So, ignoring the temptation to remain comfortably at home and forgetting the danger that lurked just outside the door, Jocelyn had finished her dinner and collected her shawl from the foyer. She had not expected Lucien to appear just as she was stepping toward the door, or that he would so neatly trap her.

"I am going, Mr. Valin," she warned, attempting to ignore the proximity of his large form.

Not an easy task when she felt cloaked in his fragrant heat. Or when the astonishingly beautiful countenance was so close that her fingers itched to reach up and test the smooth bronze of his skin. "And there is nothing you can do to halt me."

"Are you so certain?" A dangerous glint entered the golden eyes. "I could lock you in your chambers until you regain your senses. Or better yet..." His gaze deliberately lowered toward her mouth. "In my chambers."

Jocelyn struggled to breathe. She had promised herself she would not react to this man's obvious appeal. Heavens above, she had sworn to forbid him even near. Unfortunately, while her mind might readily acknowledge the danger sizzling in the air, her body was not nearly so wise.

"Mr. Valin."

"Lucien," he firmly corrected her. "Or Luce, if you prefer."

"Mr. Valin," she repeated, only to discover her courage faltering as he slowly began to lower his head. "Oh, very well. . . Lucien," she hurriedly amended, not willing to risk another of those disturbing kisses. The very fact that she was finding it difficult not to lean toward that male form warned her that prudence was preferable to pride. "I must discover if any of the women were harmed."

"I can discover any information you might desire."

"No."

"Why?" The elegant features hardened with impatience. "Why are you being so stubborn?"

Her eyes darkened with an unconscious vulnerability. "Because I learned long ago that I cannot hide from unpleasantness. To cower in fear behind closed doors is no life. I would rather confront my fears, and even danger, face-to-face." She reached out to place her hand upon his arm. "Lucien, I will not live in a prison of my own making."

An oddly arrested expression settled upon his countenance. Almost as if her words had reached deep within him. Then he offered her a wry smile.

"I cannot help but desire to protect you, Jocelyn. It is simply in my nature."

Her fingers tightened upon his arm. Surprisingly she discovered that she was far from offended by his confession. Instead, a warm glow threatened to fill her heart.

"Yes, I know," she said softly.

His lips twisted. "You are determined upon this?"

"Yes."

"You will not leave my side?"

Her brows lifted at his commanding tone. Now he was going too far.

"I have been caring for myself a long time, sir. I no longer depend upon others when I am perfectly capable of seeing to my own needs. It is, in fact, how I prefer my life."

Without warning, his hand shifted to cup her chin in a gentle grasp. "Stubborn."

She grimly ignored the flare of pleasure that tingled through her. It would be all too easy to become addicted to his touch.

"Strong-willed," she corrected him.

His soft chuckle filled the foyer. "Is there a difference?"

"Of course."

"If you say," he murmured, his fingers slowly moving to trace the firm line of her jaw.

The danger in the air shimmered with a sudden heat. "I... we should be on our way," she whispered.

His eyes swept over her flushed countenance, lingering for a tantalizing moment upon her unsteady lips.

"You are always eager to be hurrying away when things become interesting."

Interesting?

Perilously insane, more likely.

"Interesting for you, perhaps," she forced herself to retort.

"I think for the both of us if you would just lower your guard."

"My guard is staying precisely where it is," she warned in what she hoped were firm tones.

"You might as well resign yourself to that fact."

He gave a shake of his head, the golden hair that framed his lean countenance shimmering in the candlelight.

"Never," he swore softly. "I will wait all eternity if need be."

"An eternity?"

"Yes."

Her breath once again became elusive. "You are being absurd. Let us go."

His fingers searched along the curve of her neck, slowly testing the softness of her skin.

"You cannot run from me forever, Jocelyn," he warned in husky tones.

It took far more effort than she cared to admit to abruptly thrust away from the wall and step from his tempting nearness. She felt bewitched, and not at all herself.

In an effort to disguise her odd trembling, Jocelyn made a great show of smoothing her plain gray gown and ensuring her expression was calm.

"I can run an eternity if need be," she retorted in thankfully steady tones.

He smiled ruefully at her swift retreat, although a shimmer of determination remained in the golden eyes.

"Ah, no, that I will not allow," he warned as he moved to place her hand upon his arm and escorted her out the door and down the steps to the darkened street. "Where shall we go first?"

"To the warehouse," she said, having made her decision earlier in the day. "I wish to ensure the children are safe."

Lucien gave an understanding nod before stepping forward and at last hailing a passing hack.

They rode in silence as they made their way the handful of blocks to the derelict warehouse.

Jocelyn was soon lost in her concern for the children and women who were forced to sell themselves upon the streets. They were unfortunately vulnerable and all too often the victims of violence. A violence they possessed few means to oppose. Her distraction, however, was ruthlessly pierced as they moved closer and closer to the warehouse. A shiver raced through her as she felt an odd prickle of evil crawl over her skin.

It was ridiculous, she attempted to tell herself. One could not feel evil. And yet, her fingers instinctively reached up to touch the amulet around her neck, as if it were offering her a warning she should not ignore.

The sensation only grew stronger as the hack halted in the shadows of the warehouse. With a stiff reluctance she forced herself to accept Lucien's help in alighting, then moved toward the narrow door. Much to her astonishment, she discovered it already open. A frown marred her forehead. The children were wise enough never to leave the door unattended.

"Thomas?" she called softly.

In a heartbeat Lucien had firmly grasped her arm, the moonlight glinting off the dagger he held in his hand.

"Wait here a moment," he commanded, his features oddly grim.

"No, Lucien. I will not be left behind."

Just for a moment he appeared poised to argue. It was obvious that he desired to keep her tucked away from danger. Then, noting her determined expression, he gave a resigned shake of his head.

"Very well," he conceded, "but remain behind me."

With a startling graceful movement Lucien slipped through the door, leaving Jocelyn to follow behind. She was careful to keep close, still bothered by that ominous sense of dread.

Ridiculous or not, it could not be shaken.

They had managed to enter the cavernous room and take several steps forward, when the familiar form of Thomas abruptly stepped in their path.

"'Ere, now. It be Miss Kingly's gentleman."

Lucien came to a smooth halt. "Good evening, Thomas. Is all well?"

An unexpected grin split the dirty, angular countenance. "I'd say. A bloke came earlier with a whole cartload of food."

"What bloke? "Jocelyn demanded, stepping from behind Lucien with a startled frown. For months she had been caring for these children, and never to her knowledge had another shown the slightest interest in their welfare.

"Oh, Miss Kingly." Thomas gave a cocky bow. "Evening to you."

Jocelyn's frown did not ease. "Who brought you the food, Thomas?"

The lad lifted a bony shoulder as he waved his hand toward a distant corner.

"He is over with Freddie."

Turning her head, Jocelyn slowly stiffened as she recognized the thin, balding man attired in black.

"Vicar Fallow," she breathed.

Almost as if hearing her soft words, the vicar slowly turned and regarded her from across the room. Even at such a distance the pale eyes seemed to chill her deep within. They glittered in the darkness with an unholy light, sending a rash of prickles over her skin.

Then she was sternly chastising her absurd fancy.

This gentleman had revealed nothing but generous kindness. First by chasing off the villains who had attacked her in the street, and now tonight, by offering starving children a much-needed meal.

She should be delighted with his appearance at the warehouse, not shuddering with distaste.

Keeping that thought firmly in mind, Jocelyn managed to conjure a smile as the vicar hurried across the floor to offer her a faint bow.

"Miss Kingly."

"Vicar," she murmured. "It was most kind of you to bring food to the children."