He smiled faintly. “I doubt that would do any good. I am unlikely to convince any of the women who work there to confide in me on such short notice. But you seem to have won the trust of someone who knows a few of those women.”

“You mean Roberta Woods in Swanton Lane.”

“Yes.”

“I will ask her to make a few more discreet inquiries.”

“Excellent. Meanwhile, I can only hope that I will eventually hear something from Clement Corvus. He obviously knows a great deal about Hastings’s business affairs.”

“I cannot imagine that a crime lord would want to reveal his illegal activities to us,” she said.

“We shall see.”

She raised her brows. “You really do think he will contact you?”

“It’s possible.”

“Why would he do that?”

Anthony smiled faintly. “In spite of his business activities, or perhaps because of them, he is said to abide by a stern code of honor. Among other things I am told that he always pays his debts.”

“Who told you so much about Corvus?”

“Detective Fowler. Corvus and Scotland Yard have a longstanding relationship.”

Fowler again. She suppressed another shudder. “You think Mr. Corvus will conclude that he owes you for whatever was in those papers you asked Miranda to give to him?”

“Either that or he will want more information from me. Nothing is certain in this affair.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “If we are correct in our assumptions, Elwin Hastings has killed not just once but perhaps four times: Fiona Risby, the first Mrs. Hastings, Grantley, and Thurlow. It is difficult to conceive of such evil.”

“The business of killing no doubt gets easier after the first time,” Anthony said.

She had to fight to keep from leaping to her feet and screaming that he was wrong. No matter how justified, killing was a horrifying experience that haunted one for a lifetime.

Without warning Anthony reached down, gripped her elbow, and hauled her to her feet.

“Hush,” he ordered against her lips.

She opened her mouth to ask him what he thought he was doing, but before she could utter a word she found herself pinned against his chest. His mouth came down on hers, hard and unyielding.

She froze. She had made her decision, she thought. It would be best if there were no more kisses. But even as she repeated that bit of logic to herself, she knew she was in no condition to resist temptation tonight; her nerves were far too overwrought. She longed to be consumed by the fires of passion so that she could forget the scenes of death that drifted through her mind like so many ghastly specters.

She put her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. Then she heard the faint murmur of voices drifting through the night. A couple was approaching on the conservatory path. Once again Anthony was kissing her in order to create the impression that they were engaged in an illicit affair. Frustration seized her. She wanted him to kiss her in a way that showed he meant it.

A man chuckled. “It would seem we must find another secluded bower, my dear. This one is already occupied.”

The woman murmured something indistinguishable in response. Louisa realized that the voices were growing softer as the pair moved away into another section of the gardens, but she was no longer paying attention. All she could think about was the feel of Anthony’s arms around her. Heat flooded through her. It did not matter that the kiss had never been intended as an act of seduction. The impact was akin to a lightning bolt searing her already sensitive nerves. Everything inside her was ablaze.

“Anthony,” she breathed against his mouth.

He gave a soft, husky groan. His arm tightened. His mouth was suddenly rough and demanding. He was kissing her for real now. The same way she was kissing him. There was so much sizzling electricity snapping and crackling between them she was vaguely surprised her hair was not standing on end. His hands moved on her back, closing fiercely around the snug bodice of her gown.

She was inexplicably frantic, shivering with need. Caught up in the maelstrom of a force she could only dimly comprehend, she clutched Anthony’s shoulders, hung on for dear life, and kissed him back.

He broke off the kiss and cupped her face between his hands. “Say my name again.”

In the shadowy glow of a nearby lantern his expression was not that of a gentle lover. What she saw in his face was a raw, compelling hunger that matched her own.

“Anthony.” She shivered but not from nerves this time. Anticipation pulsed through her. “Anthony.”

He took his hands away from her face and put them around her waist. Then he bent his head and kissed her throat. His mouth was wet and hungry on her skin. She felt his teeth at one point. An exquisite excitement made her catch her breath. This was what she needed. This desperate, intense passion would sear the twin images of Thurlow’s and Gavin’s bloodied heads from her thoughts, at least for a while.

Anthony scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the door of the conservatory.

“Open it,” he muttered.

She reached down, found the knob, and twisted. The door swung open, and a wave of humid warmth flowed over her. She inhaled the scents of greenery and flowers and freshly turned earth, the fragrance of life not death.

Anthony carried her through the opening and set her on her feet near a workbench. He reached back, closed and locked the door. Then he turned to her and pulled her to him again. His hands went to the fastenings of the bodice of her dress.

She was amazed to realize that his fingers, so skilled and sensitive with locks and keys, were actually trembling. She could hear his breathing now. Hot. Urgent. When she touched him she discovered that the muscles of his shoulders beneath his coat were rigid.

Hope spiraled through her. He had loved his dear Fiona, but perhaps there was room in his heart for another woman.

Her bodice came undone. She was intensely grateful for the deep shadows around them. The thin fabric of her chemise was all that veiled her breasts.

He bent his head and kissed her throat. His thumb grazed a nipple, sending little tremors through her. She clutched at his shoulders, wanting to explore the strength and power she found there, wanting to learn him more intimately, but he gave her no chance.

“Louisa, you don’t know what you have done to me. I want you now. I need you.”

Without warning he lifted her and sat her on the edge of the workbench. Everything was happening so quickly. She could no longer think. On the other hand, thinking was the very last thing she wanted to do.

The next thing she knew his mouth had taken the place of his hand on her breast. He dampened the fabric of the chemise with his tongue.

The sense of need clawed at her. She threaded her fingers through Anthony’s hair. When his teeth closed around her nipple she gasped. Immediately he raised his head to silence her with another smoldering kiss.

He caught the skirts of her gown and pushed them up above her knees. His hands closed over her thighs above her stockings, pushing them apart.

Her pulse skittered wildly. She was still adjusting to the stunning intimacy of his touch when he slid his fingers inside the open-crotch seam of her lace-trimmed drawers. The searing heat of his palm on the most private portion of her anatomy was both utterly outrageous and exquisitely thrilling.

“You want me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Say it. You want me as badly as I want you.”

“Yes.” She tightened her hands in his hair. “Oh, yes.”

Her head was spinning. The world outside the conservatory ceased to matter. This was what it meant to be consumed by passion. She marveled at the exhilarating sensation. The novelists and playwrights were correct. This was why people got involved in illicit love affairs.