Lady Armitage could not be easy until then. Life rubbed grittily against her skin. She could not even pick the pockets of her fellow pedestrians, so out of sorts did she feel. Instead, she paced the long harbor wall, black-cloaked, mysterious, her hair bending in the breeze as she stared wistfully out to sea—

Although the bright skies and calm waters rather detracted from the romance of it.

The man selling ice creams from a wheeled cart did not help.

And the breeze was so warm and gentle, she might as well have worn pink and stuck a bow on her hair.

Nevertheless, Lady Armitage sighed mournfully (and ate a small ice cream). Any moment now, Eduardo de Luca would stride toward her, his greatcoat flaring in the—er, his greatcoat hanging heavily about him, his blond head wickedly bare. He would grasp her hand with all the raw manners of a desperate-hearted rake, kiss it, and beg most pathetically to be her servant. That is, he was already her servant . . . but he would beg to be the servant of her heart, not just her purse!

And then, rising from his knees (for he had knelt in honor and devotion), he would present her with a small velvet bag containing the finger or ear of a young woman who had once given her a beloved toy dog because she thought Aunty Army might be lonely.

And so the great lady lingered beside the sea, until at last on Saturday she became bored (not at all troubled by gout, an affliction she certainly did not have) and retired to her sitting room with its windows overlooking the waters. A footman kept her supplied with tea, digestive biscuits, cocaine pastilles, and the delicious sight of his legs in tight breeches.

Still she sighed and lounged restlessly, albeit Vikingly, in an armchair. She was employing a pygmy leg bone to scratch beneath her starched wing of hair when the butler unexpectedly entered.

“Excuse me, ma’am. A gentleman is at the door. With which particular violence would you like him sent away?”

Signor de Luca at last! Lady Armitage sat up, tossing the bone aside. “Let him in. And, Whittaker, bring more tea.”

“The special tea, ma’am?”

“No, no. At least, not yet. Some of that new Earl Grey concoction, I think.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After he left, Lady Armitage arranged her skirts, smoothed her eyebrows, and experimented with several smiles before she decided upon the most suitable. She was thus elegantly situated when Signor de Luca entered the room. Her smile widened—

And then snapped shut.

She sat up so fast her hair reverberated. “You’re not Eduardo!”

The man bowed. His shoulders bulged beneath his coat, and when he looked up, his hefty, scarred face puckered in a scowl that revolted Lady Armitage even more than the gun he pointed at her.

“Jacobsen,” he introduced himself. “I work for Captain Morvath.”

“Egads!” She leaned across to the side table and took another pastille.