Effie lifted her shoulder in a careless shrug. She wore a voluminous black skirt and a close-fitting red velvet jacket. A little jet-trimmed velvet hat was perched atop the plaited rolls of her ebony hair at a rakish angle. One of her dragonfly hairpins twinkled from beneath it.

She was equal parts dark and bright. Like a sleek, jewel-eyed wild cat on the hunt—every twitch and every movement a study in panther-like grace.

“After I left the offices of the Courant, I naturally withdrew to a shop across the street and waited,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Gabriel’s vitals twisted into a knot. He’d known it would be something of the sort. It was the very reason he’d anticipated seeing her in the Rookery in the moments following Miles’s arrival. “And?” he asked.

“The editor of the paper emerged from the building not twenty minutes later. He got into a hansom cab.”

“You followed him.”

“I did,” she said. “Alas, I lost him in the traffic on the Strand. There were too many hansoms, and my hackney driver became confused about which one he was meant to follow. He ended up taking me all the way to Camden Town. Franc and I only returned to Mayfair a short while ago.”

The knot in Gabriel’s chest didn’t ease. It wasn’t enough to know she hadn’t discovered Miles’s destination. There was more to this. Gabriel sensed it as surely as breathing. “What’s your interest in Compton?” he asked. “And please don’t insult me by lying.”

“I have no reason to lie,” she said. “I’m interested in the viscount for the same reason you are—for his ability to influence laws.”

Gabriel searched her eyes. “What laws?”

“Laws that affect women.” Her expression became serious. “There’s been talk of a married women’s property bill. Have you heard of it?”

He shook his head, a line etching his brow. There was doubtless discussion of a great many bills among members of Parliament and those who influenced their decisions. Gabriel wasn’t party to it. He hadn’t that kind of power, or that level of learning. The only laws he was familiar with were the ones that impacted his business, and those that Haverford claimed could possibly help the Rookery.

“You must know that married women have no rights to their own funds,” she said. “Everything they have and everything they earn belongs to their husbands. Indeed, once wed, a woman ceases to exist as an individual. Only the husband’s rights remain.”

“I know of it in practice,” Gabriel acknowledged. Growing up in the slums, he’d frequently seen dissolute men living off the earnings of their hardworking wives.