The Thief and the Rogue: Wicked Rogue Novel, #1

Chapter One

Cornwall 1816

Kay closed her eyes to concentrate, swirling her tongue while her mouth moved rhythmically up and down. The low sound of voices beyond the study door grew louder. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Little rivers of excitement trickled over her. She tightened her lips and sucked harder. The possibility of discovery sent blood rushing through her veins, making her realize how dull her life had been these past few months. The risk they were taking now far out weighed any past exploits. The thrill of danger, mingled with fear, made her senses sing—her whole body feel alive.

Suck harder, Charlie moaned in frustration.

It isn’t working!

Give me your hand. We’ll have to cut the finger off.

That isn’t funny, Charlie, she whispered fiercely, feeling panic well up inside her. We’re trespassing. And if I can’t get this ring off, we’re stealing as well.

Charlie spread his hands and flashed a half-crooked smile—a sure sign he was about to break into a nervous fit of laughter. He gulped it down at her narrowed look of warning. Well, we can’t get it off, so we’ll have to bring it back. Come on! Hurry up! I’ll go down first to steady you.

She gave a quick nod of agreement then raced to the window after him. Charlie swung the window wide. He was over the ledge in a flash. Kay looked down, swallowing convulsively. It seemed so high—much higher than it had been climbing up. But there was no time to think about that. The voices were getting louder. Any moment they might be discovered. She scrambled out onto the ledge, praying the trellis would hold, cursing herself a thousand times for coming there in the first place.

Wallshire Manor had been boarded up and all but deserted for three years. Just their luck the caretaker would choose today to have a look round. Or worse, the family had returned. But that was unlikely. The Duke hadn’t set foot in the place in three years, since the family had been torn apart by some terrible scandal.

Kay shivered in the bright sunlight, imagining what it might be. She took one last look round the darkly paneled room then threw her legs over the side of the window.

Hurry up, Kay! They were on the first floor, only ten feet up, but hampered by the heavy skirt of her riding habit, it was a precarious climb down the thin vine-covered trellis. When the trellis ran out, she had no choice but to jump. Thankfully Charlie was there to break her fall.

Ohhh, he groaned as she landed against his ribs. I think you’ve ruined me for life. His hands went round her waist and his lips parted as though he meant to kiss her. Charlie had kissed her once before when they were swimming. She hadn’t minded the feel of his lips on hers, but now wasn’t the time for kissing experiments.

We’ve got to hurry!

She attempted to wriggle away, but he tightened his hold. His lips curled in an irresistible smile. Has anyone told you what nicely shaped legs you have?

You’re a terrible letch Charles Galloway! Now let go of me!

I’ve missed you, he breathed, looking down at her with laughing blue eyes. The sun-streaked curls tossed about his head, gave him a wild, elfin look. For the most part he was exactly how he appeared—happy, reckless, and hopelessly unreliable. Though she had to admit, he’d grown more handsome during his time away. His features had matured, and his lanky frame had filled out from the muscle he’d gained playing cricket at Oxford.

But to her, he’d always be Charlie. Her wild devil-may-care companion whom she would dare anything with and confide everything to.

Come on! She pulled away from the warmth of his lithe body, then gave him a gentle push to urge him down the path.

Stop! Someone shouted from above.

Charlie grabbed her wrist. They went skidding down the grassy bank, then flitted down the erratic path, over craggy rocks and driftwood, never stopping, never looking back. By the time they reached their horses, tied by the shore, they were both laughing and panting for air. Her hair had escaped its pins, floating over her shoulders and down her back in a tangled mass of silvery waves. The salty breeze whipped at her clothes, stinging her hot cheeks while the gush of the frothy surf rushed past her ears.

You look like a freshly tumbled scullery maid, Katherine Elizabeth Hamilton.

Keep your tongue in your head, Charles Edwin Galloway, she tossed back with suppressed laughter, before bounding into the saddle with one graceful leap. She urged her mare, Storm, forward. Soon they were plunging across the wet sand at a dangerous speed.

Charlie’s bay gelding could barely keep up with her smaller full-blooded Arab.

A wicked bubble of joy rippled through her as she leaned into the wind, enjoying the power of the horse beneath her and the salty wind in her hair.

