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    A Lady for the Taking: Tales From Seldon Park, #19
    A Lady for the Taking: Tales From Seldon Park, #19
    A Lady for the Taking: Tales From Seldon Park, #19
    Ebook381 pages7 hours

    A Lady for the Taking: Tales From Seldon Park, #19

    By Bethany M. Sefchick

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    About this ebook

    After a year of "almost but not quite" courting a particular lady, Bow Street Runner Harry Greer has found his attentions wandering as of late and he has no idea how to go about ending things gracefully – and without possibly losing a limb or two.  In the meantime, Harry still has a job to perform and is currently keeping track of Lady Penelope Marshwood.  New to London, Miss Marshwood is suddenly everywhere about Town and ardently pursing the Duke of Fullbridge in hopes of becoming his wife – a position no lady of any sense could possibly want!

    Sent to London by her uncle in order to trap the duke into marriage, Penny has no real desire to ruin the duke or her own life in the process – assuming she can even find him, of course.  At present, the only man she can find is Harry Greer and while he might make her toes curl, he has also made it clear he doesn't trust her.  Still, if she fails, Penny's young cousin Josie will pay the price, being forced to take Penny's place in the plot to trap Fullbridge.

     As Harry tracks Penny through the ballrooms of London, both of them begin to wonder if the other is playing some sort of elaborately wicked game?  Because so far, the only man who has captured Lady Penny's attention is Harry and he is not the sort of gentleman to steal another man's lady!  Except in this case, maybe he is.

    This 102,300 word novel is written in the modern, Regency romance style for a slightly hotter and sexier read.  It may not be appropriate for younger audiences.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBethany M. Sefchick
    Release dateApr 3, 2019
    ISBN9781386992479
    A Lady for the Taking: Tales From Seldon Park, #19
    Author

    Bethany M. Sefchick

    Making her home in the mountains of central Pennsylvania, Bethany Sefchick lives with her husband, Ed, and a plethora of Betta fish that she’s constantly finding new ways to entertain. In addition to writing, Bethany owns a jewelry company, Easily Distracted Designs. It should be noted that the owner of the titular Selon Park - one Lord Nicholas Rosemont, the Duke of Candlewood, a.k.a. "The Bloody Duke" - first appeared in her mind when she was eighteen years old and had no idea what to make of him, or of his slightly snarky smile.  She has been attempting to dislodge him ever since - with absolutely no success. When not penning romance novels or creating sparkly treasures, she enjoys cooking, scrapbooking, and lavishing attention on any stray cats who happen to be hanging around. She always enjoys hearing from her fans at: bsefchickauthor@gmail.com

    Read more from Bethany M. Sefchick

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      A Lady for the Taking - Bethany M. Sefchick

      Prologue

      November 1820

      London

      Isn’t this the most romantic ball you have ever attended?  This entire ballroom positively shimmers with romance!

      Harry gazed down at Dory’s radiant face and wished with all his heart that he could agree with her sentiment.  But he couldn’t.  However, Harry also couldn’t tell her so, at least not without disillusioning her, something he would not do for all the world.  So instead, he offered her what he hoped was a sincere smile.  It was becoming harder and harder to remember how to smile like that these days.

      Standing on the fringes of Lady Markham’s overly-ornate ballroom, with its puffs of pale pink and gold netting here and soft purple draperies adorned with spangles there, Harry also wished that he could see this room as Dory did – through innocent, unjaded eyes that still believed in magic and good in the world.  Here, Dory saw beauty and potential and promise – specifically, the promise of romance.  Harry, in turn, saw a place that, despite being filled with people, was still rather empty and a bit tattered about the edges.  This was his world or at least a part of it.  A world that, for the most part, he was welcomed into even though he was not completely of noble blood.  And yet, for all of his welcome and all of the people who greeted him cheerfully as he moved through the crowd, everything still felt rather empty.

      As did Harry himself.

      A few months ago, Harry had hoped Dory would be the woman to change that for him.  She was young and vivacious and pretty.  She was everything he told himself he wanted in a wife.  But thus far, she was proving to be a good friend.  And nothing more.

      It is lovely.  Quite lovely.  The cut-crystal hearts are especially fetching.

      As Harry expected, Dory thumped him with her reticule as she let out an indignant huff.  "Ice hearts, Harry.  Ice hearts!  The theme of this evening is frozen hearts.  Not crystal!  Don’t you remember?"

