Miss Grant peered in and, upon seeing Lord Evan, exclaimed, “So you are here—I thought I heard your voice.” She walked in, her stride full of purpose. “I wish to speak to you urgently, and this time you must listen. We cannot stay—” Belatedly she noted Mr. Kent. “Ah, I beg your pardon.” She managed a credible curtsy, although her body still held the stiff intent of unspoken demands.

Damn, I had not anticipated this meeting. Nevertheless, Miss Grant and Mr. Kent were connected even if they did not know it yet. Perhaps that could be useful.

“Miss Grant, may I introduce Mr. Kent, from the Bow Street Magistrates’ Court. You did not meet him at the time, but he is the agent who helped rescue Lady Hester from the asylum and kept us all safe afterward. He is a great friend to us. And continues to be so.”

Mr. Kent made a small sound of denial, but I had cornered him in his own service and he knew it.

“Mr. Kent, this is Miss Grant, Lady Hester’s companion.”

He bowed.

Miss Grant—momentarily taken aback by the introduction—scrabbled for her manners and, thankfully, found them. “Mr. Kent, Hester and I owe you a great debt of gratitude. Thank you so much for your assistance in rescuing Hester,” Miss Grant said, smiling. She could be rather charming when she tried.

“Not at all,” Mr. Kent said, bowing again. “I do hope Lady Hester’s health has improved.”

“It is why I am here. Hester had a bad night but overall she has improved some and is now adamant—”

The sounds of commotion downstairs interrupted Miss Grant. We all looked down, as if we could see through the floor. Then Weatherly’s voice shouted, “You shall not enter!” A huge slam reverberated through the house, like the front door being kicked back, and then the sound of feet, running. Up the stairs. Toward us.

Evan grabbed the gun from the sideboard and aimed it at Kent. “Did you lie? Are these your men?”

“I swear it is not,” Kent said, but he had pulled his own gun—from his boot, I think—and aimed it at Evan. Of course he had a gun too.

I grabbed Miss Grant’s arm and wrenched her back from the doorway, maneuvering her behind me. She gaped at the firearms but at least remained upright.

“Perhaps you should both aim at whatever is coming through that door,” I said, pulling the sheathed dagger from my sleeve. “Julia, my dear, move behind Mr. Kent.”

“Do as your sister says, Julia,” Kent said.

Julia stepped behind the Runner.

Miss Grant clutched my arm. “What is happening?”

“Kent?” Evan said.

The Runner stared hard at him for a moment, then gave a nod.

Both men shifted their guns to aim at the door.

We all stood silently, braced, as the sounds of yelled commands and feet upon the staircase—multiple pairs of feet—approached.