

The Robber Bride

Jerrica Knight-Catania
This book is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, locations and events are either a product of the

author's imagination, fictitious or used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to any event, locale or person,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Robber Bride

Copyright 2011 by Jerrica Knight-Catania

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any format.

Cover design by Lily Smith

For my husband—

I wouldn't know a thing about romance if it weren't for you!
Acknowledgements

Because I dedicate all my books to my husband, I decided I should put in an acknowledgements page to say thank you to some important people who have been so instrumental in my writing and publishing journey. First and foremost, I must thank my amazing critique partners—you all know who you are, and you know I'd be lost without you! A huge thank you to my editors: Linda Uzelac, Didi Charney and Mindy Moore. I don't know what I would do without your expert eyes and sage advice. And to my friends and family who have always been incredibly supportive of my writing career—your support means the world to me!
Prologue

In the third month of her eighth year, Victoria Barclay climbed aboard her family carriage and took a seat opposite her mother. Mother sat with her gloved hands neatly folded in her lap, her expression unreadable. She was never one to display a great deal of emotion. Rather, her countenance always lingered somewhere between perturbed and content. Her blue velvet traveling gown stretched across the tufted seat and cascaded onto the floor.

Being so young, Victoria sought to emulate her mother, the Lady Grantham, and therefore mimicked her stance. She folded her hands in her lap, straightened her spine to the best of her ability and tried to set her features in a passive stare. It felt somewhat foreign, though. She wished to relax against the squabs, tuck her feet underneath her, and stare out the window at the passing scenery. Of course, that was never allowed. Mother and Father insisted that Victoria be shielded from the less savory aspects of London life, and therefore the shades were drawn tight anytime they traveled beyond the Marylebone borders.

But how bored she became sitting in that dim carriage with nothing to look at but Mother!

"Stop your fidgeting, Victoria," her mother admonished.

Immediately, she clasped her hands together and stilled her feet. She had not even noticed that she'd begun to fidget, but sure as the king was mad, her fingers had crushed the velvet of her cloak and her feet swung in time to the horses' hooves.

"Sorry, Mother," Victoria replied, making sure to keep her voice even.

Mother sighed and opened her reticule without another word. She pulled out a small piece of folded parchment and unfolded it carefully. As Mother read the missive to herself, Victoria took the opportunity to pull back the shade an inch or two, just enough to get a glimpse of what she considered _the real London_.

Though she had not been exposed to the sights of _the real London_ , she knew that the London she lived in could not go by such a name. Victoria was quite aware that she lived a privileged life, though just how privileged she did not know until that very morning.

Pulling back the shade was the single most important moment of her entire life—it was the day she learned how the _others_ lived. Dilapidated buildings lined the streets, which were muddy from last night's rain. Livestock ran rampant amongst the people and carriages, and street urchins crowded the passersby, their hands outstretched, desperate for a ha'penny.

Victoria had never witnessed such a scene. This place seemed a million miles away from the refinement of Marylebone. _Her_ London was quiet and clean. The paved streets were overrun with fine ladies and dandies and crested carriages, not mud and excrement.

Somehow she could not turn from the sight. Though it disturbed her to her core, she was helpless to turn away. And then something else happened as the carriage slowed in traffic—something so profound she would never forget it for as long as she lived. A young girl, of her approximate age, emerged from an alleyway. Her mousy brown hair was mussed and dangled limply around her face. Tears streaked her cheeks and her lip trembled, but she did her best to keep her chin high as her eyes locked with Victoria's.

She wondered why the girl cried so. Maybe she was hungry. It did not occur to Victoria until many years later that her crying may have had something to do with the man who emerged from the alley behind her.

Guilt stabbed Victoria in the heart, sharp and heavy, as she stared into the girl's large, misty eyes. Deep down, she knew she had no reason to truly feel guilty. It was not her fault she'd been high-born or the other girl low-born, but she couldn't shake the feeling. Why was she waited on hand and foot, given every imaginable luxury and sheltered from even the sight of such a life, while this girl must go hungry every night?

"Victoria!"

With a start, Victoria snapped the curtain shut and returned her hands to their position on her lap. Her heart fluttered at having been caught doing something her mother had forbidden.

"I'm sorry, Mother," she offered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You have been instructed, young lady, to keep those curtains shut when we are traveling through the city. Look at me!"

She raised her head and looked into her mother's fiery blue gaze, and a sense of defiance she had never before felt came over her.

"You are far too headstrong for your own good, Victoria, and I know not what to do with you anymore. Have you any idea what would happen if those _degenerates_ realized who was traveling in this coach?"

"They are not degenerates," Victoria mumbled, knowing full well she would be punished for speaking out of turn.

"I beg your pardon?" came her mother's icy tone.

Victoria sat up straighter and met Mother's gaze full on. "They are not degenerates."

"And what, pray tell, has brought you to such a conclusion? In your moment of staring out the window, did you find some redeeming quality to the dregs? To the thieves and whores who walk these filthy streets?"

Victoria started at her mother's bluntness. Though she'd overheard the word spoken before by men in her father's study, she had certainly never heard a lady refer to another woman in such a way.

"There were children. Many of them. One of them was my age."

With an exasperated sigh, Mother said, " _Future_ thieves and whores. Now, come away from the window and do not ever speak back to me in that manner again or I will leave you at the mercy of your father."

Mother always believed that leaving her at Father's mercy was the worst threat she could offer. What she did not know was that he didn't care. Her mother's temper indicated that she was far more likely to inflict more pain—either physical or emotional—than her indifferent father.

As they rode on, headed for their country estate, Victoria's mind churned with thoughts of the little girl in the alley. Who she was, where did she come from and what was her life like? When she fell asleep, she dreamt about her. And by the time they reached the family seat in Derbyshire, she had determined that something in the balance was wrong—drastically wrong. Though she was young and virtually powerless, Victoria vowed in that moment she would one day make a difference.
One

Victoria stood at the edge of the ballroom, her gaze intent on the gaggle of silly debutantes who stood just a few feet away. Or, more specifically, on the one girl who clearly did not belong in their clique, but so desperately wanted to be accepted.

Victoria turned away. Thank heavens she didn't have to pretend anymore. After five seasons and no husband, she was officially on the shelf, which meant she could do almost anything she damn well pleased. Like use words like _damn,_ if only in her mind. Such words certainly never even crossed the minds of those pinheaded girls, she was certain.

She scanned the ballroom, looking for more suitable company, when she spotted just the person she didn't want to see. Her oldest and dearest friend sauntered into the ballroom, and Victoria could have sworn the entire party gave an audible and synchronized gasp of delight. Phineas Dartwell, the third Earl of Leyburn, might have made a startling impression on her had she not known him since birth. As it was, he was a good friend, but sometimes, a damned nuisance. Finny was more like a brother to her than . . . well, than her own brother, Thomas. He was next in line for the viscountcy, but until their father met his demise (which probably wouldn't happen anytime soon), Thomas was doing the same thing Victoria was doing: whatever he damn well pleased. And what pleased him was traveling. The last time Victoria had seen Thomas was two years earlier as he climbed aboard a carriage bound for Dover. His last letter came months ago and indicated he was sweltering on a friend's plantation in Jamaica.

Needless to say, Thomas had shirked his brotherly duties years ago when Victoria made it perfectly clear she did not need a hovering brother at social events because she had no interest in marriage.

"I'm here because Mother forces me to be," she'd said to him. "But you needn't worry, Tom, you won't find me roped into some dandy's scheme to get me alone on the balcony." Not that Victoria ever considered herself the type of woman that men might lure onto the balcony for an illicit tryst, but her dowry was the kind that would prompt a desperate man to try to compromise her.

After much arguing with Mother and Father, Tom had finally gotten his way, along with the money he needed to set sail. As soon as he was gone, Finny had stepped in and taken over as her older brother. He showed up everywhere Victoria was, no matter how well she kept her social calendar a secret.

It drove her mad.

"How on earth did you know I'd be here?" she asked once he was within earshot.

"A great magician never reveals his secrets." He gave her the grin that had irked her since they were children—the one he'd used when he'd put a snake in her bonnet while she wasn't looking. Victoria had known he was up to something, she just didn't know what. Until she'd put her bonnet back on, of course.

"Secrets. Hah! It's hardly a secret that you can charm the curls right out of my mother's hair. Or soften up Father with your expensive brandy. Which one was it this time? No—" she held up her hand, "—if I know, I'll just get angry with my parents, and I'd rather stay angry with you."

"Come now, Vickie. My company's not all that bad, is it?"

"Worse. I was just leaving, anyhow, so I'm afraid you're a bit too late to save me from the fortune hunters."

"It's never too late for that."

Victoria followed Finny's gaze to another damned nuisance striding their way. Why couldn't they all just leave her alone? She had far more important things she needed to get to now that she'd made her appearance here.

"Miss Barclay, I wondered if I might claim you for a waltz later on this evening?" Albert Higgenbottom stared at her with his eager, beady eyes.

"How kind of you to think of me, Mr. Higgenbottom, but I'm afraid my dance card is full. Perhaps next time."

Dejected, Mr. Higgenbottom turned away with a slight nod and moved on to the next wallflower.

"Let me see it." Finny stretched out his hand beside her.

"Not on your life."

"Vickie, Albert is one of the few men not after you for your money. You should at least give him a chance."

"I told you already, I was just getting ready to leave."

"Then I'll escort you home."

Victoria wasn't about to let Finny escort her home. Her prey had already left and she'd never be able to catch him if she went home first.

"Fine. I'll meet you in the front hall. First, I need to visit the ladies' retiring room."

***

Victoria left Finny in the entrance hall waiting for his carriage while she headed in the direction of the retiring room. However, she walked right past that door and made a beeline for the ballroom. She entered at the far end and then slipped out the open doors to the terrace. She felt horrible about leaving Finny without an explanation, but what on earth would she say? _Sorry, Finny, but I have to go rob the Duke of Culver._ Somehow, she didn't think that would go over very well.

With a quick glance to her right, then her left, she took off down the stairs that led to the garden. She wove her way through the shrubs and flowers, and eventually found the side gate to the street. She put her fingers into her mouth and whistled loudly. It wasn't her most ladylike maneuver, but it was the only way to get her driver's attention—her driver who was a fervent supporter of her work. Within the span of thirty seconds, her carriage stood before her.

"That was fast," she remarked to Gil as he jumped from the seat to help her inside.

"I saw your old friend, Lord Leyburn, entering the party. I thought you might attempt a different escape route."

"Well done, Gil. Always keeping your eyes open. I'll have to make sure Father gives you a raise."

Gil smiled and bobbed his head. "Thanks, miss. 'Tis my pleasure to serve."

With that, he shut the carriage door, leaving Victoria in total darkness. But she didn't need any light. She'd done this nearly a hundred times now. Her dress had been altered to unbutton down the side rather than the back, and her corset strings were loose enough she could untie them herself and slip the contraption over her head. Beside her on the seat sat her uniform: black trousers, shirt, boots, hat, and, of course, a black mask. It took her only a couple of minutes to outfit herself for her next job, and when she was ready, she opened the small window that allowed her to communicate with Gil.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Almost to the Great North Road, miss. Shall I?"

"Go right ahead."

At her word, Gil slapped the reins and sent the horses into a full gallop. They had to make up for lost ground, and they certainly wouldn't do it if they remained at an acceptable speed. Thankfully, the late hour allowed them the pace they required.

Victoria kept her face at the little window so she would know when they approached her victim.

"Coach up ahead, miss. I think it's the one."

Victoria removed her opera glasses from her reticule and peered through the window. It was the one.

"Slow down. It's him."

Gil slowed the carriage so they were going only just faster than the carriage ahead. As he'd done a hundred times before, he passed the slow-moving conveyance, moved in front of it, and then came to a complete stop. They waited. Only moments passed before the other coachman called out to ask what the hold up was.

"Apologies, sir!" Gil called back. "I fear I may have a broken axel. Might I solicit your help?"

Victoria waited in silence while Gil took care of the coachman. Then she calmly dismounted and made her way to the other carriage. It really had become too easy. Why didn't other highwaymen— _real_ highwaymen—operate in this way? There would have been a lot less men hanging from Newgate if they did.

Her victim, Lord Culver, stuck his head out the carriage door just as Victoria approached. "What the devil is going on, John?" he yelled.

Of course, John couldn't answer, being otherwise engaged at the moment, so Victoria decided to indulge him.

"Perhaps you should ask that question of someone who is more knowledgeable of the situation," Victoria suggested, pitching her voice low to sound more like a young man.

"Who are you?" His voice trembled.

"Who I am is not nearly as important as what I want." Victoria cocked her pistol and pointed it at the fat man's head. "Your money or your life."

There was a pause as the cowardly man did what she assumed most men did in this situation: pissed his trousers.

"Please, sir, I've nothing on me."

"Liar." Victoria stepped an inch closer.

"Please, don't shoot. I've a family, and . . . and . . ."

"Your money," Victoria said slowly, lifting a brow, "or your life."

It was no surprise when the man finally produced a purse filled with coin enough to feed a family of five for several months.

"Ah, I see you've found something," she said with more than a hint of sarcasm. "I should shoot you anyway, just for lying to me." The man whimpered, and Victoria took pity on him before he did more than piss his pants. "But I shall spare your life . . . this time. You will remain in your carriage for five minutes after I depart, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Victoria cocked her head sideways. "You're lying again, my lord."

"I swear! I won't move a muscle for five minutes."

With that, Victoria turned abruptly and walked briskly back to the carriage. Gil was already sitting back on his box, and John was sufficiently tied up on the side of the road. Even after five minutes, Culver wouldn't be able to follow them for a good while. Gil's knots were masterful and took the average man a half hour to figure out. Such was the benefit of having a sailor's son for a driver.

The unmarked conveyance lurched and set into motion at a more modest pace this time. Racing along at top speed would draw unwanted attention now. They went back in the direction from which they had come, towards Victoria's home in the Marylebone district. Her parents would surely be asleep by now, which suited her just fine. That way she wouldn't have to change back into her gown—it was a bit trickier than getting out of it. Besides, she needed to head to bed herself. She had a very important appointment in the morning.
Two

Phineas Dartwell couldn't believe he'd been duped. Again. _Damn Victoria!_ He was only trying to look out for her, so why did she constantly run from him? If he didn't know better, he would think she was hiding something.

As it was, he'd known Vickie since she was in nappies. It would be awfully difficult for her to keep anything from him. He might even say he knew her better than he knew himself. These little stunts Vickie pulled were simply her way of rebelling against a horrifically strict upbringing. But one day she would find herself in real trouble. She might have thought it harmless enough to go home alone from a ball late at night, but one never knew what dangers lurked around the corners between Mayfair and Marylebone. It was the rich people that were preyed upon, and one could never be too careful.

Therefore, despite understanding Victoria's need to rebel every once in a while, he was incredibly irked by her behavior. _Foolish girl._ There was nothing he could do about it now, though. She'd gone off on her own and was probably tucked soundly in her bed by now. Fin wouldn't mind being tucked in his own bed, either. He only came to these blasted things for her, anyhow. If she wasn't around, there was no reason for him to stay. Now that he'd ascertained that she was no longer here, he could get the hell out.

"Leaving already?"

_Damn._ He'd been so close.

"Lady Beecham," he said as he turned and offered a bow. "I trust you're well."

"I want you to finish the painting, Leyburn." Clearly, they were going to skip over pleasantries.

"Lady Beecham," he whispered in an effort to remain discreet, "with all due respect, I cannot finish the painting."

"I paid you to do a job, and I want it done."

"I refunded your money, if you remember correctly, and I have told you I don't do those kinds of paintings. You'll have to look elsewhere."

"But I want _you_ to do it."

Blast, this woman was persistent, but Fin would not be bested by her. The last thing he wanted to do was portray this woman—this _married_ woman—without any clothes on. The problem was that she'd convinced him to start with her head, and once he'd finished, she insisted he paint the rest of her nude. He'd never fall for that one again. "Good night, my lady. Best of luck in your search."

Fin left the brazen woman standing dumbfounded in the foyer. He was sure there weren't many who had the gall to speak to her in such a way. Her husband held a fair amount of power, after all. However, Fin was sure Lord Beecham wouldn't be hearing about this particular offense against his wife.

A painting that was calling to him this evening, though—one inspired by his dear friend's attempt at freedom. Victoria had asked him to paint her ages ago, but he'd been putting it off for some time. But that defiant look in her eyes from earlier tonight was burned into his brain. He couldn't think of a better subject at the moment.

He left the party and headed for home, where his easel and paints and a stubborn young woman awaited him.

***

Victoria pushed through the door to the dilapidated hospital that sat nestled in the slums on the south side of London. If her mother knew she was here, she'd collapse in an apoplectic fit. As it was, Lady Grantham believed her daughter to be visiting the sick and elderly Lady Hartswell in Cavendish Square.

Ha! Sick was an interesting term to apply to Lady Hartswell. The woman was barely fifty years old, and the only sick thing about her was her mind. Never had Victoria met such a martyr. Her _woe-is-me_ personality was pathetic. If she spent five minutes in this place, she'd realize what true suffering was. But someone like Lady Hartswell wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this.

"Sarah?" she called out as she hung her coat and hat on the hooks in the entryway.

"In here, miss!"

Victoria followed Sarah's voice to the end of the corridor. "You'll never believe how much—" She broke off when she took in the scene before her.

Sarah pulled a white sheet over a body that lay on a rustic wooden table. Victoria had come upon this scene too many times, and it made her sick all over again.

"Mr. Cole," replied Sarah to Victoria's unspoken question. "There was nothin' to be done."

Victoria shook her head. "Of course not. Consumption claims all its victims, eventually. I just wish I could have said goodbye. Poor man. Does he have any family?"

"None that we know of, miss."

"Possessions?"

"Just the clothes on his back."

"I will see to a proper burial. Send for the undertaker, won't you?"

Sarah left to do Victoria's bidding while Victoria made her way to the dead man's side. She lifted the sheet just enough to see his pale face and wide eyes, frozen in terror.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Cole. You didn't deserve to die this way." With a silent prayer commending his poor soul to God, Victoria shut the man's eyes, replaced the shroud and then left to find Sarah.

"I sent for the undertaker, miss," she said as Victoria joined her in the next room.

"Thank you, Sarah." She turned to a woman lying on the cot in the corner of the small room. "How are you today, Nancy?"

"Better, Miss Vickie," came the woman's raspy reply. "I'm sure I'll be barkin' orders at my no-good husband again in no time." She tried to laugh, but it proved too much and she dissolved into a fit of coughing.

"I'm sure you will, Nancy. And I've secured the funds to pay for your medicine."

"Oh, miss! Another donor?" Sarah exclaimed.

"Yes, but he—or she—prefers to remain anonymous."

"Don't know why all these donors wish to remain anonymous. If I were doing good, I'd want everyone to know it."

"Well, Sarah, not everyone is as modest as you," Victoria replied with a wink.

"They don't mind flautin' their wealth with clothes and parties, but when it comes to makin' real contributions, they don't want anyone to know. Ain't modesty, miss, it's embarrassment."

"Well, let's not spend all day making judgments on the character of anonymous donors." Victoria wanted desperately to change the subject. It would be too easy to get caught up in the conversation and say something to incriminate herself. Not that Sarah would rat her out, but Sarah did like to talk, and accidents did happen. Victoria couldn't take the risk.

"Here," she said, handing over the purse full of coin that she'd pilfered the night before, "take this to Mr. Porter. Did you make a list of what we need?"

"I did, miss. This should be more than enough."

Sarah left for the apothecary and Victoria set to visiting the patients in their little hospital. She'd discovered this place years ago on one of her many ventures into this part of town. The run-down building with its makeshift sign had caught her attention. A hospital was somewhere she could really do a lot of good, she'd thought. So she had introduced herself to Sarah and volunteered to help raise funds for medicines and supplies. Of course, Sarah and the others had been more than grateful to accept her assistance. Ever since then, Vickie had been robbing the rich and giving to the hospital, as well as others who found themselves down on their luck.

She supposed there was probably a better way of going about raising funds for the poor, but people were much more willing to part with their money when there was a gun pointed at their heads. Never mind that the gun wasn't loaded.

Somewhere along the way, though, the hospital had become more than simply a place she donated money to. She'd learned from Sarah how to care for certain ailments, and she'd started to form relationships with the patients. Aside from the fact that they were all sick and in need of comfort, they were also profoundly human in a way that was unfamiliar to Victoria. They spoke plainly and laughed openly. Their goals in life did not amount to the acquisitions of more money or higher social statuses—they amounted to being happy, providing for their families or simply being able to pay for their next meal. Though Victoria could never be one of them, she could learn from them.

Sarah returned a short time later from the apothecary, and Victoria helped to administer medicine to the patients. By the time they were done, the undertaker had arrived to retrieve Mr. Cole's body. They quickly discussed fees and then the man was on his way again, Mr. Cole in tow.

"Well, Sarah, I must be on my way before Mother becomes suspicious. I'll be back on Wednesday."

"Yes, miss. Thank you, miss." Sarah smiled wide, her gratitude clear on her face. "Wednesday it is."

There was a rather high-profile gathering on Tuesday evening, and Victoria knew exactly which pompous ass she would rob that night.

***

"You have paint all over your fingers."

Fin stared back at Victoria, wondering how that answered his question. "I don't see why that should have any bearing on whether or not you take a walk with me."

"It doesn't," she replied. "I was simply observing. And now I will answer your question. Yes."

She pulled her pelisse and parasol from the hook in the hallway. She really was a queer girl. Pretty as hell, but queer. Lord help the man who took her on as wife. If she ever married, of course. It really wasn't looking all that likely for her. She was twenty-four and incredibly headstrong—not the most appealing characteristics for a gentleman of the _ton_. Victoria was good and shelved, and something told Fin she liked it that way. Queer indeed.

Once they were out on the street, Fin ventured conversation. "Tell me, Vickie, did you suffer temporary amnesia last night?"

She turned to look at him, but then immediately faced forward again. "Oh, goodness, you're not going to be cross about that, are you? I had to tell Gil that you were taking me home, but then I figured, why make you go out of your way—"

"I live next door, Vickie."

"Even so," she said.

Fin rolled his eyes. "I'm not an idiot, Vickie, I know what you're doing."

There was a beat of silence, and then, "I don't know what on earth you're talking about."

"Victoria, your parents love you, you know that—"

"Actually, I don't. But go on. I'm curious to see where this is leading."

Fin sighed and started over. "All right, your parents probably love you—really deep down—and all they want is for you to be happy—"

"Funny, I just don't see it that way."

"Vick—"

"No!" She held up her hand in protest. "If this is what you want to talk about, then I'm going home. You may be able to charm my parents and bring out the best in them, but you don't know them. Not the _real_ them, anyhow. And why are you bringing this up? What does this have to do with last night?"

"It has to do with you needing to exercise your independence, which is why you left alone last night."

