Lenore spun to face him, eyes wide. “Whyever not? You’d be famous.”
“For all the wrong reasons,” Phin said, stepping closer to her. “I am not the only one whose livelihood is at stake here, should Lady Hamilton follow through with her threats to press charges.”
“You’re not?” The reality of the situation seemed to slowly dawn in Lenore’s eyes. She glanced around as if checking to see if anyone had noticed her efforts to draw attention to him. Fortunately, the square was so crowded and there was so much going on that one more outburst drew almost no attention at all.
“I rely on the money Nocturne earns to send home to my ailing father and three sisters,” Phin said under his breath. If he was going to make Lenore his wife, she would need to know the full story of his reality. “They have no means of income other than what I and my brother can send home, and Lionel has recently left a relatively lucrative career, if that’s what you would call it, to work in a decidedly less glamorous role as a legal clerk.”
“Oh, I see.” Lenore stood closer to him as well, but she continued to look around.
“And then there is Mr. Jameson, the publisher, to worry about. He has a family to support as well. Any legal action brought against him would be a disaster that I would not want to lay claim to causing.”
“I understand, Mr. Mercer,” Lenore said, turning her gaze to him with a contrite look.
Phin smiled. “After what we shared last night, I think it’s only right that you call me Phineas. Or Phin, whichever you prefer.”
Lenore smiled as well. “After what we shared last night, I believe you should call me sweetheart or darling, or something equally as ridiculous and sentimental.”
Phin’s emotions flashed from wary to elated so fast that he thought the world might have tilted off its axis. “I’ll call you anything you’d like, Lenore, as long as you’ll be—”
Before he could finish, Lenore gasped so hard at something she spotted over his shoulder that he thought she might swallow her teeth. Even more than that, all color instantly drained from her face and her eyes went wide. The look of utter, genuine terror that passed over her was beyond anything Phin had witnessed in his life, and he knew immediately she wasn’t teasing or joking with him in any way. Instead, she dove suddenly behind him, hiding as though the National Gallery itself had exploded and hurled shrapnel at them.
Chapter 7
As Lenore dove behind Phineas, hands trembling and heart twisting with fear like she hadn’t known for over a year, one thought raced through her head—it had only ever been a matter of time.
“Lenore,” Phineas asked in a strained voice, attempting to turn toward her, which Lenore made nearly impossible as she continued to use his body as a shield. “What the devil is the matter?”
A tiny voice of reason whispered in Lenore’s head that she was more likely to draw attention by ducking and dodging behind Phineas than she would be if she simply stood straight, pretended to smile and behave as though nothing were out of the ordinary and as though she hadn’t just seen a ghost. No, not a ghost, a demon straight from hell. Because there was no mistaking the thick, burly man who strode through the crowds of Trafalgar Square, looking as out of place as he did dangerous. He held something that must have been a map in his hands, glaring out at the hodge-podge of humanity roaming the area, his brow knit in a scowl. Lenore would have known Bartholomew Swan anywhere. The trouble was, he would know her the moment he spotted her as well.
“We need to leave,” she hissed to Phineas, grabbing his arm and tugging it, though she had no idea which way to go. Bart glanced up from his map, scanned the area, and rubbed a hand over his face, smoothing his wide, bushy moustache. “We need to leave now.”
“All right,” Phineas whispered tightly, almost as though he understood the direness of the situation, though there was no way he could.
He started toward Bart at first. Lenore made a strangled sound and dug in her heels, pulling him in the opposite direction. Phineas frowned, sent her a worried look, then glanced in Bart’s direction.
“You’ve seen someone you know, haven’t you?” he asked her. He paused, then his face flinched in understanding. “Is it that thick-set man with the western boots?”
Lenore had been too terrified to notice Bart’s boots, but when she peeked back at him she spotted a pair of worn, brown boots poking out from beneath the hem of his grey trousers—boots that would have been far better suited on a ranch than the streets of London. She nodded stiffly to Phineas, then pulled him away.
“I take it he’s American and someone of your former acquaintance,” Phineas murmured as they dodged around various tourists and locals who had come to take in the sights. “Someone from home?”
Lenore nodded again, but couldn’t bring herself to speak. She was very much afraid that if she opened her mouth, she would vomit. And that would draw so much attention that it would be a death sentence for her.
“I’ll get you back to Howsden House,” Phineas said, his voice and posture full of resolve.
Lenore glanced to him in surprise. It wasn’t common knowledge that she was living with Reese and Freddy instead of with Freddy’s sister, Henrietta, and Lord O’Shea. But of course, Phin knew everything. That was one of the things she admired about him.
They hadn’t gone more than a few yards, pressing their way through the crowd without jostling anyone enough so that they would cause a fuss, when a shrill cry of, “And just where do the two of you think you’re going?” stopped them dead in their tracks. Lady Hamilton cut into their path, preventing
