She let out a cough she hoped would disguise the impact. But rather than thudding to the floor, the weapon didn’t budge. A tug pulled along the back of her thigh. She was sitting on the strap she had used to bind the holster to her leg.

Botheration. She couldn’t move it up, and she couldn’t move it down. At least she no longer needed to worry about the gun crashing to the floor before she was ready, but then again, she had no way of stopping it from doing so when she was forced to rise. She shoved again, just to make sure she couldn’t move the thing without being obvious, but she bumped the dowager’s elbow slightly.

“What are you doing?” The dowager pinned her with a stare. “You’re jerking as if you’ve contracted Saint Vitus’ dance. Sit still, child.”

Juliette stopped wriggling, the pistol just inches from where she could secure it. “I am sorry.” Her words were forced through a clenched-teeth smile. Uncle Bertie glanced her way, and she wanted to melt into the floor. He missed nothing, and somehow she knew he was aware of her exact predicament. He raised his brows in a mocking query, a smile touching his lips, and she glared at him. He was enjoying her discomfiture altogether too much.

Mr. Pultney, the family butler, unwittingly came to her rescue by appearing at the drawing room door. “Breakfast is served.”

The guests deposited their small plates on the nearest flat surfaces and drifted toward the hall. Juliette remained seated even when the Duke of Haverly came over to assist his mother to her feet.

“Lady Juliette, you’re looking quite fetching today.” The duke, handsome and well-built, smoothed his long hair back into the queue at his nape.

Juliette always felt safer when the Duke of Haverly was about. He was not only capable and intelligent, but he was now the director of the agency, her parents’ and Bertie’s supervisor. And he had a lovely wife, Charlotte, who was also at the party and with whom he was clearly besotted.

“Are you enjoying your debut Season?” he asked.

“Yes, Your Grace, especially since my parents were able to rejoin me here in London.”

The dowager adjusted the lace at her cuffs and leaned on her cane. “So unfortunate they had to be away when you arrived home from finishing school. Still, there it is. Noblesse oblige. When the needs of the estate call, one must go.” She looked down at Juliette, her gray curls clustered beside her cheeks. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Please, go ahead. I’ll just be a moment.”

The dowager sniffed. “Waiting for someone special to escort you? Of course you are. Come, Marcus.” She put her hand through her son’s arm, a calculating gleam in her eyes. “These girls today. So canny.”