"I wasn't alone, I had Gil."

Fin gritted his teeth. _What an obstinate little—_

"Is the lecture over now?" she asked.

"For now."

"Good. Now, what have you been working on?"

"What makes you think I've been working on anything?" He didn't care to share the subject of his most current work—not after their discussion. As a matter of fact, he might just toss the whole bloody thing out the window just to spite her.

"I'm not an idiot, either, Fin. Your hands are covered in paint."

"It's nothing important, really," he said evasively. "Just another boring still life."

They walked in silence for a few blocks, and Fin was grateful that it wasn't uncomfortable. Not that it ever had been. Victoria was practically his closest friend. It was just that silences with most other women _were_ uncomfortable. They always seemed nervous and desperate to fill the silence. But not Vickie. No, she was more than happy to keep her thoughts to herself.

Suddenly, that idea annoyed Fin. What the devil was she thinking about? Would she tell him if he asked? "A penny for your thoughts?" he ventured.

"What? Oh, they aren't worth that much," she replied with a nervous laugh.

_How uncharacteristic of her._ "Care to share them, anyway?"

She thought for a moment before replying. "No. At least, not until you tell me what you're really working on."

"You're too smart for your own good, you know?"

Her self-satisfied smile made Fin want to laugh. "I know."

***

"Your mother wishes to see you, miss."

Victoria looked up to find Davis, their stalwart butler, standing over her. She immediately moved her hand to cover the letter she'd been writing, hopeful that the ink had dried sufficiently already.

"Tell her I'll be along momentarily. I'm just finishing up here." Davis shifted his feet and cleared his throat. Victoria turned to him again. "What is it, Davis?"

"It's just that . . . milady said not to allow you to make any excuses. She wants to see you—now."

"You may tell _milady_ that I am four-and-twenty, and I will come when I am good and ready." Victoria's temper bubbled. She knew she should try and control it, but she couldn't. "How dare she? I'm not a child anymore, Davis. She can't insist that I drop everything simply because she wants to see me. Part of me wants to take even longer than I need finishing this letter just to spite her." She held up a hand to Davis, who stood there quietly, listening to her rant. "Yes, I know I'm being childish, but she _treats_ me like a child! What does she expect?"

She stopped and stared up at him, not really waiting for a response. He wasn't one to offer up opinions. But then he did speak, much to Victoria's surprise.

"I'm sorry, miss," he said, a pained look crossing his features. "In this instance, I think it is best you go to your mother."

Victoria felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. How humbling to be told what to do by ones servant. However, she was too dumbfounded to say anything but, "All right," as she vacated her chair and walked numbly to her mother's chambers.
Three

"Well, well, well, isn't this surprising?"

Fin startled and his brush flew across Victoria's face—in the painting, of course. He whirled around to scold the intruder, but his frustration turned to joy when he saw who stood in the doorway to his studio.

"Tom!" he shouted as he crossed the room to his old friend. "I thought you were still in Jamaica. When did you arrive home?"

They shook hands and then Tom sloughed off to the sofa. He landed on it sideways, in a reclined position. "Just this morning," he said. "Finally. It's a bloody long trip from Jamaica, you know?"

"No, but I can imagine," said Fin. "Have you seen Victoria? I'm sure she'll be thrilled you're home."

This piqued Tom's interest. "Why's that?"

"She can't stand to have me looking after her. She likes when I'm her friend, but not her guardian. I'm certain she'll be happy to have you back in that role."

Tom chuckled and leaned back further to stare up at the ceiling. "I don't have any intentions of following my sister around. She's too damned headstrong. I don't know why you even bothered."

"Headstrong and secretive and deceptive . . . yes, I'm quite aware of Victoria's shortcomings." Fin moved back to his painting of her and stared into the eyes he'd painted just a half hour earlier. They were still wet and glossy, as if filled with tears.

"Apparently you don't find the shortcomings to be with her looks, though."

Fin turned to his old friend. "I'm not painting her because I find her attractive. I'm painting her so I can yell at the painting instead of her when she drives me to madness."

Tom erupted into laughter. "In that case, perhaps you should paint one for me as well."

***

"You wished to see me, mother?" Victoria crossed the threshold into her mother's favorite room. Victoria didn't understand why she favored it so much. It was quite manly, with dark woods and fabrics, and it abutted to the next house—Fin's house—so it got very little sunlight.

Victoria preferred the front drawing room, which looked out onto the street. It was sunnier and far more interesting than this dungeon.

"Sit down," Lady Grantham instructed. Once Victoria had done as she bade, her mother finally looked up at her with a serene smile on her face. "Your brother has returned from Jamaica."

Victoria's eyes widened with her surprise, but she wasn't quite sure what to say to the news. Of course, she was happy her brother had returned safely from abroad, but . . . well, part of her wished he hadn't returned at all. At least, not yet, anyway.

"I know, this comes as quite a shock," her mother continued, not bothering to wait for a reaction from her daughter. "We really thought he'd be there forever. His letters indicated he was quite happy. Nonetheless, we must make the most of his return."

Oh, no. Victoria had an idea of where this was leading and she didn't like it one bit.

"I will alert him to your social schedule so that he may accompany you from now on. It isn't good that you're seen practically everywhere with Lord Leyburn. I know he fancies himself like an older brother to you, but the fact of the matter is that he is not. Other gentlemen must see him as your suitor, and who would dare challenge the earl? He's more handsome than the other gentlemen by leaps and bounds . . ."

As her mother carried on, Victoria's mind churned with all the tactics she would have to use to escape her brother. _And_ Fin. Good heavens, how would she evade two of them? And why did they care so much about what she did? She was twenty-four years old, for goodness sake; she could take care of herself.

Of course, she couldn't tell her mother that she only maintained a social calendar in order to rob the richest and the rudest, so she simply smiled and nodded her head whenever her mother looked her way.

"Well, that is all. You are excused. Oh, and I've had Lily set out your white gown for this evening."

_White?_ "White, mother?"

Lady Grantham didn't look up from the menu she perused when she replied, "Yes, of course. It's high time you started acting like a debutante instead of an old maid."

"I hardly think wearing yellow or green places me in the category of old maid—"

Her mother turned sharp eyes on her. "I thought perhaps with age you would come to respect me better, but I see you only grow more defiant with each passing day. However, you still live here, in _my_ house, and therefore you will follow my orders. Is that understood?"

Victoria's shoulders twitched with the effort of keeping her hands by her sides rather than wrapping them about her mother's neck. It took her a moment to gain control of her voice, but at last she said, "Perfectly," and then left the room.

***

When a knock came at Victoria's door later on that afternoon, she knew exactly who it was. "Come in, Thomas," she called, and her brother poked his head around the door.

"Is my knock so distinct?" he asked with a smile upon his face.

Victoria went to him and wrapped her arms about his neck. Thomas lifted her off the ground in a tight squeeze before putting her feet back on the floor again.

"Goodness, your skin is so dark!" She studied her brother closely. "You've practically baked yourself, Tom."

"It's hard to avoid the sun in the Caribbean, Vic. It blares for more than twelve hours a day most days. And it's hot—much hotter than our sun here in England."

"Well, that's impossible, isn't it?" Victoria asked, wondering how the same sun could be different just because it was in another part of the world.

"Not at all." Tom studied her for a moment and Victoria felt as if she were an animal on display at the menagerie. "You look well, little sister."

"As well as well can be," she replied. "Living here without you has not been terribly easy."

"I'm sure Mother is thrilled you're still unwed."

"Please!" Victoria held up a hand to her brother. "Do not start with that. It's bad enough that Mother hounds me about it in her condescending ways—"

"She only wants to see you settled."

"Settled!" Victoria knew better. Her mother couldn't care less about her happiness, only about what connections her daughter might buy them with an advantageous marriage. "I supposed you've been charged with looking after me from now on?"

Tom rolled his eyes and picked up the powder puff that sat on her vanity. He gave it a grimace and then replaced it in the powder. "It's impossible to look after you, Vic."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't necessarily a compliment."

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to take it as one anyhow."

Tom gave her a wide smile. "I've missed you, little sister."

This was a bit of a surprise to Victoria. Though they'd always gotten along, she and her brother had never been exceedingly close. But perhaps things were changing now that they were older, now that they'd been apart so long. Victoria was certainly beginning to truly understand the importance of family; maybe Tom was, too.

"I went to see Fin earlier today," he said, taking a seat on the edge of her bed.

"You went to see Fin before you came to see me?"

"Mother's orders."

Victoria looked at him, stunned. "Please say you're joking."

"You know Mother. She always wants to be the first to deliver good news."

They both shared a chuckle over this, for they knew it wasn't at all true.

"What did she say to you?" Tom wondered.

"That we must make the most of your return." Victoria gave him a mocking smile. "Since Lord Leyburn is unsuitable as a chaperone—being handsome and eligible himself—Mother is very much looking forward to you being my guardian again at social events. I daresay she's given you my social calendar already."

Tom flopped backwards onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm glad my return was met with such . . . _enthusiasm._ "

"Did you expect any differently?" Victoria took the opportunity, while her brother wasn't looking, to tidy up anything that might pique his interest and cause him to ask questions she didn't care to answer. She'd really have to be more diligent now that he was home again.

"No, I suppose not," he answered with a sigh. "But at least _you_ are genuinely happy to see me. Aren't you?"

Her brother's tone gave her pause. He had always been quite self-assured, but he didn't seem that way now. He actually seemed rather sad that he'd not had a more enthusiastic reaction from Mother and Father. But really, what did he expect from them? They had always been cold and distant—no amount of time would change that.

"Of course I am, Tom. Why would you think otherwise?"

Tom sat up again and smiled at his sister. "Though it would be nice if Mother and Father would change for the better, I'm glad to see you haven't changed a bit."

"And I promise I never will," she replied, smiling back at her brother. "Now, get out. I have to prepare for this evening.
Four

Though Fin was no longer needed in Victoria's life, he still couldn't escape her. Now that Tom was back, he wanted to learn more about his travels to Jamaica, and of course, wherever Tom was, there Victoria would be. Lady Grantham would make sure of it. Of that, Fin was most certain.

But nothing could have prepared him for the shock he received when Victoria arrived at the dinner party that evening. He stood in the far corner, nursing a brandy alone, when she walked in, clad head-to-toe in white. _White!_ He hadn't seen Vickie in white since her come-out years ago. He would have thought it was positively ridiculous, her wearing white, except that she looked . . . well, almost pretty.

Oh, who was he trying to fool? She looked like a damned angel. Her chestnut hair was swept into a loose coif atop her head, and tendrils dangled about her face in a most ethereal and, dare he say, erotic manner.

Damnit, what the devil was wrong with him? This was Victoria— _Vickie!_ —she was practically his sister. It felt rather perverted to think of her in such a way, yet at the same time he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"What are you doing over here all alone, Finny?"

Fin had turned away and taken a sip of his drink, so it came as quite a surprise to realize Vickie and Tom had made their way to his side already. He sputtered on his drink for a moment and Tom smacked him on the back.

"All right there, old man?" Tom teased.

"You ought not to sneak up on a person like that," he said, once he'd regained his ability to speak. "I nearly choked."

Victoria's lips pressed together as she tried to hide her mirth.

"Since you think it's so funny, I'll have to find a way to give you a taste of your own medicine one of these days." His scolding had no effect on Victoria.

"You may try," she replied airily as she scanned the room.

"What the devil are you wearing, by the way?" he said, changing the subject.

Victoria turned her large, green eyes on him and cocked her head sideways. "What? You don't like it?"

"Do you?"

"Not at all." She let down her guard a bit and huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest. "But you know Mother . . ."

He did. Which meant Victoria had been given no choice in the matter.

"Well, Tom, how does it feel to be back in the fold?" He turned to his friend who now sipped lazily of his own brandy.

"Damned freezing is how it feels. I never thought I'd long for the heat of Jamaica."

"Keep drinking and you'll feel it soon," Fin encouraged.

"Perhaps you should go somewhere more temperate next time, Tom," Vickie suggested. "Maybe I'll go with you."

Both Fin and Tom erupted into laughter. Victoria punched her fists to her hips, clearly not amused. But really, the thought of her traipsing after her brother . . .

Well, it would probably be the other way around, wouldn't it? Victoria would certainly put her poor, lazy brother through his paces in a foreign country. It was a sight Fin would gladly pay good money to see.

"Oh, good Lord, is there a good place to hide nearby?"

Fin followed Tom's line of vision until it landed on the last person he cared to see.

"Why, Lady Beecham!" Victoria welcomed the woman with a wide smile. A smile she only reserved for people she truly despised. "How wonderful to see you. Is Lord Beecham here with you this evening?"

"Oh, dear," replied the woman in a dripping, melancholic tone, "I'm afraid my poor husband has taken ill."

"I do hope it's nothing serious!" Victoria's brow furrowed with feigned concern. Everyone knew Lady Beecham would be thrilled if her husband suddenly dropped dead. She'd maintain the name and finally be free to have affairs openly rather than in secret. As if her affairs were a secret to begin with.

"We just can't know yet, but thank you for thinking of us, dear Victoria. A treasure you are."

This time, both Tom and Fin choked on their brandy. Victoria shot them a warning look, but it was impossible to hide their mirth.

It took only a moment for Lady Beecham to regain her faculties. "And I see your dear brother has returned at last. Tom, I do hope you'll make time this week to tell me all about your travels."

Tom did his best to remain polite, though any bystander could see that meeting with Lady Beecham was the last thing he cared to do. "Of course, my lady. It would be my pleasure."

Finally she turned to Fin and, with a seductive bat of her eyelashes, said simply, "Lord Leyburn."

Fin's mouth dropped open. Lady Beecham was trying to make him jealous. How very amusing. But of course, the joke would be on her.

***

Dinner was a painstaking event for Victoria, who was not only dining in the home of her last victim, but who was also tragically seated next to the deplorable Lady Beecham. It was enough she'd had to speak with her before dinner, but now her appetite was completely ruined. The woman spent the entire meal trying to dredge up information about Tom and Finny—clearly she'd set them up as her next conquests.

Victoria shivered with a bit of disgust. Though she knew the two of them were far from saints, she didn't care to think about what went on behind their closed doors. And the last thing she wanted to do was facilitate a tête-à-tête between one of them and a potential lover. Even the word _lover_ made Victoria a bit queasy.

However, seeing as Lady Beecham was to be _her_ next conquest, it was not actually ideal that they were spending so much time together this evening. What if she became more attuned to the cadence of Victoria's voice and recognized it later on while she was being robbed?

No, that would never happen. Victoria had worked too hard at disguising herself and her voice over the last two years. She was worrying for nothing.

When dinner was finished, Victoria left her brother and Fin to join the ladies in the drawing room for tea and spice cake, though Victoria would refrain from the cake. If she had to get close to Lady Beecham during the robbery, the woman might recognize the smell of it on her breath.

Victoria sighed. One day she would retire from her work and be able to enjoy her life without thinking of such intricate details. But for now, it was of utmost importance that she be vigilant, lest she find herself with a noose about her neck.

***

The night droned on in boring detail. Fin wanted nothing more than to go home and enjoy his own brandy with his paints and canvas. The portrait of Victoria was coming along quite nicely, and he itched to finish it. Perhaps he would make her a birthday present of it, though he wasn't so sure he would want to part with it. It was perhaps one of his best pieces to date.

Either way, he wished to finish it. If only there were an opening to excuse himself from the party. As it was, their host, Lord Culver, kept on and on about having been robbed at gunpoint several evenings before on the Great North Road.

Fin might have brushed it off as an odd occurrence, since highwaymen really were not _de rigeur_ anymore, except that Lord Culver was not the first to experience such a thing in recent times. Fin had overheard many a story at his club of highway robberies, so clearly there were thieves out there, looking for a bit of coin to fill their own coffers. Though he wondered at the magistrate's inability to bring any of these men to justice.

As Lord Culver finally wrapped up his frightening tale, Fin stood from the table. "I do hope you will forgive me, Culver. I've an early start tomorrow."

"Careful on your way home, my good man," the duke advised.

Fin nodded and thanked the man for his hospitality before escaping the smoke-filled room. He'd never taken much interest in cigars, so sitting in a room filled with their smoke was not terribly enjoyable for him. He was halfway down the hall when Tom called after him.

"Didn't want to hear more about Lord Culver's robbery?" Fin asked as his friend approached.

"God, no. How much of it do you think is truth?"

"Probably not nearly as much as he might wish. He does love playing the hero, does he not?"

"Your carriage, milord." The footman at the door stood aside to allow him onto the sidewalk.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Tom," Fin called back. "And don't forget to collect your sister before you leave!
Five

"Was that Fin?" Victoria asked as she slipped out of the drawing room into the foyer. "Leaving so soon?"

"Yes, and so are we," Tom told her as he accepted his hat and cane from the maid.

"All right." That suited Victoria just fine. Lady Beecham had left only minutes ago. Thankfully, the ride home would be quick, and then she would turn around and be on the road again in minutes. Plenty of time to catch up to Lady Beecham's carriage.

"Did you see Lady Beecham leave?" Tom asked once they were in motion.

She wondered why he was asking after that woman, but he was a man after all. They didn't often see much beyond a pretty face and a willing bed partner. There was that sick feeling again. She really had to stop thinking of her brother as having bed partners.

"Only shortly before we did," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

Right. No reason at all.

Gil pulled the carriage up in the drive and Victoria alighted with her brother. They entered the house and parted ways, headed for their own rooms. But as soon as the latch to his bedroom door clicked, she scurried along the hallway and down the back staircase. Gil was waiting in the alley behind their home, so she didn't have far to go to climb aboard. And then they were off to find Lady Beecham's carriage.

It didn't take long. Though the carriage bore no emblem, it was most certainly hers. Victoria was sure the woman had insisted her personal transportation be unmarked—that way she could enjoy her affairs with discretion.

Victoria slipped out of her own unmarked carriage and stalked quietly to the conveyance holding her prey. Wouldn't Lady Beecham be surprised this evening, to have her precious jewels taken from her? Well, maybe. She clearly had enough to wear a different necklace every day for a year. Victoria doubted she would really miss the ruby ensemble dangling from her neck and wrists tonight. But knowing Lady Beecham as she did, she would probably claim they were her favorites and lament them for years to come, just to have something to complain about.

She waited until she was sure Gil had taken care of the coachman and then sidled up to Lady Beecham's carriage. Only she was shocked to hear that the woman was not alone. A man's voice reached her ears, muffled and impossible to make out.

_Blast!_ She hadn't seen anyone else slip into the carriage. When had it happened? Well, it didn't matter now. She was already here and she had a job to do. Victoria wasn't about to let down the poor, ailing people at the hospital, so she would just have to handle both Lady Beecham and her mystery gentleman. No doubt it was some dandy who spent his time sitting in the window at Brooks's. He would be no match for her.

Now, if it were a man like Finny—a man who spent much of his time at the boxing club—she might have a bit more difficulty. Chances were the man was unarmed, though, and he'd be foolish to challenge a highwayman with a gun.

Despite the fact she'd thoroughly talked herself into believing she had the upper hand, Victoria still hated to be taken off guard. Which was awfully ironic, considering her chosen profession.

Stop dawdling, Vickie, and get on with it!

Having chastised herself sufficiently, Victoria sprung into action, throwing open the door to the carriage. She pointed her gun at the man, who much to her surprise, sat opposite Lady Beecham. She still didn't know who he was, as the darkness was thick tonight, with no moon to light her victims' faces.

Screwing up her courage and convincing herself that two was no harder than one, especially since one was a woman, she said, "Your money or your life."

Lady Beecham screamed and clutched her chest. At least, that's what Victoria thought she did based on the way her rubies clicked together. Even if she had been willing to take her eyes off the man, she wouldn't have been able to tell in the dark.

There was a pause and then the man spoke beneath his breath. "Damn! Of all the nights for you to sneak into my carriage," he said to Lady Beecham.

Victoria froze. Oh, goodness. This was not good. Damn and blast, what was Fin doing in Lady Beecham's carriage? No. What was _she_ doing in _his_ carriage? And how had she and Gil confused the two?

She took a moment to catch her breath and reminded herself that Fin didn't know who she was, or that she was even a _she._ She'd had no trouble convincing anyone else she was of the male persuasion; this would be no different. Though she did hate to steal from Fin.

"Your money or your life!" Victoria said again, hating the panic in her own voice.

"Fine, fine," Fin said as he reached into his coat to retrieve his purse. He handed it over, and Victoria weighed it in her hand. "I know it isn't much, but I spent the rest on flowers this afternoon."

"Flowers?" This from Lady Beecham. "For whom?"

Victoria swallowed hard. Who _were_ the flowers for? And why did she care all of a sudden?

"I'm afraid that's none of your business, my lady." He then turned to Victoria. "Now, may we be on our way?"

Did he always speak to armed robbers this way? His bravado was quite alarming. If she were truly a highwayman with a loaded gun, she might find his attitude a bit off-putting, and who knew what a highwayman with a loaded gun would do in that situation? She ought to teach him a lesson, but she still had jewels to retrieve.

She trained her gun on Lady Beecham and said, "The rubies. All of them."

"What!" Lady Beecham made as if she were going to swoon. "Not my rubies! My precious, precious rubies!"

"Oh, give him the damned rubies," Fin said. He clearly had little patience for the woman's histrionics, which was somehow comforting to Victoria.

There was an audible gasp from the lady, but once she'd collected herself, she removed the jewels from about her neck.

Once Victoria had them in her possession, she did her best to refocus her attention on the task at hand. It wasn't good that she'd let her mind wander while she waited on the rubies. Even worse was the subject of her distraction.

"Five minutes," she muttered to the pair. "Don't move a muscle until then."

"Yes, yes," Fin said, waving her off. "You've got what you wanted, now off with you."

Ha! Victoria wanted desperately to laugh in his face and remind him that _she_ held the gun in this instance, but arguing with him would give her away. So instead, she held her tongue and headed back to her own carriage, trying desperately to ignore the annoying feeling of jealousy that nagged at her heart.

***

_Damn, damn, damn!_ Well, this was certainly his lucky night. A boring dinner followed by a loathsome woman sneaking into his carriage, and rounded off with a robbery. How bloody coincidental, after hearing about the damned highwayman from Lord Culver all night.

Well, at least no one was harmed. Though one wouldn't be so sure if they heard the wails and cries coming from his carriage right now.

"I say, are you quite finished, madam?" he asked of Lady Beecham. He was still reeling from the fact that she'd snuck into his carriage. He was in no mood to make nice with her now, despite her histrionics.

"Oh, Lord Leyburn, how can you remain so calm? We were nearly killed!" she cried.

Fin rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, we weren't, were we?"

"But the thought of it!"

"Don't think about it, then."

There was silence and Fin hoped he'd finally shut her up.

"You are so cruel to toy with my emotions, Finny, darling."