      Actually, he didn’t remember, nor did he particularly care, but again, he couldn’t tell Dory any of that, at least not if he wanted to keep his head firmly attached to this body.  After all, upsetting Frost’s beloved sister was one of the surest ways to risk one’s life, and Harry had no desire to put his neck – perhaps not so metaphorically speaking – on the line just then.

      I am only teasing, my dear.  I do remember the ice hearts.  Quite clearly, in fact.  Once more, Harry mustered up that same false smile and prayed the woman beside him would not catch him in a lie.

      And once more, Dory beamed at him brightly, her adoration clear on her face.  Or perhaps it was merely intense like.  He could no longer be certain.  Oh, Harry.  I so love it when you do that.

      Just then, she seemed like some fairy tale creature come to life, too good for the likes of him and yet something he craved far more than he should.  More than was good for him.

      Dory was young, yet, so balls like this one seemed all the more enchanted to her.  Now, the rapturous expression on her face made her seem younger still.  Likely far too young for him.  Life hadn’t yet jaded her the way it had him.  So what did she see in him, anyway?  What was it about him that held her fascination?  Honestly, Harry had no idea any longer – assuming he ever had.  And since he didn’t particularly want to think about such depressing things just now, he pasted that same false smile on his face and hoped she never saw through his façade.  Because he wanted this.  He wanted Dory.  Or at least he thought he did.

      At one time in the not-so-distant past, summoning an indulgent, tender smile hadn’t been too difficult for Harry to manage at all.  Especially not when Dory was around.  She had been infatuated with him since their first meeting and he?  Well, if Harry hadn’t been completely infatuated, he had at least been extremely intrigued.  Or maybe cautiously interested might be a better choice of words.  Not to mention more than a little flattered.  And extremely thankful for her attentions.

      For if a woman like Dory could find someone like Harry intriguing, and she at the very least piqued his interest, then perhaps there was hope for him after all.

      Hope that perhaps he wasn’t completely cold and unfeeling, especially as he was often accused of being such.

      Harry wasn’t – cold and unfeeling, that is.  He was, however, a bit guarded at times, especially around females.  No matter how much he flirted and pretended otherwise.  Still, when women got to close, his defenses went up and the accusations of being cold and remote began.

      Oh, and brusque yet still sophisticatedly charming with the ladies, as well.  Mustn’t forget that bit of his reputation, especially his first meeting with the woman now clinging tightly to his arm.  He had glared at her like a bloody idiot when he opened Frost’s library door last summer, only to find Dory and her sister Aurelia standing there, both of them half-hunched over as they pressed their ears to the door so that they might better overhear what he and Frost had been discussing.

      However, Harry also remembered the spark of attraction that had flared between him and Dory that day, as well as the elation he had felt when Dory had first looked at him with those misty green eyes of hers that had twinkled with obvious interest.

      The very idea that a young lady of Quality like Dory found him both attractive and interesting was novel.  Especially an innocent young lady.  Oh, to be sure, Harry had never had any trouble attracting women of just about any sort, from willing Society widows, to unhappily married women of the ton, to the dragons and old tabbies that lined the ballroom walls of London, scowling with displeasure, at every social event he attended.

      However, Harry had never been particularly successful with several very specific groups of ladies – namely unwed young women, spinsters, and, well, women with a brain in their heads who wanted more from him than just a quick tumble.  Those sorts of women might flirt with him, and he would, of course, flirt back, but they both knew nothing would come from such flirtation.  After all, Harry wasn’t of their station in life and therefore, not potential husband material.  Thus, he held no real interest for them beyond a moment or two.  But for those women who weren’t seeking a husband – for whatever reason – he was viewed as the ultimate prize to be won, or at least bedded.

      A handsome, successful and moderately wealthy Bow Street Runner with a questionable birth and links to the Bloody Duke?  A rumored nobleman’s bastard who dared to move among the highest reaches of Society with a startling amount of freedom?  What wasn’t to like?  Or at least desire?

      For women of loose morals?  Nothing.  But for a woman of Dory’s social class, one who had been taught from birth that making a successful match with a peer of impeccable reputation was the only thing that mattered?  There was a lot about Harry not to like.

      Dory, however, hadn’t seen any of that and while Harry couldn’t say precisely what she did see when she looked at him, whatever it was had her infatuated.  Just as he was infatuated with her, at least to some degree.  For Harry might be jaded, but he was still a man, and Dory was a breathtakingly beautiful woman.  He wanted her, at least in the physical sense, and they were friends.  She wanted him for whatever reasons only she knew, and, with an unconventional brother like Frost, things such as Harry’s background and lack of proper social standing were nothing more than trifling matters of little consequence.

