They call him the Devil Earl-a scoundrel and accused murderer who grew up on the violent London streets. A proper young lady risks more than her reputation when consorting with the roguishly handsome Hero Fiennes Tiffin , but Lady Josephine Langford...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Not tonight.
—H
Josephine studied the missive that had been delivered earlier in the evening. Then she compared it to the one she should have burned. It was incomprehensible that they were written by the same hand. The latest was more scribble than anything else, looking like something her father in his infirmity would have written.
Not something that the bold, strong, and daring Hero Fiennes Tiffin would write.
Unexpected dread filled her. He'd been fighting the ruffians long before she'd stepped out of the coach. He'd disappeared into shadows, only to reemerge. She'd assumed he was unscathed, but her assumption could be wrong. He could have been wounded. Seriously. And it would be just like him to worry over her wound and allow his own to go untended—to strive to be so amazingly brave and sacrificing.
This very moment, he could be fighting an infection, shivering with a fever, writhing in pain.
His handwriting certainly indicated that something was amiss. And his missive was so blunt, so curt. After all they'd shared, she was owed an explanation. One way or another, she intended to get it—on her schedule not his.
She waited until later, until most decent people wouldn't be about. Then she called for the carriage. Just as she had the first night she'd visited Hero, she had the driver drop her off at St. James's Park.
"No need to wait," she said.
"My lady—"
"I'll be fine." And then she walked away before he could argue further.
She slipped through alleyways, hid behind trees, and made her way cautiously to the servants' door. She knocked briskly.
A plump woman who wore her apron over her nightgown opened the door. The cook, no doubt, is always ready to prepare a meal at a moment's notice.
"I need to see his lordship," Josephine said.
"He's not receiving guests."
"Is he home?"
The woman hesitated.
"It's important that I see him." Josephine brushed past the woman, ignoring her protests.
"Mr. Fitz! Mr. Fitz!" the cook screeched.
Josephine would never tolerate such caterwauling in her household. Hero needed a wife, and before the thought had reached its end, she remembered that his acquisition of a wife was uppermost in his mind. Otherwise, they'd not now be in partnership.
The butler walked into the kitchen, his eyes widening in surprise when he spotted Josephine.
"I need to see Hero," Josephine announced without preamble.
