Two boys ambled past the entrance, intent on a conversation concerning the best way to steal hot pies from the pie cart across the street. They were followed by an elderly man who leaned heavily on a walking stick.

Just as he was about to give up hope, the flower-seller drifted slowly into view. The huge gray bonnet hid her face. A tattered cloak fell around her in voluminous folds, concealing her figure. The flowers in the basket on her arm drooped.

The woman’s shoulders were bent, but something about the way she moved told Anthony that she was not as old as her garments and demeanor indicated.

The flower-seller came to a halt at the entrance of the alley, obviously bewildered by the sudden disappearance of her quarry. She started to turn slowly in a circle, searching her surroundings.

Anthony moved forward, encircled her waist with one arm, and hauled her sharply into the alley. He spun her around and pinned her against the brick wall.

“Bloody hell. I should have known,” he said.

There was a shocked gasp. The oversize bonnet lifted abruptly, catching Anthony under the chin. He leaned back slightly to avoid the obstacle and then scowled at Emeline.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

His pulse was still racing, he realized. He was breathing hard, in spite of the unpleasant odors in the alley. Suddenly the only thing he could think about was the one time he had kissed her. Very carefully he released her.

“I was following you, of course.” She straightened and shook out the cloak. “What did you think I was doing?”

“Are you mad? This is an extremely dangerous neighborhood.”

“You behaved very secretively this morning when I asked you about your plans for the day.” She righted the bonnet. “I knew you were up to something.”

“So you followed me? Of all the nonsensical, idiotic-”

“Why were you talking to that girl on the corner? And that woman who was hanging about the tavern at the far end of the street, why did you speak to her?”

“I can explain.” He took her arm and hauled her briskly out of the alley. “But first we must get you away from here. Ladies do not come to this part of town.”

She glanced back at the prostitute he had just interviewed. “Some do,” she said quietly. “But not by choice, I think.”

“No, not by choice.”

He whisked her down the street to a small square. He heard the clatter of hooves on stone and turned to see a hackney coming toward them. Relief shot through him. He raised a hand to hail the vehicle.

“Anthony, I demand to know what you were doing. I think I have the right.”

The hackney rattled to a halt. He yanked open the door and very nearly tossed Emeline inside. She bounced a little when she landed on the seat. He paused to give the Claremont Lane address to the coachman and then vaulted up into the cab.

“You owe me an explanation,” Emeline announced.

“Tobias asked me to make a few inquiries.” He sat down and slammed the door.

“That girl on the corner. She was a prostitute, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“And so was the woman outside the tavern.” Emeline’s voice was very tight.

“Yes.”

“I trust you are not going to fob off some Banbury tale on me about these interviews being connected to the Medusa bracelet case.”

“No.”

“Well?” She removed the gray bonnet and placed it very precisely on the seat beside her. When she looked at him her gaze was somber and wary. “Why are you chatting with prostitutes, Anthony? Is this a regular habit of yours?”

He cursed softly and lounged back into the corner of the seat, considering how much to say. But this was Emeline. He could not bring himself to lie to her.

“If I tell you the truth, you must promise not to mention it to your aunt.”

“Why should I promise?” she asked.

“Because Tobias does not want her to know how deeply concerned he is about Oscar Pelling’s presence here in Town, that’s why.”

Her eyes widened, and then comprehension mingled with something that might have been relief appeared in their depths.

“Oh,” she said. “I see. Mr. March is keeping an eye on that dreadful man?”

“Yes. And I am assisting him.”

“Keeping watch on Pelling is an excellent notion,” Emeline said slowly. “He is not a man to be trusted. But what do those women have to do with him?”

“Pelling is staying at an inn near here. According to one of the stable lads, he has been seeing a local prostitute. Tobias wants me to find her so that he can talk to her.”

“I don’t understand. What can a streetwalker tell him about Pelling?”

Anthony cleared his throat and fixed his gaze on the view of the street. “Tobias says that in his professional experience he has discovered that such women are in a position to learn things about a man that no one else knows.”

“Indeed.”

Anthony looked back at her. “You should not have followed me. It was a dangerous thing to do.”

“If you had told me what you were about, there would have been no need for me to spy upon you.”

“Damn it, Emeline, where is it written in stone that I must advise you of every move I make?”

She stiffened. “I beg your pardon, sir. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you do not owe me any explanations. You are perfectly free to go about your own affairs. It is not as though we were married.”

An appalling silence descended.

Anthony struggled to pull himself together.

“No,” he said in a very low tone. “It is not as though we were, uh, married.”

They sat there staring at each other for what seemed forever. A heavy sensation settled on Anthony.

Emeline moved abruptly, reaching forward with an impulsive gesture to put her hand on his. “Good heavens, what is happening to us, Tony? All this quarreling and snapping and so forth. It is not like us. I vow, we are starting to sound like Aunt Lavinia and Mr. March, are we not?”

He turned his hand palm up and gripped her fingers very tightly. “Yes, we are, and you are right. It is not like us.”

“I believe it is their nature to do things the hard way.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “But surely we can find our own path.”

He tightened his hand around hers. “Yes.”

The heavy weight lifted. His spirits rose.

He pulled her gently onto his lap. She came to him without a struggle, smiling her glowing smile.

He kissed her slowly, deeply. She softened against him.

When he raised his head he was breathing quickly. Her eyes were slumberous and inviting.

It took every ounce of will he possessed to ease her back onto the opposite seat.

They finished the journey to Claremont Lane hand in hand, neither of them speaking until the hackney rumbled to a halt. With a last squeeze, Anthony released Emeline’s fingers and opened the door.

Emeline paused in the opening. “Look, here comes Mrs. Chilton.”

He turned his head and saw the housekeeper hurrying toward them across the paving stones. Mrs. Chilton waved madly to get their attention. Even from this distance he could see that she was flushed and breathless from her exertion.

Emeline descended from the coach, frowning in concern.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Chilton?”

“No, no, it’s just that ye mustn’t go inside yet.” Mrs. Chilton came to a halt, panting. “Thought it would be finished by now but they’re takin’ their time about it, I’m afraid. Nothing to do but come with me and wait. There’s a nice little bench in the park at the end of the lane.”

“Wait for what?” Emeline asked. “I don’t understand.”

“I just told ye, Miss Emeline, the two of ‘em are in there together.”

Emeline looked at the front door, baffled. “Who is in there together?”

“Mrs. Lake and Mr. March. Thought they’d be done with it by the time ye got back.” Mrs. Chilton shook her head and started off toward the end of the lane. “Lord only knows what’s keepin’