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“Dear, but now you are in deep—”

Boom!

A burst of color illuminated the sky, showering the earth in cascading lights. More fireworks followed, drowning out Honoria’s words.

Lydia didn’t need to hear what Honor had to say. She already knew.

She was in deep, deep trouble.

* * *

Fireworks shot around him, and the people turned their faces to the skies, watching the glittering show in awe—everyone except Thorn. He elbowed his way through the crowd, his gaze darting to every woman in a blue gown that remotely resembled hers.

But none of them were her.

Yet his heart still sang with joy.

She is alive.

For the first time in years, he had found hope again.

His fingers flew instinctively to his lips.

He’d kissed her.

Her taste still lingered on his tongue.

She wasn’t a hallucination or a feverish dream anymore—she was real, flesh and blood beneath his touch.

How many nights had he lain awake wondering? How many days had he spent searching, only to find nothing? And now, just when he’d been ready to surrender even the memory of her, she appeared before him, all fiery passion and seductive touches.

She touched him. Kissed him.

She was real, and she was alive.

She had also been deceiving him—communicating with him for over a month without revealing her true identity. At this moment, he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Other, stronger emotions took hold of his body and mind.

The crowd cheered as another burst of fireworks painted the sky, matching the euphoria in his chest.

She is alive! Hooray!

As the smoke began to dissipate, a shower of papers—pamphlets—descended gracefully from above. People jumped and scrambled to catch them, fighting to be the first to read whatever scandal they contained. Thorn ignored them. Gossip meant nothing when Lily was somewhere in this crowd.

But then a woman gasped, and the buzz around him intensified. People exchanged scandalized whispers as they held the pamphlets close to the torches. Something was wrong.

He snatched one off the ground and brought it close to the light.

“The Mist is a Miss,” it read.

Thorn narrowed his eyes at the paragraphs about the notorious thief who had terrorized London’s prestigious homes for years. He’d heard rumors of the infamous Mist—a mysterious figure everyone spoke of but no one saw. It was a story, a myth. A legend.

Well, the pamphlet alleged that Mist was very real. Not only had she stolen and sold expensive art and family heirlooms, but she was living lavishly off these artifacts right under society’s noses as Mrs. Lydia Lawless.

Lydia Lawless.

Why did that name sound familiar? Surely, he’d heard the name before, perhaps even met the lady? No. He hadn’t socialized with the ton for years except for his closest friends. He hadn’t stepped foot into a fancy ballroom until a few weeks ago, and when he did, he immediately got himself betrothed.

But Lydia Lawless… that name sounded very familiar. A distant memory tickled the back of his mind.