"Oh, she will be," Jack said. "Soon as we finish the job. Lily never was a quitter."

No, she had always seen the sham through to the end. They had to eat and this was how her uncle earned what little money he had. Of course, they had never tried anything as monumental as this.

"So what is the plan?" Royal asked.

Charles Sinclair spoke up in answer. "Before we come to that, you need to understand a bit about our mark."

"Loomis, you mean."

"Exactly so. On the surface, Preston Loomis is a rather dull fellow. He likes to gamble, but only in moderation. He enjoys betting on sporting events, though again, not overmuch. He drinks, but not to excess."

"Sounds like a bloody saint," grumbled Jack.

"What about women?" Royal asked.

"The man's no eunuch. He enjoys women, particularly beautiful ones, but he is careful to keep them at a distance. He's never had a mistress."

"Doesn't sound like an extravagant spender," Royal said. "Likely, he'll have at least a portion of the money he stole from my father."

"Most of it, from what I could discover. As I said, Loomis is fairly dull. It is Dick Flynn who is intriguing." Sinclair smiled as if he relished relaying the information he had gathered. "As you may know, Your Grace, Flynn's mother was a prostitute, but that was mostly a sideline. She made her living by reading palms and casting tarot cards, a trade she learned from an old Gypsy woman named Madam Medela who lived in the Haymarket District. Flynn's mother went there for readings, herself, and she always took her son."

Royal flicked a glance at Lily, his gaze running over her Gypsy costume and straight black, shoulder-length wig-an item he had unknowingly paid for. "I gather his background figures into what you have planned."

"Precisely. You see, even after his mother died, Flynn continued to visit the old Gypsy woman, seeking advice on personal matters and ofttimes matters of finance. He returned to her house even after he became Preston Loomis."

"She still alive?" Jack asked.

Sinclair shook his head. "She died several years ago. Apparently, Loomis still laments her passing."

"The information you've collected is impressive," Royal said. "I'm still not certain how you plan to use it."

Sinclair flashed a self-satisfied smile. "We are simply going to provide Mr. Loomis with a substitute...Madam Medela's grand-niece, Madam Tsaya."

Royal's gaze swung back to Lily and she read the doubt in his face. "The man is a confidence artist. Won't he be suspicious that Madam Tsaya is a fake?"

Sinclair chuckled. "Ofttimes a confidence man is the easiest mark of all. To be successful, you must believe you are smarter than everyone else. Loomis thinks he is invincible. Add to that, he has never worked with a woman." Sinclair smiled. "And Lily can be extremely convincing."

Royal's jaw flexed. "Whatever he is, I don't think the man is a fool. I don't like involving Lily in something as dangerous as this."

Sinclair dismissed his protest with a wave of his hand. "We've been through all that before. You want Loomis. This is the best way to get to him and we need Lily in order to see it done."

Uncle Jack broke in before Royal could summon another protest. "So what's our next move?" Jack asked with undisguised excitement. He had always enjoyed his work, Lily knew, even when one of his schemes had gone wrong and they had to go into hiding from the law.

"How we proceed from here is up to His Grace," Sinclair said. "We need to begin introducing Madam Tsaya into Loomis's social circles. After she attends her first party, she will undoubtedly be invited to others. She's an oddity, entertainment for people who live jaded, bored existences and have very little to keep themselves occupied. Jack, Lily and I will work out the details. You just get her invited and let Lily take care of the rest."

"How can we be sure Loomis will attend?" Royal asked.

"It's been a while since your father died. I have a feeling Loomis will be on the prowl for fresh game. The man is a professional. It is simply what he does."

Royal leaned back in his chair. "You seem to have everything worked out."

"That, sir, is what I do."

Royal rose from his seat. "It appears our business here is finished. I'll send word as soon as arrangements have been made." His gaze lingered a moment too long on Lily's face, making her heart start to clatter. "Miss Moran...gentlemen." Grabbing his cloak off the back of his chair, he swirled it round his shoulders and with long, purposeful strides, exited the room.

Lily let out a breath. She managed a shaky smile. "Well, it looks as if we are off and running."

"Indeed," said Sinclair.

"I've got us a mob," Jack said, "and they're being fitted out as we speak."

"Good work," said Sinclair. "Lily, you and I will go over the information I was able to collect on Madam Medela. You needn't claim to know her well since you are merely her grand-niece. Just let Loomis know you have inherited some of her same talents-except that you use the stars as your guide instead of a deck of cards. You have used that ruse before as I recall."

