Samuel tried not to smile. There was always someone in every building who could be guaranteed to spill secrets with gentle flattery. Even coin, sometimes, was unnecessary. And older women . . .

  When, he wondered, would the world realize the power of older women? Given half a chance, they would probably be running the world.

  They would probably do a better job than the present incumbents.

  “Yes, I believe it is Miss Finch’s shawl,” Samuel said aloud, taking a few more steps up the staircase and tilting his head to look at the woman. “I hoped to return it, but I admit—”

  “You don’t know where her rooms are,” said the woman with a grin. “You dinnae have to be coy wi’ me, sir. I seen enough people tramp up and down here to ken precisely what Miss Finch does to get by.”

  Samuel’s smile faded.

  Ah. Well, perhaps he should have expected that. It was rare, after all, that a woman was able to support herself. Lulu had never struck him as a woman of independent means, and she said she had no family . . .

  The disappointment rushing through him, however, was not expected. He did not own her—Lulu owed him nothing, not even the full truth, not if she had no wish to give it to him. Still, Samuel could not help but feel morose to discover the woman he was starting to care for was that sort of woman.

  “I see,” he said listlessly. “Well, in that case—”

  “Up here, second door along,” said the woman brightly. “She’s not home now, but the door is never locked.”

  Samuel frowned. Never locked? Why on earth would Lulu make herself so vulnerable? Did she not have any care of her safety?

  He looked at the shawl in his hands. Well, he had come this far. He was delivering a lost possession, there could be no arguing with that. All he had to do was place it inside her room and leave, and she could thank him another time.

  And, Samuel thought with a rush of intrigue, he would have a chance to see inside Lulu’s rooms. There was something so personal about one’s living quarters. Surely he could gauge a great deal about the mysterious Lulu Finch by seeing them.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Samuel knew this was taking a step too far. He certainly did not think Lulu would appreciate knowing he had peeked into her private quarters.

  His nosiness stirred. But she was not here. Would she be returning soon?

  Samuel cleared his throat. “Second door, you say?”

  “The middle one,” nodded the woman. “You let Miss Finch know I let you know.”

  “Yes, but—”

  The woman was gone before Samuel could discover her name.

  Well, there was nothing else for it. He had already determined his course of action in his mind, and there was no going back. The temptation had been faced, and he had given in.

  The doorhandle to Lulu’s rooms creaked under his touch. Samuel found he was holding his breath, which made no sense whatsoever. There was of course the faint possibility that the older woman had been mistaken, and Lulu was inside . . .

  “Lulu?” breathed Samuel as the door opened just a few inches. “Are you there?”

  He waited, heart frantically beating as though he were breaking and entering.

  Which he had done before, though this could probably only be considered trespassing. Naturally, a duke should require one of his informants to do such a thing, but sometimes there simply wasn’t the time.

  This was difficult. This was not a person betraying the Crown, breaking the law, or getting involved in anything more dangerous than associating with cads like Gillingham and Gregory.

  No, this was simply trespassing in a woman’s rooms, a woman who held a fascination for him that he could not explain.

  Before he knew it, he had stepped into the room and closed the door. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, Samuel groped about for a candle. He pulled out his tinderbox, lit a short stub of wax, and peered about.

  It was . . . not what he had expected.

  And in an odd way, he didn’t know why. Every time he had seen Lulu she had been unadorned, unjewelled, and unpretentious. Fraying at the edges. She had not worn silk gowns or fashionable pelisses. There had been nothing in her attire to suggest she was a woman of means.

  But Samuel had not quite realized just how without means she was.

  The room was almost bare. He stepped forward, his footstep echoing horribly thanks to the emptiness of the room. The fire had not been lit in the grate for some time. The single chair was worn, far more worn than he would have expected, and there was not much else in the room. He would not have permitted his lowest maid to have such a thing in her bedchamber, let alone someone like Lulu.

