“That’s how it is,” Lily translated softly. “Who are ‘they,’ Giuseppe? Do ‘they’ have something to do with Nicole and this extortion?”

He looked annoyed, as if he had said more than he should have. “Give the money to me.”

“I won’t do this anymore,” Lily said stiffly, her white face framed by the hood of her dark cloak, her eyes bright with strain. “I can’t, Giuseppe. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I came to London when you told me to. I’ve given you everything I have, without one shred of proof that Nicole is alive. The only thing you’ve ever given me is the little dress she was wearing when you took her.”

“You doubt I still ’ave Nicoletta?” Giuseppe asked silkily.

“Yes, I doubt it.” Lily swallowed painfully. “I think she may be dead.”

“You ’ave my word she is not.”

“Well.” Lily gave a contemptuous laugh. “Forgive me if I don’t find your word all that reliable.”

“You are wrong to say this to me, cara,” Giuseppe said with an insufferably smug expression. “Some’ow I t’ink to myself tonight, I should bring with me proof that Nicoletta is safe. I do not wish you to doubt me. I t’ink maybe I show you somet’ing, that make you believe my word.” He glanced back over his shoulder, toward the twisted maze of alleys.

Puzzled, Lily followed his gaze. He called out something in Italian, using a dialect so obscure that even she, with all her fluency in the language, couldn’t follow it. Gradually a dark, shrouded shape appeared several yards away, seeming to materialize from nothing. Lily stared at the strange apparition, her lips parting in wonder.

“È lei,” Giuseppe said complacently. “What do you ’ave to say now, cara?”

Lily’s body quaked as she realized the distant figure was a man, holding up a small, doll-like form. His hands were hooked underneath the child’s arms. He raised her a little higher, and the little girl’s black hair glowed like polished onyx against the lavender-gray sky. “No,” Lily croaked, her heart pounding in a frantic drumbeat.

The child stared at Giuseppe and called out in a tiny, questioning voice. “Papà? Siete voi, Papà?”

It was her daughter. It was Nicole. Lily dropped her satchel and staggered forward. Giuseppe caught her hard against him, clamping his hand over her mouth to smother her agonized scream. She fought wildly, flailing against his restraining arm, her eyes flooding. Whimpering behind his hand, she blinked to clear the tears that blurred her vision. Giuseppe’s voice was a quiet hiss in her ear. “Sì, that is Nicoletta, our baby. È molto carina, yes? Such a pretty child.”

At Giuseppe’s nod, the man disappeared with the child, melting into the darkness. Giuseppe waited for half a minute before releasing Lily, until all chance of following her daughter through the convoluted streets and alleys was gone. His arms withdrew from around her.

Lily relaxed slowly, still crying. “My God,” she sobbed, wrapping her arms around her middle, her shoulders hunched like an old woman’s.

“I tell you I ’ave her,” Giuseppe said, picking up the satchel of money, lifting the flap to view the contents. He sighed in satisfaction.

“Sh-she spoke in Italian,” Lily gulped, staring at the place where her daughter had been.

“She speak in English too.”

“Are there other Italians where you’re keeping her?” she asked unevenly. “Is that why she still knows the language?”

He regarded her with a gleaming black stare. “You make me angry if you try again to look for ’er.”

“Giuseppe, we could make an arrangement, you and I. There must be an amount that would satisfy you enough to…” Lily’s voice wavered dangerously. She fought to keep it under control. “To give her back to me. You know this can’t go on forever. You s-seem to care about Nicole. In your heart you must know she would be better off with me. That man who held her…is he a partner of yours? Are there more like him? You wouldn’t have come here alone from Italy, without some cadre or group to associate with. I think…” She reached out a beseeching hand to him. “I think you’re involved in some underworld gang, or conspiracy, whatever you wish to call it. That’s the only conclusion that makes sense. The money I’ve given you…they’ve taken a great deal of it, haven’t they? If anything I’ve heard about these gangs is true, then you’re in a dangerous situation, Giuseppe, and you can’t wish to expose Nicole to harm—”

“You see for yourself that I ’ave kept ’er safe,” Giuseppe exclaimed sharply.

