“Not as deep as you. Move your left foot.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Hurst stood, his pistol never wavering.

Ross moved his left foot and touched something hard. “What’s that?”

“The matching pistol to this one. Do you recognize these pistols? They’re quite beautiful.”

Ross pushed himself upright. “They’re my dueling pistols. So you’re stealing them, too.”

“No, I’m not the thief here,” Hurst said insultingly.

“You can’t prove a damn thing, and you know it.”

“I don’t need to. Pick up that pistol. It’s loaded with one bullet. Just like this one.”

A coldness settled in Ross’s head, making his headache all the worse. “Pick . . . pick up the pistol?”

“Yes. Pick it up and rise.”

Ross looked at how Hurst stood, his body relaxed, the pistol unwavering. This man has killed before.

Hands damp, Ross asked, “And if I don’t?”

“Then sit there and die in your bed. No one touches my wife without her permission.” Hurst’s voice was so icy that Ross had to fight a shiver. There was power in that voice, and a deadly cold determination to exact revenge.

Pale with fear, Ross tried to clear his throat. “Hurst, please. I didn’t—”

“Careful, Ross.” The soft voice almost purred. “I’m in a foul mood and another lie will make it worse.” The pistol cocked loudly. “You don’t want that, do you?”

“N-No.”

“Good. Well, Ross—will you pick up the pistol, or be killed in cold blood in your bed?” Hurst smiled coldly. “The choice is yours.”

Ross tried to swallow but couldn’t. He wished with all of his heart that he’d never met the Hursts. But it was too late for that.

“Madame?”

Fighting her way up from a deep sleep, Moira opened her eyes to find Buffon standing beside the bed. The Frenchman was fully dressed, one of her gowns over his arm.

She blinked rapidly. Where was she? And why was Buffon—Ah, yes. She was in Robert’s room.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she began to sit up, then realized she was naked. “Oh—!” She clutched the sheets to her, her face and neck ablaze.

Buffon had already turned his back and was facing the door, standing as if at attention. “There is fresh water on the washstand. The chemise and gown I’ve placed upon the chair are from your trunk. Monsieur asked that you dress quickly, for we must go before the footmen return.”

She frowned. “Where is Robert?”

“I am not certain, madame. I was only told to fetch you. I shall step outside while you dress.”

“Yes, but I’ll need pins for my hair and—”

Buffon held up a card of pins, then set it on the chair.

Moira looked at the card. “How did you get into my room?”

“Monsieur climbed the ledge and unlocked the door.”

“Oh!”

“Pray get dressed quickly. We are to leave soon.” With that, the valet stepped outside, closing the door softly behind him.

Moira quickly washed by the firelight, then put on the chemise and gown. When she was done she twisted her hair into a knot, then slid her feet back into her boots.