"It's Lord Leyburn to you, and I've never done any such thing as to toy with your emotions. To toy with someone's emotions would indicate that I bore some liking to them—at least enough to be in their presence long enough to do said _toying_ —but you, Lady Beecham, mean nothing to me." He could hear her sharp intake of breath, but thankfully couldn't see her stricken face. "Once our five minutes is up, I will deliver you back into the hands of your husband and you will leave me alone once and for all. Is that understood?"

Silence reigned again, until the woman finally answered, her voice choked with fake tears. "Completely."
Six

Victoria awoke the next morning, after a night of tossing and turning, to a light knock on her door. She groaned, reluctant to see or speak with anyone this morning. There was one person in particular she hoped to avoid for all eternity.

Pushing Fin from her mind for the hundredth time since last night, she called out a feeble, "Come in!" and then nestled into her pillows again.

"Mornin', miss. 'tis an urgent letter for you." Lily held out the note that bore Sarah's handwriting.

"Thank you, Lily," she said, sitting up to grab the letter. "Could you fetch my toast and tea, please?" Lily started to leave, but Victoria stopped her. "No, I've changed my mind. Bring me coffee instead." She was going to need more than weak tea to get her through this day, she was certain.

She opened the letter, nervous for what she might find. It was never good news when Sarah sent an urgent letter—or any letter, for that matter.

Molly is sick. Need help.

Damn and blast, but this was not good. Molly was the other nurse. No doubt she would have to take up residence at the hospital to avoid spreading whatever she had to her children and husband. So there would be an extra patient while being short one pair of hands.

Which meant Victoria was going to have to come up with a lot more excuses over the coming days. She just hoped it wouldn't turn into weeks.

She ate her breakfast while Lily prepared her for the day. The coffee was a welcome change to her morning routine. Just the thing she needed to shake off her sleepless night.

Her mother sat at the breakfast table with Tom when Victoria arrived downstairs. "Good morning, Mother," she greeted. "Tom. I'm off to visit Lady Hartswell."

"You were there not two days ago, Victoria." Her mother's sharp tone grated on Victoria this early in the morning.

"What can I say?" Victoria replied flippantly. "The woman has requested my company, and I would hate to disappoint."

"Your brother will go with you."

How very infuriating. She didn't need an escort wherever she went. It wasn't as if she were seventeen and fresh on the market. At twenty-four no one even looked twice at her anymore—they barely even looked once—so why the devil would she need a constant chaperone?

Tom turned to her, the same desperation in his eyes that she knew was in her own. He didn't care to be tethered to her this morning, either.

"Mother, that's ridiculous. Lady Hartswell is only a few blocks away."

"Yes, and I have an appointment, Mother. I couldn't possibly accompany Vickie this morning."

"Your sister's name is _Victoria._ "

Victoria rolled her eyes. Mother never complained when Finny called her Vickie.

_Oh, dear._ Finny. The sick feeling in her stomach returned at the thought of him. Why in the world was she so distraught over the events of last night? He didn't know it was her that robbed them, and he certainly had enough money that he could part with a bit of coin.

Furthermore, there was no doubt in Victoria's mind that if he knew the money was being used for a good cause, he'd be happy about it. Wouldn't he?

Then why wouldn't that damned sick feeling go away?

She shook her head free of the thoughts. She didn't want to think about that anymore. There were much more important issues at hand, and the most important one right now was convincing her mother she didn't need an escort to Lady Hartswell's this morning.

"Mother, really, I'll be fine. I've never needed an escort to Lady Hartswell's before, there's no reason to start now just because Tom is home. Besides, he has a life of his own and, I'm sure, much to do now that he's back. He has been gone for two years, after all."

"Exactly," Tom said, rising from his seat. "And with that said, I shall take my leave." He bowed to Mother and then to Victoria before leaving the room.

"I shall be home shortly," Victoria said, backing out of the room on Tom's heels. "Goodbye, Mother."

She didn't wait for a response, and as soon as she was out of the room, she hastened to gather her things: Pelisse, bonnet, parasol, gloves, reticule. Good heavens, she didn't have time for all this today. She'd already been delayed too long and she still had to walk almost to Lady Hartswell's, where Gil would be waiting for her.

One of these days she would actually have to visit Lady Hartswell, lest the woman ever go out in society again and find herself engaged in conversation with Lady Grantham. However, today was not the day for that. The hospital needed her.

And they needed her more than she ever could have imagined. Poor Sarah looked as if she hadn't slept in a week, but still she scurried in and out of the rooms as if someone had lit her bum on fire.

"Molly's fever spiked early this morning. I've had to quarantine her in that room." She pointed toward the room they typically reserved for the patients who had passed on and were waiting for their families to claim them . . . or the undertaker if there was no family.

"I also admitted a young girl last night. She's been in labor since yesterday afternoon, but things aren't progressing well."

Oh, goodness. "Sarah, we ought to call in a doctor for her."

"We haven't the money, miss. I've spent all we had on medicine and supplies."

"I have a bit more. It ought to be enough, but Sarah, you know we can't deliver a baby without Molly."

Sarah looked as if she were going to cry, so Victoria grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. "I know you're tired, Sarah, but I'm here now. I'm not leaving until everything is under control and you've had the opportunity to take a little rest." She turned Sarah in the direction of the room where Molly waited. "Now, you go look after Molly. We must bring her fever down and get her back in good health as quickly as possibly. I'll tend to everyone else and check in on our soon-to-be mama."

With that, she gave Sarah a little shove and then set to work tending to the other patients. Most were in stable condition with healing wounds or chronic coughs—they simply needed a bit of tending to. It was the laboring mother who needed the most help, and Victoria worried they wouldn't be able to help her in the end.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" she asked of the girl, for really she could not have been more than sixteen years old.

"Anna," she said, her voice weak.

"How close are your pains, Anna?"

There was a minute of silence while the girl grunted and clung to her stomach in obvious discomfort. When it subsided, she said, "I don't know for sure, ma'am. Maybe a minute or two."

A minute or two. There wasn't much time. They needed a doctor.

"I'll be back, Anna. I'm going to find you a doctor."

"A doctor?" Anna's eyes grew round and almost wild with fear. "No, ma'am. A midwife, please."

Victoria stared at the girl, wondering how she could possibly find the strength to be choosy in this situation. "But a doctor—a _real_ doctor—will be able to help you better. Besides, I haven't any idea where to find a midwife."

"Mrs. Potts." The girl winced through another pain. They were getting closer together. "Great Guildford Street at the corner of Southwark."

Victoria didn't bother to ask how Anna knew of this woman or why she just didn't go to her in the first place. Time was too precious to care. "I'll find her, Anna. Just hold on, all right?"

Anna nodded as another pain began. "I'll try, ma'am."

***

Fin made his way through Southwark, headed toward The Anchor where he had a meeting that morning. Lord Bishop wished to commission a painting for his wife for her upcoming birthday, and he wanted to discuss the details in a place his wife would never be able to find him.

He turned the corner, headed for the south bank, and that was when he saw her. Victoria Barclay, running like a mad woman down Blackfriars Road. Though tied about her neck, her bonnet bounced against her back as she ran and her hair blew back, a messy victim of the high winds that day. The color in her cheeks was high—he could see they burned bright red, even at this distance from across the crowded street.

Fin had a mind to chase after her and give her a good paddling. What the devil was she doing? All alone in Southwark? This was no place for a lady to find herself, let alone be running with the devil's speed through the street, attracting attention to herself. Had the girl finally gone mad?

Fin pulled his fob from his coat pocket. Five minutes until eleven. If he tracked her down and paddled her rebellious little behind, he'd never be on time for his meeting with Bishop. Blast. He had lost her already, anyhow. Damn the crowded streets.

If she made it home alive, he'd deliver the paddling then.
Seven

By the time Victoria reached Great Guildford and Southwark, her legs were nearly ready to give out on her. They wobbled like Cook's aspic, but she couldn't stop now. She needed to find Mrs. Potts and hope that the woman would be willing to help them.

She stood in the middle of the sidewalk, staring up and down the row of houses there, wondering which one might belong to Mrs. Potts. There weren't any signs—physical or metaphysical—that pointed to any one door, so Victoria did what she had to do. She began knocking.

At the first door appeared a man whose assessment of Victoria made her feel as if she needed a bath. Certainly not who she was looking for. Door number two yielded no answer, and Victoria began to feel the pressure of the time. How many minutes had passed since she left the hospital? Twenty? Thirty? Too many, she was certain.

She scurried from the second door to the third and waited. No answer. She stepped off the step and was heading for the next house when she heard the door creak behind her. When she turned back, an old woman stared at her through the crack. Something told her this was the woman she sought.

"Mrs. Potts?"

"Who sent you?" she asked as Victoria moved closer.

"I need your help, madam. I'm told you're a midwife."

A wry smile came to the woman's lips and she huffed a humorless laugh. "Something like that."

"Please. We've a young girl in our hospital. Her labor pains are too close together and the only nurse who knows anything about childbirth is lying in bed with a fever."

The woman looked Victoria over and said, "My fee ain't cheap."

"I didn't expect it would be."

Mrs. Potts's brows rose, and then finally, she nodded her head. "Fetch a hackney. I'm not fit to walk long distances."

Victoria did as the woman said and minutes later they were headed back for the hospital. Anna's cries carried out into the street as they approached, and Victoria worried they might be too late. But Mrs. Potts didn't move any more quickly.

"It'll be any minute now," she said calmly as they entered the hospital. "Upstairs, I take it?"

Victoria nodded at the woman and then watched as she slowly ascended the stairs. Sarah ran from the other room, her brow damp with sweat.

"Did you find a doctor?" the nurse asked.

"Something like that," Victoria said as she stared up the stairs after Mrs. Potts. "All we can do now is pray."

Less than thirty minutes later—thirty interminable minutes later—Anna's cries were replaced by those of her baby. As Victoria spooned a mouthful of ipecac into another patient's mouth, she took her first breath since she'd arrived at the hospital that day. _Thank heaven for Mrs. Potts._

"Perhaps Mrs. Potts was our good luck charm today," Sarah said, poking her head into the small room. "Molly's fever has broken."

"Oh, thank goodness," Victoria replied as she eased the young man back onto the pillows. "Well, then, it looks as if things are under control here. Will you be all right if I leave? Too much longer and Mother will become suspicious."

"We'll be fine, miss." Sarah smiled warmly at her, though the poor girl looked as if she would fall over at any moment.

"When was the last time you slept, Sarah?"

"I can't rightly remember, miss. Feels like a fortnight, though it's probably more like two days."

Two days. Victoria wanted to cry for the girl. She really did work too hard, and for very little in return. "I'll be back as soon as I am able, Sarah. Try to get a bit of rest, will you?"

Sarah nodded, bravely attempting to hold back her tears. Victoria needed to act quickly. The hospital needed more money. A lot more money. Which meant she would have to attempt yet another robbery tonight.

***

Fin stepped through the front door of the Barclays' townhouse, determined to find out why the devil Victoria had been running like a banshee through Southwark that morning. It was his highest hope that she was there for good reason—and with a proper chaperone—but he had a feeling that was not the case. She'd been running, and she'd been alone. The signs did not point to a proper social visit on Victoria's part.

"Finny, what are you doing here?" Victoria stood in the doorway of the drawing room, the sun from the fanlight in the foyer casting a halo about her entire person.

It wasn't intentional when Fin's breath caught, but somehow it couldn't be helped. "I—ah—wished to take a drive with you," he sputtered out.

Victoria's brows rose in speculation. "Is that so?"

He rolled his eyes. "Dammit, Vickie, I'm bored. Won't you come and entertain me?"

A smile spread her soft, pink lips. "Well, then who will entertain _me_?"

"I promise to do my best."

Of course, she acquiesced and within a few minutes, they were in his curricle, headed for Hyde Park. The day was quite exquisite. Not a single cloud marred the turquoise sky, and a slight wind kept them from being too warm.

Fin said nothing as they drove along. He thought to wait and see if she offered any information about her morning romp on her own.

She didn't.

By the time they reached Rotten Row, neither of them had said a word, and the silence was finally too much for Fin. "I thought you were going to entertain me."

"No, that was your idea. I never actually agreed to it—only to the drive."

Fin wasn't sure whether to laugh or strangle her. "Will you tell me about your morning?" He glanced sideways to look at her, hoping for any signs of discomfort at the topic.

She shrugged. "Not much to tell, really. I visited Lady Hartswell. She's been feeling ill."

_The little liar_. "Ah, so you stayed close to home, then?"

"Well, yes, of course." She gazed out over the Serpentine as they passed, and Fin dared a glance or two, himself. Its beauty never ceased to amaze him. He had many a canvas stashed away at home that featured this particular landscape. "Tom took breakfast at his club, so I didn't have much choice. It was either spend the morning with Mama or with Lady Hartswell. The latter seemed the lesser of two evils."

"How can you say such things about your mother?"

"How can you not?"

He supposed she had a point. Her mother wasn't the kindest or warmest of people. Though he'd had good luck at charming her, at the end of the day, she was still a cobra. "Well, I'm sorry I wasn't about to escort you to someplace more interesting."

"And what about you?" she asked. "What did you do this morning?"

He paused. Should he tell the truth? "I had a meeting," he said, and then he turned so he could see her face when he added, "In Southwark."

Silence. Her throat moved as she swallowed hard, but then she took a breath and smiled. "I do hope it went well."

This was getting him nowhere. "It did. I'm to paint a portrait of Lady Bishop. It's for her birthday in July."

"What do you do with the money?"

Fin started at her abrupt and rather inappropriate question. "The money?"

"From your paintings," she clarified. "It's not as if you _need_ the money, so what do you do with it?"

"I'm not sure that's any of your business, Vickie." He hated to take that particular tone with her. He felt as if he were scolding her.

"I never said it was," she retorted. "You don't have to answer, I was just curious whether you pocket the money or if you perhaps use it for good causes."

"Causes?" What the devil was she talking about?

"Yes, _causes._ You know, poor people? They do exist. You may have even seen some this morning when you were in Southwark."

"Must you always bring sarcasm into every conversation?"

"If you don't enjoy my conversation, then why do you even bother keeping my company?"

Damn. When had things started to go downhill? He hadn't meant for them to argue—he never intended for that to happen. But now his mood had turned black, and he had no desire to make nice with the lying little shrew beside him.

"Perhaps we should just turn back," he suggested.

"Yes, perhaps that would be best."

The ride back to Marylebone seemed to last hours as the silence stretched between them. For the first time in the history of their relationship, that silence was horribly uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than any silence he had to endure with vapid debutantes. This was much worse. His palms actually sweated with the anxiety of truly being at odds with Victoria. She was one of his best friends, after all. So then why were they finding it so difficult to get along?

_Because she's a liar, that's why._ Damn, but she was, wasn't she? Somehow, Fin would have to get to the bottom of this. Short of having her followed, though, he wasn't sure how he would do it. She was tight-lipped as a clam.

Hm. Perhaps that was what bothered Fin. If they were such good friends, why couldn't she confide in him? He understood her lying to her parents, and even her brother, but somehow it hurt that she didn't trust him enough to say what she was doing alone in Southwark that morning.

"Well, thank you for the drive, Finny," she said as he pulled up to her door. She acted almost as if nothing was wrong. "Will we see you tonight at Vauxhall?"

Damn. He was supposed to go with them to see a concert and fireworks at the gardens. "Yes, of course," he said, not sure he really wanted to go, now. "You will see me tonight.
Eight

That evening, Victoria, Tom and both their parents boarded their carriage and headed toward Westminster. There, they would take a boat across the Thames, straight to the dock at Vauxhall Gardens. Victoria was both excited and apprehensive about attending the festivities tonight. Vauxhall always proved to be exceedingly entertaining, and she was sure tonight would not disappoint. There was a concert of new music, and of course, the fireworks. Only one thing would remove her apprehension, though, and that would be if Finny declined the invitation.

She wasn't sure what he knew—or if he knew anything, really—but Victoria had the sneaking suspicion that he might be on to her. Or that he was at least roused with a bit of curiosity.

What she worried about the most was that he might have seen her that morning. He hadn't said as much, and it wasn't like Fin to beat about the bush. They had been friends since birth, after all. They didn't have that many secrets. Well, except for the ones that Victoria kept. But what good would it do to bring Fin into her plots? Simply knowing about it could land him in a heap of trouble, and Victoria preferred to protect her friends and family.

But now she thought about it, he _did_ have secrets, didn't he? Hadn't he said something about buying flowers for someone the other day? Was it for a woman? Was he courting someone that Victoria didn't know about?

And why did these ideas bother her so damned much?

She refocused her thoughts back to their carriage ride that afternoon. The more she played the conversation over in her head, the more she was convinced he had seen her. If that were the case, he would eventually come out and inquire about it. Knowing him as she did, he was probably waiting to see if she would confess to being in Southwark first. Well, if he knew her equally as well, he would know that she'd take her secrets to the grave. As it was, he didn't really know her, did he? How could he when Victoria kept the most important aspects of her life hidden from him?

Something about that saddened Victoria, but she didn't have time to ruminate on it. They had pulled up to the dock, and Fin waited for them on the small boat. Though they had ended their carriage ride on a bit of a brusque note, he was all smiles now. He waved and welcomed them aboard with a kiss to her mother's hand and a handshake for both her father and brother. When it was Victoria's turn for a greeting, his smile disappeared, and he only bowed his hello.

Any other day with any other man, Victoria would have found some smart remark about his lack of enthusiasm for her. However, no remarks came to mind. No witty retort to shame him for his behavior. Nothing. All she could do was stand there and try to hold back the tears that were a surprise even to her. Even worse than the tears was the knowledge that he knew. He had seen her in Southwark—of that she was most certain now. It was likely that his cold indifference would continue until she confessed that she was in Southwark that morning.

Sadness tugged even harder now, for she could never tell him where she had been or what she had been doing. If she did, he would forbid her from going again, at least not without a chaperone. Under ordinary circumstances, she might have allowed him to go with her. But these were no ordinary circumstances. They were dire. If she told him a little, she would have to tell him everything, and she just couldn't do that. It was one thing to risk her own life. To risk hanging nearly every single night as she robbed the rich to give to the poor. To risk any number of diseases while she assisted at the hospital. To risk mugging or rape in the most undesirable parts of London.

But she couldn't ask that of someone else. Not someone she cared about. Not someone she loved.

***

Fin hated this feeling. He hated being at odds with Victoria, even though neither of them had spoken as much to that end. Still, there was obvious tension, and it was his fault.

No. It was her fault.

Or was it? He wasn't quite sure who was to blame. He only knew that Victoria wasn't accountable to him, and if she didn't want to tell him why she was in Southwark that morning, she didn't have to.

Then why did it bother him so damned much?

The five of them entered The Grove, making small talk until they reached their supper box. The concert would start shortly, but first dinner would be served, along with free-flowing wine and champagne. Fin thought he might drink an entire bottle himself. He hoped it would make things less awkward with Victoria, so when the bottles arrived, he claimed one and hid it on the floor beside his chair.

"What are you doing?"

He looked up to see Victoria staring at him, her brow crumpled with curiosity.

"Ah, nothing," he said, casually placing the bottle back on the floor and bringing his glass to the table.

Her brows rose. Clearly, he wasn't very good at covert operations.

"I suspect you'll want to share that." She held her glass out to him.

"Of course." He was careful not to touch her hand as he took her glass, and just as careful when he handed it back.

Damn it, this was awkward. They had touched hands, brushed shoulders—they'd had plenty of physical contact over the years and it had never felt uncomfortable. They were like brother and sister, for God's sake.

Only they weren't actually, were they?

"I've never seen the Handel statue up close. Would you care to escort me there to have a look, Fin?"

That wasn't true. The first time they visited Vauxhall, she spent nearly thirty minutes studying the statue. That was many years ago, when she was but a girl of sixteen, and he still saw her as a child, being twenty-four himself at the time. Somehow, though the years between them remained the same, the gap seemed far smaller.

But who was he to turn down an opportunity to clear the air between them?

"Well, you're not leaving now, are you? The music is about to start." Lady Grantham stared back at them with a shrewd look in her eye.

"I need to stretch my legs, Mother, or I'll be too uncomfortable to enjoy the music."

"Your brother will go with you, then."

Victoria's lips pressed together in a thin line. She was clearly perturbed. But she held her tongue, turned abruptly and then left the box. With a quick glance at one another, Fin and Tom both rose from their seats and followed her.

"What's the matter with my sister?" Tom asked as they walked side by side, Victoria just a bit ahead of them.

"I was hoping you could tell me," Fin replied. "I won't lie to you, she's been acting rather strangely. I had hoped she might confess the problem to me on this walk."

"Lord Leyburn, what a pleasant surprise." Satan's daughter herself stepped in front of them on the path. She was turned out in black and crimson, her breasts thrust forth for all the world to see.

Fin rolled his eyes, but managed to suppress his groan. "Lady Beecham, we meet again."

"Indeed." She batted her eyelashes as she shifted her gaze to Tom. "Would you mind if I stole Mr. Barclay from you for a few moments."

Fin was sure he'd never been so happy to see Lady Beecham. "By all means." He stepped around her and left Tom to his own devices. It seemed his friend might not mind being left in the woman's clutches, so Fin didn't feel terribly guilty for abandoning him.

In a few long strides, he had caught up to Victoria, and he fell into step beside her, taking her elbow as he did. She looked up at him, her face more open and vulnerable than he had ever seen it.

"Victoria," he said, his tone soft and beseeching, "will you please tell me what this is all about?"

She was quiet for a few moments, but when she spoke, her words sounded almost pained. "I cannot, Fin."

_She cannot?_ "Then why did you ask me to walk with you?"

"To tell you just that." She glanced about, and then stopped just before the statue. "And you must stop trying to figure it out."

"Like hell I will." Fin was getting upset now. What the devil was this mad girl up to?

"Fin, please," she begged of him. "You don't know what you're doing. You don't know what you're getting into."

"Then please explain."

"I told you," she said emphatically, "I _cannot._ "

"Is it dangerous?" She stared at him and silence fell between them. "Damn it, Victoria, what the devil is going on? Are you being blackmailed?"

"No!"

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No! Fin, please stop trying to guess. The closer you get to finding out, the more dangerous it becomes." She closed her eyes and took a breath. "Please, Fin. I've been at this for more than two years—"

"Two years?"

"I know what I'm doing."

Fin's nostrils flared. There had been times in their relationship when he had thought himself infuriated with Victoria. Such as the time when she had teased him about his bold jonquil waistcoat (which, admittedly, was probably not a good look for him). Or the many times she'd treated him as though he were but excrement beneath her feet. But he now realized that he'd only been annoyed with her in those instances. She had treated him like a brother, and in return, he'd forgiven her as if she were a sister.

This was different. _Now_ he was infuriated. How dare she put herself in danger for—had she really said two years? How could she possibly have hidden such a monumental and dangerous secret from him for so long? And what kind of danger was she in?

