Her carriage was waiting in the alleyway behind the theater, but so, alas, was Duncan Kirk. He was leaning against the brick wall of the building, smoking a cheroot, and when he saw Maggie, he tossed it to the ground.

He looked so tormented that Maggie couldn’t find it in her heart to be angry with him. She settled her shawl around her shoulders and said, “Hello, Duncan.”

Duncan’s throat worked for a moment, and his lips moved, but no sound came out.

Maggie, feeling generous, smiled and started past him. She wanted to get into that carriage and go home to Reeve, and the sooner the better.

But Duncan stopped her with a rasped, “Maggie, don’t go.”

She paused, then turned to face him. In the light of the moon he looked haggard and upset. “I must,” she said gently. “Reeve is waiting.”

“Damn Reeve!” Duncan exploded suddenly. “The man is a cripple! What can he give you?”

Behind her Maggie heard the carriage door squeak open, and the sound made her braver. “He can give me love, Duncan,” she answered.

Duncan’s face went gray. “No,” he breathed. “You and I were meant to be together—you’ve got to believe me.”

Maggie only shook her head.

Duncan started toward her then, blindly, furiously, and Maggie was afraid. Suddenly, she found herself looking at the broad expanse of Jamie McKenna’s back as he made a barrier between Duncan and herself.

“Is there a problem, mate?” he asked cordially.

“You again!” Duncan spat.

The powerful shoulders moved in a shrug. “I’m likely to turn up in the damnedest places. How’s your shoulder, then?”

Duncan cursed and spun on one heel to stride back into the theater, and Jamie turned to look down into Maggie’s face with a reprimand in his azure eyes. “Can’t you go anywhere without getting into trouble?” he demanded.

Maggie lifted her chin and was about to come back with a snappy retort when she realized that Jamie was teasing. She gave a nervous giggle and let her forehead rest against his strong shoulder for a moment. “So far, I haven’t managed that,” she said.

Jamie chuckled and helped her into the carriage, then climbed in after her. He gave the wall behind him a firm rap with his knuckles, and the vehicle was in motion.

“I have something of yours,” Maggie said, opening her handbag and rummaging through it. A moment later she held out the beggar’s badge, still suspended from its rawhide string but washed clean of Duncan Kirk’s blood.

Jamie took the medallion and slipped it on over his head, touching it fondly before dropping it inside his rough-spun shirt. “Thanks, Maggie. I didn’t feel right without it.”

“How is Reeve?”