“We need to go.” He abandoned the window and yanked on his coat. “Now.”

His tone stilled the joke on her tongue.

Bollocks. He was serious. And worried.

And, the way he strode around the room, stuffing belongings into his duffle bag, he was on full alert.

She tugged on the petticoats, tied their ribbons all together in one bulky bow that would’ve made a lady’s maid faint, then pulled on the gown and buttoned the front. The cat twisted around her legs, eyes flashing with agitation.

Knigh swept the cloak and shawl over her shoulders while she pulled on the silly pointed shoes. Running a hand through her hair, she patted her shoulder and called for Barnacle.

With a chirrup, the little cat jumped up and draped herself across the back of Vice’s neck.

Sword and pistols at his side, Knigh already had the door open. He glanced up and down the landing, then with a nod, he signalled for her to come.

“No time for arguments, I’m afraid,” he muttered.

Before she could ask what he meant, he’d picked her up. She gritted her teeth, both against the indignity and at Barnacle’s claws digging into her shoulder. She wouldn’t have admitted it if asked, but he did make short work of the stairs compared to how slowly she’d walked down the staircase at FitzRoy’s inn last night.

“Fine,” she growled when he set her down by the back door. She scratched Barnacle’s head, and the claws retracted from her flesh, just gripping the thick woollen cloak. “What did you see out there?”

“A dozen marines on the front road. Whether they just happen to be in this part of town or they’ve connected me to your escape and then to this place—well, I suppose we’ll find out when I open this door.”

He pressed into her hand something hard, wooden, familiar.

She blinked, eyebrows raised. She didn’t have to look at it to know a stag decorated the handle. Avice Ferrers’ pistol, just like Kat’s. She squeezed the perfectly shaped grip and nodded. Just the feel of it steadied her hand.

“Primed and loaded,” he murmured.

“Thank you.” Quite how he’d got hold of it would have to wait. As would a great many things. Like his betrayal. Her gratefulness soured, and she frowned as he opened the door, blocking the way with his broad shoulders.

Damn him, betraying her and then acting like this.