his heels, gripping the green-and-yellow plaid satin lapels of his coat. Really such attire should be outlawed. “Me ’ead isn’ stuck up me arse. I ’eard you got hammered for life to one Lord Archer. A right canny fellow, if them news rags is to be believed.” Keen eyes bore into her. “Wotcha doin’ g’ttin’ involved with that lot, anyways?”
“I had no idea you read,” she said in true surprise.
His scanty brows rose. “ ’Course I don’t bleedin’ read. Meg’s the one with the learnin’. Don’t listen to her go on normally, ’cept for this here…” He reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of newsprint.
The corners were battered and a spot of grease marred one edge, but it had been carefully wrapped in a length of wax paper to protect it from further harm. She unfolded the paper with a trembling hand. There—along with a story proclaiming Archer as a person of high interest in the peerage slayings—was a line sketching of Miranda, named as Archer’s mysterious and exotic new bride. Her lips had been drawn into a rather smug-looking smirk, but the artist had captured the essence of her quite well.
Billy bent over the paper, bringing along a fresh wash of ripe onion to her nose. “A right fair doodle, if I say so.”
“Quite,” she rasped. Such salacious news stories had ceased to bother her. But that Billy kept a drawing of her on his person… Guilt clawed at her throat with wretched, hard fingers. She hadn’t given him a passing thought in a year.
Eyes carefully averted, she handed him the drawing. “Have you heard of a West Club? Or Moon Club?”
Billy shook his head. “Only club ’ere is ’Eaven an’ ’Ell.” He jerked a thumb toward a solid structure three houses down whose doors were opened wide to allow for the steady stream of London dandies and roughs coming in and out. The small sign above the door read HEAVEN on top with a pair of angel’s wings and a blue arrow pointing up and HELL with a distinctive red pitchfork pointing the way down.
“Fancy a romp with a judy an’ it’s up to ’eaven you go.”
She ducked her head as a group of gentlemen got out of a newly arrived carriage. Some of them looked vaguely familiar, and no doubt counted themselves among those who frequented the same parties that she did. “And what do you do in Hell?” she asked, eyeing the men from under her brim.
“ ’Ell’s for darker stuff, love. A bit o’ this an’ that…” A gleam of mischief lit his eyes as he flipped Archer’s coin through his fingers with ease. “Fancy a look?”
“Thank you, no.” She took the coin midflip. “Is there a Moon Street in London, perhaps?”
“Not that I’ve ’eard.” He scratched beneath his hat, sending it further askew. “Look ’ere, if anyone’s ’eard of this West Moon Club, I’ll find ’em, right?”
“Thank you, Billy.” She handed him a wad of pound notes.
“Keep your chink.” He shoved her hand away. “It ain’t like that wi’ us.” A shocking wash of pink crossed his wide cheeks. They both looked the other way in awkward silence, and she noticed an older man headed in their direction. He moved with a presence that rippled down the whole of West Street.
The man wasn’t very tall, probably as high as Miranda’s shoulder, and wore an unassuming suit of black under his thick dark cloak, but the crowd parted for him with a deference that spelled trouble. Billy cast his eye that way and paled. He made to grip her elbow but stopped, realizing that the gesture would mark her as a woman.
“Let’s make scarce.” He kept his stance casual, not looking toward the man, but he remained aware of the man with all his senses.
“Who is he?” she murmured as they walked toward a small alley.
“Black Tom. He runs the Dial’s. Knows who belongs an’ who don’t. He ain’t keen on outsiders unless they’re ’ere to pay. Come on.”
They turned a corner, almost making it to the safety of the alleyway, when they ran into a wall of men. The motley crew eyed them with various levels of humor and malice.
“Goin’ so soon there, Billy?” came a musical voice from behind.
A foul oath passed Billy’s lips as he slowly turned, taking her with him.
Black eyes gleamed like onyx beneath thick brows as the man Billy had called Black Tom regarded them. A wide brim top hat lay cocked upon