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He couldn’t fault her. His reputation was repugnant. He hadn’t expected such a strong reaction, though. After all, she had danced with him on the balcony during the Payne ball, although she had disappeared soon after. But she had also graced a brothel with her presence just the night before.

But perhaps she just didn’t want to be seen with him in broad daylight. Visiting a brothel under the blanket of the night while wearing a mask and dancing with him in the relative privacy of a shadowed balcony were one thing. Being seen entertaining a known libertine who was engulfed in a scandal was a completely different matter entirely.

“Please, do not feel obligated to be polite. You can curse me out. I won’t fault you one bit.”

“Oh, no.” She frowned before forcing out a smile. “You misunderstood my hesitation. I quite enjoyed your company as well. And I would have invited you in by now, but I am going out at the moment.”

Ian clapped his hands. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your duties.”

“I just promised my friend that we’d go to this place,” she hastened to add. “She is waiting for me to pick her up as we speak. Perhaps you can come to visit at a later date? Or…”

“Or?” Ian jumped on her hesitation immediately.

Mrs. St. John bit her lip, thinking something through. Having made up her mind, she nodded to herself. “Would you like to join us? To be frank, we would love male assistance. We are going to be accompanied by our footmen, of course, but I would appreciate a gentleman’s hand.”

“Then you shall have it.” Ian jumped one step closer to her and offered his arm.

Mrs. St. John took a deep breath before reluctantly putting her fingers on his sleeve. She lingered there for a moment, her long fingers softly wrapped around the fabric. Her hand hovered above his arm, almost not touching. She didn’t seem to breathe at all, either.

She held herself as straight as a lance. Gone were her carefree, fluid movements of the night at the ball. Now she kept herself rigid, and as far away from Ian as she could.

Her reluctance and the tension in her body were a living being. She might have wanted to seem cold and distant, cool and collected, but her pulse hammered against her skin so violently that even Ian could feel it through her feeble touch.

Her cheeks flushed red, and she bit her lip. He obviously made her nervous.

Ian smiled. The light breeze lifted a strand of her hair that seemed to have escaped from her widow’s cap, and with it brought her fresh, jasmine scent.

Ian couldn’t help but take a deep breath, inhaling her scent. And his body tingled with anticipation.

He led Mrs. St. John toward her carriage that was standing by the side of the road. A large valise was tied to the top of the carriage as if ready for a long trip. The footman lowered the step of the carriage, and Ian helped Mrs. St. John inside. He sat across from her, making himself comfortable. “And where are we going if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, pardon me.” Mrs. St. John fisted her hands and hid them in the folds of her skirts. She seemed rather nervous to share the confined space of the carriage with a practical stranger. “I should have told you right away. There is a women’s shelter in St. Giles across from the Lycai orphanage.”

Ian raised a brow. He knew that the Lycai orphanage was under the Shadows’ guard. The list of patrons was held secret, but the rumors of shadowed men visiting the orphanage were quite rampant. What they did there was something that nobody knew. Prepared the army against the king? Something more nefarious but not as grandiose? Ian didn’t try to guess.

But if this women’s shelter was situated next to the Lycai orphanage, and if Mrs. St. John was one of the patrons, it was safe to conclude that the two institutions were related.

Perhaps Ian would learn more than he intended to by courting Mrs. St. John.

“But we’ll be stopping by to collect your friend first?”

The door closed, and the carriage jolted into a start.

“Yes, Princess Victoria,” Mrs. St. John said with a smile.

Ah, the daughter of the Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin and the Russian Tsarevna, otherwise known as Princess Victoria.

Ian had been assigned to watch her and her allies upon her first arrival. The King was convinced that she was a Trojan horse sent from Russia to destroy England. Or perhaps to marry an influential Lord and act as a spy.

Both hypotheses were proved to be wrong, however, after she married a common criminal—a fact that was still kept secret from most of the world—and then the Russian empire changed their ruler and imprisoned Princess Victoria’s family.

Now the young princess was at the mercy of the British Empire, living with her marquess uncle.

The carriage stopped, and Ian jumped down to greet the princess. She was walking toward the carriage but stopped cold when she saw him. She threw a brief glance toward Mrs. St. John and then pulled on a smile, although her eyes were still wary.

“Lord McAllistair,” she said with a pleasant tone of voice as she extended her hand. “What a lovely surprise.”

He bowed over it and helped her into the carriage. He settled after her just as the women finished their greeting and the princess turned back to Ian. “Such a pleasure that you’re joining us,” she said, still smiling. And to any other person, her greetings would seem perfectly normal, pleasant even. But Ian read people well. There was a reason he was good at his job.