"Why, yes."

"It will give your story an intriguing twist."

Lily liked the idea. Since she loved the stars and knew most of the constellations by name, it wasn't a difficult thing to do.

More details were discussed and decided upon before Lily and her uncle made their way out to the street and Lily hailed a hansom cab to return her to the Caulfields' mansion.

Three days later a note arrived from Royal. Lord and Lady Nightingale would be hosting a soiree on Saturday next. Preston Loomis was listed among the invited guests. If he accepted the invitation, their plan would be set in motion.

Lily's stomach roiled with nerves at the thought of the performance she would have to give. Still, she was ready. She wanted to do this, wanted Royal to have the justice he deserved.

And she simply wanted to be with him. It was foolish, but there it was.

She couldn't stop a rush of anticipation, knowing she would see him again very soon.

The weather warmed over the following week. The early March air was still chilly that Friday afternoon, but Jocelyn welcomed the respite, however brief, from the bone-chilling cold.

Her spirits were high as she entered the private, curtained booth at Chez le Mer, an elegant restaurant known for its intimate dining rooms and its discretion.

It hadn't been difficult to find such a place. She had friends among the most sophisticated women in London. They gossiped about illicit affairs, who met who in places like Chez le Mer, secretly yearning to be one of the women who went there to meet her lover.

Jocelyn glanced up at the clock, her fingers drumming against the linen cloth on the table. She turned at the sound of Christopher's familiar deep voice. He was only a few minutes late and yet it annoyed her.

"So you are here at last," she said. "Don't you know it is impolite to keep a lady waiting? I was just about to leave."

"Were you, indeed?" Bending his dark head, he pressed a light kiss on her lips, and the taste of him filled her senses. The man had unmitigated nerve and yet Jocelyn didn't resist his attentions. She liked that she couldn't dominate him as she could others, that he didn't fawn over her the way most men did.

Except of course for her fiance, who rarely paid her any attention at all.

The irritating thought bolstered her courage. She ignored a rush of nerves as Christopher took a seat across from her, pulled the bottle of champagne from the silver bucket beside the table and poured each of them a glass.

He lifted his goblet, waited till she lifted hers, then took a sip and savored the flavor. "An excellent choice. Knowing your tastes, I am not surprised." He set the glass back down on the table. "I am here at your invitation. I could be wrong, but I don't believe you suggested our meeting to enjoy the delicious food. Tell me, sweet, why did you ask me to come?"

"You don't believe in being subtle, do you?"

"Not really."

Jocelyn sipped her champagne, deciding how best to proceed. "All right, then, I shall tell you. I have given the matter a good deal of thought and I have decided I want us to become lovers."

His deep brown eyes darkened. His gaze moved over her face as if he caressed her and a little shiver went through her. "You certainly don't mince words."

"I don't see any point."

"Neither do I. But I admit you have taken me by surprise. You are a maiden yet. Or at least I believe you to be one. Your husband will expect you to come to him a virgin."

She colored faintly, but held her ground. "I shall marry for reasons other than passion. I would like to know true passion before that day comes. I believe I can know it with you."

A gleam came into his eyes and his nostrils flared. "You understand...given our circumstances...should we embark upon such a course, whatever happens between us will come to naught. Desire is all we will ever share."

She was on safer ground here. "The course of my life has already been decided. Desire is all I want from you, Christopher."

He studied her as if he was weighing the possible consequences before making a decision. Shoving back his chair, he rose to his feet. He caught her hand, drew her up beside him and straight into his arms.

"Desire and pleasure," he whispered against the side of her neck. "Those are the only things I can give you. If that is enough..."

Soft kisses trailed over her throat, raising goose bumps across her skin. Jocelyn dragged his mouth to hers for a wet, burning kiss, telling him with her lips and tongue that his offer was exactly what she wanted.

"When can we meet?" he asked between deep, drugging kisses that left her gasping for breath and her body on fire.

"Tomorrow night. I've taken a suite for our use at the Parkland Hotel under the name Mrs. Middleton."

He bit down on her earlobe as he drew her into the vee between his legs, letting her feel how hard he was. "Sure of yourself, weren't you."

She smiled wickedly. "I can't imagine a man of your sexuality refusing a woman he wants."

He laughed harshly. "I suppose there is no point in denying it." He kissed her again, taking her deeply with his tongue. He began inching up her heavy silk skirts, and Jocelyn knew a moment of uncertainty.