“Yes. But for how long? How safe are you, Giuseppe? Perhaps you should consider making an arrangement with me, for your own sake as well as hers.” Her hatred of him was thick in her throat, nearly choking her, but she managed to keep it from showing. Seeing the interest in his eyes, she continued quietly. “We could agree on an amount that would satisfy your needs. The three of us would be better off—you, me, and most importantly our daughter. Please, Giuseppe.” The word was bitter on her tongue, but she repeated it softly. “Please.”

He did not reply for a long time, his avid gaze wandering over her. “For the first time you ask me somet’ing like a woman,” he commented. “So soft, so sweet. Per’aps you ’ave learn this in Lord Raiford’s bed, no?”

Lily froze. “You know about that?” she whispered painfully.

“I know you ’ave become Raiford’s whore,” he murmured, his voice silky. “Maybe you change since our time together. Maybe now you ’ave something to give a man.”

Her soul revolted against the note in his voice. “How did you find out?”

“I know everything you do, cara. Every place you go.” He touched her face, sliding his hot fingers beneath her chin.

Passively she accepted his caress, but inside she shrank with revulsion. The brush of his fingers on her skin was sickening. She suppressed a shiver of disgust. “Would you consider what I’ve said?” she asked unsteadily.

“Per’aps.”

“Then let’s talk about the amount you require.”

He chuckled at her bluntness and shook his head. “Later.”

“When? When will we meet again?”

“Fra poco. I send you a note to say.”

“No.” Lily reached for him as he drew apart from her. “I must know right away. Let’s agree on something now—”

“Patience,” he drawled, evading her hand, and grinned tauntingly. “A più tardi, Lily.” With a gesture of farewell, he left quickly.

“It’s been a real pleasure,” she said, bitterly wiping away her welling tears. She felt like falling to the ground, screaming and kicking in furious grief. Instead she stood like a statue, her fists clenched. Beneath her bleak despair, there was a flicker of exhilaration. She had seen her daughter, and there was no doubt it had been Nicole. Hungrily she remembered the beautiful little face, the doll-like fragility of her child. “God, keep her safe, keep her safe,” she whispered.

She walked back to the small Arabian gelding Derek had loaned to her, and stroked the horse’s shining chestnut hide. Her mind raced with frenzied thoughts. Blindly she swung onto the mount and arranged her skirts and cloak. On impulse she walked the horse along the route Giuseppe had taken, deeper into the no-man’s land where police never dared to patrol, night or day. The dark streets of the rookery were lively with gaming, whoring, and every criminal offense from pickpocketing to murder. With its multitude of hideaways, blind alleys, and shadowed corners, it was the perfect breeding place for corruption. This was the world her child was living in.

At the sight of the fine horse and richly cloaked figure, vagrants began to approach Lily, reaching their grasping hands toward her. As one of them gripped her riding boot, she recoiled in fear and spurred the horse to a trot. What a fool she was, venturing into such a place without weapons or protection, courting danger for no reason. She wasn’t thinking clearly. Turning the chestnut gelding down a side street, she headed back to the relative safety of Covent Garden.

The sounds of a violent tumult came to her ears, growing stronger as she approached the end of the street. Small groups of men, some of them in rags and some finely dressed, wandered between the rickety wooden buildings. They seemed to be attending some sort of exhibition. Lily frowned as she heard the muffled barking and snarling of dogs. Animal baiting, she thought in disgust. Men were fascinated and excited by the bloodthirsty sport, putting animals in a pen with vicious dogs and watching them destroy each other. She wondered what kind of beast was being slaughtered for tonight’s entertainment. The latest craze was to throw badgers to the dogs. The tough-skinned badgers, with their vicious bites and fierce resistance to death, provided an enjoyable spectacle for the brutish audience. Cautiously she cut between two buildings to avoid the spectacle, knowing that the men who attended such events were easily incited to violence. She wouldn’t care to be discovered by any of them.

The wild bellowing of the men at the animal baiting blasted through the wooden walls of a converted stable yard. Amid a crowded lot of carts, wagons, and empty stalls, a small boy crouched on the ground, his head resting on his bent knees. His shoulders trembled, as if he were crying. Against her better judgment, Lily eased her horse to a halt. “Boy,” she said, a questioning lilt to her voice.

He looked up at her, revealing a dirty, tear-streaked face. He was thin and pale, his features pointed. It was possible he was the same age as Henry, eleven or twelve, but his growth had been stunted by malnourishment or disease. At the sight of her on the gleaming horse, his tears stopped and his mouth fell open.