  He took another step forward. There was a door on the other side of the room, and Samuel half hoped that this was some sort of servant’s quarters, that the rest of the lodgings, Lulu’s real home, would be through the door.

  Opening it only revealed the large, almost empty bedchamber.

  He closed the door and walked to the window, looking out through the worn curtain. The room was freezing, and there was a horrible dampness to the air that made his nose itch.

  Samuel swallowed. Somehow, seeing a woman’s poverty felt different to seeing a woman’s luxury. He should not be here. He should never have come.

  Leaving the shawl would only reveal to Lulu he had intruded. Tightening his grip on the fabric, Samuel turned.

  He almost dropped the candle.

  “Well,” said Lulu dryly, closing the door to the corridor and leaning against it, eyebrows raised. “This, I did not expect.”

  Panic rushed through him so violently Samuel was unsure if he could breathe.

  This was the very worst situation he could have found himself in—the very worst. How could he ever explain it? All his justifications, all the reasons with which he had placated himself the moment he had put a hand on Lulu’s doorhandle, rushed from his mind. What had he been thinking?

  The silk of the shawl shifted in his fingertips.

  Without another thought, Samuel thrust it forward. “I-I brought your shawl.”

  It did nothing to pacify the irate glare in Lulu’s eyes. “And do you often steal women’s possessions and use that as an excuse to barge into their homes?”

  Had he ever felt this wretched? Oh, Samuel wished he could go back five minutes and leave Lulu’s shawl with the woman who had pointed him in this direction. Why hadn’t he realized that was the right thing to do? When had he so completely lost sight of his own morals?

  What was it about Lulu that did this to him?

  “It wasn’t like that,” he said hastily. “I saw you had left your shawl at McBarland—”

  “You mean, you took it,” Lulu snapped, her glare showing no sign of receding.

  Discomfort sparked along Samuel’s shoulder blades. “No, I—”

  “And then you thought oh, this will give me the perfect excuse to ignore Lulu’s privacy, march into her home, and have a good poke about her possessions?” said Lulu, pain evident in her voice.

  Samuel swallowed the defensive retort that it wouldn’t have taken long, as she did not appear to have many possessions.

  What had happened to put Lulu in such a situation? Had her father never thought to provide for her? Was there no one she could go to for protection?

  “You don’t have to be coy with me, sir. I’ve seen enough people tramp up and down here to know precisely what Miss Finch does to get by.”

  A bitter, almost nauseous sensation rose in his stomach as the words of the woman on the stairs echoed in his mind. If she had sought the protection of others, it had not borne fruit.

  Guilt was not a sensation Samuel was accustomed to. He was an agent of the Crown. He was one of the few men in London who had known where Penshaw had been last year. He had been informed of Sedley’s desperate attempt to catch the Glasshand Gang. He had known where Caelfall was while hiding from Society. He’d even received a begrudging invitation from Wincham after he’d lost his leg, though he’d been too busy to accept it.

  He was a good man.

  He did not feel particularly good in this moment.

  “I am sorry,” Samuel said softly. “I—”

  “We seem to be doing a great deal of apologizing to each other. I cannot help but think we are simply unsuitable to be acquaintances,” Lulu said, eyes blazing. “How—how dare you!”

  It would rather have inflamed the situation, Samuel knew, to point out just how marvelous she looked when she was angry. He had attempted that once with Lady Romeril and it had been a mistake. One he would not make again.

  Still, he could not pretend he did not think it was true. Seeing Lulu riled was like seeing the glories of the heavens unfolding. There was something majestic about her, as though nature herself were thundering in Lulu’s every syllable.

  “I—I wanted an excuse to see you,” Samuel admitted, deciding on the truth. How much trouble could that get him in? “Besides, I am not sure it was an accident you left it there.”

  Lulu halted in her advance, which came as both relief and disappointment to Samuel. He had half hoped she was going to kiss him, though her hands had clenched into fists which did not bode well.

