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Calliope’s eyes blazed excitedly. “Exactly! But think about it, no one believes a woman can do this. But Spencer taught me boxing. Richard and Preston taught me fencing. I can defend myself if I must, but even more important is the ability to outsmart villains. Everyone underestimates women. Criminals will overlook me as insignificant, to their detriment.”

Jane admired how confident Calliope was, how ready she was to pursue her vision and do what pleased her, despite what society expected.

“I’m impressed,” she said. “But what about the Bow Street Runners? Aren’t they already doing that?”

“They’re often disorganized and they rarely solve anything. And yet, property is stolen, people disappear…some are even killed. And no one, except for the victims and those close to them, can help. So, I’d like to.”

Jane felt a pang of empathy towards Calliope. They were more alike than she could have believed. Perhaps if she found her soulmates in the ton, this world wouldn’t be as harsh and unwelcoming as she had thought, after all.

“How remarkable, Calliope,” she said as Mrs. Newman asked her to turn and worked on her back. “I think you’re very brave, and you know what you’re doing.”

“First, we need to find Spencer,” Calliope said, turning to gaze out the window with a worried look on her face. “Then I can open my agency and help others.” She turned back to Jane, her brow smoothing. “I’m so glad you’re going to be my sister,” she said. “And I can see how fond Richard is of you.”

Jane’s cheeks felt like they had burst into flames. “You can?”

“Yes. He said he’s in love, and I didn’t believe him at first.” She narrowed her eyes, and Jane had a sense of being examined under a magnifying glass. “But I can see how he straightens and how his eyes brighten when you’re around.”

“You can undress now,” said Mrs. Newman. “I’ll work for an hour or so on your dress and then it should be ready.”

Jane’s fingers fumbled with the hooks of the dress, and Abigail stepped forward to help. Jane’s heart hammered in her chest like a wild animal trying to break free. Richard had consumed her thoughts since the moment she met him—albeit at first in irritation. She couldn’t help wishing things could be different for them.

Surely he didn’t feel the same way, she told herself as Abigail worked on the dress.

But he had protected her in front of the modiste, and he had shown her Reuben’s note, and now he had asked for Calliope’s help. Didn’t that show he cared?

Yes, he had betrayed her trust when he’d snuck into Thorne’s study, but if she was honest with herself, she would have probably done the same thing in his place to protect her brother. Richard hadn’t wanted to hurt her.

She felt exposed and vulnerable but also alive and exhilarated. Jane’s heart thrummed in her chest. Was it just her imagination that made her feel more alive with him present in the room? She couldn’t get him out of her head, but did he feel the same way about her?

“Just please don’t break his heart,” Calliope said. “Not after what Lady Charity did. Not again.”

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, her voice barely a whisper as she wrestled with her treacherous thoughts. She felt so much more for him than she wanted to. The way her heart swelled when he looked at her, the way his lips tasted when she kissed him… The idea of hurting him, of shattering the trust he placed in her…it was unbearable. Only, it seemed, she was in at least as much danger of being left brokenhearted when their ruse was over.

18

With Jane by his side, Richard walked into the brightly lit salon of Lady Brewster’s mansion. His chest was queasy, his pulse drumming hard in his hand, which ached to reach out and take Jane’s.

Candlelit chandeliers twinkled overhead, casting their golden glow over the three dozen people who filled the drawing room with a hum of chatter and laughter. It was an intimate gathering rather than one of the lavish balls that Lady Brewster usually hosted. The dinner party, for which Richard, Calliope, and Jane were late, was finished. Now the guests—nobles, soldiers, poets, and beautiful women—talked, laughed, drank, and mingled.

Everywhere Richard looked, his gaze was met with roses: red, white, pink, peach, yellow, and every hue in between. The scent was heady and intoxicating, mixing with the perfume and cologne of the guests. The blossoms were artfully arranged in elaborate cascades upon the mantelpiece and along the deep moldings that topped the elegant oak paneling of the room. They even decorated the pianoforte skillfully played by Lady Isabella Greene.

The room was punctuated by high, arching windows, trimmed with heavy drapes that were pulled back to reveal the moonlit gardens full of rosebushes.

He remembered five years ago when he’d walked into the very same room with another fiancée. He’d been so happy then, had felt light and warm and like he could take on the whole world. It had been decorated similarly then, and the whole room had sparkled with the many jewels on the necks, ears, and in the elaborate hairstyles of the ladies and on the lapel pins and rings of the gentlemen. Feathers had swayed in the air as ladies talked and walked. The windows had been open, and fresh lilac-scented air had wafted in.

He needed to stop thinking about it. Needed to forget about how the last time he’d been here, he’d walked through those French doors and straight into the biggest heartbreak of his life.

The woman who stood next to him now was nothing like Lady Charity. As he glanced to his side to look at her, his breath caught, and all sad thoughts of Lady Charity evaporated. Heavens, she looked lovely with that silvery dress and a new hairstyle with locks gently falling over her right shoulder. Her arms were clad in silvery gloves that ended just above her elbows.

She was no gray mouse anymore. And no one could say her attire meant she did not belong here.

But her behavior gave her away.

She was nervous, with her gaze darting around the room. Her cheeks were flushed, and her palms were sweating. Her breathing increased as she took in all the glitz and pomp of the atmosphere.

Shamelessly, his gaze dropped down her neckline to the two half ovals protruding over the edge of her bodice. He couldn’t look away from the pretty fold between her breasts. Heavens, all her previous dresses had covered her chest up to her neck, so it was the first time he’d seen them.

He remembered the soft feel of them pressed against his chest as he’d kissed her on her bed. His gaze dropped lower still as he tried to guess how she looked under the high-waisted gown. Was her skin as soft everywhere? He could see the round curve of her hips as she walked, the shape of her long legs as the dress moved.