A few miles up the beach they waved farewell. Charlie veered south and she wove her way down a path through the gently sloping dunes. Though their daring escapade had fired Kay’s blood and made her quiver with delicious excitement, she couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief when she reached the road. Her arms felt bruised and scratched, but she was no worse for her morning adventure. Likely, it hadn’t fazed Charlie at all. To him everything was a lark.

As she cantered into the courtyard at Butterfield Hall, Kay heard the distant pounding of hooves. The thought of being followed made her heart drum in her ears. She pulled Storm to a halt and listened. The sound grew louder and louder, blocking out every other. Little sparks of fear darted over her, making every hair on her body prickle.

The sound stopped.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She stood as still as a statue, frozen with fear.

It came again.

Then, slowly, the steady thud of hoof-beats began to recede.

She closed her eyes in silent thanks. Her hands shook clutching the reins and her legs wobbled as she swung them to dismount. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until someone tapped her on the shoulder.

Carter! she expelled in a loud whoosh, staring stupidly at the dark-eyed groom.

Shall I take her for you, milady? Carter scratched his auburn head, averting his appreciative gaze. Begging your pardon, but you look all done in.

Kay handed over the reins with a grateful smile. She usually cared for her precious Arabians herself, as she had long dreamt of breeding them one day, but just now she was too frazzled to think. Uncle Fergus thought it outrageous and improper that a woman should dream of having the best breeding stables in the country, but Uncle Fabian supported her unconventional passion. Of course, he would support anything that got under Fergus’s skin.

Kay strode toward the hall, sending quick glances over her shoulder as she went, heading straight for the servants’ entrance round the side of the ivy laced, stone house. Before ducking inside, she stopped to button the jacket of her Bishop’s blue riding habit, smoothing the velvet collar with the tips of her fingers.

The large emerald set in gold glittered back at her accusingly, making her swallow a guilty lump in her throat. As she made her way through the warren of corridors and up to the main floor, she fished inside the pocket of her riding habit for her gloves. With any luck Uncle Fergus had already breakfasted and was in his conservatory tending his orchids.

The foyer was empty.

Perfect.

She raced up the stairs, sliding her gloved hand along the polished oak banister as she went. By the time she reached the landing, her heart had slowed from a gallop to a trot.

The heavy brass knocker banged loudly against the front door.

Her heart leapt in her breast. She sprinted to a tall graceful palm at the end of the landing. Thanks to Uncle Fergus, there were many such tropical specimens strategically placed about the house. She had made use of this one many times as a child. It was a good place to view arriving guests, or overhear conversations from the drawing room without being seen.

Despite the urgency of the summons, Cecil, their butler glided to the door at his usual dignified pace. The tightness of his lips betrayed his annoyance at the audacity of the visitor’s impatient knock.

Good morning, Your Grace, he said with an air of surprise and reverence. Kay froze, envisioning the Duke of Wallshire with the authorities in tow, ready to drag her off to Newgate. She dared not peep out to look, though her fear was so real, she imagined it could be felt all the way down the stairs.

The answer came swift in a deep, rich baritone—younger than she imagined with a distinct note of authority, bordering on arrogance. Is Lord Hamilton in residence?

He is, Your Grace. Perhaps you would like to wait in the drawing room.

That won’t be necessary. This won’t take long.

Very well, Your Grace.

The sharp impatient snap of a riding crop against leather, followed by the sound of pacing footsteps on the polished marble floor, reminded Kay of a hungry tiger prowling for his supper. A shiver rattled up her back. All she could do was wait and hope she wasn’t devoured.

It wasn’t long before Uncle Fergus hustled onto the scene, purring a gracious welcome. So good of you to pay us a call, Your Grace. We had no idea you’d taken up residence again at the manor.

The Duke’s tone came harsh and edged with impatience. I’ve just arrived, and to the shocking sight of a thief, or rather two thieves, climbing out my study window.

Oh dear, yes, my, that must have been a shock. I trust you apprehended the villains?

No, I regret to say I did not, which brings me to the reason for my visit. I followed one of the culprits to your gate. How many women do you employ at Butterfield Hall?

Don’t tell me one of them was a woman? Oh dear! Why, there are a number of female servants employed here. It takes a large staff to keep the hall running smoothly. But I assure you, none would have the gall to steal a horse from my stables.

How many with fair hair?

