She almost fainted from the relief of seeing him alive and whole. Thank God she’d arrived in time. Thank God she’d not have to spend the rest of her life mourning him. Thank God—

Griffin opened his mouth. “What the hell are you doing here, you bloody stupid woman?”

She blinked and stiffened. “I just spent the last hour traveling across London to get to you!”

“I told you never to go into St. Giles alone!” He shook her.

“I had George—”

He snorted. “George! One man! And after dark. Have you completely lost your senses?”

She thrust up her chin. “I was coming to rescue you, you… you cad!”

Tears of humiliation and hurt were flooding her eyes. She shoved away from him and turned to flee.

He muttered a completely inappropriate curse and grabbed her from behind. He swung her around, and then his mouth was on hers, hot and angry and oh so alive.

She was glad—so very glad—that he was well, even if he’d just been awful to her, that she opened her lips beneath his and wrapped her arms as tightly as she could around his neck. Sight and sound and place disappeared until it was just the two of them, alone in their own world. Her heart was beating loud in her ears. She could smell gunpowder and sweat on him, and the sharp, acrid scents made him more real. More alive. She could taste her own tears on his lips—tears of joy.

“Hero,” he groaned.

“Griffin,” she sighed.

“Jesus,” someone muttered in disgust nearby.

Griffin raised his head but didn’t take his emerald eyes from hers. “Go away, Wakefield.”

Hero’s eyes widened, and she glanced wildly around until she saw her brother, still seated on his black horse, staring disapprovingly down at them.

“You can’t take him!” she cried, and clutched at Griffin’s broad shoulders. Maximus could hardly arrest Griffin if she clung to him bodily.

“He’s not going to arrest me,” Griffin said, arrogant as always. “Not if you marry me.”

“Are you blackmailing my sister?” Maximus growled.

“If I have to.” Griffin’s gaze had returned to hers, and what she saw there suddenly made her heart fly free. “I’ll do whatever it takes to marry you, Hero.”

She caressed his jaw—the only part of him not covered in blood—with unsteady fingers. “You don’t have to blackmail me to marry you. I love you.”

His eyes flared and he pulled her close again. “Do you mean that? You’ll marry me?”

“Gladly,” she breathed.

He bent his head and kissed her, but just as she opened her mouth beneath his, he jerked his head up.

“My lord!” A soldier had come running up to Maximus. “There’s rioting just to the west of here. Shall we send for reinforcements?”

Hero looked at Griffin in horror. “That’s where the home is!”

He nodded. “Right.” He glanced about and bellowed, “Deedle!”

Griffin’s valet appeared, his hair on end, one arm bloodied, but he was standing upright. “Aye, m’lord?”

“Have the Vicar’s men taken the bait?” Griffin asked cryptically.

Maximus frowned. “What’s this?”

Deedle grinned from ear to ear. “ ’Is men are in and ours are out, m’lord.”

“Then do it.”

Deedle nodded. He placed two fingers between his lips and blew a shrill, piercing whistle.

Griffin turned to Maximus. “I suggest you call your men to you.”

Maximus raised his eyebrows suspiciously but shouted, “To me!”

At once the remaining soldiers started for him.

“Taking a while, isn’t it?” Deedle said worriedly.

BOOM!

A huge concussion made the very ground shake. Bricks tumbled from the nearest buildings while at the same time an intense light lit the night. The smell of smoke filled the air.

Hero grabbed for Griffin. “What was that?”

“That’ll cut the Vicar down to size.” Griffin grinned ferociously. “Nick would’ve liked the pretty trap we set for the Vicar and his men.”

Maximus, who had been eyeing the explosion, turned to look down at them. “You blew the still, didn’t you?”

Griffin grinned. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. But if a still did blow, it might be because a very insistent lady recently showed me the evils of gin and gin distilling.”

Hero’s heart swelled as tears pricked her eyes. “Oh, Griffin!”

Maximus grunted. “You’re an annoying prick, but I suppose I must accept you into the family.”

He glanced at Hero.

She tilted her chin up. “Unless you prefer I elope?”

Maximus shuddered. “I’d never hear the end of it from Cousin Bathilda if you did.” He leaned down and offered his hand to Griffin. “Pax?”

Griffin took the proffered hand. “Pax.”

“Now.” Maximus straightened in the saddle. “Where is this orphanage?”

SILENCE LOOKED UP at the drunken tough advancing on her and wondered if she would want to live after he finished with her.

A shout came from behind the man. Since it was merely one of many raucous voices raised in the night, her attacker ignored it. But he couldn’t ignore the gloved hand that slapped down on his shoulder. The drunken lout began to turn, but he suddenly spun in an oddly graceful movement that ended with him face-first on the ground.

Silence blinked and glanced up at her savior.

And then she could only stare. The man before her looked like something out of a pantomime. He wore breeches and a tunic patterned all over in a harlequin’s red and black diamonds. On his feet were tall black jackboots, and cuffed black gloves covered his hands. A grotesque half-mask with an enormous hooked nose concealed his features, leaving only his mouth and chin bare. As she looked at him, he doffed a huge wide-brimmed black hat and swept her a courtly bow.

