“What we need is female suffrage,” Cecilia opined as she laid lemon slices, cut into the shape of flowers, atop the tea.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Lady Armitage argued. “We suffer enough as it is.”

“I meant voting rights for women, Aunty,” Cecilia explained. “Too many men believe they rule the world.”

“I think—” Signor de Luca began, but the women turned their gazes like weapons upon him, and he took a hasty, instinctive step back. “Never mind.”

“Take this fellow, for example,” Lady Armitage said, tipping her head toward Signor de Luca. “Can’t even rob a house properly. Whereas if you or your dear, blighted Aunt Darlington were in charge, it would be halfway out of town by now, with me hanging beneath from my laces.”

“I have your key!” Signor de Luca reminded her, holding it up as proof.

She grinned. “You have a key, Signor.”

“I—what?”

“That is the key to the place where my actual key is kept.”

He narrowed his eyes at her menacingly. “And where is that, madam?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No,” Cecilia said, walking over to hand him a teacup. “You really don’t.”

“I—I demand—”

“Besides,” Cecilia continued, returning to the tray. “Aunty Army will help us once she hears what has happened.”

“Aunty Army?” Signor de Luca stared at her incredulously. “This is the woman who paid me to kill you.”

“I’m sure Cecilia isn’t offended by a little thing like that,” Lady Armitage said.

“Help her up now, please,” Cecilia added, “so she may have her tea.”

“You’re joking, Cecilia.”

“Do I ever joke?”

He frowned, she sighed with exasperation, and they stared at each other. You could have cut the tension (both psychological and sexual) with a knife. Which is exactly what Lady Armitage intended to do. Taking advantage of the distraction, she tugged the blade from her sleeve and threw it at the signor.

The air seemed to flash and shout. Lady Armitage’s knife cracked a plate Cecilia had flung like a discus toward it, then veered off course and impaled itself in the previously shot shoulder of Jacobsen, lying stupefied on the floor. He jolted up, screaming, his eyes flung open in shock, and Cecilia promptly returned him to unconsciousness with a brisk application of the tea tray.

The signor looked about to comment but drank his tea with a politic silence instead. Lady Armitage began reaching for the knife concealed in her other sleeve.

“We do not have time for this,” Cecilia said. “Aunty, Morvath has kidnapped the Society and stolen their houses. You can imagine the terrible danger my aunt Darlington will be facing in Northangerland Abbey. Yours is the only battlehouse remaining. We need it to effect a rescue. Furthermore, I have a hangover from eating seafood and may die at any moment, leaving you the only pirate captain available.”

“I’m—” the signor said, then sighed. “Never mind.”

“Good heavens!” Lady Armitage declared. “Why did you not say so from the start? Of course I shall help.” She began to lift herself from the ground, accepting Signor de Luca’s rather cautious assistance (for she could have got up on her own, absolutely, her knees were as strong as a maiden’s, but a lady does like to be given her due respect). Once standing, her hair quivering, she extended her hand, palm up. After a moment of reluctance, Signor de Luca surrendered the key into it. Turning away, she lifted her skirts, rummaging beneath them. Metal scraped against metal.