I do not know if I can trust him not to tell Andrew or Jamie. Am I correct in thinking you would not want them to know?”
Gina grinned. “Oh, yes. Andrew would take his duty as my closest male relative to heart and forbid me to do more than drink tea and embroider. I thought Devlin might be the same.”
Lilly’s eyes twinkled. “Devlin is far too protective, but he admires women who can think for themselves. Still, he would not want you to endanger yourself. Ah, but how can hiring a few lads endanger you? No, I think we are safe in this.”
Gina was not nearly as worried about what Andrew or Devlin would do as she was about another man. “M-most importantly, I do not want James Hunter to know. He told me last night that, if he had his way, I would return to Belfast at once.”
Lilly’s eyebrows shot up. “No! He would not be so ungentlemanly.”
“He was not in a gentlemanly mood. I am afraid he knows I am looking for Mr. Henley. And I might have suggested that I could hardly do worse than the Home Office.”
“Oh, my!” Lilly did her best to contain her laughter. “I can imagine how he took that. Whatever possessed you to make that charge?”
“I cannot recall. Our conversations tend to deteriorate after a moment or two. It would be best if we simply avoided one another as much as possible, but he has decided to take my safety upon himself. Quite aggravating.”
“I wish you luck, Gina. Knowing the Hunter men, you will need it.”
Gina felt a tug on her arm and turned in time to see a ragged child trying to cut her purse strings. “Here now!”
Lilly peered around her. “Let loose, Ned.”
“Mrs. Lilly! This a friend of yers?”
“My sister.”
The lad released his hold on Gina’s reticule, removed his cap and swept an exaggerated bow. “At yer service, Miss Sister.”
“Miss Eugenia,” Lilly corrected. “And we were looking for you, Ned, and some of your mates.”
“Got a job fer us, Mrs. Lilly?”
“Indeed we have. But I shall let my sister tell you what she needs. Whatever she pays you, Ned, I shall double it if you deliver.”
The boy grinned ear to ear. “You know I will, missus.” He turned to Gina. “What do y’ need, Miss Eugenia?”
“The location of a man named Cyril Henley.”
“Gor! ‘E’s the one we looked fer before, missus.”
“He escaped the net we cast, Ned. But his mates were brought in. He’s the last of them.”
Ned nodded. “I already knowed he got away, missus. I spotted ‘im a couple days ago and told Mr. Farrell. ‘E’s lookin’ for the gent, but I didn’t know anyone else was lookin’ fer him, too.”
Gina held her breath. “Do you know where he is?”
“‘E lost me, Miss Eugenia. Never knowed a gent so slippery. I recognized ‘im from last time, but ‘e got away before I could follow ‘im back to ‘is ‘ole. Can I work fer both of ye?”
“I do not object to Mr. Farrell having the information, Ned, but he must not know I have hired you, too.”
Ned seemed to consider this for a moment. “Well, since ye ain’t askin’ me to keep information from ‘im, I s’pose there’s no ‘arm. Mum’s the word, miss.”
Ignorant of what a pickpocket would charge for such a service, she withdrew a crown from her reticule and pressed it into the grubby hand. “And another when you bring me the information.”
The lad looked down at his palm and grinned. “Aye, miss. An’ where’ll I find ye?”
“You mustn’t come to my home. I shall meet you daily at St. Mary’s.”
Ned glanced at the church on one side of the square and nodded. “Noon too early fer ye?”
“Not in the least.”
He tipped his worn cap and gave an awkward bow. “Don’t ye worry, miss. We know the warrens like nobody else. We’ll ‘ave yer gent soon enough. Oh, an’ did ye know ye was bein’ followed?”
A deep cold invaded her vitals. She scanned the crowd, looking for some sign of someone watching, but nothing appeared amiss. No one betrayed the least interest in her or her sister. Could Ned be wrong?
Chapter Seven
Jamie sipped his wine and allowed the conversation to drift over him as he watched the ladies across the drawing room. Earlier at the dinner table, sitting opposite Miss Eugenia had been a sweet agony of yearning. Each time she brought a spoon to those luscious lips, he remembered how they’d tasted, how they’d felted crushed beneath his own. Though it pained him to admit his own lack of self-control, he knew he’d do it again, given half a chance. And knew, too, that kiss had been the biggest mistake he’d ever made. He’d have been better to imagine it than experience it and yearn for it the rest of his life.
The ladies laughed at something Bella said, and then Miss Eugenia glanced in his direction. Their eyes met for a moment and he held back a groan. He wanted her in a way he’d never wanted any other woman, and with an intensity that left him breathless.
Upon reflection, he realized it was true—what Charlie had said. He had spent his adult life avoiding serious entanglements. He had gone so far as to shun the company of women who would expect more of him. But Miss Eugenia…no, she would be no different. Even as he watched her now, her hand went to her throat, and he knew she was remembering that night. He was a reminder of all she had suffered, of her pain and humiliation. There could never be a future with her.
Ah, but there was the next week or so, until she was whisked back to Ireland. And, torture though it would be, he would avail himself of every opportunity to be near her until then.
“…Cox.”
Jamie returned his attention to his own conversation at the mention of that name. “Cox? “
Charlie grinned, as if he knew where Jamie’s mind had been. “Were you not paying attention, Jamie? Devlin just told us that his stableman, old Cox, is dead.”
“Dead?” Jamie frowned. “Accident?”
“Murder. We found him in a stall. He’d been covered over with hay, but the smell gave him away.”
Jamie studied Devlin’s face. Had Devlin avenged the attempt on Jamie’s life? As usual, Devlin was inscrutable. “Coincidence? Or do you think it had something to do with the other night?”
Devlin’s lips twitched, as if he might smile. “It wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re thinking, Hunter. Were I a betting man, I’d wager he was silenced for whatever role he played in that debacle. If he had been paid to help an assassin, it wasn’t by me. He’d been carved up like a Christmas
