It was an uncomfortable thought, because he wasn’t used to misjudging people and because he didn’t want to misjudge her. Despite their beginnings, despite what he knew of her employer, he didn’t want Annabel to be a spy.

The most redeeming evidence he could point to was her honesty, which was brutal at times. He’d rarely heard a woman be so harsh about her own father.

He and Kit entered the pub and waded through the rowdy crowd to the bar. Whiskeys in hand, they found a table in the corner that gave them a view of the room. Collins was easy to find. He was a large man with a square jaw and a well-tailored but cheap suit.

Jasper fiddled with his glass, spinning it first one way and then the other. He didn’t want to drink it. If he touched his tongue to the correct place on this bottom lip, he could still taste Annabel’s kiss. It had been years since he’d sampled a woman who tasted of innocence and sin at the same time.

“If you don’t drink that, he’s going to get suspicious,” Kit said from behind a smile.

Two young women who were more undressed than not, and who didn’t seem to mind, approached in a practiced amble. Recognizing an opportunity, Jasper gave them his most welcoming smile.

“Hello there, handsome.” The blonde woman dropped into Kit’s lap, causing the table to screech against the floor. “You gents are far too fine for the docks.”

Her red-headed companion tumbled into Jasper, knocking him and his chair against the wall. “That’s a right smart shirt, duck. Looks like Savile Row.”

There was no way to lie his way out of it. Jasper tipped his glass and let the liquor burn a path down his throat. “You have a good eye, my girl.”

“I wasn’t always this.” She winked, and the painted mole near her eye wrinkled. “I’m Sally. This here is Bridget.”

Bridget was already ordering a second round of drinks for the table.

“I’m Edgar,” Jasper said, offering one of his many names. It also belonged to his second favorite, and only exiled, uncle.

“Why’s a toff like you on the docks dressed for a dance, Eddie?”

“My pal Cecil just put his feet on dry land after three years at sea. We made for the first pub we could find.”

It was an easy story to fall back on. They’d done exactly that after Kit returned from the war.

Kit put a sharp elbow in his ribs. “Eddie here got married while I was gone, and his wife is driving him mad. Home life doesn’t suit him.”

It seemed traitorous to laugh the drunk guffaw that was expected, especially in a wrap that still smelled of Annabel’s cologne if he burrowed deep enough, but Jasper did it anyway. He’d been committed to Kit far longer. “She’s got the sharpest wit and the hardest boots I’ve ever seen.” He wiggled his foot, jostling Sally on his lap.

Her heat leached through his trousers and into his knee. The scent of roses and lavender clung to her like a week-old bouquet.

“So you’re down at the docks hiding from a nagging wife and a brood of whiny dukelings?”

Jasper took a sip of his second drink. He needed to keep his wits about him. “I’m not a duke.”

The girl shrugged her thin shoulder. “If you say so.”

“I do.” He lifted the girl and turned her to face him. The position hid his offer of a gold double sovereign and Sally’s wide eyes. “Tell me about the man on the opposite wall, please.”

“The lantern-jawed fella?”

Jasper touched her cheek, coaxing her gaze back to him. Annabel was softer and more delicate. He wanted to be home. “Is he a regular customer?”

Sally nodded. “Every month. Two visits. Once when he docks and again when he leaves the next morning. He gets drunker the second time, but he’s still a cheap bastard.” She rubbed her elbow. “And he’s none too gentle.”

Jasper looked over her shoulder, taking the measure of Collins’s companion. The man was dressed as a dock worker, but he was too clean to have put in a day’s work. “Who is he with?”

“Never seen him before.” This time Sally didn’t turn to stare. “Irish, I think.”

A round of harsh laughter went through the bar as the pretend wharfie slid from his stool and into Collins, spilling both their drinks.

“Thank you.” Jasper took her hand and pressed the coin into it, along with his calling card. “Keep both of these as our secret.”

Kit rapped the table before he stood, practically dumping Bridget onto the floor. Sally scrambled from Jasper so he could do the same. Collins was on the move.

Adopting the loose joints and rubbery limbs of a drunk, Jasper leaned heavily against Kit, and they parted the crowd like a plow through wet soil.

Once outside and away from the pub’s windows, Jasper stood straighter but kept his shoulder to Kit’s. “This seems a rather direct path.”

“Regardless of how he’s going, we suspect where he’ll end up,” Kit whispered. “This way will get you out of the cold more quickly.”

Jasper sighed. “You know, when I look in the mirror every morning, I’d swear I see a full-grown man.”

“Who isn’t dressed for the weather.”

“Because I was in a carriage for less than fifteen minutes with a brick for my feet.” And a warm woman in his arms. “And I had a coat that made you frown not half an hour ago because it couldn’t be disguised.” They dodged a wobbly couple using the wall to make their way home. “Truman would have—”

“Your valet’s name is Travis.”

Dammit. Why did he have such trouble with this? “Travis would have built me a better disguise if you had told him to or written more than the pub name on your note.”

“There are too many eyes and ears in your house.”

Two too many. “She’s not lurking at doors and reading my mail.”

“That you know of.”

“She’s too busy with the Season.” Jasper smiled. He’d always thought he preferred a quiet house, where life revolved around him. Turned out, the house was more alive when it was full of giggly girls and a wife who read the newspaper after he left for Parliament.

“Speaking of.” Kit pulled him to one side of the street to avoid another couple so far in the shadows it was impossible to tell their intentions. “I’ve been called north tomorrow on business. You’ll be fine on your own?”

Jasper was always impressed at how seriously Kit took the job he’d given himself, but it chafed that he questioned Jasper’s instincts. He wasn’t a daft git with a death wish. “I promise not to get myself hanged while you’re away.”

Gaslights flickered ahead. They veered right to skirt the park and stay unseen. The cobbles smoothed out, allowing them to walk faster. Jasper straightened his posture but kept the blanket over his shoulders.

“Cold?” Kit smirked.

“The fog is clinging,” Jasper replied.

Admitting he was uncomfortable was better than confessing that the wool across his chin reminded him of how it scratched the back of his hand as he’d kissed his wife. She’d squeezed his fingers tightly, as though she were afraid of falling from a cliff—or running toward the edge and taking him with her.

Kit grabbed his elbow and pulled him behind a tree. “The chill has reached your brain.”

They were across from Spencer’s house, where a low light flickered in the window. Sir Reginald was working far into the night for a ceremonial chaplain who had only a handful of parishioners.