      So when Dory had first turned her lovely eyes in his direction, Harry had been captivated.  And all these months later, he still was, mostly.  Usually.  Or at least he wanted to be.

      Harry recognized that the problem in this courtship – if one could call it an official courtship, though no one actually did – was all with him and not with her.  Dory still adored him now just as much as she had the day they first met.  Or at least Harry thought she did.  Dory still seemed to have stars in her eyes when she looked at him and it was not her fault that life had so thoroughly jaded him to all that was good and wonderful and precious in this world.  That only meant that Harry had to try harder.  And he would.  For Dory.  And for himself.

      I can tease, my dear.  Remember?  This time when he smiled, Harry felt his expression might be a bit more genuine.  I simply don’t do it often.

      Which is why it is all the more attractive to me when you do.  Once again, Dory was smiling at him brightly and Harry felt something peculiar twist in his gut.

      He didn’t think it was love.  At least not unless love was accompanied by a great deal of unease and maybe a touch of indigestion.  He didn’t think that was the case.  And if it was?  Then, Harry wasn’t certain he wanted any part of it.

      Only with you, Dory.  Only with you.  That, at least, was the truth.

      Oh, Harry flirted with plenty of women.  He had from the first moment he had become a Runner, recognizing that his handsome face and infamous charm would serve him far better in his line of work than a scowl and a hardened demeanor would – at least most of the time.  What he did not do with such careless abandon was tease a woman.  There was too much risk.

      His mother, a former maid in a viscount’s household, had teased Harry often as a child.  But only him.  With the men who flocked around her hoping she might allow them to bed her, however, she was flirty and yet cool at the same time.  She never teased her admirers or showed them even a hint of the true warmth she showered on Harry, her only child.  Teasing was a form of affection, she had often told Harry, and that was not something one offered to just anyone.  Teasing came from the heart, and hearts were precious things meant to be guarded at all costs.

      It was too much of a risk to give one’s heart away so carelessly.  Harry had learned that lesson at a very young age.

      So, as a rule, Harry did not tease.  But he teased Dory, at least a little.  She was different.  He liked her.  He desired her.  He didn’t love her, at least not yet, but she was different from the other women he knew.  She had a depth that other women lacked and, yes, there was the infatuation between them.  Not to mention her brother’s approval of their relationship.

      Therefore, Harry teased Dory mostly so that she would know she was different from the other women who flirted with him and propositioned him when they thought Dory wasn’t paying attention.  He needed her to know that she was special to him, even if he wasn’t quite sure in what manner or what words he would use to describe what lay between them.

      Oh, Harry.  Dory’s eyes sparkled as she looked up and him and once more, Harry felt the now-familiar twist in his gut.  The one where his brain knew the woman before him wanted more from him than his carefully guarded heart knew how to give.  The one that warned him that something was not right and that he had better figure out how to fix the situation before it was too late.  You say the sweetest things.  It is why I shall always adore you.

      For some reason, Dory’s pretty words rang false just then and Harry searched her face, looking for any hint of deception.  He was a Runner and he was excellent at his job.  More than excellent.  He was the best at what he did.  After all these years, he could tell when people were lying and Dory had lied to him just then.  Though he had no idea about what.

      Did it matter?  Likely not.

      She was with him, had chosen him over all of her other potential admirers, and she seemed happy enough for now, much as she had back in the early summer.  True, Dory was no longer the hellion she had been a few months ago, but being courted changed a woman.  Or so Harry had heard.  Again, not that they were courting really.  Actually, he wasn’t certain what he was doing with Dory other than keeping other, far less desirable men away from her on Frost’s behalf.  And enjoying each other’s company, of course.

      Because she was infatuated with him.  And he was infatuated with her.  And that was that.  He hoped.

      And I shall always adore you, Harry finally added, uncertain of what else to say, Dory’s sweet words confounding him a bit.

      That had always been a large part of his problem with younger women.  Marriageable women.  He had no idea how to speak to them without crossing some sort of line that should not be crossed.  He was far better dealing with older, more experienced women.  Less chance of saying something inappropriate.  Especially when they were the ones trying to tempt him into their beds.

      Harry was about to say something more, though he had no idea what, when the first strains of music floated over the ballroom, indicating that the musicians were returning from their well-earned break.

