The boys exchanged significant—excited—glances. Tony noted it; he bore their reaction in mind as he admitted to being an agent for the government, stressing that he was in charge of the investigation regardless of the Watch’s and Bow Street’s imaginings. The boys were, predictably, even more impressed, their approbation edging into awe.

From there, it was a small step to explaining that the investigation, while no longer strictly secret, would progress more surely if pursued with discretion to avoid alerting the mysterious A. C. He asked that they all continue as usual, but if anyone noticed anything out of place, no matter how small or mundane, they should tell Maggs or, if that wasn’t possible, send word immediately to him or, failing that, to Geoffrey.

Able to read behind his careful words, Geoffrey, his expression impassive, nodded, accepting the unstated commission.

Finally, he came to his peroration, specifically intended to impress on his audience, especially the three boys, that the matter was serious—deadly serious. It required tact to walk the line between frightening the boys and fixing it in everyone’s heads that in no circumstance were they to court any risk whatever. He alluded to Alicia’s recent trauma—a trauma her siblings and the household had shared—as an example of how A. C. might play his game, but he also cautioned that whoever he was, A. C. would not balk at more violent deeds—it was assuredly he who had murdered Ruskin.

From the looks on the boys’ faces, worry, concern, but also determination all present in their expressions, he succeeded in his aim.

He glanced at Alicia, faintly raised a brow; she met his gaze, read his question, nodded almost imperceptibly.

Glancing around, surveying the faces, he said, “So now you all know what the problem is, and that there’s a need to keep alert at all times.”

“Aye.” Maggs pushed away from the wall. He looked to the other servants, getting to their feet. “We’ll keep our eyes peeled, you can count on that.”

“Thank you.” With a nod, Tony dismissed them.

Alicia flashed them a grateful smile as they filed out of the room, then turned to her brothers. “Bed for you three, now. It’s been a very long evening, and you have lessons tomorrow.”

They looked at her, then, somewhat to her surprise, quickly rose. They came to hug her; she kissed their cheeks, then they hugged Adriana and, without any argument, headed for the door. Alicia turned. Maggs and Jenkins had dallied in the doorway; they took the boys under their wings and herded them upstairs.

She sat back on the chaise, hugely relieved, amazed, given the events of the evening, to feel so. Then Geoffrey was bowing before her. She gave him her hand, smiled in gratitude. “I can’t thank you enough for coming to stay with Adriana and the boys.”

He looked faintly irritated; he frowned at her, reminding her of Tony. “Nonsense. Any gentleman would have done the same.” He glanced at Adriana, who’d risen, too.

She beamed at him. “But you did.” She squeezed his arm. “Come—I’ll see you out.”

With a tired but genuine smile for Alicia, Adriana led Geoffrey to the door; he closed it behind them.

Alicia turned to Tony. He’d been watching the door close; now he looked at her.

His gaze rested on her face for a long moment, then he said, “My apologies. I should have asked before I spoke—do you expect any trouble with your staff?”

She blinked. “You mean because of…” She let her words trail away, uncomfortable with their direction.

He refused to mince words. “Because despite the fact I avoided using the term, a threat clearly exists toward this household, and, consequently, there has to be a certain if unspecified danger. Household staff aren’t partial to getting caught in any cross fire.”

She smiled at the military allusion. “In this case, you needn’t worry. Cook, Fitchett, and Jenkins have been with us for longer than even I can remember—they won’t give notice. They’re part of the family.”

He looked at her—studied her—then inclined his head and rose.

Quickly, she rose, too. In the distance, she heard the front door shut; she paused, waiting, then the sound of Adriana’s light footsteps on the stairs came clearly to her ears.

And Tony’s. One glance at him—at the black eyes that were watching her—was enough to assure her of that. But he made no move, simply watched her.

There was a great deal she wanted, indeed felt compelled to say. Quite aside from her rescue, aside from his revelations, his taking the lead in dealing with the matter, here, within her household, had given her time to calm, to reassess and catch her mental breath. She felt infinitely more confident, more assured, than she had two hours earlier. Her latent panic had disappeared; she could face the immediate future sure in her ability to cope.

He didn’t move, just watched, waited.

