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The quartet had come together in circumstances born of serendipity and necessity. The duchess had been looking for brilliant women who had little to fear from society, and she’d found them in Imogen, who came with an expertise in things both extremely useful and extremely dangerous; Adelaide, whose meek exterior made her a superior thief; and Sesily—scandalous Sesily—who had shocked society so many times that few even noticed when she disappeared from a ballroom, scoundrel in tow.
“Men never know what to do with women who fight. They always forget critical information.” “What’s that?” “That when we enter the fray, we do so to win.”
“Men are ridiculous.” “For wanting to keep you safe?” “For believing that you aren’t the thing from which we are most in danger.”
“She’s damned lucky you were there,” Sera said softly. He’d thought so last night. But now, by the light of day, he wasn’t so sure.
“Who took care of them last night?” He could tell her. He could name them. He’d seen them all working together, like they’d trained for just such an evening as the one they’d had last night. The Duchess of Trevescan, with money and power to spare. Adelaide Frampton, whom the entire world seemed to think was a simpering wallflower but was able to wield a blade without trouble. Imogen Loveless, who’d knocked a bruiser out with a concoction Caleb never wanted to be on the receiving end of. Maggie, who had eyes everywhere. The others. And Sesily, like a fucking goddess, up on the bar, red skirts
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“In my experience, I have found it best to begin all conversations with men with severe mistrust.”
“You misjudge my friends.” “I absolutely do not misjudge them. I think they’re all terrifying.” She smiled at that. “They shall be happy to hear it.” “Absolute misfits,” he muttered.
“I should stop because you feel fucking glorious. Like a treasure to be thieved.”
“Wicked girl,” he whispered, his fingers reaching the leather strap and sheath that held her knife, stroking over it like it was a silk ribbon. “Wicked girl, with a blade at her thigh. Goddess of war.”
“Who cares about safe? I spend my days plotting the demise of men who take advantage of those weaker than them. It is not safe work. But it is mine. And I choose it.” She paused. “In the last two weeks, I have drugged an earl, broken the nose of a thug thrice, and robbed a viscount—three events where you have been by my side and I have been safe, I might add. I carry a blade in my pocket and my dearest friends are a spymaster, a con artist, and a woman who is extremely fond of explosives. I am recklessness personified.”
“You are not reckless, Sesily Talbot; you are regal. You’re a damn queen.”
Detective Inspector Thomas Peck was having a bad day.
The woman wasn’t pretty; she was mayhem.
He forced a pleasant smile despite wanting to do the very opposite, and looked down at Lady Imogen. “I assume the parade of ladies reporting nonsensical crimes today has something to do with you?” “Really, Detective Inspector,” she said, “you are lucky I do not take offense at being called a criminal mastermind.” “I didn’t call you a criminal mastermind.” “Ah. Well. Now I am offended.” Absolute mayhem.
“I need you, Caleb. I don’t need you in prison, protecting me. I need you out here, shoulder to shoulder. With me.” He needed it, too. “Has it occurred to you that I am a great deal of trouble?” she added. “Only every day since the day we met.” “And do you think I will be less trouble once you are gone? Because I shan’t be. I assure you, I will not take your death well. I’ve no intention of withering gracefully in silent despair, like some widow wearing black and reading sad poetry.” Widow. He lingered on the word. On the way it made it sound like they’d had a lifetime together. On the way it
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“I assume the detective inspector refused the request.” “Indeed. The whole thing was a real disappointment.” She paused. “Except the man’s beard. That isn’t disappointing.”
“And now, I think we’ve all played enough ‘Visit Scotland Yard and Toy with the Detective Inspector’ for the day.”
