"Then why are you stalking the Hellions?"

She looked up again, her expression challenging. "Why should I answer your questions?"

"Does the fact that I am twice your size and notoriously ruthless count for anything?"

Sudden laughter lit her grave face. "Not tonight, my lord. Quite apart from having called a truce, you can't move fast enough to catch me."

He gave her a ferocious scowl. "It's a sad day when a man can't get any respect in his own home."

When she laughed again, he asked softly, "Who are you?"

She almost answered, but caught herself. "Diabolical man! Trying to disarm me with humor." She set her brandy glass down with a clink. "But you won't catch me that easily.'"

"Ah, well, it was worth a try." His levity faded. "There may be a truce between us tonight, but I can't allow you to continue your criminal activities. Quite apart from being illegal, housebreaking is a damned dangerous pastime."

"If you're so moral, why are you a Hellion?"

He had wondered when she would point that out. "I'm not an official member of the club, though I will be soon."

Surprised, she said, "Why are you bothering to join? That lot hardly seem to be your sort."

"I have friends of many kinds. The Hellions are amusing, in an uncomplicated way. For more cerebral companionship, I look elsewhere." He regarded her thoughtfully over the rim of his glass as he took a sip. "My excuse is low tastes, but what is your interest in the group? You've been amazingly persistent."

Indecision on her face, she rose and began prowling about the room, moving with lithe, unconscious grace. The masks she had worn in their previous encounters had dropped away to reveal a glimpse of the real woman.

Yet still she was a paradox. In his work he had met more than his share of daredevils-usually male but sometimes female-who thrived on danger and taking risks. Jane was not one of that number, for she seemed to find no pleasure in her bold feats. There was a diffidence about her that was very real, yet it was coupled with the steely, bone-deep strength that had sent her into the lions' den time and time again.

Decision made, she swung around to face him. "Since there is a truce between us, and you are not yet an initiated Hellion, I will tell you the truth. You show signs of a conscience-perhaps what I say will persuade you to withdraw from the group."

The nitrous oxide must still be affecting him, for he said irrepressibly, "The truth will be a pleasant change."

She scowled. "This is not a laughing matter. I am a journalist. I write essays and articles for several periodicals. I have been working on an expose of the Hellion Club. In theory it is no worse than any other group of privileged, debauched men, but I have received information that some of their practices surpass the wickedness of the original Hellfire Club."

"Such as?"

"Kidnapping and murdering innocent young girls as part of their ceremonies," she said bluntly.

He sobered instantly. "Appalling if true."

"I'm quite sure it's true."

He thought of the members he knew. Impossible to believe that young Lord Ives, for examples, would condone ritual murder. "I have trouble believing that most of the Hellions would participate in such activities."

"You're probably right. I think that the viciousness is limited to an inner circle."

"The Disciples?"

She gave him a hard look. "You are familiar with them?"

"I know only that the Disciples exist, not their identities or what their purpose is. Do you think they are using the larger group to disguise their activities?"

"Exactly. I have some evidence, but I want more before I write my article."

"What kind of evidence have you found?"

"I met a girl who managed to escape from where she was being held prisoner. She told me what she had heard from her abductors and from some of the servants. Because her information was limited, I have been trying to learn more."

He drummed his fingertips on the arm of his chair. "It's rare enough for a young woman to be a journalist, but to pursue a topic like this strains credulity."

"In other words you think I'm lying again?" she snapped. "If there were more female journalists, there would be more writing on such subjects. England is full of women and children who have been brutalized, a situation many men consider normal."

Her words burned with conviction. They also produced a faint echo in the back of his mind. Something he had read… "What is your name? Perhaps I have seen some of your articles."

"Since no female essayist would be taken seriously, I write under several different names, depending on the publication."

That was plausible; most of the scribblers who wrote for the diverse, lively popular press had multiple identities. "I read widely. What is a name that you use regularly?"

She hesitated. "Do I have your word not to reveal it?" After he nodded, she said, "For the Examiner, I am L. J. Knight."

