“I saw no folly tonight,” a quiet voice replied. “Only perhaps a bit of fancy.”

The voice was low and rough, coming from the edge of the garden. A man’s voice, not a boy’s. Coming from the other side of the wall? She couldn’t tell for certain. But whoever was watching her, she didn’t sense him moving away.

“Are you planning to kidnap me?” She cocked her head, stepping closer to the edge of darkness. “I’ll warn you, I’m consumptive. I’ll probably make you sick if you try.”

“My kind don’t fall ill easily.”

She froze. “Your kind?”

“Who were you talking to? The moon? God? Perhaps the fairies?”

“None of them, I think. Death, maybe.”

He sounded amused when he said, “’Tis a foolish woman who courts Death. He is the most jealous lover.”

Josephine stopped at the edge of the grass, not wanting to discover his secret. Whoever he was—servant or tramp, beggar or gentleman—she didn’t feel fear. He had heard her, and she was grateful.

Josephine offered a sad smile into the shadows. “As I don’t have any other lover, I suppose Death can have me.”

She thought he came closer, though she had no idea why.

“Are you afraid to die?” her shadowed friend asked.

“No.”

He waited.

“Yes,” she whispered into his silence. “Everyone is.”

A silent pause, then a murmur so close she felt his breath on her neck.

“Goodnight, Josephine.”

But when she spun around, he was gone.

Chapter Three

GIRLS ARE CATERPILLARS when they live in the world…

Tom tried not to fidget in the carriage on the way to Shaw’s town house. Girls might be caterpillars according to Miss Shaw, but Tom felt like he was the one wrapped in a cocoon. The amount of clothing he’d been forced to don was verging on torture.

Normally he’d be able to get by with a more casual suit, even when socializing among Murphy’s cronies. Tom Dargin hardly spoke. He was known as the stern older brother with dubious connections and a noted air of violence. Gentlemen respected him, greeted him properly if they met at clubs, but kept their distance.

Unfortunately, his sire’s mate and valet had gotten ahold of him and forced Tom into his most formal attire.

He was miserable.

“You look very handsome,” Anne said, leaning forward. “Please stop fidgeting.”

“I’m a league off of handsome, Annie. And I’m not fidgeting.”

“You’ve nearly torn the hem of that waistcoat. And if you cross your arms again, you’re liable to tear the seams of that coat across the shoulders. Relax.”

Relax? Tom had faced monsters in the boxing ring that unnerved him less than the thought of meeting a proper lady like Josephine Shaw. Especially when he already knew what the woman looked like in her dressing gown.

Did it bother him that his possible betrothed might be slightly insane? He hadn’t quite decided yet. He thought probably not. Some of the most interesting people he’d known were a bit gone in the head, and he’d hardly be bored with her should she decide on him.

What he didn’t like was that the decision was entirely in Josephine Shaw’s hands. He’d promised to offer for the woman if she wanted him. Oddly enough, the thought that she might not was what made him worry his waistcoat. Because—and this had kept him pacing for three nights—Miss Shaw had surprised him by being entirely more desirable than anticipated.

“We’re here.”

Murphy’s words pulled him from his mental dithering. The carriage jerked to a halt and the door opened. Tom had to stop himself from exiting first and looking around for threats. This wasn’t a meeting with Beecham where vampires might be waiting with swords. This was a civilized dinner party with Murphy’s mate, his new business partner, and a woman who ran around in her garden in the middle of the night quoting morbid poetry.

“Feck me,” Tom muttered as he disembarked from the carriage. Murphy and Anne were waiting at the foot of the stairs. Declan—the sorry little ninny—had begged off.

Anne scowled. “You absolutely must not use language like that in front of Miss Shaw.”

“She might like it,” Tom said. “You’d be surprised at the ladies who do.”

Murphy covered a smile with cough and put his arm out for Anne. “Come now, Anne. Tom knows how to speak with a lady.”

“No, I don’t.”

“And he’ll even use a knife and fork when it’s necessary,” Murphy said.

“I promise not to stab anyone unless they try to steal my food,” Tom added.

Anne shook her head. “I don’t know why I put up with you scoundrels.”

Murphy leaned closer to his mate and whispered something that would have made Tom blush if he could.

“Oh,” Anne said in a slightly higher voice. “Yes, that’s why. Well, God help Miss Shaw anyway if she likes you, Tom. I know you’re as bad as this one, if not worse.”

“Not our Tom,” Murphy said. “He’s the boring, responsible brother.”

“I’d punch you, boss, but I might bust my seams,” Tom said. “Come on now. Let’s stop stalling.” He could already see the butler waiting at the door.

They walked up the ruthlessly neat steps to the redbrick town house with tall glowing windows. Thank heaven the sun was setting earlier this time of year, otherwise they’d have to make excuses about the dinner hour.