“You’re the Ghost of St. Giles!” she blurted.

His mouth curled at the corner, but he made no sound, simply gesturing with his hat before him as if to direct her path.

“I live over there,” she said, feeling a bit foolish for talking with a mute comic actor.

His mouth tightened, and again he bowed and most definitely directed her in the opposite way from the home.

“I suppose I can trust you?” she said.

He grinned, which did not at all set her mind at rest. On the other hand, he had saved her, and with such a notorious escort, she had no fear of being accosted again.

“Very well.” She lifted her skirts and then stopped as she saw someone beyond him.

There on the other side of the street was Mickey O’Connor. He stood facing her, hands on hips, a slight frown between his beautiful brows, making no attempt to conceal himself from her.

But then why would he have any reason to hide from her?

He nodded, acknowledging he knew she’d seen him, and she looked away, her breath trembling in her throat. That was when she realized that the Ghost had tightened his fist on the hilt of his sword.

“No, don’t,” she said, laying a hand on his arm.

He looked at her, his head cocked to the side in inquiry.

Silence didn’t know if she was worried for him or for Mr. O’Connor. She only knew she’d seen enough bloodshed for the night. “Please.”

He nodded once and removed his hand from the hilt of his sword.

Silence couldn’t help it. She looked again across the street.

Mr. O’Connor’s black gaze bored into her. He didn’t look at all happy.

She deliberately turned away. “This way, did you say?”

The Ghost nodded and they set off. For the first couple of minutes, as Silence picked her way over the cobblestones, she felt Mr. O’Connor’s gaze on her back. She refused to turn around, to acknowledge him in any way, and after a bit she no longer felt the sensation.

She let out a breath and concentrated on her surroundings. The Ghost walked with an almost soundless tread, light and athletic. His head was up, and he seemed almost to scent the wind. Twice he stopped and turned down a different street as if to avoid the mob. Once he took her arm and urged her into a run, just before she heard shouts from behind them. Oddly, though he never spoke and she couldn’t see most of his face, she never felt afraid of him.

When at last they came within sight of the temporary home, Silence stopped short. There was a crowd of people outside the home’s doors, but she could see in the light of the lanterns they held that they were soldiers.

“Whatever are soldiers doing here?” she asked.

Obviously she didn’t expect an answer, but when she turned, she was surprised to find herself alone. She glanced quickly up the street, but there was no sign of the Ghost.

The Ghost had disappeared as abruptly as he’d appeared.

“Men are so maddening,” Silence muttered to herself, and started for the home.

“Mrs. Hollingbrook!” Nell appeared at the home’s door and ran toward her. “Oh, ma’am! We were that worried for you. Three informers have been murdered tonight—or so they say. There was rioting in the streets, and Mr. Makepeace has been beside himself. I’ve never seen him in such a state before.”

“Where is Winter?” Silence asked distractedly. “Is that Lady Hero?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nell said. “And the Duke of Wakefield himself! You can’t credit the excitement there’s been.”

Silence squinted. It looked very much as if…“Is Lady Hero kissing Lord Griffin?”

Nell nodded. “She’s engaged to him.”

“But I thought she was engaged to his brother, the Marquess of Mandeville,” Silence said, feeling very confused.

Nell shrugged. “Not by the looks of it.”

And indeed Lady Hero seemed quite affectionate with Lord Griffin. Silence was still trying to puzzle the matter out when Winter suddenly appeared, hatless and panting.

“Thank God!” He wrapped her in a bear hug, an extraordinary demonstration of affection for Winter. “We feared the worst.”

“I’m sorry,” Silence gasped. “I had to move the baby to a new wet nurse, and by the time I was done, it was already dark.”

Winter stepped back and closed his eyes. “Well, no more. I don’t think I could survive another night like this one. From now on, we only go out in pairs.”

Silence nodded. “You’re right. If it hadn’t been for the Ghost of St. Giles—”

He turned suddenly and pierced her with a stare. “What?”

She blinked, taken aback. “The Ghost of St. Giles. I saw him. He was the one who escorted me home safely.”

No need to go into how he’d found her. Winter was already anxious about her well-being without telling him how close she’d come to rape—and worse.

Winter lifted his head, glancing about the dark street. “He was here?”

“Yes,” Silence said slowly. “He brought me here and then disappeared. Why do you ask?”

Winter shrugged. “The Ghost always seems to be about when I’m not. I’d like to catch a glimpse of this phantom apparition someday.”

“He isn’t a phantom, that I can assure you,” Silence said. “He was as real as you and I.”

Winter grunted. “Well, in any case, we don’t have the time to speculate about the Ghost at the moment. Our illustrious visitors require our attention.”

“Lady Hero said she had something to speak to you about,” Nell said. “I just remembered.”

“What is it?” Silence asked.

Nell knit her brows. “Something about spinning. I can’t think what, but she did seem most insistent.”