      Once again, Dory’s face lit up with a lovely glow.  Let us dance, Harry.  My card is utterly empty, save for my brother and a few of his friends.  She stuck out her tongue in the general direction of a corner where Frost and several other gentlemen were huddled together.  And they hardly count.  Not like you.

      Showing a hint of the bold woman she had been not so very long ago, Dory took Harry’s hand and all but tugged him out onto the ballroom’s dance floor.  It is a waltz and you know how I love to waltz.

      We have already danced together twice tonight.  A third time and people will talk.  This is another waltz, Dory.  A waltz.  That will be two this evening.  You know what people will say!  Much as Harry enjoyed Dory’s company, he felt compelled to urge her to use caution.  Three dances in one evening and The Town Tattler would have them all but betrothed by morning.  That was a complication neither of them needed.

      Especially Harry, what with that whole Frost and separating his head from his body should he hurt Dory business hanging over him like a constant threat.

      Turning back around to face him again, Dory’s eyes twinkled with mischief.  Come on, Harry!  Don’t be such a stick in the mud!  Live a little and defy those old dragons!  Ignore my ill-tempered brother!  Throw convention to the wind!  You know you want to just as much as I do!

      Just then, Dory’s youthful exuberance felt a bit too youthful for Harry, but he allowed her to lead him onto the floor anyway as the whispers began to swirl around them, the gossips’ tongues already wagging.  Still, he did his best to ignore them.  Dory wanted to dance a third time, so he would dance with her.  He could hardly refuse her.

      Harry could do this.  He would do this.  For her.  Because she wanted him to.

      Because he wanted Dory.  Or at least he wanted to want her.

      Though just then, Harry wasn’t certain what he wanted.

      Nor did he know if he had it within him to even decide what he wanted.

      Maybe he didn’t.

      Maybe life had changed him too much, dulled his senses to the point where he no longer cared about his personal life.  Only his work.

      He had seen it happen to others.  Other Runners.  Runners far better than him.

      Perhaps the same thing was happening to him now.

      But he couldn’t change anything, at least not now.

      So instead, Harry led Dory onto the floor as the music began and he danced.

      There was nothing else he could do.

      At least not unless he wanted to look like a fool.

      And if there was one thing Harry was not, it was a fool.

      At least not usually.

      Chapter One

      Early April 1821

      London

      When did you become so old and grouchy, Harry?  I swear you are little better than a curmudgeon these days!  You used to be a great deal more fun!

      I also refuse to be the sort of woman that a man settles for!  I deserve more than that, Harry!  As do you.  It’s a pity you are too blind to see that.  Or too set in your ways.

      I honestly can’t see a future of any sort for us.  Not even as friends any longer.  I am young, and I wish to remain so, but you…  You have become a boring and stuffy old grouch.  I shan’t stand for it!  Not when I have another…

      Those words from a few nights ago still rang in Harry Greer’s ears as he watched as Lady Dorothy Tillsbury – who was known to all and sundry as Lady Dory and also just happened to be the speaker of those not-so-nice words – whirl away from him and scurry out of Lady Covington’s ballroom as if the Devil himself was on her heels.  Which the Devil – or at least Harry, who could be very devil-like when the mood struck, especially as of late – very well might have been.  Well, once upon a time anyway.  Not any longer.

      Because things were changing.  Things always changed.  It was the nature of the world.

      That didn’t mean Harry had to like change, however.  Especially when he had finally resigned himself to imagining a future with Dory and being done with things.

      Except that, to Harry’s surprise – which wasn’t really a surprise so much as it was sad resignation – Dory didn’t want anyone to be simply resigned to a future with her.  She had informed Harry of that fact, of course.  More than once.  They also argued about the matter.  Rather loudly.  And often.

      Tonight, Harry and Dory had argued again, this time about Dory’s desire to leave the ball and venture to Dionysus, an opulent gaming hell that admitted both ladies and gentlemen.  And possessed the questionable reputation that went along with such a practice.

      Dory had insisted that venturing to the club would be fun and a chance for them to remember how they had once felt about one another without the eyes of the ton watching.  However, as a silent partner in Noroc, another gaming hell with a questionable reputation, Harry knew very well that what ladies imagined went on behind closed doors at places like Dionysus and what actually went on were two very different things.  Especially innocent women like her.

      Still, Dory had been insistent that they depart Lady Covington’s ball before the night was too old and too far gone and when Harry refused, Dory had accused him of attempting to ruin her fun.  And her life.  And a good number of other things as well.

