gregson’s lips parted; he looked tempted to reply,
Good God, we most certainly
do. Instead he said, “Very good, sir. I’ll speak to Mrs. Plunkett.”

“We’ll need some clothing, too, Gregson. Something for Miss Lily and something for Miss Alice, as well. There was an… er… coaching accident. And unfortunately, all of their trunks were destroyed along with their clothing.”

Gregson didn’t even blink. “That
is
unfortunate, sir. I am glad, however, that the two young ladies are sound. Mrs. Plunkett will be able to obtain some women’s clothing.”

“You’re a wonder, Gregson. Thank you. One more thing: Mrs. Plunkett does count the silver each evening, does she not? And locks it up tightly?”

Gideon could practically feel the heat from Miss Master’s glower.

The faintest of frowns wrinkled Gregson’s brow. “Yes, sir. But of course, sir.”

“Very good, Gregson. You may go.”

Gregson turned on his heels and began to walk away.

“But Lily, I’ve never had a bath,” Alice whispered.

Gregson slowed his stride almost imperceptibly just then, as though Alice’s words had struck him between the shoulder blades. Gideon stifled a laugh. A lesser man than Gregson might have stumbled in shock.

Gideon returned his attention to Lily. “Should anyone ask, you and Alice are Lord Kilmartin’s cousins from Sussex.”

“And it seems we’ve had an unfortunate coaching accident.”

“My, you’re a quick study, Miss Masters. Tell me, how much do you think you could get for that gold clock?”

“Not a farthing, Mr. Cole. My fence has
some
taste.”

Gideon laughed; she’d surprised it from him. “Listen to me, please, Miss Masters: you will have your baths, and then a dinner will be served to you in your room.”

“What will there be for dinner?” Alice piped up as Lily tried to shush her with a pat.

Gideon smiled down at her. “What would you
like
for dinner, Miss Alice?”

“Peacock!” she declared.

Gideon blinked. “Ah. Well, we’ve peacocks here at Aster Park, but they mostly stroll about the grounds looking pretty. We don’t usually serve them for dinner. Perhaps you’d like to see them tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes!” Alice breathed. Gideon glanced at Lily. She was wearing a strange expression, a sort of tender turbulence, as though an internal struggle was taking place.

“Very well. I’ll have one of the footmen take you to see the peacocks in the morning, Miss Alice. For dinner, there will be cold roast of beef, no doubt.”

“Lily
said
there would be beef.” Alice sounded smug.

When had Lily mentioned beef? Gideon looked questioningly at her; she merely gazed back at him blandly. “I must away to London once more, but I will return to Aster Park by tomorrow midday.”

“Don’t hurry on my account,” Lily murmured.

Gideon acknowledged her with a sardonically lifted brow. “Lord Kilmartin will join us tomorrow, as well, and we shall meet with him to discuss our… arrangement. You shall breakfast in your room. Meanwhile, I know you will not consider… curtailing your stay, Miss Masters, or veering from your story, or leaving your room. Unless, of course, you place little value on honor. And have an interest, shall we say, in decidedly less comfortable accommodations.”

Lily’s eyes snapped comprehension at him, as he’d known they would. He had alluded to Newgate chiefly for the pleasure of watching her eyes flash; it was like watching lightning crack in a dawn sky, quite wonderful, really. “And besides, where would you go? There’s nothing about for miles and miles.”

Lily’s mouth opened; she no doubt intended to issue a scathing rejoinder, but Mrs. Plunkett’s strong, solid form ambled into the room just in time.

“Mrs. Plunkett, allow me to introduce Miss Lily Masters and Miss Alice Masters. Until tomorrow, then, ladies.” Gideon bowed and surrendered them to the competent care of the housekeeper.

Mrs. Plunkett handed Lily a long brush, a cake of white soap that smelled as if it had been carved from the floor of heaven, and two thick white cloths. A huge copper tub of steaming water sat on the floor between them. A great wet miracle.

For years Lily had retrieved water from the public wells, and what little she’d been able to bring back to their rooms in Mrs. Smythe’s boarding house was usually boiled for tea. It had been impossible to ever draw enough for a bath; and even if she could have, she wouldn’t have known where to find a bathtub. She and Alice had swabbed themselves with cloths dampened in basins, cleaning themselves as best they could without benefit of a mirror. It was likely she’d had baths when she was younger, but they were not among her memories.