  She glared. “Not an accident?”

  “I think,” Samuel said, rushing forward before he lost his nerve. “I think you wanted to see me again.”

  The thought had been flickering right at the edges of his mind since he had pocketed the shawl last night. Lulu wanted more, he was sure. She looked at him sometimes like he was the most fascinating man in the world, and Samuel was absolutely certain he was not.

  Why couldn’t she just admit it?

  Perhaps she needed to hear of his growing interest and affections first. Yes, that would be it. What woman wanted to be the first to be vulnerable?

  “Lulu,” Samuel began. “I—”

  “What precisely are you doing in Edinburgh, Your Grace?”

  Samuel froze.

  Not because Lulu’s tone had been combative, though it certainly was. Not because he had just noticed a leaf entangled most becomingly in her hair, which he had. And not because she had called him “Your Grace,” which jarred. But because the question itself was one he should have asked himself a week ago.

  What was he doing in Edinburgh?

  He was supposed to be hunting those who were traitors to the Crown. He had been sent, after all, to find those who were sharing secrets with the French. Their mortal enemies!

  And at first, that was precisely what he had done. Samuel had sent out messengers, built a network of informants, and started to follow up on the tastiest morsels of gossip. So why had he, for the last few weeks—ever since he had first encountered Miss Lucy Finch—become so distracted?

  Guilt of a different flavor rushed through him. Samuel placed the shawl on the armchair and tried desperately to think of a response which would not shame him, but there wasn’t one.

  “I just want to know you,” Samuel said helplessly.

  The words had spilled out before he could stop them. They were filled with such longing, such desire, Samuel could tangibly feel the room warming with his embarrassment.

  A scarlet flush tinged Lulu’s cheeks. “You—”

  “I want to know everything about you,” he said quietly, stepping toward her. “I know you’ve fought your inclinations for me, Lulu—”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” she whispered, still flushing.

  Samuel gritted his teeth. “That’s what I have been saying! Damn it, woman, I didn’t think I would have to debase myself to such a level just to—”

  “You think because you are a duke, you do not have to ask politely?” Lulu shot back, almost vibrating with anger. “You think because you are wealthy and I am—am not, you can merely demand things of me?”

  Samuel bit back his response that it had always worked in the past. This was not helping! Every time he seemed to take a step nearer to understanding Lulu, to gaining her trust, he put his foot in it.

  He met her gaze. Lulu’s eyes were shimmering with passion or with unspilled tears, he could not tell which. There was a defiance in her air he had only seen in her presence, and it warmed him as nothing else ever had.

  “Fine,” she said curtly. “Fine. You want to know about me? Here is what you can know about me.”

  There was such brittle pain in her words, Samuel immediately changed his mind. Why did this happen so often in her presence? “No, I—”

  “I am a woman of no means, no support, and no options,” Lulu said, gaze unwavering. “I am down on my luck, as those in the McBarland gaming hell would say. I have done . . . I have done things in the past to survive, things I—I am not proud of.”

  Samuel cleared his throat as the older woman’s words rang once again in his ears. He knew precisely what the woman had meant, and now Lulu had confirmed it. She had been a courtesan, a lady of the night, a street walker: whatever you called it, it all amounted to the same thing.

  “I had to do what I knew to be wrong to get by,” said Lulu, her voice breaking. “And I may just have to do that again. Are you happy, now you have wormed your way into my secrets? That is why I do not tell people about myself, that is why I hide myself away, that is why I—what are you doing?”

  Her gaze had finally left Samuel’s face to look at the hand which had taken hers.

  His hand.

  Samuel’s heart was pattering painfully, but he had never been more certain that what he was doing, right now, in this moment, was the right thing.

  Her fingers were cold. She must have been freezing outside.

  “I am sorry I am once again apologizing,” Samuel breathed, and he smiled as Lulu snorted. “I am sorry I pushed you to reveal more than you were comfortable with.”

