He prowled the night as though he were some ravenous beast, but she knew it wasn’t food he sought, but rather decadent pleasures-her sister’s journal had revealed in intimate and heartrending detail how he had seduced her, not only for his gratification but for the amusement of others. As though her wants had no merit, her dreams were meant to be shattered. Rockberry had destroyed Elisabeth long before she’d flung herself over the cliff into the turbulent sea below.

Fighting back her tears-now was not the time to succumb to her sorrow-she strengthened her resolve to see that Rockberry paid handsomely for his part in her sister’s death at the mere age of nineteen.

The loathsome man disappeared around a curve. Drat it! He was too self-absorbed to realize he was being followed, so he must have some rendezvous in mind. She wondered if he’d already singled out his next victim. If that was the case, then she might very well end the game tonight, because she couldn’t stand by and let another woman suffer as Elisabeth had.

She swept around the trees and came to a staggering stop, her path blocked by three gentlemen with lascivious grins.

“Hello, sweeting,” the one in the middle said, giving her the impression that he was the one in charge.

The lights in this area were exceedingly dim, and the gray mist didn’t help the situation. She could tell little about him save that he was fair, and if not for his wretched smile, she might have even considered him handsome. His friends were dark, one distinguishable by his rather unattractive bulbous nose, and the other by his unfortunate lack of a chin, as though it had somehow fallen into his neck. The way their gazes roamed over her made her skin crawl, and it was all she could do not to shrink before them. They wore the finest of clothes, along with expectations for a grand time, intent upon enjoying their youth while it still belonged to them.

As for herself, with Elisabeth’s death, she’d aged well beyond her twenty years.

“Please, excuse me.” She made a motion to go around them, but they moved as one to bar her path. Her heart sped up, imitating the rhythm of the train that had brought her to London, clacking and rattling and threatening to jump the tracks at any moment. She took a step back, and No Chin sidestepped over to hinder her escape. Suddenly, she found herself surrounded. It would take very little for the men to drag her into the darkest shadows of the garden where no hope existed for retaining her dignity.

She tried to open her reticule, to find the dagger she kept there as her only source of protection, but No Chin tore it free of her hold, nearly wrenching her arm off in the process. “No!” she cried out.

“Come on, be a good girl,” the fair-haired man said as he snaked an arm around her, lifting her to the tips of her toes.

Terror gripped her as she released an ear-splitting scream. But all she heard was laughter as they began carting her toward the dark abyss. She wouldn’t succumb easily to what they planned. She would fight, scratch, claw-

“Hold up, gents! The lady is with me.”

Apparently, the men forcing her off the main pathway were as surprised by the deep confident voice obviously directed at them as she was. They parted slightly, allowing her to view through a narrow gap the shadowy silhouette of a large man with broad shoulders, taller than any man she’d ever seen.

Abruptly, he shouldered his way in, wound his arm around her waist and untangled her from her captor, using his free arm to shove one of the other men aside.

“I mean you no harm,” he murmured quickly in a low, reassuring voice. “If you wish to survive this night with your virtue intact, I suggest you come along with me.”

Everything about him was lost to the murky shadows that accompanied the encroaching fog. His hair was dark, but she couldn’t tell its exact shade. She could feel the power in his hold, strength as well as confidence. Instinctively, she knew he was not a man who forced women. He had no need. Something about him radiated a protective air, and she realized in all likelihood he was the man who’d been following her, the man from Scotland Yard. She didn’t think he was one to fear the devil, and she had an insane thought that perhaps he could help her deal with Rockberry. But even as she thought it, she realized she could no more confide in a stranger than she could a friend. Not about this matter, not when so much-when everything-was at risk.

His gaze shifted away from her, and only then did she remember they had an audience. The three young men were glaring at them.

“Look here, old chap,” the leader said. “We claimed her first.”

“As I’ve already stated, she’s with me.”

“We were told she was available.”

“You were told incorrectly.” With his arm firmly around her, he began to stride away. She had to move her feet quickly to stay in step. But before they’d neared the main path, the three men moved to thwart their leaving. She heard his weary sigh.

“Do you gents really want to fight tonight, knowing you can’t possibly win?”

