I set down my fork. “I . . . no. It was foolish, though. And he is quite angry at me.”

“That is so hard to imagine,” Olivette said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Phelan angry! He’s so mild, so even-tempered.”

Until he met me, I thought.

“It’s natural in our line of work, Anna,” said Nura. “Partners will inevitably butt heads. You shouldn’t beat yourself up over it. I’m sure Phelan is taking the time he needs to sort through whatever has come between you. But you’ll see him tonight, to smooth things over with him.”

I frowned. “Tonight?”

“At his mother’s dinner. He wouldn’t miss that.”

“He wouldn’t?”

Olivette smiled. “Of course not! His mother gives him an order and he follows it, every time.”

“Oli,” Nura warned. “You shouldn’t speak of the countess like that.”

“What?” Olivette shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

I stood, suddenly overwhelmed by nerves. “I probably shouldn’t go tonight.”

What if he planned to expose me at the dinner? But the more I imagined it . . . would Phelan do something like that to me?

“What? Yes, you should come, Anna,” Olivette insisted. “You can ride with us tonight!”

I was silent, contemplating all my options. To go, to stay. To run, to confront. Nura stood beside me. Gently, she drew the hair away from my neck and saw my bruises.

“Is this Phelan’s doing?” she asked in a low, sharp voice. One that made me shiver.

“No, it wasn’t him,” I replied. “An unfortunate result of the new moon.”

Olivette gasped, also seeing the bruises from across the table. “Anna! Oh my gods, what happened?”

“It’s nothing,” I said, taking a step away from them. “I’m perfectly fine.” And it was a good reminder for me to glamour the bruises until they healed. “I think I will ride with you tonight to the dinner, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Nura said. “We’ll come pick you up at half past five.”

I left before they could press me for further answers, retreating to Phelan’s town house.

I rested most of the afternoon, but soon my uneasiness swelled, and I prepared for the countess’s dinner.

The dress Phelan had tailored for me looked to have been spun from gold. It rushed off my shoulders and softly held my curves, tiny jewels sewn along the hem and the neckline. I had never worn something so beautiful. It felt like sunlight on my skin, warm and soft. Alluring.

I glamoured my bruises and then touched a few lank strands of my hair. I decided to braid it into a crown, weaving within the plaits a golden ribbon that I found in my wardrobe.