"Victoria Barclay, you will stop this immediately, whatever it is that you're doing. I will not stand by and watch you put yourself in danger."

"Then don't watch. Pretend you know nothing at all. Pretend you never saw me in Southwark this morning." Her eyes were pleading, and if he hadn't known better, he might have thought they were filling with tears. But Victoria Barclay didn't cry.

"But I did see you. And I cannot forget it."

They had come to an impasse, it seemed. Deep down, he knew that no matter how much he yelled or threatened, Victoria would never tell him her secret. That didn't mean he was any less angry with her, though.

He gave her his most disdainful look, and then walked away. He wouldn't stand here and do this with her. She would only make him angrier, and the fact of the matter was that they still had to get through this night. After that, he would stay out of Victoria's life as much as was humanly possible. If she met her demise, he didn't want to be there to see it.

"Fin, wait," she said to his back. "Please, Fin, you don't understand."

He should have kept walking, but he couldn't help himself. He whirled on her, and much to his dismay, pointed his finger at her as he walked towards her again.

"That's right, Victoria, I _don't_ understand." She flinched at his tone. Fin had never spoken to her like this. He had always exhibited patience with Vickie. But he couldn't hold it in any longer. "And you are the only person who could rectify that, aren't you?"

"But I told you—"

"You cannot. Yes, I know."

"It's not for me, Fin. This isn't for my own protection that I keep you in the dark on this matter."

Ha! Did she think to protect _him_? "How very charming," he said with no small amount of acerbity to his tone. "I'm being looked after by a woman."

"Stop this, Fin, please."

Now she truly looked as if she might cry, but Fin was beyond caring. "I will stop when you decide you trust me enough to tell me what the devil you're up to. Until then, I must ask you to refrain from speaking to me."

With that and an incredibly heavy heart, Fin walked away.
Nine

Victoria stared after Fin as he walked away from her. It was almost painful to watch him go. She wished with all her heart that she could confide in him, tell him everything, but she couldn't. Not now, not ever. Not only would it put him in danger, but she was certain he would never understand. No one of their class would. There were many times even she wondered why she risked it all, but then an incident like with Anna and Mrs. Potts would happen. What would they have done had she not been there? Anna might have died if Victoria hadn't found Mrs. Potts. Molly might have died without Sarah's constant attention to bringing down her fever.

Yes, there was a reason she did what she did, and Fin would never understand.

She walked alone back to the supper box. Fin was there, pretending to be in good spirits as he regaled her parents with a story about a painting. Tom was absent, probably off somewhere on a lonely garden path with that vile Lady Beecham. No one paid Victoria any mind while she took her seat and turned her attention to the musicians.

As she listened, she scanned the patrons carefully, looking for her next victim. She needed an easy target, someone who wouldn't put up any kind of fight when she held them at gunpoint. And someone with a large enough purse to make a difference at the hospital.

Her gaze landed on a box full of some of London's most notorious and downright annoying dandies. The flashes of color that erupted from their group were almost offensive to the eye. However, among them would be a generous donor. She just had to figure out which one.

She rose from her seat and started to leave the box again.

"Victoria, where are you going?" her mother asked.

"Just for a bit of air," she replied, hoping her mother wouldn't note that the entire theater was open to the air.

"Not without an escort."

Victoria's eyes darted to Fin. He wore a pained look on his face. The one that said he would rather eat horse excrement than accompany her on a walk right then.

"I saw Tom," she said. "He's only just outside."

She prayed her mother would take her word for it, for she truly had no earthly idea where her brother was at the moment.

"Fine. Be gone with you then."

With an internal sigh of relief, Victoria left the box again and set to her plan. She would infiltrate the box of dandies. She had the charm of a porcupine and mediocre looks, but still, she had to try.

She counted the boxes as she walked around the outside, and when she was sure she'd found the right one, she peeked her head inside.

"Oh, dear," she said, loudly enough for the men inside to hear. Seven heads swung her way, some with smiles, some with questioning looks. "I seem to have lost my way. I could have sworn this was my father's box."

She leaned back, pretending to look about at the other boxes. There was a bit of a scuffle inside and then one of the dandies—a rather attractive one, at that—appeared in front of her.

"Well, you needn't rush off so quickly, miss. Would you care for a glass of champagne?"

"Oh, no! I couldn't possibly drink your champagne!" She gave a nauseating bat of her eyelashes.

"Please," the young man replied. "It would be our honor to have such a lovely lady grace our box."

Victoria wanted to laugh. As a matter of fact, it was all she could do _not_ to laugh. "Well, I suppose one glass couldn't hurt."

An hour and several glasses of champagne later, Victoria had the dandies eating out of her hand. They seemed fascinated by her, and why shouldn't they be? She swore, she told bawdy jokes and her ability to deliver sarcasm could not be matched by most men, let alone young debutantes. Part of her hated that she had to choose one to rob in the near future, but it was her job, and she would not be swayed.

She even surprised herself by her ability to keep up with their banter while trying to distinguish the rich from the poor. Or rather, the ones who had the money to spend, and the ones who didn't but spent it anyway. By the end of the hour, she had come to a decision, and it almost pained her to make it. She would rob the one who had invited her into the box and offered the champagne.

The others called him Woodmore. He was a mister, not a lord, and an only child from what she gleaned during conversation. So Victoria assumed that for him to have infiltrated this clan of dandified gentlemen, he must have been wealthy. Probably in trade. But if one had enough money, the means by which they came by said money might be overlooked.

So she flirted with him the most, and by the time she insisted she must depart, he was practically salivating. Victoria couldn't deny she was a bit flattered by his attention, but she made a point to not let it get in the way of her job.

"Miss Barclay," he said as he escorted her from the box. "Might I call upon you tomorrow afternoon?"

"Well, of course, Mr. Woodmore," she replied with another innocuous bat of her lashes. "You would be most welcome."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Victoria tried desperately to ignore the shot of excitement that shot to her belly at his touch. Goodness, he really was quite handsome.

"Until tomorrow, then," he whispered.

"Until tomorrow."

***

Fin watched Victoria with unveiled disgust. What the devil was she doing over there, flirting like a silly schoolgirl with those fops? She was batting her eyelashes and laughing at all their jokes. It was most unlike her. She never laughed at his jokes, and she certainly never batted her eyelashes at him.

Of course, he wasn't sure what he would do if she ever did. How awkward that would be for her to flirt with him in such a way. But still, she never flirted with anybody that Fin knew of. He became more suspicious by the minute.

"Don't you agree, Leyburn?"

_Damn._ He ought to be paying attention to his dinner partners, not blasted Victoria. "Yes, of course, my lord. I couldn't agree more."

Thankfully, his answer seemed satisfactory enough that Lord Grantham continued on with his storytelling without asking any more questions. Fin tried to pay attention this time, focusing his full attention on the viscount. But as the man droned on about some nonsense or other to do with the House of Lords, Fin found his attention slipping once again. It didn't help that Victoria's laughter rose above the din of music and conversation. It wasn't that it was so distinctive, but just that he was so attuned to it now, after so many years of acquaintance.

Fin shook his head. Hadn't he just told her he didn't want anything to do with her? Then why in hell was he so damned focused on her now?

Unable to help himself, he turned back to the box where she flirted so shamelessly, only to see her leaving in the company of Mr. Woodmore, the biggest fop of them all. His father had been in trade—furniture, or musical instruments—Fin couldn't quite recall, except he knew it involved wood. That was how he remembered the name. _Woodmore makes wood_. Woodmore the Younger had inherited the business and subsequent fortune upon his father's passing several years ago. Lucky for Woodmore, the company was well established by then, so he had nothing more to do than join in the fun of the _ton._ If one could call this life fun.

Fin always thought it would be much better to travel, see the world, much like Tom had done. He envied his friend, but something had kept him here all these years, grounded to this blasted city and bound to people like Victoria. Much of his connection to her and her family had to do with his own _lack_ of family. His parents were dead now, and he'd been an only child. Well, not always. _Thank goodness you were the heir and not the spare, Phineas,_ his father had always said. However, Fin had never found it amusing that his _spare_ didn't make it past the ripe age of three months. By then, his mother was too ill to try for more children.

So Fin was alone in the world, except for a reclusive aunt and uncle who lived somewhere in Wales.

He shook off his melancholy, not wanting to focus anymore on his loneliness, and turned his attention back to Victoria and Mr. Woodmore. They were no longer in the box, and Fin hoped that meant Victoria would be here soon. Not that he wanted to see her, but he didn't relish the idea of her getting caught up with that annoying Mr. Woodmore. Despite the fact they weren't speaking now, they would be eventually, Fin was sure. And if Victoria spent time with Woodmore, that would mean Fin would have to, too.

Yes, he definitely did not want her getting too friendly with Woodmore.
Ten

Despite Victoria's desire to go to the hospital the next morning to make sure all had turned out well with Anna's birth, she knew she could not. She needed to wait until Fin lost interest in her activities—if he ever did. Why did he have to be so difficult? She had been a highwayman for more than two years now, and everything had always turned out fine. There was nothing for him to worry about, but of course she couldn't tell him any of that. She couldn't tell him anything at all.

Her mind wandered to their argument the night before, and Victoria was helpless to stop the prick of tears at her eyes. _Damn him!_ She hated to cry, and Phineas Dartwell certainly wasn't worth crying over. So why the devil was she crying?

She shook her head, not wanting to think about it. It would be much more comfortable to dredge up her anger with him than to pontificate on the reasons she might cry over him.

"A letter for you, miss." Davis stood before her, a small piece of parchment on his salver.

She took it, ignoring the slight frisson of hope that the letter was from Fin. He wasn't going to apologize or forget about what he saw in Southwark, of that Victoria was most certain.

It turned out to be from Sarah. All was well at the hospital. Molly was on the mend, and Anna and the baby were doing just fine, many thanks to Mrs. Potts. Victoria gave an inner sigh of relief as she pocketed the note.

"Who was it from?" her mother asked without taking her eyes from the letter she was writing at the escritoire across the room.

"No one," Victoria replied casually. "Just Cecily. She says her mother sends her regards."

"When you reply, do send mine back."

And that was that. Cecily was Victoria's cousin—her mother was Lady Grantham's sister. Their only correspondence happened through their daughters. Victoria knew she would have to send a letter to Cecily now on the off chance her mother ever spoke to her sister again.

She stared out the window. Then she tapped her fingers on the wood that framed her chair. Then her she tapped her foot on the hardwood floor.

"Victoria!"

Finally, her mother looked up from her letter. Her eyes were filled with venom, as if her stare alone could sever Victoria's feet and fingers so she might not be able to tap them ever again.

"Would you please sit still," she said. "I am trying to concentrate, and there you are, with your incessant tapping and sighing."

Victoria hadn't even realized she'd sighed.

"Read a book, for heaven's sake. Or work on your cross-stitch. Lord knows you could use the practice. Just do be quiet, won't you?"

Victoria suppressed another sigh. How boring this was, sitting in the quiet all day long with not an iota of excitement. Nothing interesting at all happened in their parlor, unless one counted the fly that had trapped himself in the corner of the closed window. Poor little fellow. Victoria knew exactly how he felt.

Taking her mother's advice for perhaps the first time in her life, Victoria retrieved a book from their small collection and plopped back into her chair. If it was possible, the book was far more boring that watching the struggling fly in the window. However, she forced herself to keep reading while simultaneously forcing thoughts of Fin from her mind. It wasn't easy, but she did manage to forget about him and their argument for at least a little while.

It was nigh on two o'clock when the first interesting thing happened that day. A well-sprung, shiny, black phaeton pulled up to the front of their townhouse, its driver a rather well turned out Mr. Woodmore. Victoria smiled. Finally.

She tried to sit still while she waited for his introduction and subsequent presence in the drawing room, but it wasn't easy. She'd pent up such a great amount of energy sitting there all day. It seemed like an eternity while she waited, but at last, Mr. Woodmore arrived, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

"Ah, Mr. Woodmore, how kind of you to call on us today," Lady Grantham said as he bowed over her hand.

"'tis my pleasure, Lady Grantham," he replied as he tossed a lock of his light brown hair out of his eyes. It was a bit long for fashion. Or maybe he was trying to make a statement. Certainly, his clothes did just that. She let out a little giggle when she pictured Fin in that same ensemble. He would have looked positively ridiculous.

"Is something the matter, Victoria?"

_Oh!_ Had her giggle been out loud? "No, no, Mother. Everything is fine." She moved closer, so she stood only a couple of feet from Mr. Woodmore. With a curtsey, she said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Woodmore. So very nice to see you again."

He smiled, and Victoria was struck by what a nice smile it was. His lips weren't too full or too thin. They were just right. And his teeth were straight and white. She resisted the urge to run her tongue over her own teeth. They may have been white enough, but the front two overlapped slightly.

"I was hoping you might accompany me on a drive, Miss Barclay?"

"Would you mind if we walked?" she suggested instead. She couldn't bear to sit anymore today.

"A walk would be lovely."

Lily accompanied them on their walk, for which Victoria was grateful. It would have been awkward if Tom had come. Then again, he was nowhere to be found today. Victoria was fairly certain he'd spent the evening with Lady Beecham. It all suited her just fine. Lily was a much better chaperone—she kept to herself and stayed out of earshot.

Once they were out of the house, Woodmore started to take a left hand turn, but Victoria stopped him.

"I much prefer this direction," she said with a gesture to the right. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to do it, but she was compelled to stroll past Fin's home. She didn't want to make him jealous, _per se_. But perhaps she wanted him to see that their argument had not affected her in the least. That she was just fine without him.

They strolled slowly along the sidewalk. The sun was hot today, and Victoria tipped her parasol backwards so that the rays hit her face.

"You don't fear freckles?" Woodmore asked.

She shook her head. "They aren't such fearsome creatures as the patronesses would have everyone believe."

Woodmore laughed. "I suppose that's true. As a matter of fact, I think I rather like freckles."

"Such a rebel you are, Mr. Woodmore. Be careful who you say that to or you might find yourself blackballed from Almack's."

" _Quelle horreur_!"

"Indeed!" They both laughed, though Victoria laughed a little harder than perhaps was necessary. They were passing by Fin's home now, of course, and she wanted him to see how much fun she was having. How much fun he would miss out on now that he'd decided they couldn't be friends anymore.

As much fun as it seemed to flaunt her joviality at him, the thought that he really didn't want to be her friend anymore tugged at her heart. Had he really meant that? Did he truly plan to shut her out for good unless she confessed? Certainly he had only been bluffing to see if she would tell him all in the face of such a threat. At least that was what she hoped, for the alternative would be too much to bear.

***

A loud giggle from outside caught Fin's attention as he filled in his subject's dress with broad strokes of his brush. The yellow paint clumped a bit where his brush stopped mid-stroke, but he paid it no mind. He could fix it in a moment.

Curious to see the source of Victoria's laughter—for it could only be her—Fin went to the small window in his studio and looked down into the street. _Woodmore._ Damn him, he meant to court her, apparently. And Victoria meant to make him jealous in the process.

_Damned chit_. She didn't let anyone court her. _I mean to remain unwed,_ she always said. This was a ploy, and Fin knew it. As if his theory weren't sound enough, Victoria slipped her arm through Woodmore's and then tilted her head back to look at his house.

Their eyes locked. _Damn it!_ She saw him. How did she know he'd be up here in the studio, anyhow?

Fin backed away from the window, hoping he was wrong. Perhaps she hadn't really seen him after all. Maybe she'd only looked in that direction and the sunlight's reflection prevented her from seeing that anyone was at the window at all.

"Simmons!" He strode across the room, calling for his valet in a booming yell. "Simmons!"

Simmons appeared on the landing that led to the studio only moments later. "I do respond to the bell, sir." The man hated to be bellowed at, but Fin didn't have the patience to worry about silly little bells just then.

"I need you to stand in the window."

"I beg your pardon, sir." Simmons looked confused.

"I'm going to go down into the street, and I need to see if I can see you from there." Fin started out the door, but Simmons stopped him.

"How close to the window, sir?"

Fin rolled his eyes. "Just . . . here, it will be easier to show you." He strode to the window and found the exact position he'd been in while spying on Victoria.

_Spying._ That didn't seem to be the right word. She had walked by his house on purpose. If he was spying, it was her fault. She made him do it.

Good Lord, was he a child?

"So, like this, sir?"

Fin moved Simmons a bit to the left and pushed his head forward. "There. That's it. Now don't move!"

Fin ran down the two flights of stairs until he reached the main floor and then stopped. He needed to make sure Victoria and Woodmore were out of sight before he went out into the street. In the distance, he could just barely make out Victoria's parasol, and then they turned a corner and were gone. Fin darted out to the sidewalk to the precise spot Victoria had been when she turned to look at him. He looked up.

_Damn._ He could see Simmons clear as day. There was no doubt in his mind that she had seen him. How dreadfully annoying.

Even so, it didn't change anything. She could flaunt her suitors in his face all she wanted. What did he care? It wasn't as if he had any interest in her in _that_ way. Brother and sister—that was their relationship practically. If she sought to make him jealous, it wouldn't work. There was nothing of which he should be jealous. Nothing at all.

And until she was willing to confess what he was sure must have been illegal activities to him, their friendship was on hold.
Eleven

Two evenings later, Victoria stood at the edge of yet another ballroom, flanked by her brother and Mr. Woodmore. She was a bit fidgety this evening. All right, she was fidgety every evening, but tonight was worse than usual.

Tonight was the night she planned to rob Woodmore, but she was beginning to have second thoughts about this particular robbery. He'd been so kind to her in the last few days. He had called on her twice now, and he was always incredibly complimentary.

Unlike some other men she knew.

Though he lacked a title, Woodmore was a gentleman in every other way possible. He was kind and generous, handsome, and his dancing was superior. Victoria's mother was elated at her new courtship, though she suspected her mother would have been happy with almost any courtship at all at this point.

Tom, however, looked as if he wanted to skin Woodmore alive. She couldn't be sure why. It seemed odd that Tom would care at all who she set her cap for, but his scowl and general attitude toward the man were unmistakably filled with contempt. Woodmore, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice that the contempt was directed at him.

"Is there something the matter with your brother, Miss Barclay?" he asked as they twirled around the dance floor in a waltz. "He seems a bit out of sorts, don't you think?"

Victoria cast a glance in her brother's direction. She shrugged. "No more than usual," she lied. "I fear he's missing Jamaica more than he wants to admit."

"I can't imagine anyone would miss such a place. Hell on earth."

Victoria looked up at Woodmore in surprise. "I didn't realize you had traveled there."

"Oh, no!" he returned with a scowl. "Why on earth would I want to do such a thing?"

Was he serious? "Why, for the adventure, of course. For the opportunity to explore new places and cultures."

For the first time in their acquaintance, Woodmore gave Victoria what she would deem a condescending look. "Oh, Miss Barclay, I'm not sure you know what you're saying. You might think you would like to explore foreign lands, but you must know you live in the greatest country on earth. Why would you ever want to leave England for such a barbaric country?"

Victoria dropped her arms and stopped dancing, forcing another couple to swerve quickly in the other direction so as to not barrel into them. "I know exactly what I'm saying, Mr. Woodmore."

"Please, Miss Barclay." He held his arms out, inviting her to join him in the dance again. "People are staring at us."

Victoria could not have cared less who was staring at them, but when he said, "Your mother will be most disappointed if she hears you made a scene," she had no choice but to resume the dance.

"I did not mean to offend, Miss Barclay," Woodmore said as they picked up the tempo again. "It's just that, well, I can't imagine such a delicate flower as you in such a rugged environment."

Victoria wanted so desperately to laugh at his description of her. _Delicate flower?_ Was he truly so blind to her character? At the same time, she found it rather flattering. No one had ever referred to her in such a way, least of all Fin. He chastised her all the time for her rebellious and rash behavior. Well, it didn't matter what Phineas Dartwell thought of her anymore, did it? He had written her off. Now she was free to bask in the glory of a _real_ gentleman's praise.

"Well, that's very kind of you to say, Mr. Woodmore," she said with a bat of her eyelashes, and the pit in her stomach grew larger. Could she really go through with robbing this man at gunpoint? Part of her wished that his intentions had not been so honorable, that he would have said something along the lines of "Women shouldn't travel; they are meant to stay at home and birth children." That would have made things much easier.

The music stopped, and it was as if the trance had been broken. She shook her head of the fog Woodmore had put her in. What was the matter with her? Were his flattering statements really stronger than the suffering she witnessed almost every day in the slums? The death she was privy to in the hospital?

"It is time to depart, Victoria." Her brother greeted them at the edge of the dance floor, a flute of champagne in his hand. He downed the last of his drink but his eyes never left Woodmore.

Victoria had told Tom she didn't want to stay past midnight. That suited him just fine, apparently. "Of course, Tom." She turned to Woodmore. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Mr. Woodmore."

"No, thank you," he returned. "May I call on you again tomorrow?"

Victoria hesitated. It wouldn't be easy to face him after tonight, but she figured it wouldn't be nearly as awful as having to face Fin as she'd done last week. "That would be wonderful," she said, and then she and Tom made their departure.

With any luck, Woodmore would remain at the party long enough for her to feign going to bed and then turn around to go back to the venue. Gil would wait for her, as always.

As they rode home, Tom fell asleep. Victoria had never been able to sleep in a carriage, no matter how comfortable. It was rather inconvenient on long trips, but it wasn't as if she'd be able to sleep now, anyhow. Her body hummed with anticipation. Robbing people made her incredibly nervous, but at the same time, incredibly alive. Every nerve sizzled as she stepped down from the carriage and climbed the stairs to her room. It took all her strength not to break into a run.

When she was sure Tom was in his room, probably changing to go out again, she darted down the stairs to the carriage. She and Gil sat outside the Randall's townhome, waiting for Woodmore to emerge. It was late when he finally did. Very late. And Victoria's bottom had gone numb from sitting for so long. She only hoped her legs would work when it came time to do her job.

Everything went to plan. Woodmore wasn't headed to the Great North Road, so they decided to corner him in a quiet, deserted area of Westminster.

Victoria approached the carriage that carried her prey and swung the door open. Woodmore looked terrified, as expected. Only Victoria didn't get the same rush from seeing him frightened as she usually did with her other victims.

_Don't turn soft now, Victoria! He's just another rich man whose money will go to much better use because of you._ "Your money or your life."

"I—I don't have anything," he replied. This was a bold faced lie. She'd felt the purse beneath his coat while they were dancing earlier that night. Unless he'd spent the rest of the evening gambling it away, it had to still be there.

"That's not true," she blurted out, and then added in a more sinister tone, "is it?"

He stared at her, possibly trying to figure out if she truly knew he was lying or if she was bluffing to get him to pay up. She hoped he leaned toward the latter.

