Still, if she could manage that, she could stay up later than—she glanced at the clock on the wall—than nine.

This wasn’t his concern about her health.

Jaw clenched, she unleashed a first-rate glare at him. How bloody dare he? If she cheated, it was none of his business. Besides, the Pevenseys could afford to lose it.

“Indeed, you seem much improved, Lady Villiers.” Pevensey gave her a small, pitying smile that turned her stomach. His wife’s opposite in looks and character—dark where she was fair, arch where she was gentle—the expression was all wrong on him. “Though I’m sure your health wasn’t helped by that terrible fright you had on your way to Portsmouth.”

“Oh,” Lucia exclaimed and fanned her face. “Do not mention it, darling! I cannot bear to hear of it.” Swallowing, she turned her wide blue eyes to Vice. “You poor thing! Attacked by a highwayman—I don’t know how you survived. It must have been so frightening.” She bit her lip. “Tell me about him again.”

For someone who couldn’t bear to hear of it, Lucia asked about the fabricated attack a lot—every night they’d dined together, in fact.

Knigh had made the story up to explain Vice’s—or rather, Lady Villiers’ lack of jewels and limited wardrobe. After all, the wife of a viscount should have rings and necklaces and new gowns for her trip.

But she wasn’t his wife. Verity, Lady Villiers didn’t exist. She was Lady Vice, wanted pirate, and here solely out of necessity. Perhaps Knigh had forgotten that.

Fine, if he wanted to usher her away like a good fake-wife, he could. But it wouldn’t be without consequences.

“Frightening doesn’t cover it, Lucia.” Vice made her voice grave, her chest heave, as if terrified at the thought. “He’s quite the most vicious beast I’ve ever encountered.”

She shot Knigh a small, cruel smile.

Just desserts.

She widened her eyes, the perfect mirror of Lucia’s expression. “I rather think he played upon my sympathies, telling me how desperate his family’s situation was, plying me with pretty manners and even prettier words. Why, I nearly cared for him”—only nearly—“but then he took everything.”

Maybe Knigh hadn’t taken it, exactly, but he’d made her lose it all and that was practically the same thing.

She raised an eyebrow at him, while Lucia gasped and fluttered about how terrible it was.

Knigh’s face was a mask. Still. Solid. Only his chest moved, steady.

Then his nostrils flared, just once, the movement so small no one would have seen if they hadn’t been paying attention.

But Vice was paying attention. And as far as Knigh Blackwood was concerned, that minuscule movement was a great victory.