Knowle laughed. “Oh, I think I have. Lord Chingford struck a bargain with me, you see. He’d take me across if I made sure neither his brother nor his father came back.” His voice dropped low, taunting. “He’s tired of waiting to step into your shoes, Lord Flitby. There’s quite a few of the younger sort who don’t plan to spend the next few decades watching old men squat on privilege and property that could be theirs. I suggested it to Waring, you know: a service of removal and redistribution, to clear the decks for the younger generation who wanted to enjoy their inheritance while it was still worth something. Of course the old fool wouldn’t do it: they were half of them his friends. He was quite insulting about it. But he’s not here any more, the sneering bastard, and I have—I had four potential clients lined up already. Four men ready to see their fathers shoved into the grave and out of their way for a handsome fee, and I’m sure there would be plenty more. Lord Chingford positively jumped at the idea.”

The Marquess’s mouth was slack. Kim paused a fraction, then said, “Given that context, you will understand that holding my father hostage is unlikely to affect me.”

“On the contrary,” Knowle said. “Lord Chingford was very useful on the subject of your many weak points. You’re desperate for Daddy’s approval, desperate to be the good son, and that’s why you will drop the gun before I keep my side of the bargain with your brother. Do it or I shoot him. Now.”

There was a long pause. Then Kim let his revolver drop to the floor.

Will knew what was coming. He moved, rolling into the shadows that pooled beneath the hanging lifeboat, went soundlessly up and over the side of the yacht, and swung himself down.

Which put him on the other side. The one with water on it.

The stanchions that held up the lifeboat made a useful handhold. Will gripped them for dear life, because the yacht seemed to move a lot faster from down here. Waves splashed his legs with unnerving force, far more violent than they’d seemed on board, and the water was bloody cold. His trousers were already soaked from the knee down, and he wasn’t at all sure if this was a good idea, but where else was a man meant to hide on a fucking boat?

Knowle was shouting. “Mr. Darling! Come out, Mr. Darling! I’ve got your boy friend here!”

Will hung on, breathing hard. His hands were wet and cold, and his shoes were sodden. Should have taken them off. He eased them off now, not without regret because they hadn’t been cheap, and planted his stockinged feet against the side of the Aurora as it rose and fell in the waves. This was no way to travel.