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“What is it with you two?” Miss Monroe mused. “You always seem to find yourselves in scrapes that require my help.”

Lydia scoffed. “You. You are the reason we’re in scrapes. You ruined us both. First, by spreading that vile pamphlet—”

“That was your doing,” Miss Monroe interrupted with a shrug. “You knew what was going to happen. Now, sit.”

“And then by promising Art you would fix your mistake and failing to do so.” Lydia walked toward the desk and took the seat opposite the hell owner.

Lydia expected the most powerful woman in England—aside from the Queen—to be offended. Or at least to snap in rage. Instead, Miss Monroe merely shrugged.

“Art—as you call him—made a deal with me of his own accord. I did not force him. Unlike the situation between you and me.” She gave Lydia a pointed look. “And all he required of me was to do my best in fixing the pamphlet fiasco.”

“Your best?” Lydia scoffed. “I don’t believe for a moment that your best resulted in him being threatened by a marquess.”

Miss Monroe blinked, her expression momentarily blank. “Apologies,” she said smoothly, “I believe I’m missing some vital information. What marquess?”

“Rivendale.”

The moment the name left Lydia’s lips, Miss Monroe’s entire demeanor changed.

The shift was subtle. Her posture stiffened, her gaze sharpened, her air of casual detachment wavered—just for a moment. Then, just as quickly, she relaxed—the practiced mask sliding back into place.

Still, Lydia had seen it.

“Rivendale is convinced that I stole something of his,” she explained. “Something very valuable. And he is adamant about getting it back. If I don’t return it, he will ruin Art.”

Miss Monroe leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “What did you steal?”

“A locket,” Lydia said simply. “It was gorgeous. Lined with rare stones. Very expensive.”

That locket had been Lydia’s lucky break. It had been her first high-paying item. The first one that paid enough for her to join the social whirl and enact their plan with Honoria.

“And do you know where it is now?”

Lydia swallowed. “No.”

“Do you have any idea where to start looking?”

Lydia nodded. “Yes. The underground auction in London. But it was years ago. Even if they don’t keep the records—”

“They always keep the records,” Miss Monroe interrupted.

“But wherever the locket went, I’m certain it was to a foreign buyer. Getting it back will be impossible.”

“You are a thief.” Miss Monroe shrugged.

“Yes, but I operate in England. I know this land. The people. The language. You have a wider network. You can help me find it.” Lydia leaned forward, her fingers on the diamond choker she had in her pocket. “And in turn—”

Before she could finish, Miss Monroe stood abruptly. “Very well. I shall help you.”

Lydia blinked, releasing the choker from her hold. She stood—considerably slower. “Why?”

Miss Monroe shrugged. “Your—whoever Thornton is to you—negotiated a deal. I promised him I’d do my best to restore your reputation. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. She had a sneaking suspicion this had nothing to do with Art.

She arched a brow. “Just like that?”

Miss Monroe smiled. “Just. Like. That.” Then after a moment of silence, added, “Do you happen to know a good forger?”