“You can’t spin around and kick me in the unmentionables,” Ned mused, answering her thoughts. “The passage isn’t wide enough for that. You can’t run; Freddy’s in the way. And the weapon you almost certainly have hidden somewhere is useless, since your back is to me. There’s also the aggravating factor of this gun I have pointed at your head. Go back into the bedroom, Cecilia.”

“I say!” Frederick pouted. “You can’t call me Freddy in that manner, Lightbourne. I am a scion of the noble pirate family Bassingthwaite and you are a homeless nobody!”

“Actually,” Ned replied, “in Portugal I am known as Duarte Leveport, Baron of Valando, a title gifted to me after I—er, did a favor for Princess Maria Amélia. Therefore, I outrank you, Freddy. Now, get out of the way so the lady can return to her room.”

“She’s not a lady.”

Ned cocked his pistol. “I beg your pardon?”

“She’s an angel.” Frederick flung out his arms expansively. There was a crack as his wrists smacked against the walls. “Ow! See the pain I suffer on your behalf, dear Cecilia? Lady is too meager a term for one so—”

“Just shoot him,” Cecilia said.

“I would, but I’m worried about ricochets in this small space,” Ned answered.

“I don’t mind risking death if it means shutting him up.”

“Very well.”

Frederick scurried off, muttering something about the insignificance of Portugal. With a sigh, Cecilia began to follow. But Ned caught her arm and pulled her back, and she turned to scold him. He pressed the hand holding the pistol against her mouth.

“I’m sorry for the chloroform,” he whispered, “but I didn’t know what you might say. And if they doubted I was Morvath’s man, they’d have killed me and taken you anyway.”

The explanation made sense, and she felt her heart hug itself with relief. But her mouth still tasted like bitterness and gunmetal. “It’s fine, don’t worry,” she whispered back. “I’m glad they didn’t kill you.”

She gazed up at him big-eyed through her eyelashes, and he swallowed dryly. His hand dropped from her mouth and she smiled. Leaning closer, she whispered near to his ear, “Because I want to kill you myself.”

She yanked herself out of his hold, but he caught her again before she could turn away. “Please believe me, Cecilia. I’m on your side.”

“Then why are you standing here with a gun pointed at me, forcing me back into imprisonment?”

He frowned as if the answer was so obvious he could not believe she’d even asked. “This is the lair of the villain. Evil abounds in every corridor: pirates, mercenaries, creepy spiders. Good God, woman, you can’t run around like it’s Mayfair on a Sunday morning. I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”

“Are you calling me weak and stupid?”

His frown buckled; he blinked a few times. “No, of course not. I’m calling you—” He hesitated, and her eyes narrowed.

“Yes?”

“I’m— Look, this is not safe. There are probably spiders above us at this very moment, waiting to pounce.” He glanced at the dusty beams overhead, and Cecilia huffed a laugh. Looking at her again, he held her gaze so intensely that the sardonic tilt to her mouth slipped. “Please,” he whispered. “Just go back into the bedroom.”