Typically, she would have pushed him further into fear by cocking the gun and repeating, "Is it?" But she couldn't. Damn, but she was becoming soft. And for what? A simpering dandy?

"Ho, there!"

Victoria's blood turned to ice. _Oh, Lord._ How had Fin found her? How had she not heard the horse's hooves on the cobblestones? Terror seized her, but there was only one way out of this predicament.

She didn't think—she didn't have time to. Victoria simply began to run. Gil already sat atop the seat of their carriage. Still, there wasn't time to get into the cab. "Go, go, go!" she yelled at Gil as she sprinted toward the carriage. Gil slapped the reins and the horses began to move. Victoria chased them for only a few seconds before she was close enough to jump onto the footman's perch. Her muscles tightened as she held fast to the bar. If she loosened them, she would surely go careening to the ground, and at this pace that could be deadly.

What the hell had Fin been doing there? She could hardly put two and two together, her head was spinning so fast. However, there was only one logical explanation: he had followed her. The implications of this discovery were monumental. If Fin knew, what would he do? Would he turn her in to the authorities?

No. He may have been upset with her, but that didn't mean he wanted to see her hung.

A shiver raced up her spine. Tonight was the closest she had ever come to that particular reality. In two years, she supposed she had fancied herself invincible. But now...now she realized that her hanging could be an eventuality. An inevitability. And for the first time, she was truly scared.
Twelve

Fin watched the unmarked carriage as it sped down the road, out of sight. He could have followed it, and he probably could have caught up to it, but he didn't. It had been his every intention to do so. Victoria was on the back of the carriage—he was certain of it. But if he caught up to it—if he caught Victoria in the act—he would be forced to deal with that. Suddenly he wasn't up to that particular task.

Instead, he approached the carriage to make sure whoever was inside was all right. Before he made it there, though, a familiar head popped out. _What the devil?_

"Woodmore?"

"Is he gone?" the man asked, a wild look of fright in his eyes.

"Yes, _he's_ gone," Fin replied as he climbed down from his mount. "Are you all right?"

Woodmore stepped down to the street and stared off in the direction of Victoria's carriage. "Just a bit shaken up is all. You saved my life, though." He looked to Fin with adoration.

"Yes, well, you're welcome." Fin wasn't completely comfortable with the man. There was something about him that struck Fin as odd, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Though I doubt he would have shot."

"But he certainly could have," Woodmore persisted. "How may I repay you?"

"No repayment necessary."

"I insist."

"And I decline."

Woodmore stepped closer to Fin. Too close. He lowered his voice when he said, "I would really like to show my appreciation, my lord."

Oh, good God. Was Woodmore propositioning him? Fin suddenly understood why he'd always been a bit suspicious of the man. The bloody chap preferred men to women. _Damn and blast._ Fin didn't give a fig what the man did in the privacy of his own home, but to make such a blatant proposition to someone he barely knew . . .

Fin stepped back a half step. "Were I a less understanding man, I might have beat you to a bloody pulp. As it is, I'm quite understanding, but I'm a rarity."

"But—"

"No, no!" Fin swung his leg over his horse's back. "No buts, please. Just go home and try to forget that I saved your life."

Silence accompanied him as he rode away, and Fin was grateful for that. He had much to think about. What scared him was the discovery he'd made tonight. The confirmation that Victoria was doing something highly illegal and very dangerous.

But why? That was the question that lingered in his mind as he returned his horse to the mews and went inside. The house was dark, save a single sconce in the entryway to illuminate his path to the stairs. He climbed them slowly; every step felt heavy and laden with sadness. The distance between him and Victoria had gone from a stream to an ocean in the matter of a day, and part of him wished he had never seen her in Southwark.

It still puzzled him, though, and likely would for some time. He didn't foresee getting any answers from her any time soon. But why was she trying to rob Woodmore tonight? And was it at all related to her being in Southwark the other morning? He let out a groan, knowing he was too tired to try and piece it together tonight.

Once he'd divested himself of his clothing, Fin crawled into bed, eager for sleep to overcome him. However, as he continued to mull over the events of the evening, something dawned on him.

_Damn!_ Why had he not realized before? Of course it had been Victoria who had robbed him and Lady Beecham that night last week. And Lord Culver. That had been her as well. _Why, why, why?_ And for how long? Could she really have kept this up for two years without being caught? Was she bored? Was she rebelling?

Fin's mind spun with possibilities, none of which pleased him. And then he began to ponder unpleasant outcomes for his friend. The most unpleasant, and the most likely given her activities, being hanging. That image sent Fin darting from bed to light candles around the room. He would never be able to sleep now. His only escape from the gruesome image would be to paint. He was sure he would regret it come morning, not trying harder to go to sleep.

Oh, what the devil did he care? He was a lord. Everyone expected him to sleep all day and drink all night. And it wasn't as if he had to escort Victoria about during the day as he had done for the past two years.

He should have been working on the painting for Lord Bishop's wife, but instead he pulled out the half-finished canvas of Victoria. His hand worked fast and furiously as he filled in her features. Rosy cheeks, pink lips, green eyes. His heart ached as he looked at her finished face sometime later. He couldn't explain the turmoil he felt, only that he felt it. Deeply.

Even harder to explain was the feeling that came over him when he moved lower on the canvas. He had already traced her breasts and waist. Thankfully the portrait stopped there. Painting her breasts proved to be difficult enough. Why the devil was he growing hard over the thought of Victoria? He had painted at least a hundred pair of breasts over the years, and none had ever elicited such a reaction. And she was the last person he expected to have this reaction to.

Fin tried to shift his thoughts back to earlier in the evening, to his rage over her activities, to his fear over the outcome, and soon the painting was done. The sky was just beginning to turn pink with the day's first light, and Fin's exhaustion finally set in. Now he would be able to sleep.

As he stared at the finished product in his deliriousness, he imagined a black mask over Victoria's eyes. Before he had a chance to really think about it, his brush was working fast in the black paint. Back and forth, palette to canvas, until finally, the mask was complete.

He stepped back, still wondering how he had missed it that night with Lady Beecham. Didn't he know Victoria better than anyone else in the world?

No. He didn't know her at all, did he?

Weary, Fin put down his palette and brush and left the studio before he got carried away and painted a noose about Victoria's neck.

***

Victoria paced her room. Her nerves had her stomach in knots. Good God, what was she going to do? If Fin knew about her—or even suspected what she was doing—

"Oh, God." She moaned and fell backwards to her bed, throwing her arm over her eyes. "I'm going to hang."

"For what?"

Victoria sat straight up in her bed, shocked to find her brother in the doorway to her room. "Don't you know how to knock?"

"What the devil are you doing up, Victoria? It's four in the morning."

"Yes, I know," she replied haughtily. "I couldn't sleep."

Her brother appraised her clothing, and she realized for the first time that she was still wearing her black men's clothes. "Is that the new bed fashion?"

It would be best to ignore him and make him feel bad for barging in. "It is when it is . . . ahem . . . a sensitive time of the month." That ought to get him out.

Instead, he smirked. "You can't get rid of me that easily. What's going on?"

"Tom, there is nothing going on!" Why couldn't he just leave her alone? She needed to think. No, what she really needed to do was pack her bags and run far, far away.

"I've never seen you so on edge before." He moved into the room and shut the door behind him.

Victoria sighed. "Yes, well, you haven't seen much lately, have you?" It was a low blow, but she couldn't help it.

"You're right, and I'm sorry," he said. "But I don't regret going to Jamaica."

"Nor should you. I'm sorry I said that. Just promise that next time you leave you'll take me with you."

Tom laughed and crossed the room to her window. "Looks like Leyburn's up, too. Perhaps we should all get together for a drink," he suggested jokingly, but it still set Victoria on edge. The thought of being in the same room as Fin right now terrified her. Not that Fin wanted to be in a room with her now, anyway. He'd made that more than clear.

Truly desperate to be alone, Victoria sought to move the conversation along. "Was there anything in particular that you wanted?" she asked.

Tom turned to face her. "So eager to get rid of me."

"Well, I would like to go to bed." She hoped she sounded sufficiently exhausted despite the fact her nerves were still jumping wildly beneath her skin.

"Of course," he said, moving to her. He pecked her on the cheek and ruffled her hair like he used to do to her when she was little. "Goodnight, Vickie."

Once he'd gone, Victoria dashed to the window. Indeed, lights were ablaze in Fin's home. She wondered which room he was in, since both his bedroom and studio burned bright. Probably his studio. He always painted when he was upset. Only this time, he was upset with her.

Victoria's stomach turned over again, causing her to reach for the chamber pot just in case. Things had been going so well. For two years she'd lived her double existence with no consequences. Now, it seemed that everything was turned upside down, and she wasn't sure how she could ever make it right again.
Thirteen

Victoria didn't get a single wink of sleep that night, and when dawn broke, she wasn't any more tired than she'd been hours earlier. Drained perhaps, but she never would have been able to sleep had she lain down on her pillow.

Fin had gone to bed just a little while earlier, if the darkening of the studio and his bedroom were any indication. It was her only chance to safely go to the hospital now that he was sleeping soundly. She would have to be very careful going forward. Fin was far too close to discovering all her secrets.

Victoria rang for Lily and instructed her to have Gil ready the carriage. Then she made quick work of getting ready. Time was certainly of the essence.

The rain began just as she mounted the carriage, and she cursed the skies for their bad timing. It would take far longer to get to Southwark and back in this weather. Well, there wasn't anything she could do about it now.

She relaxed against the squabs and peeked out the window. They'd barely left Marylebone. The rain was coming even harder now. So hard she couldn't see more than a few feet from the carriage. She kept her eyes fixed on the passing scenes anyhow; that was far more interesting than staring at the dark walls of her conveyance.

Finally, they crossed the bridge over the Thames and continued on into Southwark. They were mere blocks from the hospital when Gil came to a complete stop.

"What's the matter?" she called up to him.

"Traffic, miss."

Jittery from no sleep and just plain impatient, Victoria tied her bonnet at her neck and grabbed her reticule. "I will walk the rest, Gil."

"But it's a bloody squall out there, miss!"

Ignoring his warning, Victoria climbed out of the carriage and shouted back, "I'll be ready in an hour!"

The rain was cold and hard as it pelted her face. She didn't run, though. Her feet moved at a brisk walk down the muddied street, and she was careful not to lose her footing. People crowded around her, everyone eager to get in out of the rain, but in the midst of it, she spotted a small child, hand outstretched, begging for money.

Victoria stopped in her tracks and observed the little girl for a moment. Suddenly, she felt as if she were eight years old again, watching the beggar girl from the window of their carriage. She had been struck with the need to help that day, but of course, her mother would never have allowed it. But today . . . well, her mother wasn't here, was she?

The child was dressed in thin, dirty rags, one of them draped over her head in an attempt to keep her dry. The look on her face was what disturbed Victoria so much, as if she might burst into tears at any moment. But she didn't. She continued to plead for money from those who passed her. Half of them were too poor themselves to help; the other half too important to care.

Victoria rushed to the child's side and took her gently by the arm. She bent over so she was at eye level with the girl.

The child's eyes widened so much that Victoria feared her eyeballs might roll out of her head. "Please don't turn me in, ma'am. I'm sorry. I'll stop my begging."

Clearly the child feared she'd be sent to the authorities. "No, no, my dear, I would never. Here, come with me." She led the little girl to a storefront that had an awning for them to stand under. "Where are your parents?" she wondered.

"I don't have a papa. And Mama—she's sick, ma'am." Her eyes filled with tears. "She lost her job on account of not bein' able to work. But there's nothin' to eat in the house, ma'am, and Mama's too sick to leave."

"Oh, you poor dear," Victoria said. "What's your name?"

"Sally."

"Sally, take me to your mother."

The girl's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I mean to help you. Now, hurry, before we both catch our deaths out here in this rain!"

Sally took off ahead of Victoria, her excitement causing her to nearly bounce with every step. Victoria smiled after the girl as she tried to keep up. This was why she did what she did. Why she risked her life night after night. To help little girls like Sally and her mother.

She led them down a darkened alley to a small door. Rats and mice scurried in the shadows. Victoria was no stranger to vermin, so she ignored them and ducked into the door behind Sally. Even though it was fairly dark outside due to the dreary weather, it still took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom of the one-room apartment.

Slowly, she took in the sight . . . and smell. Oh, goodness. No one would ever be able to get well in this environment.

The woman in question lay on a palette in the far corner, so still Victoria wondered if she was even alive. Sally ran to her mother and knelt by her side.

"Mama," she said, shaking the woman. "Mama, wake up. This lady has come to help."

The tiniest slit of eye glimmered in the darkness of the room, and an infinitesimal smile came to the woman's lips. Clearly, she was too weak to speak, though. If she was too weak to speak, there was no way Victoria could get her to the hospital, close as it was. She would simply have to pay house calls until the woman was better. How she would accomplish that with Fin on her tail was another matter entirely, but she would have to find a way—either that or let the woman die. And that was certainly not a choice she was willing to make.

"Sally, do you have any dry clothes? Or a dry blanket, perhaps?" The girl nodded. "Good. Get out of those wet things and wrap yourself up tight, all right. And whatever you do, don't leave this place. I promise I'll be back as soon as I can."

Victoria went to Sally's mother and put a hand to her forehead. Good God, she was on fire. "I'm going to take care of you and your daughter. Just hold on, all right?"

The woman wasn't able to give a response, but Victoria didn't need one. She needed to leave and retrieve supplies and food for them. Enough to last a day or two until she could come back.

Quickly, she left mother and daughter and darted out into the rain again. The hospital was only a few blocks away now, so she was there within minutes.

"Sarah!" she called as she hung her wet things in the entryway.

"Up here, miss!"

Victoria followed the sound of Sarah's voice and found her with Anna and the new baby in the upstairs room.

"Oh, my," she breathed as she looked at the small bundle.

"Healthy as can be, miss," Anna said.

"And what about you, Anna? Are you feeling well?"

Anna nodded.

"Good." Victoria turned back to Sarah. "And Molly? How is she?"

"Her fever spiked again last night, but she's better this morning. Still not fit to care for anybody, but it ought not to be long before she can."

Blast. Victoria had hoped for a miracle, but it was unrealistic to expect Molly would be completely better by now. It would probably be weeks.

"If there's nothing urgent you need help with, Sarah, I must be on my way again."

"So soon?"

She explained about the little girl and her mother. "And my own mother is expecting me back soon. I'm so sorry," she concluded. She truly hated to leave Sarah all alone, but what else was she to do?

"It's all right, miss. Mrs. Potts has been kind enough to offer to stop in and help when I need her. I'm inclined to take her up on it."

"Oh, yes! Of course, Sarah!" Victoria felt much better now. "How generous of her."

She left Sarah with a little money to run the hospital for the next few days, though her robbery had fallen through last night, so it wasn't much. Only a little of her own pin money. The rest she would use to buy food for Sally and her mother.

Once she had gathered a few things from the hospital's supply closet, she headed out into the rain again. Gil sat outside atop the carriage, waiting to take her home. She threw the blankets and kindling for a fire into the cab so they wouldn't get wet, and then gave Gil instructions to meet her a few blocks down, closer to Sally's little home.

Victoria would have to go a few blocks in the opposite direction first, to the market. There she collected bread, cured meats and fresh fruit—as much as she could with what she had left over of her pin money. It was enough to get them by for a couple of days until she could return again.

Food in hand, she darted out from the shelter of the market's canopy and ran back to the little alley where Sally and her mother lived. Nothing had changed since she'd left them a mere hour ago. Little Sally still sat beside her mother, holding her hand, waiting patiently for Victoria's return.

"How is she?" Victoria asked as she ducked through the doorway.

"The same, miss."

Victoria went to the small fireplace that clearly hadn't held a fire in some time. She threw the kindling in and struck a match. The orange glow lit up the room, illuminating just how dingy the place was. Every surface was dusty. Even spiders had taken to weaving their webs in the corners. This just wouldn't do.

"Sally," she said to the little girl, "I want you to put this pot outside the door and collect rain water. We're going to boil it so you have water to drink and wash with."

Sally did as she was told, and when she returned, Victoria put her to work cleaning. They wiped down all the surfaces, including the floor, and destroyed the cobwebs and their eight-legged owners.

Over the fire, Victoria showed Sally how to heat the cured meats and make a sandwich of them. Sally devoured the sandwich and by then there was enough water in the pot to put it on the fire. Before they did, Victoria dipped a washcloth in the cold rainwater and placed it on Sally's mother's forehead.

"Caroline," she said, close to the woman's ear. "You need to eat. You must get your strength back in order to get well."

Caroline blinked in acknowledgement, but seemed to grow wearier. Victoria imagined just the thought of exuding so much effort would be exhausting in such a state. Perhaps she could make it easier. She crossed the room to the small table that held all the rations she'd brought from the market. If she could extract enough juice from the fruits, perhaps Caroline could drink in the nourishment.

With Sally's help, they set to work peeling oranges, mashing strawberries and grapes. It took a lot of time, but finally they had enough juice to get a little something into Caroline. Not to mention the flesh of the fruit left over for Sally to eat, which she did eagerly while Victoria spooned the juice into Caroline's mouth.

When the juice was gone, Victoria asked, "How do you feel?"

Caroline smiled. It was perhaps the smallest smile Victoria had ever seen, but it made her feel triumphant. She left Sally with instructions to keep the fire going and to continue mashing fruits and spooning the juice to her mother.

"I promise I'll be back. Not tomorrow, but the next day." She was about to leave when she decided she ought to give instructions to Sally on how to find her should she need her. "If you need me sooner than that, send for me here." She handed Sally her calling card and then ducked out of the small apartment.

The rain had let up a bit, so she didn't have to run back to the carriage. Except she probably should have. She'd been gone far too long. Victoria only hoped no one noticed that upon her return, or the fact that she was sweaty and dirty and soaked to the bone.

By the time they arrived back in Marylebone, Victoria's exhaustion had set in. She could barely keep her eyes open, especially in the darkness of the carriage with its lulling motion through the London streets. The pitter-patter of rain against the roof didn't help her cause, either. Her body ached with the desire for sleep. And it just plain ached from her morning of manual labor. With any luck, no one would bother her once she arrived home, and she'd be able to get a few hours of sleep before afternoon calls began.

However, as soon as she walked through the front door, Victoria knew she was in trouble.

"Lord Leyburn here to see you, miss."
Fourteen

Fin waited in the drawing room of Victoria's townhouse, pacing the floor in anticipation. What was he going to say to her? What _could_ he say to her? He'd told her they couldn't be friends anymore, not until she told him what was going on. But now he knew. Did that mean they could be friends again? And did he really want to be? _Could_ he be friends with her again, knowing what he knew?

_Damnation_! Why the devil was he here?

Deciding he didn't want to see her after all, he marched from the drawing room and headed toward the front hall. And there she was, looking as though she'd been through some kind of tempest. She was soaked, her hair matted to her face in dark clumps, and there were dark circles around her eyes. For some reason all Fin wanted to do was wrap her in a blanket and hold her until she fell asleep.

Clearly, there was something wrong with him. The effects of sleep deprivation were monumental.

"Please tell him I am not at home, Davis," she said to the butler.

Davis was about to acquiesce, but Fin cut him off. "It's a bit late for that."

Her eyes met his, wild and almost scared. She said nothing.

"Come." He motioned for her to follow him back to the drawing room. "The fire is warm in here."

She held her tongue, but her footsteps padded on the marble behind him. He still didn't know what he meant to say to her, but there was no avoiding a confrontation now. Though Victoria didn't look as though she was up for one at the moment. So unlike her.

Once they were in the room, Fin shut the door and turned the key in the lock. Victoria looked at him as if he'd gone mad.

"What are you doing?"

"Do you really want your parents to be privy to this conversation?" he asked.

"Well, no, but . . ."

"I want the truth, and I want it now." His earlier demands hadn't held much sway over her, but for the first time, Victoria actually looked scared. Good.

"You already know it."

"No," he corrected her. "I know what I saw last night. I know that I saw you in Southwark the other day. I know you've been out all morning doing God-knows-what. But I don't know why."

"Fin—" She crossed the room in a few long strides and took both his hands in hers. They were frigid, and she shook rather violently. Whether it was from cold or fright or anger, he couldn't be certain. "Please. You must forget about all this. You must forget that you saw me anywhere other than proper places for a young lady to be."

"I can't, Victoria. How could you even ask such a thing?"

"Because . . . because I care about you," she said, and Fin wondered if she'd wanted to say something else.

"How kind," he replied, his tone leaden with sarcasm. "However, I don't need looking after, and— Damn it, Victoria, we've already had this discussion!"

"And now you understand why I begged you not to go looking, don't you?" She squeezed his hands even tighter. If he had to describe it, he'd say her grip was desperate. "I could _hang_ for this, Fin. Do you not understand that? And if anyone finds out that you knew about me, well, I suspect you could too."

"Why is it all right for you to not want _me_ to hang, but I'm supposed to forget about the fact that _you_ could hang?" Blast, but she was a stubborn girl!

"Because I know what I'm doing, Fin." Every word she said was weighted and desperate. "Because I chose this, you didn't. My purpose in doing this is greater than the threat or fear of dying because of it."

"And what _is_ that purpose?" he demanded.

"Rest assured, I do not pocket the money I collect to use for my own selfish purposes."

"Is that why you were in Southwark?"

She clamped her lips together into a straight line, clearly trying to decide if she should tell him more or not. "Stop," she finally said.

"No."

"Fin, stop!" She headed for the door, probably to usher him out of it, but he wasn't about to have that.

He grabbed her by the wrist and spun her around. His tug was harder than he realized, and she collided into him. He caught her and put his arms around her back to steady her. They were nose-to-nose practically, and they had both stopped breathing.

She was too close. And all his emotions—rage, frustration, and damn it all, lust—crept up his body until they choked him. It was too much. Impulsively, he moved one of his hands up to the nape of her neck and as gently as he could manage, grabbed a fistful of her damp hair. Victoria didn't resist when he pressed her closer or when he pressed his lips to hers. She was still at first, her lips clamped together in that line. But then she opened to him, allowed him in.

He took greedily of her, tasting her with a hunger he'd never in his life felt before. There were brief moments of disbelief that crept in. How could he possibly be standing here, kissing Victoria, his lifelong friend? It didn't make sense, yet at the same time, it made perfect sense. It felt wrong, but then again, it felt completely right.

How the devil would he reconcile this? What would it do to their friendship?

He didn't stop kissing her. He couldn't. She smelled of rain and mud and sweat—things he never thought he would find arousing in a woman. But sure as the sun would set, his trousers tightened in a most uncomfortable manner.

Victoria pulled away from him, breaking the kiss. Fin loosened his grip, and she stumbled back a few paces. Her eyes were round and wide; clearly, she was just as confused as he was. For a moment they just stared at one another.

Finally, Victoria broke through the silence. "I think you should go."

"Don't push me away, Victoria," he pleaded.