She drew breath, lifted her chin, and closed the distance between them. She stopped directly before him—or would have, but he reached out and smoothly drew her on, into his arms. Her heart leapt; her senses stirred, came alive. His arms settled about her, a loose cradle; her hands coming to rest on his chest, she looked into his face.

A face that gave little away; she couldn’t guess what he was thinking.

“I wanted to thank you.” Without his intervention, she couldn’t imagine what might have happened, how matters might have developed.

He said nothing; instead, he slowly raised a brow. His black gaze touched hers, then swept down to her lips.

She knew exactly what he was thinking. She didn’t stop to consider, to assess the wisdom of her response. Drawing in a quick breath, she gripped his arms, stretched up against him, and touched her lips to his.

It was an invitation rather than a kiss; when he didn’t immediately respond, she eased back.

His arms tightened, locking her more definitely to him. Her lashes fluttered up; his dark gaze met hers for an instant, then he bent his head.

His lips touched her cheek, a light, insubstantial caress. He paused, then closed again; this time, his lips found the corner of hers, and slowly teased.

As he drew back, just an inch, she turned her head, fleetingly met his eyes. Then she raised one hand, laid her palm along his cheek, and guided his lips to hers.

He closed them over hers and took what she offered. Her mouth, herself. He drew her deeper into his arms, parted her lips, and sank deeper into the kiss. Into the explicit exchange she now knew well.

She responded, more than willing. It seemed very right that she should thank him this way, that she should give and appease the hunger she sensed in him, that elusive desire she exulted in evoking, equally exulted in sating.

As far as she dared.

The warning sounded in her mind—there could not be that many milestones left in the long road they’d agreed to travel. All but instantly, that small voice of caution was drowned out by the memory of his assurance that instead they would dally longer, more intensely, more intimately at every stage.

His mouth feasted on hers; his hands roamed, pleasuring her while feasting on her curves. He molded her to him, explicitly rocked the hard ridge of his erection against her.

Heat erupted inside her, spread through her veins, suffused beneath her skin. Raising her hands, she framed his face, then ran her fingers back, spearing them through his hair. She opened her mouth wider beneath his, with her tongue boldly taunted, deliberately incited him to take, and take more. Never had she felt so alive, so blatantly desirable.

So wanted.

They were standing locked together in her family’s parlor; she was sure he wouldn’t forget. Felt sure she could leave the decision on what was appropriate to him.

She knew, in her heart, in her soul, that he wouldn’t let her down.

Tony had no intention of doing so, yet the demands of the moment were many. A wild and primitive emotion was burgeoning within him; he didn’t recognize it, but he knew what it demanded.

Her. Not just her giving but his taking. A claiming, yet… this, he accepted, was neither the time nor place.

Not yet, not here. Soon, yes, but tonight…

He didn’t question the instincts that told him what to do; he’d been their captive for too many years. Experience analyzed, instructed, informed; he fell in with its directives.

Breaking from the kiss, he murmured, unsurprised his tone was low, almost harsh, “Jenkins?”

Courtesy of their kisses, she was close to breathless. “Upstairs. He locks up the front of the house early, all except the front door.”

Thank God. He kissed her again, ravenously, arms locking her against him, lifting her as he backed her toward the chaise. Stopping before it, he lifted his head and let her slide down until her feet touched the floor. “So we’re alone?”

“Um-hmm.” Her hand pressed under his collar and curled around his nape; she lifted her lips to his.

“Good.” He took them, kissed her hungrily, in no way disguising his need. She met him, flagrantly urged him on—didn’t so much as catch her breath when he eased her gown over her shoulders, then pushed it down to pool about her feet.

Still he held her to the kiss. Shifting to trap her between the chaise and him, he closed his hands about her breasts. Through the fine silk of her chemise, he teased the sensitive mounds, stroked and kneaded until they were full, until her breathing was tight, threatening to fracture.

Swiftly, he undid the ribbon ties and eased the fine fabric down; it fell in folds about her waist. Deciding his control didn’t need further strain, he left the flimsy garment there. It was so fine, it was barely a sop to modesty, but having her completely naked on the chaise beneath him might be that one step too far.