If Daniel had known his true father, had been brought up by the man, what sort of person would he be now? His father had been a coward and a liar. Would those traits have rubbed off on him? Was it possible that, as difficult as his life had been, he was better off not having been reared by Alfred Darby, heir to the Earl of Rotherhide?

A tiny scratching sound reached his ears. The scrape of a shoe on a stair?

He strained his hearing, holding his breath.

Another small sound, perhaps the brushing of a sleeve against a wall.

Juliette let out an inelegant snore, turning her head on her arms.

Daniel tensed. That was the signal that their quarry had arrived.

As hard as it was, he held still. Because he didn’t want to chance being recognized too soon, he had kept his back to the door, but now he was allowing a killer to sneak up behind him. The hairs on his neck stood up, and his heartbeat quickened.

Show no movement. Let him come close. Sir Bertrand, you had better be nearby as you promised.

His hand tightened on the pistol. Another footfall, and he stopped breathing.

“Drop that gun.” Sir Bertrand spoke from the shadows, and at the sound of his voice, Daniel rolled over, raising his pistol and pointing it in the killer’s startled face. Sir Bertrand opened the vents on the bullseye lantern, illuminating the area around the bed.

Hubert Earnshaw, Montgomery’s accountant, blinked, the small pistol wavering in his hand. Daniel flung aside the bedcovers, wincing at his sore muscles, and got to his feet, keeping his gun level.

“Do as he says. Put that gun down. You’re caught. You’re going to pay for your crimes.”

Earnshaw’s face hardened, and he twisted wildly, trapped between Daniel and Sir Bertrand. Faster than Daniel would have thought possible, Earnshaw fired in Sir Bertrand’s direction. Sir Bertrand rocked back, beginning to fall.

Daniel froze in shock at the swift violence of it all, and before he could turn back to cover Earnshaw, the accountant reached for the bed Daniel had just vacated and flipped it straight at Daniel. Dodging the hurtling mattress and bedframe, Daniel tried to aim at the fleeing accountant, but instead of heading back into the stairwell from whence he had come, Earnshaw raced down the ward in Juliette’s direction.

The small pistol Earnshaw carried, now useless, clattered to the floor, and as the man reached into his waistband, Daniel’s heart vaulted into his throat. Did he have another weapon? Earnshaw was between him and Juliette, and Daniel dared not fire lest he hit her.

Run, Juliette! Get out of the way!

The words ricocheted through Daniel’s head as he raced after the killer.

Juliette had risen from her table, but why wasn’t she dodging out of the way? What was she doing?