It was chaotic in this area tonight. Food carts. Drink carts. Shell games. A sword swallower. A few small tents rested along the walls. Inside were all manner of things to be seen for a penny. A female contortionist advertised as being a human puzzle box. “It’s impossible to tell where she starts and where she ends!” the barker shouted.

But Fancy was drawn to the rotund man with the balding pate shouting about debauchery and wickedness. “Come one, come all to decadence in all its glory!” Then he caught her eye and began waving her over with exaggerated sweeps of his arm. “Come, lady. Come and behold what your eyes have never seen!”

“What do you suppose that’s about?” Fancy asked Mr. Sommersby.

“If it’s something you’ve never seen then it’s probably something you shouldn’t see.”

His words only served to ignite her curiosity more. “I’m going to have a look.”

“Miss Trewlove, I’m not certain that’s wise.”

“It’s not as though I’m swallowing fire. You can come with me if you like.”

Boldly, she approached the gent and handed him a penny. With a flourish he held back the tent flap, and she was a bit relieved when Mr. Sommersby followed her inside the confining space. A lit lantern rested beside a stereoscope on a small table. She glanced around. “Do you believe that’s it?”

“Appears so. I’ll have a look—”

“No, I’m going first.” Taking a deep breath, she picked up the stereoscope and peered through the two glass circles at the image that seemed almost real enough to touch. She was very much aware of Mr. Sommersby’s chest brushing up against her shoulder blade, and that touch was no doubt responsible for the heat cascading through her—not the disappointing photograph at which she was looking.

“Well?” His voice was a rasp near her ear, his warm breath skimming along her cheek.

“It’s a woman . . . lounging on a settee . . . in her unmentionables.” Except they were barely on. The swell of one breast was clearly visible, her nipple hidden, although it appeared the cloth was in danger of slipping away completely.

“My turn.”

“Absolutely not.” She jerked the contraption away from her eyes and hugged it to her midsection. “You don’t need to view a woman in her disarray.”

He’d not moved, was still incredibly close. “I’ve seen women in their unmentionables, Miss Trewlove. In fact, I have taken great pleasure in removing said unmentionables.”

His voice had gone deeper, lower, to a depth where secrets were best shared, and she quite suddenly found it difficult to breathe, imagining his finger gliding along lace and slipping silk down, down, down until nothing was covered. She was trembling with desire as the images bombarded her. “It’s not fair.”

“Pardon?”