“Why are you crying?” Lily asked softly.

“I ain’t crying,” he returned, smearing the wet grime on his face with a ragged sleeve.

“Has someone hurt you?”

“Naw.”

“Are you waiting for someone in there?” She gestured to the wooden wall, which reverberated from the noise within.

“Aye. They’re coming soon to take ’im.” The boy pointed to the back of a painted wagon. The rickety vehicle bore the name of a traveling circus. A dappled gray nag was hitched in front of the wagon, a scrawny, wiry animal that did not look at all healthy.

“Him?” Lily asked in bewilderment, dismounting from her horse. The boy stood up, keeping a respectful distance from her, and led her to the side of the wagon. Lily gasped as she saw the bars on the side of the wagon, and the matted, furry face of a bear. “Damnation!” she couldn’t help exclaiming.

The bear rested his great head on his paws. His brows quirked at her, giving him a mournful, questioning expression. “ ’E won’t hurt you,” the boy said defensively, reaching in and rubbing the creature’s head. “E’s a good old fellow.”

“Old, indeed,” Lily said, staring at the bear in fascination. His fur was rough and filthy, liberally strewn with gray. There were several large bald patches on his neck and body, gleams of whiteness among the dark fur.

The boy continued to rub the bear’s head. “You can touch ’im.”

Cautiously Lily reached between the bars, ready to snatch her hand back at any second. The bear breathed placidly, his eyes half-closed. She gave his broad head a gentle stroke, and regarded the massive creature pityingly. “I’ve never touched a bear before,” she murmured. “Not a live one.”

The boy sniffled beside her. “Not for long, ’e won’t be.”

“You’re from the circus?” Lily asked, reading the side of the wagon.

“Aye. My father is the animal master. Pokey don’t remember ’is tricks no more. My father told me to bring ’im ’ere and sell ’im for ten pounds.”

“So they can bait him?” Lily asked, her indignation rising. They would chain him to the floor and let the dogs tear him to pieces.

“Aye,” the boy said miserably. “First they start with rats and badgers, to whip the dogs up. Then it’s Pokey’s turn.”

Lily was outraged. “There’ll be no sport in it. He’s too damned old to defend himself!” She stared at the bear and realized that the bald patches were shaved spots, indicating the vulnerable areas where the dogs would be drawn to attack and tear with their teeth. He had been prepared for slaughter.

“I can’t go ’ome without ten pounds,” the boy sobbed. “My father would beat me.”

Lily looked away from his miserable face. There was nothing she could do, except hope the dogs would make short work of the bear, so that his suffering wouldn’t last long. “What a night,” she muttered. The world was filled with brutality. It was useless to try and fight against it. The sight of the defeated, helpless animal filled her with bitterness. “I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice, and turned back to her horse. There was nothing she could do.

“ ’Ere’s the gundiguts now,” the boy muttered.

Lily stared over her horse’s back at a huge, slovenly man approaching them. He had the neck of a bull and arms the size of tree trunks. His face was covered with black bristle and his thick lips opened to reveal broken teeth clamped on a cigar. “Where are ye, little rumper?” he demanded in a booming voice. His eyes slitted in curiosity as he saw the fine Arabian horse. “What’s this?” He strode around the animal, staring at Lily. His gaze took in her elegant cloak, the soft folds of her yellow skirts, the lustrous sable curls that fell over her forehead. “What a fine bit o’ fluff,” he said, setting his lips. “Are ye a giver, milady?”

Lily gave a crude reply that made him laugh uproariously. His gaze alighted on the boy. “Brung the meat, did ye? Give us a look.” The sight of the docile bear huddled inside the wagon caused his thick lip to curl disdainfully. “Big lump o’ dog paste…looks like he’s already been through a baiting! And yer father asks a tenner for this?”

The boy’s face quivered with repressed emotion. “Yes, sir.”

Lily could tolerate no more of the man’s bullying. There was enough cruelty and needless suffering in the world. She’d be damned if she’d let him torture a tired old bear. “I’ll pay ten pounds for him. It’s obvious the poor animal wouldn’t be of use to you, Mr. Gundiguts.” With a businesslike expression that matched her crisp tone, she fished discreetly in her bodice for a small money pouch.