Tears suddenly glistened in her eyes. "What would you have me do, Fin?"

"Let me help you."

"You can't, not without being a party to my crimes, and I won't allow that."

"There are other answers, you know? You can get the money by legal means." He stared at her, waiting, wondering. What was she using this money for anyhow?

She scoffed and rubbed her eyes free of the tears. "What would you suggest? That I work? Perhaps I could become a seamstress to the ladies of the _ton_?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Your sewing skills are atrocious, everyone knows that."

A hint of a smile appeared on Victoria's lips, just as Fin had hoped. "This is no time to make jokes, you know?"

Fin schooled his features back into a serious frown. "Apologies. I had simply hoped to lighten the mood."

Silence fell between them, long and dense. He watched Victoria carefully. She was fidgety, and her eyes darted about as if her thoughts were scattered about the room. Fin wanted to press her further, to find out what, specifically, she was doing with the money, but he didn't. He'd tortured her enough today, and clearly, both of them were exhausted.

He walked to her and took her face in his hands. A bold move, he knew, for being so close to her made him want to kiss her all over again. Her lips hung open just a hair, and she barely breathed at all.

"I want to help you, Victoria. I'm _here_ to help you in any way I can, consequences be damned." Fin couldn't believe he was saying this, but it was true. If Victoria were to hang for her crimes, how in the world would he be able to keep on living? A world without Victoria in it...

He stopped his thoughts there. Even entertaining the idea threatened to send him into a state of panic. Instead, he placed a single, lingering kiss to her forehead, and then released her. With one last look at her exquisitely troubled face, he took his leave.

***

Victoria collapsed onto the nearest chair as soon as Fin shut the door behind him. Her nerves were singed and they caused the pit in her stomach to grow until she was sure she would toss up her accounts. She put her hand to her mouth and forced herself to take a few steadying breaths. Getting sick would help nothing. She had to focus. She had to figure out what in hell she was going to do, first about Caroline and Sally, then about the hospital, and lastly, about Fin.

In her mind she had her priorities straight, but her heart was another matter entirely. It kept redirecting her thoughts to Fin. Only Fin. And not the predicament of whether or not to involve him in her activities, but rather to the kiss he'd bestowed upon her, just over there, near the settee.

Victoria shook her head. She couldn't think about that now. There were much more important things to deal with. Fin would just have to wait.

Or perhaps everything would have to wait while she took a nap. Her body ached and her eyes burned, and if she had any hope of keeping up appearances tonight at the Randall soiree, she needed to sleep.

The physical and emotional toll made it feel as if she were slogging through quicksand to get up the stairs and to her room. But once she was there, she collapsed on the bed, and finally, after nearly thirty-six hours, found the rest she needed.

***

Sleep. Yes, that was all that she had needed. At least, that's what Victoria told herself over and over as she prepared for the Randall ball that evening. In truth, her head hurt like the dickens and her body still felt weak, but perhaps it was simply that she needed to shake off the dregs of such a long afternoon nap.

"Are you sure you're feeling all right, miss?" Lily asked after Victoria sneezed for the sixth time in a row.

"I'm fine, Lily," Victoria replied rather shortly. "It's that damned powder. It's gotten up my nose is all."

"I can have Cook prepare you one of her tinctures, if you like." Clearly, Lily wasn't convinced.

"Lily, I am _fine._ " Victoria stood and ignored the light-headedness that resulted. "I don't need any tinctures and I certainly don't need you fussing over me all evening. Now, where are my gloves?"

"Here, miss." Lily handed them over reluctantly. Victoria snatched them from her with a huff of annoyance.

"Thank you, Lily. I shall see you in the morning." With that, Victoria left her room and went to meet her brother in the foyer. Unfortunately, he wasn't alone. He stood with Fin, deep in conversation. Victoria's stomach flipped. It had never occurred to her that Fin might rat her out to her brother. Oh, dear. What would she do then?

No, it was unthinkable. She might not be on the best terms with Fin—although, that kiss said otherwise—but he would never do such a thing to her. This was between the two of them. Wasn't it?

They stopped talking abruptly and turned to look at her. Fin's brows came together in a frown, and Tom stepped forward to take her arm.

"Are you feeling all right, Vickie?" Tom asked. "You're positively burning."

Victoria rolled her eyes. "I wish everyone would stop treating me like a child. I feel fine, and I'm only warm because I just took a very long, very hot bath. Now, may we please go?"

By the time they arrived at the Randall's townhome, Victoria was regretting her decision to come to the ball tonight. At least a hundred people had crammed into the modest ballroom, and there weren't nearly enough windows to ventilate the place properly. It was hot and stuffy. She might suffocate if she didn't get outside soon. However, she couldn't even see the door from where she was, even though she stood on tiptoe.

Damn, she should have listened to Lily and Tom. Why did she have to put on such a show of strength all the time? It had certainly been her downfall this evening.

A large man leading an equally large woman barreled past her, and she stepped back to avoid getting trampled. That caused her to knock into the person behind her, and when she turned to offer an apology, she stepped on someone else's toes. The confusion was making her head spin and she reached out to grab onto something, anything, to steady herself.

But there was nothing—just other people who didn't take too kindly to her grabbing them. Sweat broke out on her brow and she gasped for her next breath. Oh, God. She _really_ should have stayed home tonight.

She was about to give up and let her body do what it wanted to do so badly—collapse to the floor—when a hand gripped her elbow and led her through the crowd.

"It's all right," Fin said when she faltered. "I've got you."

Victoria wanted to weep with relief. She hated that she needed rescuing. Fin knew that about her, but he'd come to her rescue anyway. Why the devil did that make her heart ache so?

A gust of air caressed her damp skin as Fin led her into the foyer where the door stood ajar to welcome the guests.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"You're going home," he said, leading her out the door and onto the sidewalk. He held up his hand to call for his carriage and then turned to Victoria. "What's this? You're not going to try to fight me?"

She shook her head. "I haven't the strength right now."

"I'm not surprised. You look like death. Maybe next time you want to go running through Southwark without proper attire, you'll think twice."

"There isn't always time to think twice."

"Nonsense."

Victoria wanted to set him straight, tell him that someone might have died had she taken even an extra minute or two to dress properly. But she hadn't been lying when she said she didn't have the strength to argue with him. Her head throbbed, her body ached and every brush of her gown against her skin was painful.

"Come." He held out his hand and helped her into the carriage, then climbed in after her.

Settled on the opposite side of the carriage, he leaned forward and put a hand on her knee. "Where does it hurt?" he asked.

Victoria couldn't hold herself together any longer. She closed her eyes and leaned against the cushions. "Everywhere," she whimpered.

Fin hushed her quietly as he moved to sit beside her. "It's going to be all right," he said as he pulled her into the crook of his arm. "I'll make sure of it."
Fifteen

Fin wasn't the most patient of men. So waiting on the doctor to give his diagnosis of Victoria's condition was pure torture. Every nerve in his body pricked at him, making his heart race, and rendering him unable to sit still.

As he stood at the window tapping out a frantic rhythm on the sill with his fingers, a tumbler full of amber liquid appeared before him.

"I thought a bit of scotch might calm your nerves," Tom said, as he set the glass down on the windowsill.

"Thank you." Fin lifted the glass and downed the scotch in one gulp. It burned a bit going down, but the calming warmth quickly spread through his body.

"Better?"

He nodded. "Much."

"I've never seen you quite so worked up, Fin." Tom took his post again on the settee, lounging back and propping his feet on the end.

"That's because I've never actually been quite so worked up before." He was treading on dangerous ground. It would be so easy to admit now how he felt toward Victoria. Or rather, how she made him feel. That kiss they'd shared yesterday was all he'd been able to think about. All he'd _wanted_ to think about, actually. But now that she'd taken ill... "You think she'll be all right, don't you?"

"This is Victoria we're talking about. Of course she'll be all right."

"I don't understand how you can be so casual about this. What if she's really and truly ill?"

Tom sat up straight and leveled Fin with a shrewd gaze, much like the one Lady Grantham used when she knew her daughter was up to something. "Why are you tied up in knots, Fin? What's really going on here?"

Fin dropped his head and banged his forehead lightly against the windowpane. Could he really admit to Tom that he held certain feelings toward his sister? Probably not. Not now, not yet. "She's like a sister to me. It's nothing more than brotherly concern."

"Well, she _is_ a sister to me, and I can tell you that brotherly concern doesn't run quite so deep." Tom crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the back of the settee. "You fancy her, don't you?"

Fin remained very still. Damn, but he needed to stop wearing his bloody heart on his blasted sleeve. He stood up straight and stepped away from the window, but he still couldn't meet Tom's gaze. "I don't know that I _fancy_ her, per se. But I...I admit that perhaps I _could_ fancy her, were the circumstances...er..." He had no idea what he was saying, but he was sure it didn't make any sense.

"Fin." He looked up. Tom was grinning at him. "If you want to court my sister, you have my blessing."

Thank God he didn't have to elaborate further. But even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have. The doctor walked in just then, a grave look on his face. Of course, doctors tended to have grave looks on their faces, no matter whether or not they were about to deliver good news or bad.

Tom stood and addressed the doctor. "Is she going to be all right?"

"Oh, yes, I should think so. The fever's not so bad, just make sure you keep her cool and _in bed_."

"Is that all?" Fin couldn't help but ask. "There's nothing more we can do for her?"

"I'm afraid not," the portly man said. He looked at his watch fob and then slipped it back into his pocket. "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I've more patients to see today. Your sister will be fine, Mr. Barclay. Oh, and do send my regards to your parents, won't you?"

With that, the man was off, and Fin slumped back into his seat with a heavy sigh. "Well, thank God for that," he said as all the tension of the day slowly drained from his body.

"I'm going to go tell my parents what the doctor said. Will you be here when I return?"

Fin shook his head. "I think I'll go home and try to get some sleep. I didn't sleep well at all last night."

Tom smiled. "No, I don't imagine you did. Go home. I'll send for you if there's any change in her condition."

***

Victoria could hardly believe her luck. After two years of working at the hospital, she'd never come down with so much as a sniffle. And now, here she was, at a most crucial time, with far worse than a sniffle. Yet the only thing to be done about it was bed rest and cool cloths to her forehead. _Damn._ What was she to do about Caroline and Sally? And what would Sarah do without money to run the hospital? She had already fallen behind, thanks to Fin. She couldn't afford to fall even further behind now.

She tapped her finger to her cheek, trying to think of a way to a) get money and b) deliver it to the hospital and Caroline. Could she sneak out of the house before dawn tomorrow? Possibly. But truth be known, she felt rather peaked. She could barely lift her head off her pillow, let alone get herself to Southwark and back.

With a sigh, she nestled deeper under the covers. She would think about it once she'd had a short rest. Perhaps a solution would find her in her sleep.

***

Fin was awoken by frantic rapping on his front door. He rolled over and put his pillow over his head to block out the sound, but it didn't work. Damn it, where was Simmons?

"Simmons!" he called, refusing to leave his bed in order to ring the bell. For heaven's sake, was the man going deaf? The infernal racket would have woken the dead.

And then it occurred to him, as he came out of his sleepy haze, that perhaps it was about Victoria. Why else would someone be so frantically knocking on his door? Fueled by his panic, he slipped on his pants and shirt, and then raced down the stairs to the foyer. Simmons was still nowhere in sight. He could have been out on an errand, but it didn't really matter now.

Fin flung open the door, expecting to see Tom. Instead, he found a child. A small girl, perhaps six or seven, wearing an outfit of rags.

"May I help you?" Fin asked slowly. Was she a beggar? And if so, why was she so desperate for him to answer the door?

"Please, sir," the little girl said. "I'm looking for this lady, but I can't read. Took a good many strangers to help me find this street, but I didn't know what door to knock on."

Fin took the small piece of paper from her and wasn't at all surprised to see Victoria's name and address. He looked down at the little girl. What possible business could she have with Victoria? "You're very brave, knocking on doors at random."

"I'm desperate, sir."

"Well, I'm sorry to say that Victoria has taken ill." The little girl's eyes widened in panic, so Fin rushed to assure her that all would be fine. "No need to worry. She'll be better soon. But for now, she's not to have any visitors, especially little ones, such as yourself."

Tears welled in the little girl's eyes.

"Is there anything _I_ might be able to help you with," Fin ventured.

"I'm not wanting to impose, sir. I only came because the miss said I could contact her if anything...if..."

Fin bent down and made the girl look him in the eyes. "What is it? I'm here to help."

The child flung her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shirt collar. "It's Mama. She won't wake up. I did everything Miss Victoria told me to do, but I couldn't save her."

Good Lord, what was she talking about? It didn't matter, really, not right this moment. He could get answers from Victoria later. Right now he needed to figure out what had happened to the girl's mother.

"Where is your mother now?" he asked.

"At home. In Southwark."

Ah, so that's what she'd been doing in Southwark. But he still didn't know why or how she knew this woman and her child. "Take me to her."

***

"There. We live just down that alley."

Fin peered down the darkened alley, praying to God this wasn't some kind of trap. What if the girl was being used as a pawn in some kind of nefarious scheme to rob unarmed lords?

He shook his head. His imagination was running away with him.

He followed Sally down the alley to a door. She pushed it open and Fin had to duck to go through it into the small room. It was dark and musty, but fairly clean. Food was on the table and a pot of water hung over a low-burning fire in the grate. He had a feeling Victoria had a bit to do with all of that.

Sally's mother lay on a palette in the corner. Her skin was white and pasty, certainly the pallor of death. He went to the bedside and knelt down next to her. Under the blankets, he found her hand and pressed his thumb to her wrist. It pulsed.

Fin released the breath he'd been holding and turned to the girl. "She's still alive, Sally. I promise I will do everything in my power to keep her that way."

"Oh, thank you, sir!" Sally ran to him and hugged him about the waist. Fin patted her head, knowing he was doing the right thing.

"You and your mother are going to come live with me until she is well again," he told her.

Sally gasped, her eyes alight with joy and tears. "You are most kind, sir!"

Together, they put out the fire and gathered their few personal belongings before fin scooped up the woman and led Sally back to the carriage.

His mind spun with confusion. Was this why Victoria robbed carriages? To take care of poor and sick people? And why? Why not ask her parents for the money or host a charity event? Was it really necessary to risk life and limb in the middle of the night in order to help those less fortunate?

Sick or not, Victoria was going to explain all this to him immediately.
Sixteen

Victoria opened her eyes to find Fin standing beside her bed. She struggled to sit up, but Fin held up a hand to indicate she should stay where she was.

"You need your rest," he said. "I promise I won't stay long."

"How did you get in here, anyhow?" she asked, bringing the covers up over her chest. Even that small amount of activity weakened her. She hated being ill.

"Tom let me in. I told him I had something important to discuss with you, and he didn't ask a single question, for which I am extremely grateful. I would have had a devil of a time explaining _this_ to him." He procured a small piece of parchment that bore her name and address.

Victoria's heartbeat quickened. "How did you get this?" she asked, her eyes fixed on the paper.

"Sally brought it to me. She was looking for you, but found me instead."

"Oh, God." She looked up at Fin. "Caroline?"

Fin nodded. "The doctor is doing all he can, but it's not certain that she'll make it."

"Doctor? Do you mean to say that you've...?"

"Well, I wasn't about to stand by and watch a sweet girl like Sally become an orphan without at least trying to save her mother." Victoria only stared up at him, so grateful that her friend had such a generous heart. "I brought them both home with me. Caroline has a much better chance of survival with constant care and a clean environment."

"I did the best I could," Victoria said. "Sally and I scrubbed that little room until our backs ached and the skin nearly came off our fingers."

"I've no doubt of it." Fin took her hand, and Victoria's heart fluttered at the contact. It didn't make a lot of sense. They'd touched plenty over the years. So why all of a sudden did it feel different? "Victoria, I understand now why you were in Southwark, and I suppose your work in Southwark had to do with your...nighttime profession, shall we say? It's all very noble and honorable, but why don't you just ask for the money to help Caroline and Sally?"

It seemed he knew everything now, except for the part about the hospital. It didn't make sense to try and keep it from him anymore. And frankly, she was far too tired and weak to fight with him. "Because it's not just for Caroline and Sally. I didn't even know about them until a few days ago, when I came upon Sally begging in the street." She paused and took a breath. "I fund a hospital."

Victoria waited as her words sunk in. "You fund _a hospital_?"

"That's what I've been doing these past two years. When I tell Mama I'm going to visit Lady Hartswell, I'm really in Southwark helping Sarah and Molly run the place."

"You mean to say that you tend to the sick?"

Victoria nodded. "I also foster relations with the undertaker."

Fin squinted at her, shaking his head, as if he didn't know who she was anymore. "How did I miss all of this? I thought you were just being rebellious, running off without a word at the balls and parties, thumbing your nose at your parents. I never imagined..."

Silence fell between them and Victoria wondered how this changed his opinion of her. Would it alter their relationship forever? And would that alteration be good or bad?

"I _am_ thumbing my nose at parents," she said quietly, picking absently at the threads of her counterpane. "Mother always referred to the lower classes as degenerates and thieves, but I knew they were just people who either didn't know any better or were just down on their luck. I wanted to help, to make a difference in some way, but Mother would never let me. I tried to encourage her to hold a charity event, but she wondered why we would fundraise for _those people._ That's when I realized I would have to raise funds another way."

"And so you prey on the richest?"

"Not necessarily." She gave him a sheepish grin. "I prey on the most uncharitable, of both heart and money."

"Then you were smart to choose Lady Beecham, for I can't think of a better candidate, according to your criteria."

Victoria gave him a smile. "Then you approve of my methods?"

"Not in the slightest." Fin's expression turned grave once again. "Victoria, I...I worry for you." He let out a loud sigh as if it was a difficult thing for him to say.

"That is not so surprising. We're friends, aren't we? You wouldn't be a very good friend if you didn't worry for my safety under the circumstances. But—"

"You are more to me than a friend!" he blurted out, and Victoria startled a bit.

"Well, no, I suppose you think of me more like a sister—"

"That's not it."

Silence. Long, interminable silence.

And then Fin gathered his jacket hastily and walked to the door.

"Wait!" Victoria called after him. She had to know what he meant.

Fin stopped with his hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn to look at her. "It is most inappropriate for me to be here right now. I hope you feel better soon."

***

Fin felt terrible for how he left things with Victoria. A cryptic declaration of love, followed by a quick escape. Not his finest moment. But if he'd stayed a moment longer, he would have grabbed her pale, sickly face in his hands and kissed her senseless.

How ridiculous. He had nearly risked catching her illness for a damned kiss. From his lifelong friend. What was the matter with him? Surely he wasn't in his right mind.

On the short walk from Victoria's home to his own, he could hear all sorts of squeals and shouts coming from within. _What the hell?_ He pushed through the front door. The noises were coming from upstairs. He followed the sound to the door at the end of the second floor corridor and knocked.

"Is everything all right in there?" he called through the door.

"She's trying to drown me, sir!" came Sally's panicked voice.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" His housekeeper, Mrs. Boyle, let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm doing no such thing, child. Hasn't anyone ever given you a bath?"

"Not like this!"

Fin tried not to laugh, but the scenario was just too amusing. Although, on the other hand, it was quite sad the girl had never been given a proper bath.

"Sally," he called through the door. "I promise Mrs. Boyle won't let you drown. And if you're a good girl for her, I'll..." What did little girls like that could be used as a bribe? "I'll take you for a chocolate ice," he finished, proud of his quick thinking.

There was a beat of silence and then her little voice asked, "Promise?"

Fin smiled. "I promise."

A half hour later, a child that Fin didn't recognize walked into the drawing room. Her blonde hair, formerly matted and tangled, was now shiny and clean, pulled together at her nape with a blue satin bow. Her skin was no longer gray with filth, but a milky white. Her clothing, however, left quite a bit to be desired.

"How would you like to go shopping today, Sally?" Fin asked her.

"Will I still get to eat a chocolate ice? I've never had one before."

"Of course. Come, let's go."

Fin could not have foreseen how much fun he would have shopping with a nine-year-old girl. But her excitement was infectious. She'd never had new clothes before, let alone a pretty dress. Now she had seven, one for each day of the week. And ribbons to match. New boots and slippers, a nightgown, and the kind girl at the modiste had seen to any undergarments the child might need while Fin waited in the reception area.

Sally could hardly keep her eyes open by the time they made it to Gunter's for the chocolate ice, but she seemed to enjoy it anyhow. Fin chose the maple ice for himself, thinking of how much Victoria hated that particular flavor. She always wrinkled her nose at him whenever they ate their ices together in Berkeley Square, claiming lavender to be the superior flavor.

Fin pushed his thoughts of Victoria from his mind. He would think of what to do about her later, when he'd had a chance to rest and clear his mind. In the meantime, he needed to get Sally home and check in on Caroline. With any luck, her condition would see improvement soon.
Seventeen

Victoria watched Caroline's coffin as it was lowered into the ground and swiped a single tear from her cheek. Sally clung to Fin, sobbing. It was strange to see Fin with a child attached to him, but at the same time, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Clearly, he'd done a wonderful job taking care of Sally since he'd brought her to his home. She was hardly recognizable now in her pretty new dress, despite the fact it was a dark charcoal—a color Victoria hated to see on children.

The minister came to the end of the service, commending Caroline's soul to heaven, and then the three of them threw roses onto the coffin. What was to become of the child now that her mother was gone? Would Fin take responsibility for her, or would he ship her off to a distant family member? She wished she could take her to her own home, but her parents would never allow it. Her mother had already asked a million times who "that little girl" coming and going from Lord Leyburn's home was. Since Victoria hadn't left the house and therefore should not have been privy to such information, she simply responded with a vague, "Perhaps she is his ward. But how should I know?"

The news of Caroline's passing came nearly two weeks after Victoria had fallen ill, but by that time, she was nearly well enough to return to her normal activities. Well, _abnormal_ activities would be more apt, she supposed. Either way, she was glad she was well enough to attend the small service. She'd never known Caroline really, but she was certain she'd been a lovely woman. It was a shame she wouldn't get to see her daughter grow into the bright young woman she was destined to be.

Victoria accompanied Fin and Sally into Fin's home and waited while he handed the child off to his housekeeper so she could get her some warm milk and something to eat.

"What will you do with her now?" Victoria asked, once Sally was out of earshot.

Fin sighed. Clearly it weighed heavily on him that he'd not been able to rehabilitate Caroline. It weighed heavily on Victoria, too. But they'd done everything they could.

"I've attempted to find any kin she might have, but I've come up empty handed."

"You mean there's no one? A cousin? An aunt or uncle perhaps?"

Fin hesitated. "Well, there is _someone._ I paid a visit to a woman who claims to be a great aunt to Sally. She lives in Surrey, but frankly, I wouldn't even give that woman a dog I didn't like. Wretched human being."

"Oh," Victoria said, waiting for him to state his plans.

