“Did you? All I heard was his smooth tongue trying to convince you he’d reformed.”

“My dear Daniel, my head is not easily turned by a handsome gentleman,” I said. “He tried too hard to be convincing.”

Daniel relaxed. “I know you are no fool, but Errol can be beguiling.”

“What intrigues me more is that you have said not one word about him. Nor made any mention you had a brother at all.”

Daniel’s grin flashed. “Foster brother. There is a saying—Least said . . . soonest forgotten.”

“It is Least said, soonest mended. You are evading the question.”

“I am.” Daniel’s eyes glittered in the darkness. “I will tell you all about dear brother Errol another time, when we are warmer and cozier, and I am not in such a rush. For now—do not trust him. He has the voice of an angel, but Lucifer was once an angel, remember.”

The warning made me shiver—or perhaps it was the wind. “You sound dire.”

“Errol was a bad ’un once, and I have no reason to suppose he’s changed.”

I grew more curious. “How long since you’ve spoken to him?”

Daniel rubbed his chin. “Ten years? Possibly. I’d hoped it would be longer, but today he too easily found me. Have a care of him, Kat.”

He leaned closer and fulfilled my earlier wish by kissing me lightly on the lips. The merest brush, but a spark jumped inside me to ease the cold.

Daniel drew a thick-gloved finger across my cheek. “Good night, Kat.” He paused, as though he’d turn and go, then he said, “I missed you.”

I could have responded with something sentimental, such as, I missed you too. Please don’t stay away so long again.

But sentimentality embarrassed me, and I said instead, “You missed my cooking, you mean. If you scrub yourself up, I might have a scrap to spare you when next you decide to darken my door.”

Not rebuffed in the slightest, Daniel released me and laughed. “I missed you indeed. Good night, Kat.”

He doffed his cap and dashed up the stairs with an energy unnatural for so late an hour. His laughter floated back to me, rich and deep, warming me in the damp darkness.

I skimmed inside on light feet, through the silent scullery, pots gleaming from Elsie’s skill, to find Mrs. Redfern standing squarely in the middle of the kitchen.

“Mrs. Holloway,” she greeted me.

I stifled a yelp of surprise then slid out of my coat in pretended nonchalance. “Mrs. Redfern. Have you not gone to bed?”

“I prefer to be the last to retire.”

I heard the steel in her voice. Mrs. Redfern had been the housekeeper next door until that household had moved north to Liverpool. Mrs. Redfern, wishing to stay in London, had accepted a post in this house, as we’d had a vacancy.