A space of silence followed in which Kay could almost see her Uncle Fergus with his hand on his elbow while his finger tapped against his pursed lips, golden eyebrows raised below his matching halo of curls. Fetch Beatrice and Amy to me at once. This was supposedly said to Cecil who must have been standing at the ready. I hope you’re mistaken. I shouldn’t like to lose either of the gals. It has taken a devilish long time to train them to our standards. Uncle Fergus’ standards were high indeed. He took great pride in his home, and was always in the processing of having one room or another refurbished. Right now, it was the drawing room.

While Cecil was off searching for Beatrice and Amy, Kay crouched  behind the palm with her heart beating fast, rehearsing a silent confession. If she admitted to trespassing, things might not go so badly for her, but revealing the theft of the ring was definitely out the question. Trespassing on your neighbor’s property might be forgiven, but theft was another matter.

Charlie would just have to sneak it back into the house before it was missed.

These are the only two girls with fair hair, Your Grace.

Kay felt a pang of guilt at poor Beatrice and Amy being herded into the foyer for inspection like livestock led to market.

She was about to rise from her hiding spot when the Duke said, No, neither will do. The one I’m looking for is fairer. She has an unusual hair color, almost silvery blond.

A long silence followed. Kay cringed, imagining Uncle Fergus digesting this information with his lips scrunched up like a prune. Silver, you don’t say. Well, I wish I could help, but as you can see, no one in my employ fits that description.

No one in your employ would be riding a fine Arab.

Precisely! I’d say you’re looking for a thief, a common criminal. Perhaps the local authorities may be of help.

You could be right. The Duke didn’t sound convinced, but his next words made Kay’s heart beat slower. I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Lord Hamilton. I bid you good day.

When the door closed, Kay breathed a long sigh of relief.

The gathering in the foyer dispersed in hollow silence.

With a groan, she hastened down the hall to her bedchamber, feeling exceedingly foolish.

Dolly, the new upstairs maid, turned her face toward the wall as she passed.

Good morning, Dolly.

The maid turned around with a blank stare.

Whoever are you hiding from?

She bobbed a short curtsy, bouncing the red curls under her cap. Begging your pardon, miss, but I was taught at the Galloway’s to make myself invisible to the family.

Well at Butterfield Hall there’s no need to melt into the woodwork. My eyesight is quite good, Kay said with a chuckle. So, I assure you, your efforts are pointless. I’d much rather see your pretty smile than the back of your head.

Yes, milady. Dolly gave her a tentative smile and curtsied again.

Kay dreaded to think what the servants’ lives were like at Lord Galloway’s. According to Charlie, his father was a terrible old tyrant. Charlie had been counting the days before the season began when he must join his father in London.

Kay detested London and everything that came with it. Luckily a bout of fever had cut short her season last year, and she had been whisked back to Butterfield Hall to recuperate. Of course, now Uncle Fergus insisted she suffer through the entire humiliating process again.

Returning to London would be pure torture. Kay hated the thought of leaving her horses and giving up her early morning swims. But Uncle Fergus was adamant they return for the season, believing it unhealthy for her to be closeted in the country without young people her own age. She disagreed. As far as she was concerned it was unhealthy to be cooped up in stuffy drawing rooms, listening to senseless gossip and uninformed conversation.

But there was no help for it. It was safe to wager, after today’s events, Fergus and Fabian would cart her off to London right quick. Kay groaned. A bet was what had gotten her into this mess. Charlie had bet her she wouldn’t have the nerve to come with him, saying how proper and boring she had become while he’d been away at school. And she, like a fool, had allowed herself to be goaded along. Not that she blamed Charlie. It was her own reckless nature and thirst for adventure that made her agree.

Still, something wasn’t right.

Where was the cat Charlie insisted they must rescue—the one he saw in the Duke’s study window, looking half starved—about to expire at any moment? Despite searching high and low, she had found neither hide nor hair of it. They should have sought out the caretaker as she suggested. But Charlie would have none of it.

Come to think of it, he had spent most of his time rummaging around in the Duke’s desk, as though he were searching for something.

Had Charlie lured her there under false pretenses?

No.

He wouldn’t.

Charlie would never involve her in anything improper—anything criminal.