Christopher must have sensed it, for he paused, began to kiss her softly again. "So...you are a virgin."

She stiffened in his arms and her chin inched up. "I won't be after tomorrow night."

He laughed softly and Jocelyn relaxed back into his embrace. She kissed him again, opening her mouth so that he could taste her more deeply, and Christopher groaned. Lifting her skirts all the way to her waist, he slid his hands over the twin globes of her bottom. She could feel the heat of his palms through the thin fabric of her drawers and a soft ache throbbed between her legs.

"We'll take our time," he whispered. "I'll give you what you want-I promise you."

Jocelyn gasped as his hands eased beneath the waistband of her drawers, slid over her bottom to caress her naked flesh, gripped and lifted until she was riding his thigh and moaning softly.

"You've a good deal to learn, sweeting," he said, tilting her chin so that he could kiss her throat. "I don't think one night is going to be enough."

"No," she whispered, lacing her fingers in his thick dark hair. "I don't suppose it will."

Christopher's body tightened as he forced himself to end the embrace and move away. Setting her on her feet, he let her skirts fall back into place over her hips. "It's time for me to go. If I stay, I'll give in to my need and have you right here on the table."

Jocelyn's eyes widened at the vivid image. Unable to form a single word, she simply nodded.

"Is your carriage here?" he asked as he straightened his clothes.

"Yes, just outside."

"Then I shall leave you. I'll see you tomorrow night." With a last, hard kiss, he was gone.

For long moments, Jocelyn just stood there. She felt weak and dizzy, her body damp and throbbing. She had made the necessary preparations. Christopher had agreed. Now all she had to do was see it done.

She squared her shoulders. She wanted this-wanted him.

Tomorrow night she was going to have him.

Sixteen.

Saturday night arrived all too soon. Dressed in her Gypsy costume, posing as Lady Nightingale's special entertainment for the evening, Lily entered the elegant brick mansion through the servants' entrance. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she caught a wave from Uncle Jack, who would be waiting for her in the alley when her performance was finished.

Taking a breath to steady her nerves, Lily started along the hallway, passing the stairs to the kitchen, moving past the butler's pantry, stepping out of the way as a bevy of servants rushed by on their way to the drawing room where the party was being held.

She stopped a footman before he had time to escape, lowered her voice and slipped into the slight accent that she had used in the role long ago. "I am sorry to bother you, but I vould appreciate your help. Vould you pleaze tell Lady Nightingale Madam Tsaya has arrived."

She kept her voice husky and her cadence slow. She could do a very good Hungarian accent, but they had decided it should be kept to a minimum. If her great-aunt was Madam Medela, an old woman when she died, Tsaya would likely have lived in England for quite some time.

Standing in the shadows at the end of the hall, she could see into the entry, three stories high and crowned with a stained-glass dome. The walls were lined with marble busts of famous heads of state, and flowers in crystal vases filled the house with a fragrant scent.

Most of the guests had already arrived. At ten o'clock, Lady Nightingale would introduce her, telling those in attendance that she was a seer known for her ability to predict good fortune to certain lucky individuals.

At their weekly meeting at the Red Rooster, they had discussed Royal's plans to introduce Madam Tsaya into society and he had told them a little about the people who would be helping them. At various affairs, Royal's friends would attest that she had made uncanny predictions that had indeed come true.

Tonight she was going to predict good fortune for Lord Nightingale, her host, as well as a viscount named March. She wouldn't approach Preston Loomis-not tonight. With the help of Royal's friends, Loomis would be invited to other affairs where she would be included. In time, she would seek him out and begin to predict good fortune for him.

"Madam Tsaya! Do come in." Lady Nightingale, a small woman, lightly freckled and copper-haired, hurried toward her. She was young, no more than five-and-twenty, her smile so genuinely warm Lily found herself instantly at ease.

"My lady," she said with a slight curtsy.

"I am so glad you could come. Your name has come up quite often of late. It is said you have incredible powers."

"I am a Gypsy. Some of us can see things other people cannot. It is not so difficult as it may seem."

"Well, I could scarcely begin to predict who might or might not have good fortune." The little countess took her arm. "Come now, and I shall present you to my guests."

Lily felt a wave of nerves that made her stomach flutter. It had always been that way and yet, eventually, the feeling would pass and she would be able to do what she had come for. She let the countess lead her into the main salon, a spectacular chamber done in dark green and gold with molded ceilings and thick Persian carpets. Huge marble fireplaces warmed each end of the room.