“What is it that I am supposed to be lacking?”

“Perhaps whatever it is your men search for?”

The surprise elicited by that statement could not be hidden. “What do you know?”

“Too much,” he said smoothly, his gaze intensely searching. Sensual lips curved and trapped her attention. “And yet, not enough. Together, perhaps, we could achieve our aims.”

“And what is your aim?”

How was it that he would approach her so soon after Welton? Surely it could not be a coincidence.

“Revenge,” he said, the word rolling off his tongue so casually she wondered if he was as dead to emotion as she was. He would have to be to live the life of crime he did. No remorse, no regret, no conscience. “The agency has meddled in my life one too many times.”

“I’ve no notion of what you are talking about.”

“No? A pity, that.” He stepped around her, leaning close as he moved by. “I will be available, should you figure it out.”

For a moment, she refused to turn and watch him depart. But it was only a moment, and then she studied him avidly. Starting with his height and breadth of shoulder, down his satin-clad form to his heeled shoes, she missed nothing. Dressed as he was, he could not fade into the crowd that milled in the gallery. His pale yellow coat and breeches stood apart from the darker colors of the other theater patrons. She fancied him as a god of the sun, a shining overpowering presence. His casual stride was unable to hide the danger inherent in him, a fact noted by the peers who quickly moved out of his way.

Now she understood his appeal.

Maria returned her attention to her footman. “Come along.”

“My lady,” he cried plaintively, stilling her midstep. “Please forgive me.” The young man looked as if he might cast up his accounts. His dark hair fell over his brow, framing immature features. Were it not for the livery he wore, he would appear very much the boy he was.