“Get into a doorway,” Anthony shouted to her over his shoulder. He was several paces ahead of her.

She flung herself toward the nearest entrance and watched, unable to breathe, as Anthony and the carriage bore down on the boy from opposite directions.

Incredibly, Anthony reached the lad seconds ahead of the flying hooves. He flung out an arm, scooped up the boy, and kept going toward the side of the street.

A moment later the carriage thundered past Emeline. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the coachman hurl an object at her. It thudded against the wall beside her and dropped to the pavement. She ignored it, too intent on reaching Anthony and the boy.

The vehicle rumbled on at breakneck speed, swaying dangerously. It rounded the corner at the end of the street and vanished.

Emeline ran toward the pair where they lay sprawled together on the stones at the foot of a short flight of steps. The boy had landed on top. His green cap lay on the ground next to Anthony’s shoulder. He stirred, raised his head, and started to lever himself to his feet. She saw that he was dazed but unhurt.

“Anthony.” She flung herself to the pavement beside him. “Anthony. For God’s sake, answer me.”

For an eternity of mindless, numbing terror, she feared the worst. The elegant knot in Anthony’s cravat had come undone, baring his throat. Ripping off one glove, she touched his skin with her fingertips, seeking a pulse.

He opened one eye and gave her a bemused grin. “I must be dead. I am obviously in the hands of an angel.”

She snatched her fingers back. “Are you injured, sir? Is anything broken?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He sat up and looked at the lad. “What about you, young man? Are you all right?”

“Aye, sir.” The lad held his cap in both hands, examining it with close attention. He looked up with a relieved grin. “Thank ye for saving me cap. My ma gave it to me for me birthday last week. She would have been right put out with me if I’d gone and ruined it.”

“It’s a very fine-looking cap.” Anthony got to his feet, absently brushing the dust from his trousers. He reached down for Emeline’s hand and hauled her lightly up from the pavement.

She turned to the boy. “Now, what was it that you wanted to tell us?”

The boy’s expression turned serious. He concentrated hard. “My pa said to tell ye that ye’ll want to speak with the valet.”

“Your master’s valet?” Anthony frowned. “He was not there today. I noticed the absence. Where is he?”

“Mrs. Rushton let him go a while back. Turned Mr. Fitch off without his wages or references, Pa said. Mr. Fitch was very, very angry.”

Emeline exchanged a glance with Anthony. “That is very interesting,” she said softly.

Anthony looked down at the boy. “Go on.”

“Pa said to tell ye that Nan, one of the chambermaids, says that she noticed Mr. Fitch acting very odd the day he got turned off. She was working in the linen closet that afternoon. Fitch never noticed her, but she saw him come out of the master’s dressing chamber with a small object all wrapped up in a neckcloth. He put it into his bags when he thought no one was looking, and left the house with it.”

“Why didn’t Nan say anything?” Anthony asked.

The boy shrugged. “We all knew Fitch had been let go with no references nor extra wages to see him through to another position. Reckon Nan figured he was entitled to help himself to a little something by way of a retirement pension.”

“Would Fitch have had access to the keys Mrs. Rushton carries?” Emeline asked. “Could he have made a duplicate?”

The lad thought about that and then shrugged. “Don’t see why not. He had plenty of chances to use a bit of wax to make a copy.”

“What do you mean by saying he had plenty of chances?” Anthony asked.

The lad looked surprised by the question. “During one of their afternoon meetings upstairs.”

Emeline frowned. “What afternoon meetings?”

The boy looked at her. “Soon after Mrs. Rushton arrived, she told Fitch that he was to make regular reports to her concernin’ the health and mental condition of the master. They used to meet two or three times a week in the afternoon in one of the upstairs bedchambers.”

Emeline felt herself turning pink. She dared not meet Anthony’s eyes. “I see.”

The boy’s brow puckered in some confusion. “I once overheard Fitch tell Pa that Mrs. Rushton was in… in… inedible.”

Anthony looked at him. “Inedible?”

The boy frowned. “Don’t think that’s the right word. It was in-something, though, I’m sure of that much.”

“Insatiable?” Anthony offered in a very neutral voice.

“Aye, sir.” The lad cheered. “That was the word. Mr. Fitch said that Mrs. Rushton was insatiable. ‘Wears a man out and that’s a fact,’ he said.”

“Did your pa give you Fitch’s address?” Emeline asked quickly.

“Pa said he had a little house in White Street.” The lad looked anxious for the first time. “Will you be paying me now, sir? My pa said I was to be sure to collect the fee ye promised.”

“No need for alarm.” Emeline gave Anthony a brilliant smile. “Mr. Sinclair will be happy to pay you.”

Anthony gave her a wry look, but obligingly pulled out some money to give to the lad.

The boy seized his fee, grinned happily, and raced off. Anthony watched him disappear around the corner.

“I seem to recall Tobias mentioning on one or two occasions that whenever Mrs. Lake offers a fee for information, he somehow ends up paying it.” He raised his brows. “It appears that particular skill runs in your family.”

“Keep an accurate account, sir. We shall settle the finances at the conclusion of the case when our clients pay us.”

She started to pull on the glove she had removed a few minutes earlier to check for Anthony’s pulse. She paused when she noticed that her fingertips were trembling. Anthony had nearly been run down. She was still shaky with relief. She had to work hard to adjust the glove.

“Emeline, are you all right?”

It was too much. He acted as if nothing untoward had occurred. She rounded on him.

“You could have been killed,” she said loudly.

The words seemed to echo against the looming walls that framed the street.

“I’m all right,” Anthony said.

“Yes, I know. You saved that boy’s life, but you could have been killed.”

“Emeline, I don’t think-”

“What would I have done if you had been crushed beneath that bloody carriage?” Her voice threatened to rise to a shout. “I cannot bear to think about it, do you hear me?”

“I expect they can hear you two streets over,” Anthony said.

“Oh, Anthony, I was so terrified.”

With a small cry, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

A small shock of surprise went through him, but he recovered instantly, holding her so close that she could scarcely catch her breath.

“Emeline.” His voice was low and hoarse. “Emeline.”

He yanked at the strings of her bonnet with one hand and pushed the obstructing hat back off her head. He raised her face and kissed her with a wild, reckless passion that stunned her senses.

What was left of her outrage evaporated in a rush of thrilling heat. She had dreamed of this moment for weeks, tried to imagine what it would be like when Anthony finally kissed her. But the experience was unlike anything she had envisioned.

Anthony’s mouth was urgent, hot, demanding. When he opened it against hers, she felt the edge of his tongue. She shuddered, utterly astounded by the intense intimacy. His arms tightened around her, molding her to the length of his body in such an intimate manner that she was aware of every contour of his strong frame.

He shifted slightly, one hand sliding down her spine to curve around her hip. She could feel him pressing against her thigh.

Two years ago she had prevailed upon Lavinia to provide some specific information on the nature of physical passion between a man and a woman. She had also given serious attention to the erotic decorations on some of the Greek and Roman vases she had seen in Rome. But nothing she had learned had prepared her for this raging excitement, let alone the size of the unyielding bulge behind Anthony’s trousers.