inspired. But now, I cannot say. I’d like some credentials. Immediately. In fact, I can’t believe I’ve allowed the Great Secret of your identity to languish between us for so long. I’ll not take another step until you tell me how a lowly stable groom understands the fine points of sabotage. And stalking young women. And disarming crazed gentlemen in the street.”
“Now?” he whispered harshly, moving her from the flow of pedestrians.
“Yes,” she said. “Right now.”
He looked right and left. He took a deep breath. “Fine. If you must know. My true profession is . . . is as a mercenary.”
Helena laughed a little. He was making a joke. He was—
His face remained passive. He cocked an eyebrow.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I work,” he said, “as a mercenary. Do you know what that is?”
“Ah . . .”
“It’s a soldier-for-hire,” he said. “A bodyguard. Paid security. I track people and things. I’m called ‘The Huntsman’ in professional circles because I specialize in finding people who do not wish to be found. Not unlike Lady Genevieve Bloody Vance, for all the good it’s doing us.”
Helena stopped and gaped at him. She could not be more shocked if he’d admitted he was King George.
“A mercenary?” she repeated.
“Yes.” He began to walk again.
“How did you . . . fall into this line of work?”
“I studied it in university.”
“Hilarious.”
“I was a solider. The Royal Army. For many years—twelve. I fought in France, the Peninsula. When I had the opportunity to leave soldiering, I took it. My family needed me in London. I’d only been home a month when a former officer asked me to help him locate a wayward son who’d skipped off to the Continent. I’d been useful in reconnaissance in the war.”
“And did you find him?”
“I did.”
“Of course you did.” So much now made sense. “No wonder I feel safe with you.”
“Oh no,” he said, waving away this notion. “I am not safe. I am very dangerous. I’m lethal. Everyone says it.” He actually sounded irritated. Helena stifled a smile.
“Have you ever been hired to ‘mind’ someone before?”
“No.”
“Have you ever posed as a servant before?”
“Yes—no. I can’t remember.”
“Have you ever . . . shot someone?”
“I’ve been to war, my lady.”
“Have you ever—”
“Whatever you’re thinking,” he cut in, “I’ve done it.”
They’d come to the end of the street. Her sisters could be seen preening through the front window of the adjacent café. Shoppers—none of them Lady Genevieve—came and went. Helena pulled an apple from her pocket and took a bite.
She tried to comprehend what his profession meant to her personally, as a woman—as a woman he’d touched and kissed. Likely, he kissed breathless women in stables and carriages all the time.
What could an earl’s virgin daughter mean to him? Was it better that he was a mercenary and not a groom?
She couldn’t know.
And also she couldn’t devote any more of this fleeting day to thinking about it.
She forced herself to ask, “It’s bad that we’ve seen no sign of Lady G, isn’t it? In your professional opinion?” In her head she added, As a mercenary?
“The probability of encountering her was always very slim,” he said, gazing down the street. “Finding any of these girls, especially the first day out? I put the odds at ten percent. But the outing isn’t over. Your fitting will take time; convening six women to depart New Bond Street will take time. It was always a complicated plan, but we have more time. For now, collect your sisters and go to Madame Layfette’s. I’ll keep watch.”
Declan heard Lady Genevieve before he saw her. A trill of laughter, pitched too loud to be borne of amusement. A whoop. The delicate clapping of gloved hands.
Nothing in New Bond Street was that amusing. He shoved off the wall beside Madame Layfette’s shop.
A carriage, shiny and well sprung, had come to a stop five yards away. Footmen and grooms hurried to secure steps and mollify horses. Declan took a step closer, his breath held.
From the open door, a hat emerged, ivory with crimson trim.
Next, a head, popping out like a mole from a hole. Her laughing smile was so broad it made him blink. She looked as if she’d arrived at a delightful party already in progress. When she turned her head, he saw coil upon coil of white-blonde plaits tucked neatly beneath the hat.
Her body was compact, a little plump, but with all the correct geography, sheathed in a cherry-red dress. The color alone demanded attention, a bold choice for which she was