Emily rustled forward. “Mr. Boch, how lovely to see you again.” She had a delicate flush in her cheeks that Lucien could only think was due to delight at Mr. Hislop’s touch.

He bowed formally. “I regret to have interrupted you,” he said mendaciously. “I am afraid that I quite forgot Mr. Hislop’s weekly appointments to discuss fashion.”

“Appointment is not the right word,” Hislop said. “It sounds too businesslike. I prefer to think of myself as Mrs. Ewing’s good friend. In fact, I have asked her to spend this evening at the theater with me.”

Lucien’s jaw tensed. Did Emily have any idea of the connotations of what Mr. Hislop had just said? He looked at her, but she seemed impervious to the insult. Moreover, he himself had asked Emily to the theater, and she had refused. “Perhaps I shall see you both there,” he said politely, and bowed again. “I will ask you to excuse me, Mrs. Ewing, Mr. Hislop. I have an engagement this morning.”

Hislop strolled forward, blocking Lucien’s view of Emily. “Going to the Duke of Gisle’s breakfast, are you? I was invited—I am sure of that, because I’m the best of friends with Gisle, you know—but my invitation must have gone astray. It happens, it happens.”

“Quite.” Lucien turned to go.

“Mr. Boch!” The words sounded torn from Emily’s throat.

He turned. “Yes?”

“I …” She faltered.

He waited.

“Once when you visited,” Emily said in a half whisper, “you offered me aid. I should like to take advantage of your expertise.”

Lucien paused. What the devil was she talking about? Then he suddenly remembered that he had told her he came to slay dragons.

“Mr. Hislop,” he said with a casual, thin-lipped smile, “since your invitation so unaccountably went astray, why don’t you accompany me to Gisle’s breakfast? I am certain that Patrick will be delighted to see you.”

Hislop didn’t hesitate for a moment. He turned to Emily and made a hasty bow. “I’m sure you will understand if I leave, Mrs. Ewing. Perhaps I can find time to return to you later.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed at the offense in Hislop’s farewell. But a look at Emily’s embarrassed eyes reassured him. Whatever Hislop thought was happening between them, she was not partner to it. In a way it was comforting: at least she hadn’t chosen Hislop over him.

The moment the carriage door closed, Lucien lunged forward and twisted Hislop’s neckcloth in his hand, jerking him forward and out of his seat.

“What are you doing?” Hislop shouted, but the rest of his sentence was unintelligible. Lucien kicked his boots out from under him, and he fell heavily into the well between the seats as Lucien let go of his neckcloth.