“I hope, Miss Archambault, that you can understand. Mr. Hotchkiss was a thief, and I cannot abide thieves.” His use of the past tense was not lost on Archie. “I, of course, would not even begin to consider allowing his shortcomings to color my opinions of the rest of your little hopper gang.”

Archie managed a smile, and touched his fingertips with her own. “I . . . I am so grateful, Mr. Travers. We ’ad no idea that Cal—” But she saw his wry, knowing smile and started again. “Of course, we knew that he was a scoundrel, but we would never imagine that he would besmirch your ’ospitality so.”

“Of course not, Miss Archambault. Of course not.” A waiter approached holding a silver tray of glasses, and Travers handed one to Archie before taking one for himself. He touched his glass to hers, making the crystal sing.

“Cheers, Miss Archambault. May you enjoy your stay on the Sturgess Queen, and the very best of luck in all your endeavors.”

“Santé,” Archie answered, and drained her glass without looking away from Travers’ twinkling eyes. Travers signaled the band to play louder, and they did—but the music couldn’t mask the bellowing of the ferals fighting over their feast in the river below.

Chapter 10

“I’M NOT SURE I UNDERSTAND what you mean, Archie.” Houndstooth’s voice was low. If Archie hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he was furious. But she did know better—she’d saved the man’s life somewhere between nine and a half and ten times, and she knew his moods better than her own.

So she knew that he was perched on the edge of panic.

“Dead means dead, mon ami. Nothing more to it.”

Houndstooth ran his hands through his hair as he paced back and forth, staring at the carpet. Hero, seated on the divan, followed him with their eyes. “But . . . but if he’s dead, then—then I can’t—then I didn’t—”

Archie put a quelling hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps it is best this way, non?” she whispered. “Without the revenge.”

He looked up at her, his eyes flashing. “How did you know?”

She looked uncomfortable. Before she had to answer—before she had to tell him what Cal had said just before he died—the door banged open. Adelia stared in at the two of them. “Well, Archie. I suppose this means you and I each get our own suite.”

“It also means we’re all up to our necks in the bog without so much as a hop to ride,” Houndstooth said in a clipped voice. “We can’t do this without Cal.” He began to pace the suite, running his hands through his hair.