"Undoubtedly, my dear," he soothed as he continued to work upon the deep scratch. "An independent woman such as yourself has no need to request permission to go where she chooses."

She eyed him with open suspicion, as if sensing his devious intent. "Precisely."

"And yet, surely a wise woman would take more care?"

Her features abruptly hardened at the unshakable truth in his accusation. "Are you finished?"

"In a moment." Lucien carefully considered his words, knowing that any misstep could take days, if not weeks, to repair. "Do you go out often at night?"

"Yes."

"You help those in need?"

"When possible." The beautiful eyes darkened. "Unfortunately I cannot help them all."

Knowing that she must be thinking of the recently murdered Molly, Lucien offered a smile of sympathy.

"No one person can."

"No, I suppose not."

Lucien slowly straightened to gaze down at her pale countenance, his heart once again struck with her gentle beauty. A beauty that was reflected in her generous heart.

"I have a proposition for you, Miss Kingly," he said in low tones.

She swiftly stiffened in wary confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"I am willing to pay you ... let us say one pound ... for each occasion you allow me to accompany you during your visits to the street."

There was a moment of shocked silence before she slowly rose to her feet.

"What?"

"I believe you heard me."

"But... why? Why would you be willing to offer such wealth for the inconvenience of accompanying me as I meet with pickpockets and fallen women?" His lips twisted with wry humor at the sharp disbelief in her tone.

"You are not the only soul who feels compelled to help those in need. And I happen to believe that at the moment you are very much in need."

"Me? Absurd." Her chin tilted to a proud angle at the implication she might harbor a hidden vulnerability. "I am not in need."

Unable to help himself, Lucien reached out to lightly touch the perfect skin of her cheek. His fingers tingled with pleasure as they traced over the satin softness.

"You make your choice as to whom you offer your service, Miss Kingly. Surely I am allowed to make my own choice as well."

She allowed his touch to linger a delicious moment before she was sharply pulling away.

"This is ridiculous."

He arched a golden brow at her unsteady accusation. "Will you toss away the opportunity to acquire such ready coin because you think me ridiculous?"

"I think you mad."

"Perhaps." He gave an indifferent shrug, his eyes twinkling with his irrepressible humor. This maiden was certainly not the first to call him mad. "But does it truly matter? You shall have your money and I shall be allowed to rest easy knowing you are safe."

She opened her mouth to condemn him to the devil for his audacity, but even as her pride rebelled at his implication that she was incapable of caring for herself, common sense began to intrude. She hesitated, gnawing her bottom lip as she was forced to consider his rash offer.

"One pound for every night?" she demanded in thick tones.

"Yes."

"Just to accompany me?"

He paused, deciding to take full advantage of her momentary wavering. He was determined to save her not only from the streets, but from past wounds as well.

"And there is one more condition."

"What is that?"

His smile widened as he stepped close to her stiff form. "That each evening we also indulge in less serious pursuits."

An expression of outrage swept over her countenance. "I should have known."

Chuckling at her predictable reaction, Lucien laid his fingers gently upon her arms. "Hold a moment. I mean only harmless pastimes such as cribbage or backgammon."

The outrage slowly faded, to be replaced with a faint frown. "I have no interest in such frivolous games."

"So you will not accept my bargain?" he teased lightly. "Not even to help those you claim to care so deeply about?"

The challenge was undeniable, and again she hesitated.

One pound might be meaningless to Lucien, but to a woman in Miss Kingly's position it was a veritable fortune. And while she might scorn material gain for herself, she was far too determined to help others to easily turn her back upon any help that might be possible.

Even if it meant making a bargain with the devil.

Or a very devious vampire.

At long last allowing her compa.s.sion for others to overcome her pride, she settled her hands upon her hips and flashed him a glare that would no doubt have slain him had he not been an Immortal.

"Very well. If you wish to toss away your money with such reckless disregard, I accept. But, I warn you, I will endure no nonsense. I will expect you to remember you are a gentleman."

"So be it, my dear." Taking her hand, he lifted her fingers to lightly brand them with a kiss.

"Our bargain has been sealed." Three

After a night spent chastising herself for her stupidity in agreeing to Mr. Valin's ridiculous bargain, Jocelyn awoke with the determination to put the foolishness from her mind.

She had been shaken to learn that Molly had been savagely murdered, and oddly disturbed by her encounter with Mr. Fallow. The unknown vicar may have shown his bravery and compa.s.sion by rushing to her aid, but she had found his presence disturbing in a manner she could not explain. Indeed, she had almost wondered if she would not rather have faced the villains alone.

All in all, the evening had been a horrid reminder of the savage world she now inhabited. It was little wonder that she had been caught off guard and easily manipulated into the devilish bargain.

Now she could only attempt to make the best of the unfortunate situation with as much grace and dignity as possible.

She grimaced wryly as she sat behind the desk in her study. Somehow it seemed extremely difficult to maintain any grace or dignity when in the presence of Mr. Valin. He was too impertinent, too brazen, and too utterly charming. His irreverent spirit was a constant threat to her calm composure.