      Harry, in turn, had accused Dory of keeping secrets, not just from him but from her brother, Frost, as well.  He had, of course, also mentioned the teal blue and deep green sequins he was constantly finding on her clothing as of late, clothing that was otherwise pale and appropriate for an unwed lady her age.

      Dory had insisted that she was working on a gown with her maid, which Harry had pointed out was laughable because Dory was not only abysmal at needlework, but Frost would never allow such a thing!  All of his sisters wore creations by the renowned modiste, Madame LaVallier, and would hardly do something so menial as making their own gowns.  Dory, as expected, had screeched in indignation and called Harry a less-than-ladylike name.

      Again, Harry had insisted that if Dory had no secrets, then she would tell him why she so ardently wished to venture to Dionysus.  She argued that he clearly didn’t trust her in the least and that what she did with her own time was her own business.  He had pointed out the fallacy of her argument since she was still a young woman under her brother’s control.  Oh, and his control too, of course, since they were pretending to court and he could be viewed as acting on her brother’s behalf.

      That had been the final straw and Dory had thrown her fan at Harry, followed by her dance card.  That second one had annoyed him.  When the card hit him, the card itself hadn’t hurt, but the tiny pencil attached to it had.  Well, a little bit anyway.  It had also injured his pride, though – more than a little in this case.

      Thus, Harry and Dory had argued.  Again.  In Lord and Lady Covington’s hallway.  Where anyone could have stumbled upon them going at each other like screeching cats.  And where anyone could have pointed out that both sides had valid points, even though neither one was willing to give an inch.

      Thus, it was not an argument either of them could win.

      Not without some concessions and neither was willing to give in.  Not in the least.

      Tonight’s argument was also a variation on the same theme that they had been arguing about for just over two weeks now, going back to the night Dory had first called Harry grouchy.

      Dory desired to do something inappropriate for reasons she would not articulate.  Harry said no and asked her to be reasonable.  She called him old and boring.  He retorted that she was young and impetuous.  They fought.  She stormed out.  The same scenario over and over again.

      It was becoming tiresome.

      Their disagreements also hurt Harry more than he had expected, especially as Harry had believed his friendship with Dory was unshakable.  True, they were probably not destined to wed, at least not now, but they knew each other’s deepest secrets – or they had once.  That had to count for something, did it not?  Apparently not, at least not as far as Dory Tillsbury was concerned.

      Funny how things changed in a year.

      A year ago, Harry also would have been chasing after Dory in an instant, hot on her trail to make sure she did not come to harm.  But that was before Lady Radcliffe’s ball a little over a fortnight ago when Dory had first called Harry boring and stuffy.  Not to mention old, of course.  No, one couldn’t forget that insult either.  Especially not a man like Harry who remembered almost everything.

      Something had fractured between Dory and Harry that night, and Harry had a feeling that fracture could not be undone.  At least not until Dory revealed her secrets and not until after Harry recovered a bit from the surprising sting of hurt he had felt at her harsh words, indicating that perhaps he did have a heart after all.

      Normally, Harry would have already been chasing Dory through Lady Covington’s hallways – he was an infamous Bow Street Runner, after all – and trailing her all the way to her new destination.  Normally.  But not tonight.

      Tonight, Harry had let Dory go, knowing that there were other Runners about and one of them would see her leave without him and pick up her tail.  It was a standing order these days.

      Once Harry had determined that Dory was hiding something from both him and her family, he had made certain a Runner trailed her at all times, even if he was with her.  The Runners might not follow her into a ball or the theater, especially if Harry was going to be there, but when she went sneaking about, which she had been doing rather frequently as of late, then someone was there to tail her.  Usually, it was Harry.  Mostly because he did not wish to be pummeled into a bloody pulp by Frost, who had implied that Dory’s safety was Harry’s personal responsibility.

      Tonight, however, Harry didn’t have the energy to trail after a pretty and energetic young thing like Dory.  Especially since Dory wanted nothing to do with him just then.

      Maybe she was right.  Maybe he was getting old.  Maybe he already was old.  No getting about it.

      In the end, it didn’t matter.  What mattered was Dory and what sort of mischief she was getting into.  Potentially dangerous mischief.

      He could also very well guess what her secret was, though he would need hard proof to be certain.  After all, deducing such a thing didn’t take exemplary detective skills.  One simply had to look at Dory and watch.  Observe.

