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“Experience. OSM is still a relatively new department.”
    Eliza darted a quick look at Wellington. It looked like admitting that was hard, but there it was. America was a country still on the mend, yet this was a proud nation preferring to handle its own affairs alone.
    â€œWhat’s the game then?” Eliza asked.
    Their counterpart went for her coat pocket, but froze at the sound of the tavern door being flung open.
    Under a wide-brimmed Stetson, a man who was in desperate need of a shave surveyed the Artifice Club. His gaze was cold, hard, and sized up everyone in the pub in an instant. He was broad shouldered and trim, the kind of build that would have given Campbell a moment’s pause before engaging in fisticuffs. This newcomer almost faded into the intermittent shadows, dressed in dark colours of denim and leather. When he turned to where they sat, his mouth bent into a wry grin. It made his face shift from stern to quite handsome. He pushed back the brim of his hat and gave Felicity a nod.
    â€œThank goodness we’re working covertly,” Felicity said, shaking her head ruefully. “Otherwise, he would stand out.”
    Eliza got to her feet, feeling an equal smile form on her face. “I don’t think a man like that could possibly do anything but stand out.” She felt, rather than saw, Wellington stiffen at her side.
    She took her time walking around the table, closing the distance between them in long, slow strides. Eliza stopped just as the hem of her dress brushed the newcomer’s soiled, worn pants, and looked up at him. He hooked his thumbs in his belt, took in Eliza from head to toe, and nodded while his lips widened to show a smile that threatened to catch her breath and claim it for his own. Clearly, this cowboy liked what he saw.
    Good for him,
she thought.
    That was when Eliza’s right hook sent him sprawling to the floor.

T HREE

In Which First Impressions Are Proven to Be Everlasting
    â€œB een a while, hasn’t it, mate?”
    She could hear Wellington and Felicity scrambling out of their chairs, but her eyes remained fixed to the man on the floor. True, there had been a time when having this ruggedly handsome man at her feet would have been quite satisfactory, in an entirely different situation.
    â€œDo we know each other,” the man said with a slight laugh while rubbing his jaw, “or is this how you all in jolly ol’ England say ‘Howdy’?”
    â€œNinety-three. San Francisco,” she hissed leaning over him.
    His brow furrowed momentarily, but then his eyes sparkled. He managed a throaty laugh.
    â€œThe Rum Runner,” he said. “I remember now—that was a good time.”
    â€œMy partner and I were nearly killed in that brawl!” Eliza was abruptly aware that her hands were once more balled into tight fists. She could feel the urge to clock him again swell. “And for the life of us, we couldn’t figure out why you set those thugs on us.”
    â€œI needed an exit, and you two seemed like you could handle yourselves.” He looked her over as if she were a prize side of beef hanging in a butcher’s window. “You’re still looking like a nice filly ready to ride.”
    â€œI was in hospital—an
American
hospital—for a week.” She shook her head. “Bloody chamber of horrors, that was!”
    â€œGood Lord, Eliza!” Wellington looked between the fallen American and her. “Are you looking to start another war between the Empire and the United States?”
    â€œWe whipped your ass once before,” the American grumbled, now sitting up. “We can do it again.”
    â€œSays the man on the floor following one punch,” Eliza bit back.
    â€œI would prefer there be no more arse-whipping, if you please.” Wellington actually stood between them, and reminded her, “We are here as a professional courtesy.”
    â€œYou’re here