Fortunately, there was no danger of a similar outcome with Compton. His secret wasn’t an illicit love affair resulting in a crop of bastards. If what Gabriel knew about Compton were ever to get out, it wouldn’t only mean public scorn, it would mean the man’s complete and utter annihilation.

“Not a sporting gent this time,” Gabriel said. “It’s a lady.”

“What lady?” Ollie asked.

“Miss Flite.” Gabriel removed his shirt. The looking glass above his bureau reflected his image back at him in the lamplight. It wasn’t the face and figure of a gentleman. His features were too hard and hollow. His blue eyes too strangely pale. He appeared menacing, rather than modish.

Up to now, he’d preferred it that way. It was, after all, better to be feared than admired. But after this evening…

He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t know her given name.”

He’d been excoriating himself over that fact ever since she’d left the library. It didn’t seem right for him not to know. Not after he’d stared so deeply into her eyes. Not after he’d seen her. Truly seen her.

She may not be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but she was something in sheep’s clothing. An adventuress, he suspected. No other lady could have held his gaze so steadily, could have removed his hand from her throat and pressed his pulse, raising the stakes of his impudent touch with an impudent touch of her own.

He hadn’t expected it.

Nor had he expected his physical response.

“Shall we compare racing pulses?” he’d asked her.

Good thing they hadn’t. He’d have lost the contest spectacularly. His normally cold heart had been pumping at an extraordinary rate.

“How will I find her?” Ollie asked.

“She’s staying with Lady Belwood in Brook Street.”

“Not Mayfair again.” Ollie’s expression soured, recalling his fruitless pursuit of the sporting gentlemen. That fellow had also boasted a Mayfair address. “You sure she don’t drive a curricle?”

Gabriel shot the boy an ominous look. “Curricle or no, starting tomorrow morning, you’ll be her shadow. I want to know where she goes and who she sees.”

“Is that all, Mr. Royce?”

“For now.”

“What about them other gents?” Ollie wondered as he collected Gabriel’s shirt. “The viscount and his rich friends?”

A muscle ticked in Gabriel’s jaw. “I’ll deal with them myself.”

• • •

The following morning, Gabriel set out to do just that.

It wouldn’t serve his interests to ruin Compton outright. What Gabriel required was a hint of a threat. Something only Compton would comprehend, and that would serve to shock him back into line.

There was only one gentleman Gabriel could trust with the task.