“Put that down,” the guard said experimentally—

Tea and china exploded at Morvath’s feet.

The guard gave up on words and lifted his rifle instead. Seeing this, Ned hastily stepped forward, grasping Cecilia’s arm. She looked at him for a stunned moment, and he winced at the eerie stillness in her eyes. Their wintry color had turned as vivid as summer, and it terrified him. Then she pulled away and ran from the room.

Silence fell, disturbed only by the small, shuddering sound of a plate coming to rest on the floor. No one moved.

“Goodness me,” Miss Fairweather said at last, shrugging her mouth, as if Cecilia had just committed a mild faux pas.

“Is it safe to come out?” Frederick inquired from beneath the table. No one bothered to answer.

“Somebody go get her,” Morvath said. “She has the passion of Catherine Earnshaw, but she needs to eat breakfast for the sake of her health.”

Ned happened to catch Jane’s eye at that moment and saw it darken with the same understanding he had of Morvath’s words. “I’ll go,” he said before anyone else could speak. He was almost out the door before Morvath called to him.

“Don’t hurt her!”

Ned glanced back. The captain stood with slumped shoulders, marmalade in his hair and butter freckling his face, looking like a defeated, regretful, slightly ridiculous father—don’t hurt my precious, troubled girl. But the set of his jaw spoke more honestly—because I want that right for myself.

Ned did not answer, mistrusting his voice. Instead, he simply nodded and hurried away.

Morvath’s roar followed him out.

Cecilia was fast for a woman in a long dress and petticoats. She made it down a flight of stairs, along two corridors, past an astonished henchman whose thereafter unconscious body Ned had to leap over as he ran, and partway down the portrait gallery before he finally caught up with her. “Look, a bookshelf!” he shouted, and as she glanced up she stumbled. Her foot caught in the hem of her dress and she fell.

Ned hurried over, ready to restrain her should she try to jump up and attack him. But she seemed defeated at last; she swayed as she sat up. Ned lowered himself to his haunches beside her.

“Go away,” she muttered.

“I’m afraid I cannot oblige,” he replied. “Captain Morvath wants you back in the breakfast room. For God’s sake, girl, didn’t your aunt teach you that it’s bad manners to throw food at the table, especially when it hits the most dangerous man in all of England?”

“It’s only bad manners if you miss.”

He laughed, despite himself.

She glanced sidelong through the fall of her hair. “Did the steak knife get him?”

“No, but he’ll be sneezing marmalade for a week.”

She nearly smiled, but then all expression vanished from her face. “Someone’s coming.”

Ned heard the footsteps and hurriedly rose, pulling Cecilia up with him. When she struggled, he held her tighter. “Be smart,” he whispered. “Do what I tell you.”