the otherwise fascinating information, turning bright eyes to Hattie. “Why are you in disguise?”
“No reason,” Hattie said.
“Hattie’s on the hunt,” Nora replied simultaneously.
Hattie rolled her eyes as Sesily’s lips dropped into a little O. “Delicious. For whom?”
Hattie feigned innocence. “Who says it’s a whom?”
Sesily cut her a look. “It’s always a whom.”
Fair enough. Nora distracted Sesily with another question, and as the two women chatted, Hattie turned to the American, still lingering on the other side of the bar. “It’s a whom.”
Understanding flashed in his kind eyes, followed by something like pity. He nodded. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t. I haven’t seen him since you . . . were here.”
She was grateful for the dim light in the tavern hiding her blush. She refused to be deterred. “I have to find him.” Failure was not a possibility tonight. She was through letting him run riot through her life. “It’s imperative.”
Caleb Calhoun scanned the crowd behind her. She followed his gaze, tracking over the men she’d recognized when she entered. “Too many strong arms here for him to be at the docks.” She smiled when the American looked impressed. “I’m not a fool.”
“Searching out a Bastard in the Garden would suggest otherwise,” he said, but his eyes searched hers, nevertheless, for what . . . honor? She nearly laughed at the thought that someone might be concerned that Hattie was the dishonorable person in her battle with the Bareknuckle Bastards. Whatever he looked for, he found. “It’s Wednesday night. He’s probably at the fights.”
The fights. She pounced. “Where?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s a moving ring. If they don’t want you to find it, you won’t.”
Frustration flared, and she reached into her pocket, extracting tuppence and setting it on the bar. Calhoun waved it off. “On the house.”
The kindness in the American’s eyes was a comfort. “Thank you.”
Sesily looked up from her conversation with Nora. “Caleb, you’re never so nice to me!”
The bartender growled in response, turning away, even as Sesily watched him, and if Hattie didn’t know better, she would have thought it was longing on the Talbot sister’s face. Longing and something like frustration.
Lord knew she understood that.
Nora nodded in Hattie’s direction. “Ready?”
Indeed. They had a fight to find.
She flashed a wide smile at Sesily before inclining her head in a formal farewell. “Duty calls.”
They pushed through the crowd, thicker and more raucous than it had been when they’d arrived. Hattie had never been so grateful for the cool air in the street beyond. When they reached the curricle again, she stopped and took a deep breath. Where was he?
This man, whom she hadn’t known, whom she hadn’t wanted to know, and who had somehow turned her whole life upside down with his presence and his vengeance and his damn kisses. Hattie couldn’t even be certain that she wasn’t after more of those, and that was exceedingly exasperating.
Where was he?
She had things to say to him.
“Hattie?” She looked up. Nora was on the box, ready to go, looking down at her. “Where to?”
Hattie shook her head. “I don’t know.” And then, because she couldn’t stop herself . . . “That damn man is ruining everything!”
Hattie’s frustration echoed off the buildings around them.
When silence fell once more, Nora nodded. “We’ll find him.”
And the certainty in the words—the we there—might have made Hattie cry. Would have done, if it weren’t for the words that immediately followed it, spoken from the darkness behind her. “Would you care for some help?”
Hattie spun toward the question as three women stepped from the background, each wearing a long, fitted coat over trousers and high boots, hair tucked up under caps. And there, beneath the outerwear of the tallest—the one who was nearly Hattie’s height and whom she would have identified as their leader on sight—was the flash of a weapon.
Sliding her hand into her pocket, fingering the blade there, Hattie took a step back. “What sort of help?”
There was no malice in the smile the woman flashed. “Lady Henrietta, I’m more than happy to point you in the direction of Beast.”
How did she know . . .
Hattie’s brow furrowed. “Have we met?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know my name?”
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose not, but I’d like to know anyway.”
The woman laughed, low and lush. “I make it my business to know what women are looking for, and what will give them satisfaction.”
“That’s handy,” Nora said from her place in the curricle.
The mysterious woman did not look away from Hattie as she