Finally, he looked up at Victoria with a wry half smile. "I'm going to keep her," he said. "After visiting the wretched great aunt, I stopped at my solicitor's on the way home and had him start drawing up the paperwork to become her legal guardian."

Victoria's heart swelled. She couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. How had she overlooked his generous spirit in the past?

Moved by his actions, she grabbed his hand and stepped toward him. Without hesitating she rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. It was a simple kiss, a kiss of gratitude. But nonetheless, it sent a jolt of awareness straight to her belly. It scared her and she jumped away from him, but he held tightly to her hand.

"What was that for?" he asked, a wide smile lighting up his face.

Victoria tried to shrug, but it came off more like a twitch. She felt rather awkward in her own skin just now. "Just to say...thank you, that's all."

"Vickie, you've thanked me plenty of times in the past and it never involved a kiss."

Her heart raced and her pulse jumped in the veins in her neck. She choked out a laugh. "Don't fancy yourself, Finny. I certainly didn't mean anything by it."

"No?" The way he gazed at her made her palms go all sweaty, which was rather embarrassing since he still held one of her hands in his.

She shook her head, trying to break his spell, but it wasn't working. Oh, goodness. This wasn't right. As a matter of fact it was entirely wrong. She and Fin were like brother and sister. To even think there was a hint of romance between them was foolish. Completely and utterly foolish.

Then why on earth was he bending toward her? Good heavens, he meant to kiss her again. And by God, she was going to let him.

A loud "Ahem!" startled them both, and they stepped away from one another, both muttering nonsense as they did.

"Simmons? Do you need something," Fin asked his butler.

"I'm afraid the little girl is in need of some...er, comfort, sir," Simmons replied. Clearly he did not care to be the comforter.

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course she does. I'll be there straightaway."

Simmons left and silence descended on the little foyer. Fin stared at the floor, his brow furrowed. Victoria waited. Clearly he had something he wanted to say to her, and part of her was terribly curious. But when he opened his mouth to speak, she decided she didn't want to know after all.

"Well," she exclaimed. "It sounds as if you are needed elsewhere, so I'll just be on my way."

"Victoria—"

"Please give Sally my love, and tell her I'll come to see her tomorrow."

"But—"

"Good day, Fin!"

She slammed the door behind her and then stood on the stoop for a moment to collect herself. Her heart was racing, and her mouth was drier than cotton. She couldn't explain what was happening, but she didn't like it. Not one bit.

***

Much to Victoria's dismay, she knew exactly what was happening to her. After three sleepless nights where she lay awake daydreaming about Fin, she knew that there was only one explanation. But she refused to admit to herself that she might be falling for Fin. To fall in love with him would be disastrous for several reasons.

Reason One: his involvement in her life would become far too prevalent, and it was difficult enough to evade him already. Especially since he knew everything. But she couldn't let him be a party to any of it. It was too dangerous.

Reason Two: it would just plain turn her world upside down. They'd known each other since birth. They were the best of friends. If she were to lose that, she'd be devastated.

Reason Three:

Well, she couldn't think of a third reason, but one and two were plenty. She absolutely, positively could not fall in love with Phineas Dartwell, no matter how his eyes sparkled whenever he looked at her now. Or how delectable his kiss had been. Or how she ached to feel his hands about her waist, and his chest pressed to hers—

She shook her head. Good heavens, this just wouldn't do. She needed to get her mind off of Fin, and she wouldn't be able to do that if she sat here, staring out her window at his house all day.

It had been far too long since she'd been to the hospital, so she made up her mind to pay a visit that afternoon. Now that she was well, Mother surely wouldn't suspect anything out of the ordinary if she said she was going to see Lady Hartswell. The real challenge would be getting past Fin's house. He and Sally spent much of their time in the front parlor, the one that looked out onto the street, from which they could see Victoria's comings and goings. If only she could go the opposite direction, but then her own mother might notice. And since Lady Hartswell was in _that_ direction, past Fin's, she would surely have to make up some excuse, and her lies would begin to go even deeper. She felt as if she were drowning in them as it was. She would just have to take her chances with Fin.

By the time luncheon was over, Victoria was itching to go. But her mother insisted she receive callers with her that afternoon, so she would have to wait to go to the hospital. Unfortunately, a rather unwelcomed caller descended upon their home that afternoon. One Mr. Woodmore.

Lady Grantham was thrilled to see him, of course. He was the only eligible gentleman who had come their way since Victoria's recovery. So she batted her eyelashes at him and doted on him, insisting Cook prepare him some of her famous lemon cake. And really, the cake was delicious, but Victoria had no desire to eat it in Woodmore's company.

It wasn't that she didn't like the man, she just felt incredibly uncomfortable around him after what had happened. What if he somehow figured out it had been her that night in Westminster? And furthermore, if she wasn't going to let Fin court her, she certainly wasn't going to allow Woodmore to do so.

"Miss Barclay, I am so glad to see you're feeling better," Woodmore said, his eyes filled with concern as he daintily placed a small piece of cake on his tongue.

"Yes, well, I'm just glad to be able to go outside again."

"Ah, of course. The weather has been splendid, hasn't it?"

Victoria nodded. Could the conversation possibly get any more tedious? Not likely.

"Perhaps the two of you would like to take a walk through the gardens?" This came from Victoria's mother, whose normally stern expression was now one of hopefulness.

Victoria should have been hurt by her mother's desperation to marry her of and get her out of the house, but she was used to it by now. And the last thing she wanted to do was take a walk with Woodmore through the gardens. What if Fin saw them? Would he think something was going on between them? She didn't want to be with him, but neither did she want him to think she cared for anyone else.

Damn, but this was a conundrum.

However, there was nothing to be done about it now. She couldn't very well say no.

"A walk would be lovely."

Once they were outside, Victoria led the way, choosing a brisk pace to get them to the far side of the garden, where it was less likely Fin would be able to see them from his house.

"Slow down," Woodmore encouraged with a slight chortle. "I would like to have a chance to enjoy the flowers."

"Do forgive me, Mr. Woodmore. I always go straight to the same spot in the garden. It's where we have my favorite of all the flora."

"But look here at these hydrangeas. Stunning colors, don't you think?"

Victoria fidgeted with the ribbons on her dress. "I suppose they are stunning...in a way."

Woodmore looked up at her. "Are you quite all right, Miss Barclay?" he asked. "You seem rather nervous about something." He took a step closer to her and lowered his voice. "Do _I_ make you nervous, Miss Barclay?"

Victoria resisted the urge to laugh in his face. Good heavens, he was trying to sound seductive. But why did it come across so false to her?

"Er...no," she said. "It's simply in my nature to fidget. Ask my mother." She smiled widely as she surreptitiously took a few steps backward. "Shall we continue our walk?"

She turned and scurried along, not waiting to see if Woodmore was put out at all by her flippancy. She didn't really care one way or the other. All she really cared about was getting this visit over with as soon as was humanly possible.
Eighteen

Fin watched Victoria and Woodmore walk through the garden from his second story window. He hid just behind the curtain so that even if they did look up, they wouldn't see him. At least, he hoped they wouldn't. He hadn't really tested that theory.

At any rate, Victoria was far too nervous and distracted to notice much of anything. Clearly she was trying to get rid of the man, and why wouldn't she be? No one would be comfortable spending time with someone they'd recently tried to rob.

But that was what had Fin worried this afternoon. What was Woodmore playing at? Though the man might look for a wife for the sake of keeping up appearances, a man like him certainly wouldn't go after a woman like Victoria. She was far too passionate a specimen. Whoever took her as wife would have to be devoted. Faithful. Fin was certain his lifelong friend would not overlook indiscretions, especially the kind Woodmore would engage in.

So it begged the question: what was he doing calling on Victoria?

When they moved to the other side of the garden, Fin left his post at the window. Good God, had he really become so desperate to see Victoria that he had resorted to spying on her?

No, it was simply out of concern that he watched her. From behind a curtain.

Never mind all that, he would see her tonight at the Gilbert masquerade. Right now, he was supposed to be having tea with Sally. They'd made a habit of it ever since Caroline had passed away. The child needed normalcy in her life, something she could count on every day without fail. And today, Fin had something special to tell her.

She was waiting for him in the front parlor. Her blonde curls had been swept up on top of her head, held together by a giant blue bow. The bow matched her dress, which was a blue and white stripe, complete with lace trimmings and a sash. He shuddered to think what would have happened to the girl had Victoria not discovered her in Southwark that day. Where would she be with no mother and no one to care for her? It tore at his heart, but he put on a bright smile for her as he entered the room.

"You're five minutes late," she said matter-of-factly.

Fin stopped and bowed to her. "I beg your forgiveness, milady. I'm afraid I was unavoidably delayed."

"Because you were spying on Miss Barclay?"

Fin's mouth fell open, and Sally's mouth turned up in a grin. "Well, if you know that I was spying on Miss Barclay, then that means _you_ were spying on _me._ "

Sally giggled.

"At any rate," he continued, "I've something very important to speak with you about today, Sally."

Sally's laughter died away, and her eyes filled with tears. "Sally, why are you crying?" he asked her.

"It was too good to be true. I knew it. You're going to send me away now, aren't you?"

"Send you away?" She nodded. Fin smiled softly at her. "Sally, I am not sending you away. As a matter of fact..." He procured the documents from his solicitor stating that Sally was now his legal ward. "Do you know what these papers say?"

She shook her head. "I can't read, sir."

"A fact we will remedy very soon," he assured her. "Sally, these papers state that I am now your legal guardian. You're going to live here with me, but only if you want to, of course. You do have an aunt—"

Fin was quite literally cut off when Sally's arms wrapped about his neck. She cried into his jacket, but he didn't much care.

"There, there," he said, patting her back gently. When she pulled away, he wiped the tears from her cheeks. "No need for tears, dear girl. But we are certainly in need of a celebratory cup of tea."

***

Victoria never made it to the hospital. Woodmore overstayed his welcome by more than an hour, and by then more visitors had arrived. By the time they were done receiving guests, Victoria was exhausted. Damn her illness; it had weakened her more than she'd realized.

But tomorrow was another day, and tonight was the Gilbert masquerade. It was the perfect opportunity for her to scout out her next donor. And then tomorrow she would be able to visit the hospital with more than just her meager pin money.

She'd chosen to keep her dress simple. Since she planned to play highwayman later in the evening, it had to be one that she could easily slip off and back on. So she decided upon her Juliet costume. The white gown cinched just under her bust and then the silk chiffon cascaded down, covering her feet and dragging along the floor, so that when she walked, she looked like a floating ghost. On her face, she wore a jewel-encrusted black domino mask. The entire effect was quite stunning, she thought.

Fin and Tom both accompanied her to the party, of course, both equally unimaginative in their evening clothes and plain masks. But Victoria had to admit she liked the look on Fin. It made him seem mysterious—a word she would never have used before to describe her best friend.

They sat across from one another in the carriage, and Victoria wondered at the grin he wore.

"Are you excited for the masquerade," she asked, "or is there something else to cause such a smile this evening?"

He turned to her, his eyes bright behind his mask. "Indeed, there is much to be happy about," he said, and she sensed a deeper meaning behind his words. "But in particular, I was thinking about Sally. I told her the good news today."

Victoria pushed down the lump in her throat. "Oh, that's wonderful, Fin. She must be beside herself with joy."

Fin nodded. "She was quite pleased that I wasn't sending her to live with her aunt in Surrey."

Tom lifted himself from his slouched position on the seat. "Quite a responsibility, Leyburn. Are you sure you're up to the task? You don't even have a wife yet."

A covert glance passed between her brother and Fin. What in the world was that about?

"Well, it doesn't much matter," Fin said. "I've grown attached to the girl, and it would have been cruel of me after all she's been through to turn her over to that witch of a woman. Besides—" his gaze shifted to Victoria— "I do believe it won't be too long before I have secured a wife."

Heat infused Victoria's cheeks. Thank heavens it was somewhat dark in the carriage. Did he mean to say that _she_ would be his wife? Impossible. One little kiss couldn't have made him forget all they'd been through together, acting as brother and sister. Surely, he referred to someone else. But who? And why did that thought bother her so much?

Oh, she knew why. It was foolish to even pretend she didn't harbor romantic feelings for Fin now.

She gave herself a mental slap across the cheek, for to give herself a real slap would draw unwanted attention. But she needed something to shake her mind of these thoughts. Tonight was an important night. Sarah and Molly and the patients at their little hospital were depending on her; she couldn't let them down by allowing her romantic notions to get in the way.

"Well, I think it's wonderful, Fin," she said, ignoring the part about the wife. "And it's hard not to fall in love with Sally. She really is a darling girl."

Conversation came to a stop as they pulled to the front of the Gilbert mansion. Up the stairs and in through the front door they went, along with other masked guests. Victoria felt the familiar thrill of the hunt. It had been too long since she'd had this rush of excitement and nerves. For the first time in weeks, she truly felt alive.

The Gilbert's home glittered with candlelight and the jewels that adorned their distinguished guests. Finding someone with more than enough funds to assist in the running of the hospital would not be a problem tonight.

She made her way to the ballroom, Fin and Tom close on her heels, and then stood to the side, watching. Waiting. She knew most of the people here. Some had already donated to the hospital, but most had not. Some were penniless, thanks to recklessness on either their part or that of their predecessors. Others had plenty of money but were far too upstanding for Victoria to want to rob them at gunpoint. The trick was always to find someone rich who needed a lesson in greed.

"Good evening, Mr. Barclay," came a syrupy sweet voice from behind her. Victoria's skin crawled. How did that woman find them wherever they went?

"Ah, Lady Beecham," Tom replied, and Victoria turned to find him bent over her hand. The woman barely deserved a nod. But Victoria couldn't let on any ill feelings toward her, lest she begin to suspect something.

"Good evening, my lady," she said, dipping into the slightest of curtsies. "My, my, that dress is quite lovely on you."

In reality the dress made her look as if she belonged in a brothel.

"Well, thank you, my dear." She gave Victoria a tight smile. "And may I say that you make a lovely Juliet?"

Victoria's smile was equally as tight, and it didn't reach anywhere near her eyes. "You are too kind."

"May I have this dance, Lady Beecham?" Tom asked her.

The woman narrowed her eyes at Victoria as she said, "It would be my pleasure."

As they walked off toward the dance floor, Victoria gave a shiver of disgust. That woman clearly hadn't learned any lessons from her harrowing experience on the highway, but Victoria knew better than to strike the same victim twice. It would be far too obvious, especially given their blatant animosity toward one another.

"I feel the exact same way," Fin said from beside her, assumedly in response to her shiver. "But don't you dare get any ideas."

Victoria couldn't believe he would bring up her _activities,_ no matter how cryptic his message. "I don't know what on earth you could be talking about."

"Victoria." His tone held a great deal of warning in it, and Victoria fought the urge to be defiant.

Instead, she decided to put him in his place. "Do you think me a bloody idiot, Phineas?"

"Of course not, but clearly you're not always in your right mind."

"The only time I've been out of my right mind was when I kissed you the other day," she hissed, knowing her words would sting, but saying them anyway.

There was a sharp intake of breath followed by a brief pause, and then, "Well, then..."

Blast. Why did she have to be so damned impetuous?

Victoria kept staring straight ahead at the dance floor. If she looked at Fin it would break her heart. But she didn't have time for that tonight. She had work to do.

Once she'd composed herself, Victoria turned to tell Fin she was going to the ladies retiring room, but he was gone. Damn and blast, she had really mucked things up, hadn't she? First thing tomorrow she would go to him and apologize, but just then a great deal of whispers and pointing had broken out amongst the crowd. She stepped closer to the gaggle of women gathered nearby in hopes of hearing what they were talking about.

She couldn't hear much over the orchestra, but she did catch a few words that helped her deduce there was a prince in attendance, though whether he was Russian or Prussian, she could not determine.

Moments later, the sea of people parted, allowing the prince an aisle down which to walk on his way to the dance floor. Gentlemen nodded and genuflected, and women curtsied and swooned. He wasn't all that handsome, but just the idea of a prince from a far-away land gave women the vapors. Victoria even saw a few mothers shove their eligible daughters into the man's path. How humiliating for them.

When he reached the edge of the dance floor, he looked about, clearly searching for a dance partner. He was a mere few feet away from Victoria. Suddenly, his hand extended in her direction, though his eyes stayed fixated on a spot in front of him.

Victoria glanced at the hand, then the man, and back to the hand. He made a show of stiffening his hand again, waiting for someone to take hold. That was when someone from behind pushed Victoria closer to him and whispered, "He wants to dance with you."

Unable to back out now, she put her hand in the prince's and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. With an heir of superiority, he swept her around and pulled her tightly against him. Victoria tried to pull back a bit, for propriety's sake, but he held her firm.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," she whispered, "but I fear my reputation will be at stake if you hold me too closely."

"I think you will discover quite the opposite," he replied in a think accent. "You are dancing with me, after all."

Victoria's eyes widened. My, he thought highly of himself, didn't he? "I don't even know who you are." She was being bold, but she didn't care.

The prince chuckled. He clearly thought she was teasing him. "You dance well," he said, changing the subject. "But then again, I imagine you've had a great deal of practice."

Victoria bristled, but tried to keep her tone light. "Ah, yes, I am a bit long in the tooth, aren't I?"

"This is not such a bad thing." The prince's eyes narrowed, and he studied her with lusty interest.

Victoria fought the urge to step on his toes and run away. The waltz was almost over and then she could be rid of the man.

"Perhaps you would like to take a walk through the gardens with me later."

"I don't think that would be proper, Your Highness, but thank you just the same."

He laughed again. "It is a masquerade," he reminded her. "No one will know it is you."

"Even so..." Blessedly, the song came to an end. Victoria gave a quick curtsey and then fled the ballroom, well aware she had never finished her sentence.
Nineteen

Fin drummed his fingers against the felt of the card table in the gaming room. He had already gone out this hand, so he turned his attention back to Victoria while he awaited the next round.

Not that he wanted to focus on Victoria, that little hellcat. Why was she being so obstinate toward him? He knew she felt what he'd felt in that kiss. There was more between them now than friendship, but why was she so reluctant to admit it? No, not just reluctant to admit it. She was quite adamant that she absolutely _did not_ care for him in that way. Which was even more incriminating, in Fin's opinion. She was lying. But why? To protect herself? To protect him?

The dealer dealt another hand. Fin picked up his cards and tried to look at them, but he found he was looking through them, unable to concentrate on the game.

He lost the hand and left the table. He didn't know where he would go. He couldn't go home. Like it or not, he still had a responsibility to Victoria. But he didn't really care to dance tonight, so going to the ballroom was out of the question. Perhaps the library would be quiet enough for him to gather his thoughts.

Fin made his way there, his shoes clicking on the marble floor beneath him, but as he neared the door, voices wafted from within. He slowed his footsteps until he stood just outside the library and then peeked through the crack to see what was going on.

The distinguished guest for the evening had his back to the door, but it was obvious, by the thick Russian accent, that it was Prince Vladimir. He was unfamiliar with Russian royalty, but apparently, Prince Vladimir was a highly sought-after catch both in Russia and abroad.

Fin edged the door open a little more and bristled. What the devil was Victoria doing in here alone with the prince?

"I suppose I should have been more clear, Your Highness. When I declined your invitation to walk through the gardens, I was declining a walk alone with you _anywhere._ "

Victoria tried to brush past the man, but he grabbed onto her arm with a little more force than Fin cared to see. It took a great amount of restraint for him to remain hidden.

"Perhaps you do not understand who I am?" the prince said, his arrogance hiding the fact that he was offended.

"Oh, no," Vickie replied, a false smile coming to her lips. "I know exactly who you are, which is why I have declined your invitations, you see?"

Victoria tried to leave again, only this time, the prince was truly angered. Not only did he grab her arm, he pushed her up against a bookcase on the far wall. For the first time in his life, Fin saw terror in Victoria's eyes. Despite the front she put on for the world and the dangerous activities she participated in at night, she was afraid of this man.

"Ho, there!" Fin called, coming into the room. "Sorry to interrupt your romantic interlude, but I do believe your presence has been missed in the ballroom, Your Highness."

"Who are you?" Vladimir said, without preamble.

Fin waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, no one important. Just a wealthy bachelor trying to avoid matrimony like everyone else." He laughed at his own humor. "Looks to me as if you're trying to trap yourself into the institution, bringing a lovely debutante in here with no chaperone. Tsk, tsk, tsk."

The prince finally took a step away from Victoria. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. And finally, with a curt nod, he excused himself from the room.

Fin heard the breath escape Victoria as he went to the door and watched the prince stride down the corridor toward the ballroom.

"Are you all right?" he asked, turning to her.

She nodded. "Nothing I haven't had to contend with before. He just caught me off-guard is all." There was a pause, and then, "Thank you, though. For...rescuing me."

She said the word _rescuing_ as if it were laced with rat poison. Fin couldn't help the smile that came to his lips. "You're welcome. Would you like me to see you home?"

"Home?" Victoria looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. "I have no intention of going home."

Fin studied her a moment before he realized she was up to something. "Victoria, whatever you have going on in that head of yours needs to stop immediately." His blood chilled just thinking about what she was probably planning.

She gave him an innocent smile. "I really have no idea what you're talking about, Phineas," she said. "Why, there's not a thing going on in this head of mine."

He might have found her slightly humorous any other day, in any other situation, but not this one. He knew her too well, and what she was planning was absolutely insane. Fin lowered his voice and stepped closer to her. "Victoria, I'm asking you, as my dearest friend... _please_ don't do this."

Her breath hitched. Surprise registered on her face. Ha. Did she think him stupid? Of course he knew what she was up to. And of course he was going to beg her not to do it.

She took a moment and then leveled him with a look that might intimidate a weaker man. "Fin," she said, "I am going to go back to the ball room. I'm going to dance. And then when I'm tired, I will go home. You are welcome to join me, or not."

Then she brushed past him and left the library.

***

Victoria hated that Fin could rankle her so. That never happened before. But somehow he'd whittled his way beneath her skin, the blackguard. Now she was second guessing herself at every turn, and that wasn't good. Not when her life depended on her confidence and complete focus on the task. Blast him, why did he have to make her life so difficult?

Never mind. It didn't matter. She had a plan, and she was sticking to it. Prince or no, His Highness needed to be put in his place. And surely the coin purse of a prince could fund the hospital for months to come. Then Fin would get his wish. Victoria would be able to take a break from her late night profession.

But until that time, she needed to push Fin from her mind.

She made her way back to the ballroom and stood at the edge of the dance floor, watching, waiting. She agreed to a dance or two, but much to the disappointment of her partners she kept mostly silent, making sure to keep her eyes on the whereabouts of the prince. Not that she needed to. Everyone made a big to-do of his departure just after midnight.

Victoria hung back a bit and tried her best to look casual. She didn't want to draw any attention to herself. Though, with all the masks and mayhem, no one seemed to notice her at all.