      Harry could tell by the way Dory looked at him – or rather no longer looked at him – that she was falling in love with another man.  Her eyes were often soft and dreamy, and, had Harry been a different sort of man, he might have assumed she was developing true and tender feelings for him.

      However, Harry wasn’t that sort and he also remembered very clearly the flush that used to develop on Dory’s pretty face and the enchanting sparkle that came into her eyes when she looked at him.  That had, of course, been last year.  Last Season – back when she had fancied herself in love with him and him?  Well, he had fancied himself in like with her.  It had never been more than that, at least on his part.  Nor would it have ever been.  He wasn’t a man of grand passions, nor would anyone mistake him for one.  He simply wasn’t capable of them.

      Harry had tried to be, though.  For Dory, he had tried.  And failed miserably.

      Instead, his failed attempts at true romance had simply proven that Harry was rather the protective sort and looking after women like Dory was second nature to him.  That was his true skill.  It certainly wasn’t seducing those same women.  At that, unfortunately, he was a complete and utter failure.

      Often times, women, especially young women who were only just out in Society, mistook that need to protect for a type of love or maybe even lust.  If those women deigned to talk to him at all, which was rare.  But Dory had talked to him.  In fact, she had done more than talk.  To that end, a year ago, Harry had almost convinced himself he was in love with Dory.

      Almost.  Because it seemed like such a good idea.  It seemed like such a tempting idea.

      Tempting because he could finally marry.  He could have a wife of quality, one who liked him and enjoyed his company just as he did hers.

      More than that, he would not have to be lonely any longer.  Not that he was lonely, of course.  He wasn’t.  But he did sometimes wish for more steady companionship, as anyone would after walking the Earth alone for so long.

      Except that in the end, Harry wasn’t in love with Dory.  Nor was she in love with him.  Merely infatuated.  Both of them had been.

      Now, though, it seemed as if another man had captured Dory’s fancy and that man, whoever he was?  Well, that man was different in some way – perhaps even truly special – especially if the misty look of longing in Dory’s eyes was any indication.  The unknown man also likely had a connection to Dionysus, the one place Dory continually spoke of with what almost sounded like desperate longing in her voice.

      That, Harry had surmised almost from the first, was Dory’s secret.  She was meeting someone, likely an inappropriate gentleman, at Dionysus.  A man she probably thought herself in love with.  Possibly even believed that he was in love with her, too.

      Again, it did not take an investigative genius to figure that out.

      And maybe they were in love.  Truly in love.  After all, it wasn’t as if Dory was in love with Harry any longer.  Assuming she ever had been.

      Which was why Harry hadn’t tried to stop Dory from leaving the ball.  If he had learned nothing else over the last year, he had learned that, despite her ladylike veneer, Lady Dory Tillsbury was still a hellion deep inside, a true force of nature unto herself, and to try to stop her when she was on a mission of any sort was the height of foolishness.  Especially if a man wished to keep all of his private areas in good working order.  Dory was still Frost’s sister, after all, and she was hardly a meek thing, no matter what most of Society believed about her.

      Instead, Harry would allow one of the other Runners to follow her tonight and report back in the morning.  That way, if there were bad news to deliver to Frost, it would come from someone else and not Harry.  Again, that way, he had a much better chance of keeping his body parts all intact if something should go amiss.

      So rather than chase after Dory, Harry now took the time to peruse the ballroom, looking for signs of trouble as he always did.  Not that there ever was any, of course, at least not at this level of so-called Polite Society.  Lord and Lady Covington – or rather Sebastian and Jane since they were Harry’s good friends – were hardly the sort to invite trouble into their home and, really, Harry was far too suspicious for his own good.  But Harry was who he was and at his core, he was a Runner.

      He had been working for Bow Street since he’d been a mere sixteen years old.  He was now six and thirty.  Meaning he had been chasing criminals for twenty years.  A very long time.

      That realization made him sigh with annoyance.

      Dory was right.  He was old.

      He was also most likely boring, too, though Harry knew he could be charming when the need arose and often was.  Or at least he liked to think he was.  Then again, given his lack of appropriate female companionship as of late, perhaps he was no longer as charming as he wished to believe.  Elderly ladies and young misses found him delightful.  Women of his own age or at least marriageable age who were not already wed or otherwise entangled?  Not nearly so much.

      Harry was also still extremely suspicious, no matter his surroundings, so when he noticed a strikingly beautiful young woman surveying the ballroom with shrewd, calculating eyes as if she

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