Blood was thudding in Olivia’s ears, loud in the echoing hollowness of St Margaret’s. She had purposely chosen an hour when there were likely to be few people in the church, but she hadn’t expected it to be empty. Or dark.

She should have realised they wouldn’t waste many candles on a near-empty church on a rainy winter afternoon. The few tallow candles smoked sulkily in their sconces and occasionally shivered in the draught that seemed to come from all directions at once.

Surely if she cried out someone would hear, wouldn’t they? Hans Town might not be a fashionable part of London, but it was respectable. Or perhaps it was best to just tuck tail and run...

Too late.

The strike of boots on the flagstones matched the rhythm in her ears and a man emerged from the darkness at the far end of the nave, his greatcoat rising about him like sweeping wings. She was not surprised they called him Sinful Sinclair. She presumed it was merely a play on his family name and less than pristine reputation, but, as he moved towards her in a swift, gliding motion and she noted his pitch-black hair and uncompromising features, she understood the name better.

‘Lord Sinclair, thank you for coming,’ she said as he stopped before her, pulling a piece of paper from his coat pocket.

‘Don’t thank me, this isn’t a social call. You sent this quaint little note?’

‘I did. Lord Sinclair—’

‘What do you want and why the devil did you have to choose such an inconvenient location?’

‘It is convenient for me. Lord Sinclair, I—’

‘I didn’t see another carriage in the lane outside. How did you arrive?’

She blinked. She had not even begun and already she was losing control of the situation.

‘What on earth does it matter? Lord Sinclair, I—’

‘It matters because I prefer to know what I am up against when I come to meet a silly little miss in an empty church in the middle of nowhere. If this is some kind of plan to entrap me I should warn you, you have very much mistaken your prey...’

Olivia’s confusion disappeared and she couldn’t hold back a laugh.

‘You believe I brought you here to entrap you? Goodness, you are vain.’

His eyes narrowed and she felt a new flicker of alarm. Perhaps laughing at him was not advisable under the circumstances.

‘Lord Sinclair...’ she began again and hesitated. The clear list of points she wished to make faded under the oppressive force of his black eyes. She took another deep breath. ‘Lord Sinclair—’

‘I know my name,’ he said impatiently. ‘Only too well. Stop wearing it thin and get to the blasted point.’

‘I have some information about your father.’

The draught swirled his coat out in a wide arc about him and cut through the thin fabric of her own cloak and she shivered. He didn’t reply immediately, but the impatience was gone, replaced by a rather sardonic smile.

‘So do I and very little of it is good. What of it?’

‘I have evidence that raises some questions about the circumstances of his death. It is possible that he was wronged.’

The only sound was the faint whistling of the wind through cracks in the high windows. She pulled her cloak more tightly about her and waited.

‘Raise your veil.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I prefer to see people’s faces when they are lying to me.’

Olivia considered her options. She didn’t know if involving this man was one of her more intelligent ideas, but he had come and she would have to see this through. She rolled back the thick lace veil attached to her bonnet and his dark eyes scanned her face without any change in their expression of amused contempt.

‘A little miss, but not silly, I think. Now let us begin anew. Why did you summon me here?’

‘I told you, I have some information about the circumstances surrounding your father’s death.’

‘I see. And what do you want in exchange for this so-called information?’

She hesitated.

‘That depends.’

‘Not a very clever bargaining approach. You should have come with a clearer idea of what you think your lies are worth.

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