One pair of clipped footsteps faded away. There was no other sound—Knigh had to still be outside the door.

Poor thing, he’d been tense ever since the moment he’d seen the Duke of Mercia. She’d put it down to the presence of such a high-ranking officer, but there was clearly so much more to it. What had the Duke done to make Knigh hate him so much? And why couldn’t he tell his brother? Surely that would make him leave the man if he was really that bad.

Frowning, she rubbed her jaw. Poor Knigh. Ha—she never thought she’d put those two words together.

The way he’d raised his voice and broken something in the hall and had utterly shattered his usual restraint—the Duke must have done something awful. There was no way Knigh could face him again tonight. Lords, he might not even have the self-control to make it through the rest of this ball.

Frankly, she couldn’t blame him. The stiff rules and even stiffer shoulders. The false smiles and the cruel whispers that came after. The pretence of civilisation when any one of them would sell out their daughter for wealth or an alliance with the right family like they were cattle to be sold or sent to slaughter.

Drawing a long breath, she shook her head.

Still no sound from outside. He’d probably had enough time to pull together some degree of calm.

She crept further into the room, then turned and stomped towards the door—he’d hear her approach and be warned. Pausing, she grabbed the silver violin and shoved it into her pocket for Perry. Then she threw open the door, eyebrows already rising to pretend surprise at the sight of him.

She didn’t need to pretend.

His face was red, his hair a ragged mess as if he’d raked his hands through it a dozen times. His jaw, neck, shoulders, arms all stood as taut as lines straining against sails too full.

Wild Hunt, he looked a state.

“Knigh,” she said in a high-pitched attempt to sound surprised but casual.

He stiffened, blinked, and turned to her slowly. His chest rose and fell in a measured rhythm.

“What an insufferably dull evening,” she went on, rolling her eyes. “The crew will have a bonfire down on the beach—drinking, dancing, singing crude songs. Much more fun than”—she waved her hand towards the ballroom and the staid music drifting out—“this. I was just about to get out of here and join them if you’d like to accompany me?”

Clenching his hands, he watched the ballroom, eyes hard. Another long breath heaved through him, and his shoulders sagged. Without saying anything, he nodded.