His hand dug into the soft flesh of her arm. “My cousin, of course, as I am betrothed to her.”

Beth’s anguished cry cut through the dark. “You said you loved me!”

“I do not know what I said to make you misunderstand so, but I am profoundly sorry for it.” Captain Livingston sounded so genuinely regretful that he made a mockery of sincerity.

“Scoundrel. Knave!” The hard metal of the pistol pressed against Jane’s jaw with each syllable she spat out. She hardly cared now what he did to her, so angry was she at his lies.

“Have a care, Miss Ellsworth. I should advise you not to engage in any more slander. Think carefully before you speak again.”

Of a sudden, the darkness around them vanished and the day spasmed back into being. Jane flinched from the light burning into her wide eyes. The pistol pulled away from her face as Captain Livingston, cursing, tried to shield his eyes from the sudden assault of light.

Jane twisted away from him, taking advantage of that momentary lapse of his attention. She grabbed at the pistol, clutching his hands in an effort to stop him from using it. His handsome face twisted into a sneer, and he almost lifted her off the ground in the struggle.

“Where are they?” Mr. Dunkirk turned on his heel, looking around the field.

Mr. Buffington shouted, “Livingston?”

Yanking her close, so that her arm contorted painfully behind her, Captain Livingston chuckled as he realized the same thing as Jane; her Sphère Obscurcie was still intact, though the darkness she had made had come unraveled by some means. Jane squirmed, trying to escape his vicious grip.

He squeezed her hand painfully, and the gun went off.

The sound echoed through the field, so loud that it came from everywhere at once. Behind her, Beth screamed. Jane waited for the pain which must surely come, but gradually realized that the gun had not been aimed at her.

Captain Livingston released her suddenly and pressed the pistol, its single shot expended, firmly into her hand.

Mr. Dunkirk ran past Jane. “Beth!”

Following Mr. Dunkirk, Captain Livingston dashed past her and out of the Sphère Obscurcie. He shouted as he ran, “My God! Miss Ellsworth, what have you done?”

Jane turned. Mr. Vincent had dropped his hold on Beth, and was crumpled in the grass. Blood spattered Beth’s dress. Mr. Dunkirk took his sister by the shoulders, looked her over for signs of injury, and then swept her into an embrace.

Tremors of anguish shook Jane; that Mr. Vincent should be struck down by the errant bullet undid her. Had she made no effort to escape, the gun would not have fired.

Livingston stopped short of the group. At his feet, Buffington clutched his middle and writhed. Blood stained his middle. Jane did not understand. There had been only one shot; was it possible that it had hit both men? She staggered forward, trying to understand what she had done.