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Hazelwood had said “thief,” not “spy,” but Jane knew that the intruder had not come to find hidden bank notes or jewelry. She wore a warm new cloak supplied by Madame Celeste, and yet she clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. She knew with cold certainty what the search of her rooms meant, and it had been a search, not a robbery—an enemy of her father’s was here in London. She wished she knew whether that enemy came from within the government or without it, and what he had expected to find.

The little book was safe in her bag, one more thing she had left of him. She shuddered at the thought that it might end up in a spy’s hands.

Hazelwood crossed the room and offered his hand to pull her up from the floor. “The fire’s lit in the sitting room, and the footmen have gone.”

He had removed his gloves. Jane took his hand. He lifted her to her feet in a swift, dizzying pull. Lightheadedness warred briefly with the sensation of his warm palm against her skin, not rough, but distinctly male. He let go, and she clenched her fist against a humming of her nerves. He didn’t move, but stood close to her, looking about the room. “Hasty, weren’t they?” he observed.

It was her thought, too, or else the spy would have noticed that the book with the concealed letters had not behaved like the other books. It had not fallen open along the spine. Its pages had not fluttered. She found that she’d been holding her breath, and she let it go. It was likely then that the man who had entered her room was a hireling with no real knowledge of what he was supposed to find. Her mind started ticking off the possibilities.

Hazelwood stood looking at her as she clutched the little box to her chest. He had a knack for catching her in moments of weakness. “What’s missing? The family diamonds?”

She shook her head and relaxed her hold on the box, as if it were a mere nothing. She offered him a blank look. “No diamonds. I suspect the thieves were after money.”

He scanned the room again. “It’s a bold thief that enters Mivart’s.” His watchful gaze came back to her.

She made herself put the book box lightly on the table by the bed, and reached down to gather the other fallen books. Hazelwood scooped up two of them, and she stacked them on the table. She did not think he had noticed the trick box, but she could not be sure.

“You said there’s a fire?”

He nodded and gestured for her to lead the way back to the sitting room. She found Mrs. Lowndes arranging a plate of sandwiches and cups on a tea tray, and Nell standing by, looking anxious. Jane sent Nell to put the bedroom to rights and told the girl she might go to bed. Then she accepted Mrs. Lowndes’s help with her cloak, and settled on a small sofa by the hearth with a cup of tea.

Hazelwood stood staring at the sitting room desk. It, too, had been searched, its drawers left open. Hazelwood’s gaze settled on her cousins’ invitation, leaning undisturbed against the lamp where Clive had put it. The thought crossed her mind that she was imagining government spies in Lord Chartwell’s office. Perhaps her cousins had talked quite innocently about their visit to her at Mivart’s, and some enemy of England had heard their talk. There were such, she knew.

A knock at the door called Hazelwood away briefly. When he returned he accepted a cup of tea and turned to Jane, a harsh cast to his usually laughing features. “I’ve arranged for a man to stay outside your door tonight, but we need to move you to a safe location.”

Jane shook her head. Hazelwood took his duties as protocol officer quite seriously, but she had no intention of letting him or the government control her movements. “I’d rather not rely on the government overmuch, but on a more secure and committed protector.”

He appeared to choke on a sip of tea, and then recovered.

Jane turned to her entirely unruffled companion. “Mrs. Lowndes, can you tell me what protocol I’ve offended now?”

“Not protector, my dear. The word implies that the gentleman in question has not offered marriage before accepting its full rights.”

Jane put down her cup. “Hazelwood, how very challenging a job you have to keep me from social peril.”

“Forgive me,” he said in an unrepentant voice, “I was momentarily more concerned with the peril to your person.”

Jane waited to reply until he lifted the teacup to his lips again. “Quite right. Especially after we were followed to the dressmaker’s today.”

Once again she made him start and gulp the hot liquid down. It had taken her awhile to work out what had provoked him to confront Slouch Hat. The encounter had not been over an imagined social offense.

Her gaze held his for a moment while Mrs. Lowndes did her best imitation of a stuffed armchair.

Hazelwood put his teacup on the mantel. “Do you have your book, Jane?”

“In my bag.” She pointed.

He retrieved the little blue book. With a look, he made her shift her skirts to make room for him on the sofa. In his hands the book looked quite small and helpless.

She grabbed a sandwich from the tray. “Here, let me. I know where to begin. I read most of it last night.”

“Eager for the hunt, are you?”

She ignored the sarcasm. Her job was to follow her father’s guide wherever that led her. “We want to start with the chapter on a woman’s first appearance in society.” She found the page. “Here.”

The fire popped and hissed and sent out welcome warmth. Every outing in London so far had chilled Jane to the bone. She handed Hazelwood a sandwich and slipped out of her shoes, folding her legs under her on the sofa. In Halab she would have left her shoes just inside the door. For a moment, as she thawed, she felt almost comfortable. While turning the pages of the little book kept Hazelwood occupied, she considered what to do about the spy or spies. There was no question that she must take action, but she was already learning that a woman in London had a different set of restrictions placed on her than a woman in Halab. New rules appeared as fast as she broke the old ones. The sooner she could figure out where her father’s travels had taken him, the sooner she could act.

She nibbled a sandwich while he read. She missed the flat, warm bread of home with the raised brown bubbles like freckles that one wrapped around meat and vegetables, but she approved the yeasty sweetness of English bread. Mrs. Lowndes rose and excused herself. “I’ll leave you two to make plans for tomorrow.”