“There are three of us and only one of you. I like our odds.”

“My odds are better. I grew up on the streets, fighting far worse than you.”

“You sound like a gent.”

“But I fight like the very devil.” The underlying threat of his words reverberated through his voice.

It seemed the men who had accosted her were not only mean-spirited, but stupid. Bulbous swung-

She found herself quickly thrust behind her protector-it was how she was quickly beginning to think of him-as he warded off the blow and sent Bulbous to the ground. The other two attacked him. While he used his shoulder to cause No Chin to stagger back, her rescuer plowed his fist into the fair man’s stomach. With a gasp, Fair doubled over and dropped to his knees. Then her protector rounded on Bulbous as he regained his footing and stood. The thud of flesh hitting flesh as her protector’s knuckles caught the man beneath the chin echoed around them. Bulbous staggered back, arms windmilling. He fell in a graceless sprawl over the ground, unmoving. As his companions tried to get to their feet, her protector made short work of landing two quick punches that returned both to the ground.

“Stay put until we leave,” her protector ordered, before holding out his hand to her. “Let’s go, shall we?”

If he meant her harm, she thought, he had no reason to take her out of here. While the excuse was flimsy, she found herself nodding. She’d had quite enough of this place, and knew that finding Rockberry now was beyond the scope of her meager skills of detection. She took a step toward her rescuer, then remembered-

“My reticule. One of them took it.”

With his foot, he rolled Bulbous over, retrieved her reticule, and halted to stare at the handle of the dagger poking out.

“For protection,” she muttered, taking her reticule and closing it over the dagger.

“Little good it did you. Come along. Stay close. I’ll hire a hansom, see you safely home.”

She had no choice except to let him draw her in and hold her upright, because she realized that she was trembling from the ordeal now that it was over. How could she have been so foolish as to believe she could protect herself in this place by simply not accepting what anyone might offer?

“Have you a name?” he finally asked quietly.

“Eleanor Watkins,” she said without thinking, and then wondered if she should have provided a false name. She’d given so much thought to her plans, and here they were becoming unraveled.

“What were you doing wandering the gardens this time of night, Miss Watkins?”

“I fear I got lost.” She peered up at him, unable to determine if he believed her. “It seems, sir, that I should know the name of the man who rescued me.”

“James Swindler.”

On King’s Road they found a hansom waiting by the curb. Leaning over, he opened the door and handed her up. “What instructions shall I give the driver?” he asked.

Reluctantly, she gave him the address for her lodgings. He called out the information and handed coins up to the driver.

“Take care in the future, Miss Watkins. London can be a very dangerous place for a woman alone.”

Before she could reply, the driver set the vehicle into motion. Glancing back, she saw Mr. Swindler still standing in the street. Large and foreboding, becoming lost to the night, much like the man she’d glimpsed following her.

If he was Rockberry’s man, why had he let her go? And if he wasn’t, why was he following her?


“Her name is Eleanor Watkins.”

“Elisabeth’s sister. I should have guessed. There is an uncanny resemblance.”

James Swindler didn’t turn to acknowledge the quiet muttering from the shadowed corner following his pronouncement of the name of the woman he’d encountered at Cremorne Gardens-after spying on her for two days now.

Swindler’s superior, Sir David Mitchum, sat behind the desk in front of which Swindler stood. As the flame in the lamp was low, failing to cast enough light to reach the corners, Swindler assumed he was to pretend he wasn’t aware that another person inhabited the room. That the man smelled of sandalwood, rich tobacco, and nervous sweat made it a bit difficult for him to blend in with the surroundings. The fact that he’d spoken-apparently surprised by the information that Swindler had imparted-added to the ludicrousness of trying to pretend that Swindler and Sir David were alone in the room.

Unlike the man in the corner, Swindler had the uncanny knack of blending in wherever necessary. Still, Swindler gave no indication that he was aware of the other’s presence. He could pretend with the best of them. Although he found it inconceivable that the man would believe his identity was a secret, especially as Swindler’s investigation of the woman had begun at his lordship’s residence. He suspected the Marquess of Rockberry was a conceited buffoon.