Now, Mr. St. Ives implied that she was in peril. It made no sense, but she was not willing to dismiss the notion. However absurd, she could almost feel the sense of impending doom. As if it were slowly creeping up behind her.

Amelia shivered.

Enough of this, she sternly chastised herself. She was no coward hiding in her room. If there were danger she would face it squarely.

The brave thought had barely formed in her mind when there was a sudden rap upon the door.

With a faint measure of surprise, she crossed the narrow room to discover her housekeeper standing in the hall with a harried expression.

"Oh, Miss Hadwell, I did not like to trouble you at such an early hour."

"It is no trouble," she assured the elderly servant. Although a dried-up wisp of a woman with a perpetually worried expression, Mrs. Benson had proved to be utterly loyal to both William and Amelia. "Is something the matter?"

"Well, not precisely, although it cannot be good news. I mean it never is, is it?"

Amelia blinked in confusion. "What cannot be good news?"

"That man," Mrs. Benson retorted, her thin hands wringing together. "They always mean trouble. Trouble, mark my words."

"I still do not know what you speak of, Mrs. Benson. What man?"

"That Mr. Ryan."

"Ryan?" Amelia frowned, quite certain that she had never met a Mr. Ryan. "Are you certain he has the right house?"

The tiny head bobbed up and down. "Asked for you in particular, Miss Hadwell."

"That is odd. I have never been introduced to a Mr. Ryan. What would he be doing here?"

"He be from Bow Street, miss."

Amelia felt a chill inch down her spine. Bow Street? What would such a man be doing in her home? How would he even know her name?

"I see," she forced herself to say slowly, careful to keep her unease hidden. The housekeeper was always a breath away from a fit of the vapors. Amelia did not want to get her worked into a pucker. "Did you put him in the front parlor?"

"Aye. Were you wishing me to send him upon his way?"

It was a tempting thought. Amelia did not imagine for a moment that a Bow Street runner could bring anything but bad news. And after her sleepless nights, she felt far from confident that she could deal with any potential problem.

Unfortunately, she feared that by sending him away she was only prolonging the inevitable. If the man de-sired to speak with her, then he would simply return. Perhaps it was best to meet with him and be done with it.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Benson. I will see him."

"And William?"

Amelia stilled in fear. "What do you mean?"

"The man be asking for William as well."

She pressed her hands to her suddenly quivering stomach. Had someone seen William in the alley the night before last? Was it possibly that they thought him a suspect? Did they ...

Do not panic, she chastised herself sternly. She did not even yet know what the man wanted.

It might very well be nothing to do with her.

Still, it seemed wise to keep William out of the reach of the runner. Her brother could not be trusted not to reveal more than was wise.

"Has William risen yet?" she asked in strained tones.

"Yes, Miss Hadwell. He is down enjoying a nice breakfast of fresh ham and toast."

"Would you ensure that he remains in the kitchen? I do not want him troubled by this Mr.

Ryan."

An expression of determination hardened the thin features. However rattled the housekeeper might be, she would prove a formidable enemy to anyone foolish enough to threaten her beloved William.

"Depend upon me, miss. I'll not let that man trouble the sweet boy."

"Thank you." Drawing in a deep breath, Amelia forced her reluctant feet to carry her through the door and down the narrow hall. The house was too small to give her much opportunity to compose her thoughts, but she did manage a calm expression when she at last pushed open the door to the sun-filled parlor and regarded the large, boyishly handsome man that swiftly rose to his feet at her entrance. "Mr. Ryan?"

"Yes." He performed a respectable bow. "Forgive me for intruding at such an awkward hour, Miss Hadwell."

"It is no bother," she lied smoothly, moving to perch upon the edge of a brocade sofa. "Will you not be seated?"

"Thank you." He resettled his bulk on a nearby chair, his expression pleasant but unreadable.

"What is it that I can do for you?"

The runner seemed to study her composed features before clearing his throat.

"I fear I have some rather distressing news."

Amelia swallowed heavily. "Indeed?"

"Yes, two nights ago a young woman was discovered murdered not far from here."

"How ... dreadful."

"More dreadful than you know." An unmistakable flare of frustration rippled over his broad face. "She is not the first to be so brutally slain. There has been a rash of murders for the past month. Most of the victims have been unfortunate prostitutes, but not all. There has been at least one nobleman discovered floating in the river and several less notable men who have simply disappeared."

Amelia's queasiness returned as she recalled the lifeless body that she had seen. It was a horrid image she was certain would haunt her for nights to come.

"Yes, the papers have been filled with the distressing news," she managed to murmur in low tones.

His lips twisted. "And, of course, the utter failure of the authorities to capture the madman. It has not been a pleasant summer for Bow Street."

"I suppose it has not."

With an effort, the runner forced aside his simmer-ing irritation and managed a tight smile.

"Still, I did not come here to bemoan our lack of success. As I said, last evening there was a murder not far from here."

Amelia clenched her hands in her lap. "Do you know who she was?"

"A poor woman of the streets, I fear. She came from the stews."

"I see. It is odd that she would be in this neighborhood."

The pale eyes slowly narrowed. "We presume she was lured here rather than being forced.

There was no sign of a struggle."

Amelia did not have to fake her shudder. "Poor maiden."

"Yes." There was a faint pause. "It was quite a brutal attack. For once, however, there was a witness who is willing to speak."

Amelia blinked in genuine shock. "A ... witness?"

The runner leaned forward. "A gentleman in the neighborhood happened to be on his way home when he noticed figures moving in the alley where the body was discovered. He claimed that one was a woman and the other was a large man with dark hair."

A man with dark hair ... it had to be William. But how? Surely they would have noticed this mysterious gentleman if he had been close enough to catch sight of William and herself? Unless ...

Just for a wild moment Amelia considered the possibility of Mr. St. Ives whispering the horrid words into the runner's ear. Perhaps he feared that he would be implicated in the crime and had sought to distract attention. Then, just as swiftly, she was dismissing the ridiculous notion.

It had been Mr. St. Ives who had the good sense to hide William when the Watch had arrived.

And had even risked returning to the dark to ensure that she could slip her brother home so no one would ever suspect he had been out of his home.

No. It could not have been Mr. St. Ives.

But, who?

"Miss Hadwell?" Mr. Ryan at last prompted her out of her tangled thoughts.

With an effort Amelia forced herself to concentrate on the man seated across the room.

Despite his air of boyish good humor, she very much feared he possessed a shrewd mind and tenacious spirit. He was determined to find someone to blame for the murder. I f she were not on her guard, that someone might very well end up being William.

"I fear that I can be of no assistance, Mr. Ryan," she managed at last in reasonably steady tones. "I rarely go out in the evenings. I did not notice anything."

"A pity," he murmured. "And your brother?"

"My ... brother?"

"I am told you have a younger brother by the name of William."

She would not flinch, she told herself sternly. She would not reveal so much as a grimace.

William's very freedom might depend upon the next few moments. She must be strong.

"Yes, I do, but he would know nothing of the murder."

The pale eyes slowly narrowed at her firm words. "Perhaps it would be best if I speak with him myself."

Amelia's thin smile remained staunchly in place. "I fear that is impossible."

"Oh?" Mr. Ryan lifted his brows. "And why is that?"

"He is suffering from a fever. He has rarely left his bed for the past few days."

The runner paused as if well aware that she lied. Amelia held her breath as she waited in dread for him to demand a meeting with her brother. She did not know enough of the law to be certain she could keep him from forcing his way through her home. Then, much to her relief, he allowed a wry smile to touch his lips.