She waited until the prince was securely within his carriage before she called for her own. Gil, reliable as ever, pulled up within minutes and did as she directed, while Victoria transformed herself into the highwayman.
Twenty

There were two things in life of which Fin was absolutely certain.

One: He loved Victoria Barclay, no matter how infuriating she was.

Two: Victoria Barclay was going to get herself killed.

Damn it all, what the devil was he going to do with that headstrong woman? She heeded none of his warnings. She showed no regard for her own life. And there was no doubt she was going after that bloody prince tonight. Damned foolish girl!

Well, if he couldn't control her, and her parents couldn't control her, perhaps Tom might be able to convince her to let go of this ridiculous scheme. That meant telling Tom everything and betraying Victoria's confidence, but he'd rather she be alive and angry with him than dead.

Unsurprisingly, he found Tom in an alcove in the garden, his arms wrapped around Lady Beecham in a nauseating embrace. He wasn't one to interrupt a romantic interlude, but this particular matter could not wait.

He cleared his throat, but no one seemed to notice. He cleared it again.

"Damn it, Tom, would you bloody come up for air?" he finally shouted.

The two of them turned abruptly to look at him. "What the devil is the matter with you, Leyburn?" Tom asked.

"We need to talk."

"The gentleman is otherwise occupied, Lord Leyburn," Lady Beecham cooed seductively as she stroked a finger along Tom's jaw line.

"Yes, I can see that," Fin replied acerbically. "And I don't much care. This is important."

Affronted, and probably perturbed that he showed no signs of jealousy, Lady Beecham stood with a huff. "Fine. You may come and find me when you're finished here, Thomas."

Tom looked as if he was going to tell her not to go, but clearly thought better of it when he caught a glimpse of Fin's grave expression. "What is it?"

Fin took a deep breath. Where to begin? "It's your sister. She might be in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

Fin opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't decide what to say. This was going to be harder than he'd originally thought.

"Out with it, Leyburn. You didn't interrupt my evening to hem and haw, I hope."

"Your sister is a highwayman," he hissed out all at once.

Tom's mouth fell open. "I beg your pardon?"

"The highwayman that we've been hearing about all over town, the one robbing the wealthiest of the ton, the one that robbed Lady Beecham and me...it's your sister."

"Impossible."

"I assure you, it's not impossible. I figured her out weeks ago. She's begged me to leave her alone about it, but I can't. I won't. I...love her too much to let it go."

Tom's eyes widened a bit at this latest piece of news, but thankfully he stayed on topic. "How the devil did she fall into such a profession?" he asked, his outrage showing in his eyes. "And what the devil does she need money for? Father gives her a healthy allowance. This is ludicrous."

"Except that she's not using the money for herself," Fin said. "She's funding a bloody hospital in Southwark. And donating to the less fortunate. How do you think she contracted that fever? She was the one who found Caroline and Sally."

"Good God." That seemed to be all Tom could say as he processed the information. "She's bloody Robin Hood."

"Yes, well, that's fine when you're preying on idiots like Lord Culver. The only place that man might run is to the kitchen. There wasn't much chance of him catching Victoria. But tonight is different, and it could end very badly, I'm afraid."

Tom finally stood from the bench he'd been sitting on. "What are you talking about?"

"She's going after Prince Vladimir. I'm certain of it. She tried to deny that she had any plans regarding the man, but I know her too well now. I know when she's just trying to shake me and get me to leave her alone. Vladimir is ruthless and proud. He won't let her get away with robbing him, even at gunpoint."

"She uses a _gun_?" Clearly, that was more shocking to Tom than the fact that his sister was about to chase down a powerful, Russian prince.

"We have to stop her," Fin said.

"Lead the way."

They made their way back up the garden stairs to the ballroom. Fin scanned the room several times, looking for Victoria's shiny, dark hair and flowing white gown. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

"Do you see her?" he asked Tom.

Tom shook his head.

"If you're looking for your sister, she already left." Lady Beecham's voice came from behind them, the tone even more malicious than usual.

"How do you know?" Fin turned to face her. The smile she wore was positively evil.

"Because the _prince_ left already." Her smile grew wider and she let out a little laugh. "Best of luck, gentlemen."

Bile rose to Fin's throat. She knew. The bloody woman knew about Victoria, and by the sound of things, she'd set her up. But if Victoria had already left, it might already be too late.

***

Victoria was surprised that the prince wasn't nearly as protected as she'd thought he would be. He rode with only one companion inside the carriage, and the driver in the seat. Odd for such a man, but she didn't question it, but thanked the fates for being so kind to her.

Since it was so late, there were few people out and about, so she and Gil waited until they were in a nearly deserted part of Marylebone to descend upon the carriage. Gil pulled in front as always and announced a broken axel to the other driver. As expected, the driver rushed to help, and Victoria slipped out the door on the other side, ready to attack. And tonight, she had a personal vendetta to see to. The prince had been rude and lascivious, and his biggest mistake had been following her into that library.

On quiet feet, she approached the carriage, flung open the door, and said, "Your money or your life."

"I don't think so, madam," came a voice from behind her, and Victoria's blood turned to ice.

From inside the carriage, the prince emerged, peeling off a fake moustache as he stepped into the street. "Well, that was much easier than I anticipated."

Whoever was behind her grabbed her arms and pulled them backwards before binding them at her back. Victoria didn't put up a fight. She didn't even utter a single word. There was nothing she could do or say to get her out of this predicament. She'd always known the dangers involved, but her cause was greater and more important than any threat. It was only a matter of time before they caught up to her, she supposed. At least she could hang with pride now, and that was all that mattered.

Except... "Gil! What will you do to my driver?"

"He will hang beside you for being an accomplice to your crimes."

No. Oh, God. She couldn't allow that. "Please, he is innocent in all this. He was only doing what I told him to do—"

"You waste your breath, Miss Barclay," the prince—or whoever he really was—said. The clip-clop of horses interrupted their discourse. "Ah, your chariot awaits, madam."

Two horses carrying a large wooden box, complete with a lock and key on the door, pulled up before them. Victoria was shoved inside after Gil, and the door slammed hard behind them. As they pulled away, another carriage approached from down the street. She knew exactly who was in that carriage, and it broke her heart into a million pieces. He had known all along what she was up to, and he'd come to rescue her. But it was too late. She couldn't be rescued. And he would be forced to see her hang.

***

Fin descended on the office of a High Court judge the morning after Victoria's arrest. He had to do something. He couldn't simply sit back and watch her be hanged. He would rather die. And he certainly wasn't going to let them take her to her death without a trial. She had a right to speak. She had a right to a jury. She had every right to live and be free.

The judge looked up from his mahogany desk. "Ah, Lord Leyburn, what brings you here today?"

"Justice Powell." Fin gave a slight bow and then quickly got to the point. "I am here about Miss Victoria Barclay."

Justice Powell shook his head sadly. "Such a shame. I hate to think of sending her to the gallows. What in the world would have driven her to a life of crime?"

Fin stepped forward, desperate to plead her case to the man. "You see, Your Honor, that is just the reason I am here. Her life was not truly one of crime, but rather of good deeds. She did not steal for her own gain, nor did she do it out of some sick obsession. She did it to help others. And if you'd only hear me out—"

Justice Powell held up a hand. "Lord Leyburn, I would love nothing more than to acquit her of her crimes, whether good-hearted or not. It truly pains me to have to sentence such a bright, young woman to death. But my hands are tied. Too many victims have come forward and demanded her punishment. The evidence stands hard against her."

"At least let her have a trial," Fin pleaded. "Please, Your Honor."

The judge sat quietly for a moment, staring out the window before finally turning kind eyes on Fin. "I don't see what good it will do, Leyburn, but I can tell you won't let anyone rest until she is tried in a court of law."

Fin nearly cried with gratitude. "Thank you, Your Honor."

"Gather your witnesses. We will assemble the jury and set the date for late next week."
Twenty-One

Victoria sat alone in a dark and dirty cell in a prison somewhere in London, but where exactly, she didn't know. Nor did she know what day it was or how long she had been there. Several times a day, someone brought her food, but it was always the same awful bowl of gruel—nothing to indicate what time of day it might be.

She had long ago accepted her fate. She'd accepted it from the moment she decided to become a highwayman. And the end was near, so she didn't worry about how dirty she was or that rats and vermin came out to nibble on what was leftover of her meal. It didn't matter that she had to relieve herself in a hole in the middle of the cold, stone floor—the same floor upon which she slept at night. Nothing mattered anymore, except one thing. She'd never had the chance to tell Fin how much she loved him, and she would go to her death regretting it.

What a foolish woman she was! Not for putting herself in danger night after night for two years, and not for getting caught. No, the only thing foolish about Victoria was her silly pride, and her refusal to admit when she cared for someone.

When a key turned in the lock of the door to her cell, she didn't pay it much attention. It was probably the guard bringing her next meal. Besides, she was done getting her hopes up. After all this time, no one was coming to rescue her. Her parents were certainly disgraced, and Fin probably hated her. But what about Tom? He was her only hope, if she had any at all.

"Well, well, well," came a familiar female voice. "You look like the dregs of the earth, Victoria."

Victoria looked up, and her mouth dropped open. Before her stood her cousin Katherine in all her crimson glory. Her black hair was pulled into an elegant coiffure, jewels dripped from her neck and wrists, and her dress was probably worth more than all of Victoria's combined. She looked decidedly out of place in the dank prison cell.

"What—" Her voice caught, having not used it in a while. She cleared her throat and tried again. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to tell you that we're doing everything we can to clear your name." Katherine's eyes turned soft, and she gave her a sad smile. "I can't make any promises, Vickie. There's too much evidence against you to even bother with a trial, but..."

"What?" Victoria wondered. It had to be good news, whatever Katherine was about to say.

"Oh, Victoria, you've done so much good, despite your criminal activities." She knelt down in front of Victoria. "There are people out there—nearly a hundred of them—demanding your release. They all have some story of how you helped nurse them back to health, or paid for medicine when they couldn't afford it, or made a family member's final days comfortable."

Victoria swallowed over the lump in her throat. She couldn't believe she'd touched so many lives. Yet, it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

"When William and I heard," she continued, "we knew we had to do everything in our power to clear your name. And we are trying, we promise you that, Victoria. You will not be taken to Gaol without a fight."

Victoria couldn't speak. She hardly knew her cousin, the elusive Duchess of Weston, who spent most of her time in the country with her brood of children now. Yet here she was, calling upon favors for her thieving relation.

"I must go," Katherine said, rising again to her full height. "I pray to God I will see you again soon."

She turned to go, but Victoria stopped her.

"Wait, please," she begged.

"What is it?" Katherine asked, turning back to look at her.

It was time for Victoria to swallow her pride. This was an opportunity she'd been given that might not come again. She couldn't go to her death with this regret.

"I need you to deliver a message to Phineas Dartwell, Lord Leyburn." She paused, screwing up her courage, but when she opened her mouth again, she couldn't stop the tears from flowing. "Tell him...tell him that I love him, please."

Katherine smiled. "I'm certain he already knows that, my dear Victoria. But I will tell him just the same."

And then she was gone. Victoria wondered how Katherine would know how Fin felt about her. Perhaps she was only being kind, but it didn't really matter now. Victoria could go to her death peacefully, knowing her message would be delivered.

***

The days that followed Fin's visit to the judge were filled with family meetings—with her family, of course—interviews with witnesses and audiences with her victims, including Lady Beecham, who was the most difficult of all of them.

"That little witch _robbed_ us," she cried, clearly outraged that Fin even had the gall to show up on her doorstep asking her to drop the charges against Victoria. "She took my precious rubies!"

"Yes, we are all aware of what she took from you, Lady Beecham," Fin said to her. "But does it not help to know that the sale of those precious rubies went to good causes?"

She skewered him with her glare. "I donate quite a bit to charity, Leyburn. Why, last year alone we gave nearly fifty pounds to...to...a charitable cause."

"Generous, indeed," Fin agreed. "And your rubies were worth how much?" he asked. Those rubies were worth quite a bit more than the paltry fifty pounds.

"You may goad me all you want, Leyburn, but it doesn't change the fact that she took what was not hers and she should be punished accordingly."

"I'm sure your husband would feel similarly about the other men in your life." It was a low blow to bring up her numerous affairs, but Victoria's life hung in the balance. He couldn't let this harridan get in the way of saving the life of the woman he loved. "Perhaps we should put all of them on trial for taking another man's wife. Certainly you are more valuable than a few ruby baubles."

There was silence as Lady Beecham seethed at him, her nostrils flaring with every breath she took. Fin held his peace, waiting for her to make the next move.

"I am not the only victim in this, Leyburn," she said at last. "There is no possible way you could get everyone to agree to drop her charges."

Fin smiled and nodded. "It was not an easy task, of that you can be sure. But you are the last hold out, the only one that stands between Victoria and her freedom. Surely you don't want the _ton_ to think of you as the woman who sent that young do-good to Gaol."

Another pause. And then, "You will finish painting me."

"Happily." He would see to Victoria's freedom and deal with the nude painting later.

Her brows rose. Clearly she didn't believe him, but for some reason, she pretended she did. "Fine," she said with a sigh of exasperation. "I will drop the charges."

Fin could hardly believe his ears. He wanted to jump up and down with joy and happiness, but he refrained for the time being. "You will not regret your decision."

That interview with Lady Beecham was the day before Victoria's trial. Her ladyship, along with all the other witnesses would appear in court to publicly declare that they were dropping the charges against Vickie. But the most compelling arguments would come from her witnesses. All one hundred twelve of them. They were all ready to speak of her kindness and generosity. Sarah and Holly would be there as well to tell of all the good Victoria had done for the hospital. And Sally, of course, would tell the judge how Victoria had found her on the street and taken care of her and her mother.

It didn't hurt that Victoria's extended family comprised of some of the most powerful and influential members of the _ton._ When Fin and Sally entered the courtroom that morning, they were all there. The Duke and Duchess of Weston, the Marquess and Marchioness of Eastleigh, and the Viscount and Viscountess Hastings were all piled into the same pew right behind Victoria's parents and Tom.

Fin took his place next to Tom, and Sally settled in beside him. He was jumping with nerves, filled with hope and dread at the same time, desperate to see Victoria. Was she well? She'd been in prison for more than a week now. It was no place for a lady—of that he was certain. But if any lady could survive such a place and still keep her spirit intact, it was Victoria.

"How are you holding up?" he asked Tom.

Tom looked like he hadn't slept at all the past week. "Better than my parents," he whispered back.

Lord and Lady Grantham had been disgraced when the news came out. No amount of cajoling from Tom and Fin could persuade them to believe that what she'd done was actually good. But when they saw the outpouring of love and support from those she'd helped, they'd had a change of heart. Perhaps their attitude toward their daughter would change going forward. Fin just hoped it wasn't too late for Victoria to see how proud they were of her.

The door to the courtroom banged open at the back, echoing loudly in the large chamber. A hush fell over the crowd as Justice Powell proceeded to the bench. Once he was settled, all eyes turned back to the doorway where Victoria was being led in by two guards.

Fin's heart ached at the sight of her. Clearly she hadn't been eating well. Her skin sagged on her bones, and her gown—the same one she'd worn to the masquerade—hung far away from her body. Her usually shiny, luxurious hair was matted and dirty, and she looked as if she'd been rolling about in dirt. But she held her head high as she walked past her friends and loved ones, sparing a glance for no one as she made her way to the stand.

One could have heard a pin drop in the vast room. Everyone sat on tenterhooks, waiting for the trial to begin. Sally slipped her hand into Fin's, and he squeezed back, praying the girl wouldn't have to watch another motherly figure in her life be lowered into the ground.

"Miss Victoria Barclay," the judge began, "you are brought here on the charges of sixty-seven accounts of highway robbery. How do you plead?"

Victoria lifted her head high and rolled her shoulders back until she was standing straight as a soldier. "I plead guilty, Your Honor."

Shocked murmurs spread throughout the courtroom until the judge called everyone back to order.

"Have you anything else to say?" Justice Powell asked her.

"Only that I am not sorry. I did what I had to do, for the sake of those less fortunate, for those who have suffered fates worse than death because they didn't have money or station. I am sorry, however, for the shame I have brought to my family. And I am sorry that I could not do more. It is my fervent prayer that after my death, others will carry the torch of goodwill to those in need."

Fin hadn't cried since he was a boy, but hearing Victoria speak, hearing the bravery not just in her words, but in her voice, caused a lump to form in his throat. She was a woman like no other, and he loved her like he could never love anyone else.

"Thank you, Miss Barclary," Justice Powell said, and then he turned to Fin. "Lord Leyburn, I believe you have brought some witnesses here today to testify in favor of Miss Barclay, is that correct?"

Victoria turned to look at him finally. Their eyes met. Hers were wide, as if she couldn't quite believe he'd gone to any such lengths for her. If only she knew that he would go to one end of the earth and back just for a few more moments with her.

"I have, Your Honor," Fin said, surprised his voice worked at all just then. He motioned for the first witness to take the stand.

A young woman by the name of Anna stepped forward, a small babe in her arms. "If it weren't for Miss Barclay, Your Honor, I'm most certain my babe and I wouldn't be here right now. She saved our lives when I was in labor. Her kindness will never be forgotten."

One by one they stepped forward and told their stories of how Victoria had helped them, either physically or monetarily. Tears glimmered on her cheeks as she listened to the accounts. After ten or so of the hundred and twelve, the judge declared that the jury had heard enough. But Fin wasn't finished. He had something he needed to say.

"Your honor, if I may?" he said, raising his hand as he stood from his seat. "I would like to make one final plea to the jury."

Justice Powell nodded and Fin stepped forward, closer to Victoria. He swallowed, knowing what he wanted to say, but having a hard time getting started with all these hundreds of people looking on.

"I have known Victoria Barclay my entire life," he began. "I was eight years old when she was born, and I remember holding her in my arms when she was a baby. I was there the first time she fell and scraped her hands and knees. I rushed to her side to make sure she was all right, only to be reminded that at the ripe age of four, she 'was no shrinking violet.' I remember thinking then that she was a bold and daring and incredibly unique creature.

"But there was only one problem with having such bravado from such a young age: she never learned to ask for help. She took the weight of the world upon herself, always, not realizing that if she had only asked, others might have come to her aid."

He paused to take a breath and to get down on one knee before her. A collective gasp echoed through the chamber, but Fin paid them no mind. He cared only what Victoria thought of him in that moment.

"Victoria Barclay, I think that I have loved you my entire life, but like a fool, I was too dense to realize it, or maybe just too stubborn to admit it. But I cannot deny it any longer. You are the most incredible woman I have ever known. You have sacrificed everything—even your own life—to take care of others. There are not many that can claim such a thing.

"Victoria, I don't know what the outcome of this trial will be, but I must tell you this now, before God and all of these people, that I love you. I love you with all my heart, with everything that I am. I cannot comprehend a world without you in it, but I will live peacefully knowing that I told you this today. And should the jury find you not guilty, it is my most fervent prayer that you would agree to live the rest of your life with me, as my wife."

Victoria was crying in earnest now, the tears dripping to the floor, just missing the tips of Fin's boots. Everyone was waiting for her response, but Justice Powell was the one to finally demand an answer from her.

"Well, Miss Barclay, what say you to this gentleman's request?"

Victoria fell to her knees without a word and collapsed into Fin's arms. He held her tight, praying he would never have to let her go.

It seemed an eternity before the jury returned from deliberation. In reality it was only a matter of minutes, but when the life of the woman one loves hangs in the balance, minutes can feel like days. But at long last, the judge announced there was a verdict.

The room held its collective breath as Justice Powell opened his mouth to speak. "Miss Barclay, on the charges of sixty-seven accounts of highway robbery, you have been found... _not guilty._ "

A roar rose up from the crowd, and Victoria dissolved into a puddle of tears on the stand. Fin went to her and gathered her in his arms. He lifted her off the ground and swung her in a circle, overjoyed that he would get to spend the rest of his life with her.
Epilogue

"Fin, where on earth are you taking me?" Victoria asked for what seemed like the hundredth time since they'd climbed aboard the carriage. The blindfold—lacking in eyeholes this time—prevented her from knowing anything about their location.

"I told you, darling," Fin said, "it's a surprise."

"Yes, but couldn't you give me just a little hint?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You are too curious, my dear. But don't worry, we're almost there. You won't have to wait much longer."

True to his word, the carriage came to stop only minutes later. Fin led her out onto the street after checking to make sure her blindfold was firmly in place, with no opportunity for her to peek. She took his hand, firm and reassuring, and let him lead her about until they had apparently reached their destination. People whispered around her as they passed through rooms, but she still had no idea where they were.

"My dearest Victoria," Fin said, as he stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. "It is my deepest desire to never have you face the gallows again, and so _this_ is my wedding present to you."

He tore off the mask, and Victoria blinked several times, trying to figure out what was going on. They were in some kind of sitting room. It was clean, perhaps just built even, with lots of windows and seating enough for twenty or more people. But it was the walls that caught her attention. They were lined with paintings, clearly done by the same artist, and above the fireplace was a painting of her. It was life-sized, and so beautiful that she hardly recognized herself.

"Fin," she said a bit breathlessly, "where are we?"

"This, my dear Vickie, is the Victoria Barclay Hospital for the Poor."

She turned abruptly to look at him. He couldn't mean it. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you don't have to sneak about to help people anymore. And you don't have to rob anyone to fund it. That's what the paintings are for."

"Fin, these are your life's work. You can't just sell them to fund my hospital."

"They _are_ my life's work, and therefore I can do whatever I bloody well want with them. And I've decided that twice a month we will hold auctions here, in this room. All proceeds will benefit the hospital." He paused and turned to look at the painting of her over the fireplace. "Except that one. That particular piece is priceless. It's the mask on the subject that makes it so."

Victoria looked up at her husband, still amazed that she could call him that now. "I love you, Phineas Dartwell," she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "And I promise I will never do anything illegal again as long as I live."

"Well, thank God for that!" Fin kissed her then, and it was the sweetest, most wonderfully shocking kiss she'd ever known. Highway robbery couldn't compete with the thrills she got from kissing the man she'd married.

The End
Other titles available from

Jerrica Knight-Catania

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A Gentleman Never Tells

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The Wary Widow

The Bedeviled Bride

And Wetherby Short Stories

Christmas Warms the Harts

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About the Author

Jerrica Knight-Catania left her "glamorous" life as an actress in favor of becoming a romance author, where she could write about truly glamorous lives. She currently resides in New York City with her real-life hero of a husband, their shy Russian Blue, Dr. Snuggle, and their beautiful daughter who is most definitely a princess-in-training.

Jerrica loves to hear from readers! You can send her an email at jerrica@jerricasplace.com

Visit Jerrica's official website to learn more about her other books, the Wetherby family and to see what's new in her writing world!

www.jerricasplace.com

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