Resolutely putting aside all thoughts of Mr. Valin and the unfortunate Molly, Jocelyn carefully checked over her most pressing bills. Many she would be able to attend to with the rent money she had received, and the others could wait until her quarterly allowance arrived. There was not much extra, but with great care she knew that she would be able to buy the additional food necessary to help the street urchins who depended upon her.

She was busily making a list of supplies, when Meg abruptly stepped into the room with a decided air of annoyance.

"There's a gent here to see you, Miss Jocelyn," she announced in disapproving tones. "He says he's a Runner."

"A Runner?" Jocelyn rose to her feet in surprise. Although the Watch haphazardly controlled the rough streets, it was rare for a Bow Street Runner to take an interest in the refuge of humanity that huddled in the darker streets of London. "You had better show him in, Meg."

Meg folded her arms across her ample chest with a loud sniff. "Not that it's my place to judge, but I would think that a man like that would have more important matters to attend to than bothering law-abiding maidens and tracking dirt onto my freshly scrubbed floors."

Jocelyn could not halt a small smile at the disgruntled tones. Meg had never fully approved of her desire to live in such a neighborhood and help others. And she liked it even less when she felt Jocelyn was being put upon.

She was far more protective than any mother.

"No doubt he considers his business here of some necessity," Jocelyn murmured.

There was another decisive sniff. "It had best be is all I can say. Otherwise he can clean them floors himself."

Meg reluctantly turned to leave the room, stomping away in a manner that indicated that she was intending to severely chastise the caller for daring to interrupt Jocelyn.

Stepping around the desk, Jocelyn was kept waiting only a moment before the large, surprisingly young man with a smiling countenance and thatch of unruly brown curls entered the room. He appeared more an innkeeper or merchant than a dangerous Runner, and Jocelyn found her initial unease lessening as he offered a dashing bow.

"Forgive me for intruding, Miss Kingly. I am Mr. Ryan."

"Mr. Ryan." She gave a nod of her head. "I understand you are from Bow Street."

He smiled ruefully. "Alas, it is true, but please do not hold that against me. I am merely a simple chap attempting to do my poor best to make a living."

Jocelyn was swift to sense this man used his decidedly boyish charm to his full advantage. If not for the shrewd glint of intelligence in the blue eyes, it would be easy to mistake him for an easily deceived fellow.

She could only wonder how many criminals had been lured into admitting far more than they should.

"Will you have a seat?" she asked as she perched on the edge of a chair near the desk. She waited until he had settled his own large form onto a chair opposite her before continuing. "What can I do for you?"

Thankfully he came directly to the point. "I am investigating the death of Molly Chapwell."

Jocelyn lifted a hand to press it to her heart. The pain was still too fresh to be easily accepted.

"Poor Molly."

He lifted a brow at her words. "You knew she had been murdered?"

"Vicar Fallow informed me last evening." She grimaced at the memory of the small man who sent chills down her spine. "I was searching for her."

"Ah, yes." He ran a hand along his jaw in a thoughtful manner. "The vicar who discovered her body."

"He said that it was a savage attack."

Mr. Ryan's smile faded. "I won't lie to you, miss. It was as bad as I've ever seen."

Jocelyn shivered, unable to imagine anyone able to hurt the simple, kindhearted maiden, no matter whether she was a prost.i.tute or not.

"Why? Why would someone harm Molly in such a vicious fashion?"

He paused for a moment. "To be honest, I was hoping that you could answer that question."

"Me?" she retorted in surprise.

"You did know her."

"Only from the streets." She heaved an unconscious sigh. "I attempted to convince her to leave her life as a prost.i.tute and travel to the small property I own outside of London.

Unfortunately she would not heed my urgings. Now it is too late."

"You did not perhaps know if she was fearful of any person in particular?" he demanded.

Jocelyn briefly considered Molly's drunken husband, who had more than once left her with a black eye. He was obviously violent. And yet she could not believe he would readily dispose of his one source of income. He may have been despicable, but he was not entirely stupid.

"Not that she revealed to me," she at last conceded.

"Would she seek you out if she discovered herself in danger?"

The question caught Jocelyn off guard. Would Molly come to her if she were in need?

"I do not know. Perhaps." She gave a lift of her hands. "Why do you ask?"

"Because this was found clutched in her hand." Mr. Ryan leaned forward to press a crumbled piece of paper into Jocelyn's hand.

Startled, she glanced down to discover her name roughly scrawled across the torn sheet.

"It has my name on it," she breathed in shock, then her brows drew together in confusion.

"But..."

"What is it?"

She slowly lifted her gaze to meet his steady regard. "Molly could not read or write."

The blue eyes narrowed at her sudden exclamation. "Most astute, Miss Kingly. That was what I presumed as well." Jocelyn could not halt a deep shudder. It had been disturbing enough to know that an acquaintance had been brutally murdered. To discover she was clutching a paper with her name upon it made the horror even greater. It suddenly seemed very personal.

"Why would she have my name on a sc.r.a.p of paper?" she whispered.