Well, whatever his motives, the end result was the same. A whole week tacked onto their stay in London, thanks to one impetuous act. She loathed the thought of celebrating her twentieth birthday there. It served her right, she supposed. Suffering the stifling heat and stink of London would be her penance. That, and keeping Fergus and Fabian from squabbling like a pair of peahens.

They were both her dear hearts, but didn’t they realize, there was such a thing as loving a person to death. If their bickering and fussing didn’t drive her mad, then being paraded around like a piece of meat up for auction certainly would.

So much for Grandmere’s story of love at first sight; nature could hardly take its course with Fergus and Fabian snapping and snarling at every prospective suitor.

But, at the moment, London and her Uncles were the least of her worries. She had to return the Duke’s ring, before it was missed.

Chapter Two

I can’t believe he’s back.

Yes, and in the same room as Lord Galloway. Such a scandal...

Quite extraordinary...

Hunter, more properly known as the Duke of Wallshire, wove his way through a sea of taffeta and fluttering fans, thinking grimly how nothing had changed. Hypocrisy and gossip still ran rampant amongst London’s social elite. Three years had done little to quell their malicious tendencies or still their rapier sharp tongues. The only difference was, now he didn’t give a whit.

The feverish excitement his presence created amused him. He’d tired of society years before, and would have shunned it completely, if not for the connections it afforded his shipping business.

Hopefully Bella was as bored as he was and ready to depart.

Ah! There you are, my boy, The dowager Duchess declared, accepting the glass of punch he offered. I trust you remember my grandson, Wallshire, Lady Carlisle?

Lady Carlisle tilted her auburn head, extending a slender gloved hand. A pleasure to meet you again, Your Grace.

He drew her hand to his lips briefly. Lady Carlisle. Then, gently but firmly, he disentangled his fingers. Normally he was more than receptive to an eager widow, especially one as luscious as Lady Carlisle. But tonight he was too distracted to be tempted by her come-hither smile or her generous bosom spilling over the top of her emerald silk gown. His mind was on the manor. He was anxious to return to view the progress of his renovations and inspect the new stallion in his paddock.

Well, I can see you’re as restless as a cat and ready to be gone. A dimple winked at the corner of his grandmother’s mouth, the one physical trait he had inherited, but, lately had not had the occasion to flaunt. There had been precious little to smile about, thanks to Lord Galloway and his conniving chit of a daughter. The Dowager tilted her head and lifted one brow. I suppose I should be grateful you agreed to come at all.

Anything for you, Bella, he whispered the pet name he used for her in private against her ear.

Excellent, she teased, slipping her arm through his. I shall hold you to it.

He allowed a wisp of a smile to grace his ducal lips. He would always have an ally in Bella. Perhaps, because he was the spitting image of his grandfather. He too had been very tall, slightly over six foot, with raven black hair, and brandy colored eyes. Broodingly handsome, Bella had called him. He didn’t know about the handsome part, but he had certainly done a lot of brooding of late.

Fans fluttered in a succession of waves as Hunter and Bella threaded their way through the crowded ballroom to the entrance.

Bella chuckled softly as she clung to his arm. It does my heart good to see all the hopeful young debutantes vying for even a glance from my grandson. Your absence has served to increase their interest.

Yes, Hunter couldn’t control the dryness in his tone, That must be why Lady Patterson herded her daughters in the opposite direction when she saw me coming.

Lady Patterson is a bird-witted fuss. Bella didn’t attempt to disguise her disgust. You can’t expect her to hold up under that unapproachable look of yours. That cocky swagger you’ve acquired doesn’t help either. You frighten her half to death.

His heart clutched that Bella thought him such an arrogant sod, but now wasn’t the time to open old wounds. I’m sure you’ll have me navigating straight before the season is out, he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

You don’t need my help. Bella gave a merry laugh. There are plenty of willing matrons lusting after your title for their daughters and eager to help.

It seems I’ve come full circle then, he said dryly.

Bella’s tone softened as she tilted her head toward his. It’s time you put that behind you, my boy.

He managed to smile, despite the bitter resentment twisting in his gut. He thought he had put it behind him, but tonight had brought it all back, gushing old pain to the surface again. Everything Galloway had done seemed fresh and raw, like a kick in the teeth. Seeing Galloway tonight had reopened the wound, making Hunter feel a fool all over again. A slow burning anger and a profound sense of injustice built in his chest, remembering Galloway’s unwarranted attack on his character.

