“A gift?” I nodded as he carefully placed the gun upon the sideboard and took the box. He opened it, a smile announcing his pleasure. “Ah, now, that is beautiful.” He picked up the dagger and rested the blade across two fingers, the ruby set in the handle gleaming in the morning light. “And you have had my initials engraved upon the cartouche.” He traced his fingertip around the EB etched into the silver.

“It is only a knife,” I said, and added a little self-consciously, “I have the same with my own initials. A pair.” I patted my sleeve, where I had hidden my sheathed dagger.

“It is far more than just a knife. The balance is superb.” He looked up from admiring the blade. “It is a long time since I have owned such a beautiful thing. The one I have is little more than an eating knife.”

“I meant to keep it for a Twelfth Night gift, but I think, under the circumstances, it would be more useful now,” I said.

“Quite.” He set down the box and slid the knife into its accompanying leather sheath. In one swift, practiced movement, he removed the blade already secreted in his boot and replaced it with my gift. “There, I am armed and ready.” He placed the old knife in the box and picked up the gun again. “Gus, if this does not go our way…”

I took his hand. The one that was not holding the loaded gun. “I know. Whatever happens, we will rally.”

“And you must tell Hester I am sorry.”

“I will.”

He bent and kissed me upon the lips—a swift token, for Julia and Mr. Kent awaited us upstairs.

“Thank you,” he said, and I knew he meant it for far more than the knife.

20

Samuel bowed as we approached the drawing room doors, his gaze dropping to the gun clasped in Evan’s hand. His expression, however, did not change. Good lad.

I glanced at Evan: Ready?

His mouth firmed, as did his grip upon the gun: Ready.

I nodded to Samuel, who promptly opened the drawing room doors.

We walked in.

“Ah, you are here,” Julia said brightly from her seat upon the sofa, beside Mr. Kent. Very close beside Mr. Kent.

The Runner stood—his arm no longer in a sling and his stance wary. Beneath his well-fitted jacket, he wore the smart scarlet waistcoat of his vocation. Was that a sign of intention?

“I thought this was going to be a peaceful meeting,” he said, his eyes upon the gun in Evan’s hand. He made a bow. “Good morning, Lady Augusta. Good morning, Lord Evan.”

“It will be peaceful if you do not do anything stupid,” Evan said pleasantly.

“And by stupid you mean arresting you for the crimes you have committed?” Kent countered.

Well, this was not starting as well as I had hoped.