The Bachelor Bargain (Secrets, Scandals, and Spies)

his extortion attempt, we shall be able to pay Mr. Mooney the rent. Then there will be nothing stopping us from printing the first edition of the gazette and wreaking havoc on the scoundrels who seek to ruin young ladies.”
“Yes,” Etta agreed. “It is time to give men a taste of what it is to be the subject of scandal and censure.”
“It is. And it will also give us the platform to hunt down Alice’s killer and expose him in its pages.”
“Killer?” Etta jolted forward in her seat. “What do you mean?”
“I think not only did the scoundrel seduce and ruin her, but I also think he killed her.” Livie knew it was time to share the information Alice imparted in her last letter.
“Surely not?” Etta clutched a hand to her stomach. “We were told she jumped from the roof…”
“She didn’t jump. I’m certain of it.” Livie pulled out Alice’s folded letter from her reticule, a piece of paper she had kept with her constantly since she’d read the words, and then handed it to Etta. “She was scared, of course, about being ruined; however, she was also excited, saying she’d secured enough funds to allow her to travel to America and start a new life there, pretending to be a widow. Those are not the words of someone contemplating taking their own life.”
Silently, Etta read the letter, then tilted her head back up to regard Livie. “You really think she was murdered?”
“It’s the only explanation,” Livie insisted. “She was excited in that letter, not despondent as someone would be if they were considering jumping from a roof. Not to mention Alice was scared of heights and would never have gone up to the roof of her own volition. She was murdered. And Sebastian Colver’s money is going to help me unmask the fiend and ruin him completely before he’s sent to jail for the rest of his miserable life. Now all I have to do is find Sebastian before tomorrow morning and get his signature on that contract.”
Hopefully, he’d still be at his offices and it would be a quick and seamless transaction. But, somehow, when it came to Sebastian Colver, Livie got the sinking sensation that quick and seamless were not two words one could associate with the man.
Danger and decadence seemed far more appropriate.

Chapter Seven
It was the zenith of the night, the darkest point, when the moon clung desperately to the approaching dawn, unwilling to relinquish its grip to the first light of a new day. The yellow fog met the cobblestones, ebbing and flowing through the murky streets of the Rookeries, bathing all in its path with a blanket of invisibility.
It was not a night to be out and about, and even the most stalwart of those who made their homes in the slums knew to stay clear. But these very slums were Sebastian’s domain, both his salvation and his eventual doom. He knew every back alley and building with intimate familiarity.
After all, he’d been born and bred here, among the dirt and squalor that gripped the Rookeries like a vise. He, the bastard son of the Duke of Dalkeith, who’d essentially grown up on the streets but was now the undisputed king of London’s underworld, with the Rookeries his kingdom and his hunting ground.
But none really dared to traipse about alone in the Rookeries at this hour. Not unless they wished to get a knife in their belly. Which was why, when Lance had told him only a half hour ago he’d received word Lady Olivia was to meet an informant at the back of the old Malvern tavern in the Rookeries at four in the morning in an effort to obtain information on the men she was investigating for her bloody gazette, Sebastian had sworn black and blue.
The woman had lost the plot to meet an informant in this part of London, at this hour of the morning. She really was playing roulette with her life, and Sebastian was going to wring her darn pretty neck when he confronted her over the fact. And if she thought he’d go into business with a madwoman, no matter how she stirred his loins, she was deluding herself. Even if he’d been able to think of little else except those blue eyes of hers and the gentle curve of her hip under her dress, since she’d left his office earlier.
He’d never been so attracted to a woman before, and a duke’s bloody daughter at that. It was baffling, but he couldn’t deny the surge of desire that had hummed through him when he’d laid eyes on her. The desire still humming through his blood at the thought of seeing her again.
He paused and listened. The air was unnaturally silent apart from the frigid breeze skimming in from the inky waters of the Thames and brushing against Seb’s cheeks like ice. It was a sensation he’d experienced too many times before now to be fazed by, though one he knew from experience never to ignore.
Pulling his coat tighter against his chest, he continued down the path, his footfalls purposefully silent against the cobblestones as he weaved his way through the back-alley labyrinths of the area toward his target. Only one street farther.
When the knife flashed out from the fog on his left, Seb instinctively pivoted to his side with an ease born from a life of having to stay one step ahead of everything to survive. He grabbed the dagger-wielding arm as it arced toward him and twisted the attacker’s elbow backward until he heard the crack of bone and the knife clattering against the ground.
A sharp scream tore through the attacker’s throat as the man clutched his arm to his chest and staggered back.
Seb stepped toward him and grabbed his shirt, hauling him to within inches of his own face. “Now that was stupid.” He pulled back his fist and slammed it into his attacker’s side.
The man grunted at the impact, before stumbling