Phelia is married now, Bella reminded him gently. Her life has moved on and so must yours. The important thing is that you’ve learned from your experience.

Oh he’d learned alright—learned to beware of cunning, devious women. Phelia Galloway was a slut. She’d spread her legs for half the soldiers in Plymouth before he’d ever laid a hand on her. Of course, he hadn’t known that at the time, only that she sure as hell wasn’t a virgin when he touched her. No innocent would return his kiss the way she had that night in the garden. When Lord Galloway had suddenly appeared and accused him of compromising his daughter, he’d been stunned.

He had turned round to find her bodice torn, her glossy auburn curls falling around her bare shoulders, and her body shaking with pitiful sobs.

He was trapped.

He’d never forget the look of betrayal in his own father’s eyes. At the time it had felt like a blunt knife twisting in his heart. After that, their relationship had never been the same.

But that was a long time ago. Bella was right. It was time to put it behind him.

After collecting Bella’s carmine cloak, they bid a gracious farewell to their hostess then stepped out into the moonless night to locate their coach. The ducal crest was easily recognizable in the line of vehicles awaiting departing guests.

As Hunter steered Bella forward, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a silvery blond head. He stiffened, then watched amazed as his dandified neighbor, Lord Hamilton, stepped into the carriage behind her.

She was the one.

She had to be!

He wasn’t mistaken.

She was the one he’d spotted fleeing his house. But, who was she to Hamilton? According to gossip, Hamilton favored actresses, but he would hardly bring his mistress to a function such as this.

Hunter’s immediate reaction was to charge after them, until he remembered Bella. He couldn’t very well leave her standing alone on the street. He closed his eyes and muttered an oath. What wretched, bloody luck!

Bella sent forth a squeal of protest. I’ll have you know my arms are attached to the rest of my body.

Forgive me, Bella. Hunter hadn’t realized he’d quickened his pace and was fairly dragging her down the walkway.

Whatever is the trouble? She craned her neck, peering up at him. You look angry enough to spit, and, if I’m not mistaken, a little white around the gills.

It’s nothing... nothing. He handed her up into the couch. I have a lot on my mind with so many repairs underway at the manor. Hunter tucked the rug snugly around Bella’s diminutive form then swung in beside her. I think you should come with me tomorrow. The sea air would do you good.

Bella patted her white head, pressing the pearl studded comb deeper into her chignon. I’m as healthy as a horse. Now hand me that flask. She lifted a brow. Don’t look at me like that. I know you have one. It’s a devilishly cool night, and my blood needs warming.

Hunter reached inside his blue, satin waistcoat. I think I’ll have some first. Knowing your love of drink, there won’t be any left when you get through.

She gave a loud snort. Impertinent rascal!

I believe I deserve a chuckle or two at your expense after what you’ve just put me through. He hated these boring elaborate functions. He would much prefer to be sailing a ship or riding hell bent down a sandy beach in his buckskins without his jacket and this damn cravat strangling him senseless.

Bella shook her head, but her eyes twinkled as she tipped the flask to her lips. Yes, that was lovely, just what I needed. She handed him back the flask of brandy, then settled back on the padded leather seat. Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself. I can see you love playing the mysterious rogue.

Hunter couldn’t help but smile at her blunt observation. If Bella was anything, she was forthright. It has its advantages.

If you do charge off to the coast, I shall expect you back in time to escort me to the Carbery’s ball. It’s the last time I’ll get to see you before I leave for Italy. That gives you a fortnight to play the heathen, riding and hunting, or whatever it is you do there. I have no idea. I much prefer the warmth of the Mediterranean to the damp English countryside.

Hunter didn’t need reminding of Bella’s preference for the continent. He was well versed in her love for her mother country, having listened to many stories over the years of her youth spent tromping through her father’s vineyards. Though Hunter enjoyed his visits to her ancestral home, where he frequently did business with his Uncle Antonio, he preferred a gayer, more liberal society. Vienna and Paris were more in keeping with his tastes.