  “Oh, what are secrets revealed when you have marched into my home?” Lulu snapped.

  Samuel winced. “I am sorry for coming into your home uninvited. It was wrong.”

  Strange. After going so long in his life without so much as a single apology, he was starting to make a habit of it.

  Lulu’s wry look warmed, her smile deepening. She stepped closer, her breasts grazing his chest as she looked up at him. “You are forgiven. Mostly.”

  “Mostly?” murmured Samuel, fighting the instinct to pull her into his arms and show her precisely what an apology from the Duke of Chantmarle should look like. He would make a great deal of apologies if the results were like this.

  Lulu’s eyes glittered. “Mostly. I suppose I shall have to keep you around to see if I can be persuaded to forgive you entirely.”

  Samuel lowered his head ever so slightly, and his heart skipped a beat when Lulu tilted her chin. She wanted him to kiss her, that much was obvious. And there was no reason to stop now, no excuse. He would kiss her.

  Almost moaning at the anticipation, Samuel lowered his head, his lips a mere inch from Lulu’s, and—

  “Miss Finch! Miss Finch, I told a man—oh.”

  Lulu whirled around, dropping Samuel’s hand. “Mrs. Abernathy! I—”

  “Never mind,” said the woman, cheeks flushed. “I dinnae intend to—never mind.”

  The door closed with a snap.

  Samuel cursed darkly under his breath.

  Lulu was smiling as she turned back to him. “I think you should go.”

  Samuel groaned. “You cannot mean to almost kiss me then—”

  “You will just have to wonder,” said Lulu with a laugh. “Curiosity becomes you, doesn’t it? This will just have to be one more thing that you are curious about.”

  Chapter Ten

  27 April 1811

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” Lulu murmured, trying to strengthen her voice but not managing it.

  Samuel’s chuckle made her stomach lurch and her face flush. “I know.”

  “Well then—”

  “If you want me to leave, order me to leave,” he said softly. “I am completely in your power, you know that.”

  Lulu swallowed.

  He was right. She did know that. Ever since she had discovered the rascal of a duke in her rooms last week, a change had occurred between them. It was a shift she could not put into words but could feel through every inch of her body.

  A difference in the balance of power between them.

  Oh, Samuel was still a duke. He was still terribly handsome, and his mere presence was enough to make Lulu sometimes forget what she was about to say. He was still infuriating at least once an hour and made Lulu glare as she had never glared before.

  But the partly spoken, partly unspoken desire between them had almost come to a point with the kiss that had not been. That altered things. They were no longer simply two people in Edinburgh who were acquaintances. They were something more.

  Precisely what, Lulu did not know. But she knew for certain what they were doing was absolutely outrageous and should not be countenanced.

  That had not stopped them.

  “We shouldn’t,” Lulu said, far more firmly than she felt.

  Samuel grinned from the chair he had arrived with that evening outside her lodgings. “And yet we are.”

  She smiled as she shifted in her old wing backed armchair.

  It had been Samuel’s idea. Why, he had put to her, should they suffer through the indignity of having to pretend in public that they were anything less than . . . friends?

  Friends. Lulu had repeated the word back to him and reveled in the way his cheeks pinked at the mere hint of heat in her words.

  Friends, he had said. Far better, Samuel had argued, that they arrange to meet in her lodgings. Her rooms would provide more than enough privacy for them to converse without being concerned about the world’s incorrect assumptions.

  “Incorrect?” Lulu had said, raising an eyebrow as Samuel had arrived outside her building that evening. “I am not certain what would be incorrect.”

  They had moved into uncharted territory, and though she was curious to see precisely where it could lead, Lulu knew she was stepping onto dangerous ground. After all, most ladies in Edinburgh did not have dukes turn up at their homes with an armchair, a basket full of food undoubtedly prepared by his cook, and another full of coals.