A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,7

the hack that had pulled to the side.

Selina limped toward him. “Thank you.”

“Are you certain I can’t see you home?” he asked.

The thought of sharing the confined space of the hack with his large, handsome form sent a bothersome shock of heat through her. “No, thank you. But I do appreciate your assistance. Again, I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“It was no trouble at all.” He helped her up into the hack. “Your destination?”

“Queen Anne Street.” Now he knew where she lived. Not that it wouldn’t have been hard for him, a Runner, to find out. She was quite open about her life as Lady Gresham. She had to be for Beatrix. The rest of her life, however, was not to be seen.

He gave the direction to the driver and looked back to Selina. “Good afternoon, Lady Gresham.”

“Mr. Sheffield.” She smiled as he closed the door.

Then she looked out the window at him as the hack drove away. When he faded from sight, she settled back against the squab. A ripple of unease twitched through her.

What exactly was Sheffield up to? Was he merely trying to ascertain if Madame Sybila was an innocent fortune-teller and nothing more? Or had he somehow uncovered the things Selina meant to keep hidden?

She ought to keep a distant eye on him, just to make sure he didn’t get too close. However, something about him said she should do more than that. And if she’d learned anything in the past eighteen years, it was that she had no one to look out for her but herself. Yes, she had Beatrix, but Selina was the planner and the protector. She’d taken on the role her brother had played for her before he’d sent her away.

Pain weighted her chest. It was growing less, but the loss would always be there. She’d spent those eighteen years working to get back to him, only to learn he was dead. To find the goal she’d worked so hard to reach was nothing but a ghost had been utterly devastating. Achieving Beatrix’s goal was all she had left.

Selina would deliver it at any cost.

Chapter 3

Two days later, Selina strolled along Mount Street, her gaze covertly taking in every aspect of the imposing house that belonged to Sheffield’s father, the Earl of Aylesbury. The Palladian-faced structure was wider than those on either side, and Selina glimpsed the lavish window hangings in what was probably their formal drawing room on the first floor. She imagined Sheffield growing up in such a place and again wondered how he’d ended up chasing criminals. As a second son, shouldn’t he have been an officer in the army or a rector on the path to perhaps becoming a bishop?

She didn’t pause as she continued toward Berkeley Square. Today was simply a reconnaissance mission. She didn’t plan to stand across from the house—or from Sheffield’s house on Rupert Street, which she’d walked past earlier—as Sheffield had done again the day before, situating himself in front of Somerset House once more so he could watch The Ardent Rose. What did he think about Madame Sybila never emerging from the perfumery?

Because Selina never, ever entered or left in costume, nor did she use the front entrance to the shop. Perhaps he would next try to watch the alley. He was becoming a nuisance.

“Lady Gresham.”

Hell and the devil. Selina had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn’t seen her quarry coming straight for her. Anger—at herself—churned in her gut. She was never this careless. Forget nuisance, Sheffield was rapidly becoming a bloody menace.

Pasting a cheerful smile on her face, she reacted with surprise. “Mr. Sheffield, good afternoon. How astonishing to see you again so soon.”

“Indeed. This is most welcome.” His gaze dipped to the hem of her gown. “How is your ankle?”

“Quite well, thank you. You are my hero.”

He laughed softly. “I hardly think so. What brings you to this neighborhood?”

“After browsing on Bond Street, I decided to take a short stroll. I am now, guiltily, on my way to Gunter’s for an ice.” The lie fell from her tongue as easily as spring rain.

“Would it be too forward of me to offer to escort you?” Sheffield bent in a slight bow.

“Not at all. I would be delighted for the company. My sister would have accompanied me today, but she was feeling a trifle under the weather.” Another lie.

Mr. Sheffield pivoted and offered his arm. “I hope she is feeling better by the time you return home.”

“I’m sure she