"Good God!" he exclaimed. The weekly newspaper she named was noted for its courage and reforming zeal; in fact, the two brothers who edited it were currently in jail for their disrespectful treatment of the Prince Regent. "L. J. Knight, the radical firebrand, is a young woman?"

"One doesn't need to be either male or old to see that there are many things in our society that need changing. In fact, my youth and sex are advantages, for I see the world differently from male writers," she said coolly. "I was twenty when I first submitted an essay to the Examiner. Leigh Hunt bought it immediately and asked for more."

Still not quite believing her, Lucien said, "I'm surprised that I've never heard that L. J. Knight is female."

"I communicate with Leigh Hunt and my other editors by post or special messenger."

Wanting to test her, he said, "I thought you were a bit hard on Lord Castlereagh in that piece you did on him last summer."

"You have confused me with another journalist. I've never written about the foreign minister." The ironic gleam in her eyes showed that she had recognized the attempted trap.

He considered more brandy, but decided that he needed all of his wits. "Have you learned much by burgling the Hellions?"

"Not as much as I would have if you didn't continually get in the way," she said, humor tempering her exasperation. "However, housebreaking is only part of my investigation. Evidence is mounting, and soon I'll be ready to write my piece."

"What have you learned?"

She shook her head. "I would be a fool to say more."

He studied the slim, feminine figure with respect. It took courage to challenge wickedness armed with only a pen. "My dear, you are a constant source of surprises."

"As are you. For a professional wastrel, you have a remarkably inquisitive mind." She cocked her head. "Do you call all women 'my dear'?"

"Only those I like. Which is quite a number, actually."

"One would expect that of a rake."

"I said like, not lust after," he said dryly. "Those are two entirely different things."

"It's rare, I think, for men to genuinely like women. Why are you different?"

"When I was a child, my closest companion was female," he replied after an infinitesimal pause. "Besides, I still don't know your true name, so 'my dear' is safely neutral."

She smiled a little. "I actually am named Jane."

"Lydia Jane Knight? Or Louise or Laura?"

"I've told you as much as I intend to, my lord, so you can stop asking questions." She gave him a level look. "Now that I've told you the truth, do you understand why I have been investigating the Hellions?"

"Yes, but I still don't approve. You're playing with fire."

"Then perhaps I'll burn." She stood and donned her coat, which had been gently steaming by the fire. "So be it. Good night, my lord."

As she started wrapping her scarf around her head, Lucien hauled himself from his chair, grabbed his cane, and limped over to her. "Not yet. As I said once before, I want to see you again. Where do you live?"

She sighed. "You're very persistent."

"It's a quality you should understand. And that is hardly the only thing we have in common." He raised his free hand and gently stroked the tender curve of her jaw with his knuckles. "We are not enemies, you know."

She stepped back. "I am less sure of that than you."

"Can you deny that there is an attraction between us?"

"Even I am not that good a liar," she said sardonically. "But attraction is a small, unimportant thing. It may be hard for you to believe that a woman can be more interested in justice and the life of the mind than in men, but that is the case with me. We live in different worlds, Lord Strathmore."

"Is this small and unimportant?" He drew her into his arms and kissed her, not with the drug-hazed delight he had felt on the rooftop, but with the emotions that had been building since they had met. Passion, yearning, hope.

Her hands came to rest on his forearms, opening and closing spasmodically as his hand circled her breast. Through the layers of fabric he felt her nipple hardening against his palm. She filled his senses, touch and sound and scent.

When he bent his head to kiss her throat, she whispered, "Don't, Lucien. I… I can't afford to be distracted by desire. You're just giving me more reasons to avoid you."

The delicious sound of his name on her lips obliterated the sense of her words. When she took a halfhearted step backward, he followed, then gasped as agony jolted through his forgotten ankle. "Damnation!" Sweat fuming his brow, he caught a chair to save himself from falling. "Remarkable how pain overcomes lust."