But neither could compare with the rugged beauty of the southwestern shores of England where he had spent his childhood. Wallshire Manor was the place he called home. After two years in the navy and another two privateering, he was content to be on dry land once again. The war with America had toughened him and given him an opportunity to vent his spleen, and the war with France had made him astoundingly rich. But peace had put an end to the fighting and his interests had turned to trade.

He spent all of his energies building his shipping business, never missing an opportunity to turn a profit. Still, when he lay in bed at night alone, the past returned to haunt him.

He’d had almost a year to come to terms with his father’s death, yet felt no closure. When he joined the navy, his father was exceedingly proud of him, though he’d grumbled long and hard about risking his single heir in battle. ‘It just isn’t done!’ He’d railed. But Hunter had been adamant.

He didn’t give a damn about his reputation. He knew who he was. But he had to protect his father. Even if his father hadn’t initially believed him, he had to protect him.

His father apologized and tried to make amends, but at the time Hunter was too angry and too crushed to listen. When he finally forgave his father, they were an ocean apart. His father died before their reconciliation was complete.

Returning to Wallshire manner was like a balm to Hunter’s soul. It made him seethe with anger to discover two intruders upon his arrival, destroying the sense of security he sought. Galloway was certainly behind it. There was one thing he could be looking for.

Or, so he thought. Until he’d gone on the attack, charging after them with blood in his eye. It wasn’t until he’d caught a glimpse of the one he’d tailed round a bend in the road that he realized he was chasing a woman. Not that it mattered. He’d learned four years ago how vicious and calculating women could be. He trusted none, save Bella.

But, he was determined to find out who the rider was, and what she was doing there—better yet who she’d been with. He was certain the other trespasser had been a young man. Unfortunately, by the time Hunter had reached the study window all he could see was the top of two heads, one golden, one silvery blond—an unusual color. It shouldn’t be difficult to discover who she was.

Lord Hamilton had obviously lied to protect the little chit. Whether relative, or friend, she was clearly under his protection. When Hunter caught up with her, he intended to find out what she was doing in his study—wring the bloody truth out of her if he had to.

THE CARBERY’S ANNUAL ball in Grosvenor Square was one of the largest events of the season. All of society seemed to be crammed under their glittering chandeliers. It was rumored the Prince himself might show his royal jowls.

Kay’s dance card was full before she stepped out onto the pink marble floor for her first waltz. As Lord Herrington, whirled her passed the neoclassical columns round the edge of the dance floor, Kay thought she caught sight of Charlie’s sister, Phelia. She couldn’t help wondering if the Duke was here as well.

She couldn’t pry a word out of Charlie, but according to

Uncle Fabian, Phelia was at the root of the scandal surrounding the Duke. In

truth, she was the scandal. It seemed the two were caught in some compromising situation, ending in a hasty marriage for Phelia and a commission in the navy for the Duke.

Kay quivered to think what had transpired to cause their families to take

such drastic measures. If the Duke of Wallshire had taken liberties with Phelia, why hadn’t he done the honorable thing? It seemed she was dealing with a more ruthless character than first imagined. If he’d abuse a young maiden, and heartlessly thrust her aside, what might he do to a thief?

A shiver rippled up Kay’s spine.

But there wasn’t much she could do, save keep her eyes and ears open—make certain she didn’t run into him. No easy feat, since she had no idea what he looked like.

I hope you’ll allow me to call on you, Lady Katherine, Lord Herrington said, bringing her attention back to the present. He was the most zealous of her suitors, having left his card at least a dozen times at their house in St. James since she’d arrived in London. He had even withstood the twins’ rigorous screening.

But there was something about him. It was difficult to put her finger on, except his persistence seemed disquieting. Though he was darkly handsome, charming, and a wonderful dancer, his friendship with Phelia made Kay wary.

But she managed to smile, answering in a non-committal tone, I should like that.

I hope this won’t sound too presumptuous. He leaned closer assailing her with his stale breath, But I feel very comfortable in your company.

The flush of pleasure on his face made her insides squirm. How very kind. And inappropriate.

You remind me so much of my sister.

Do I? Kay blinked up at him with what she hoped was a bland expression. How sweet. His sister? She’d suffered some strange conversations on the dance floor, but this was certainly the oddest to date. Luckily the dance ended and she was spared any further awkward disclosures.

She danced two quadrilles, a lancer, and a gallop after that, all with different partners. By the time her last partner returned her to Fabian, she was