Vincent swept through the door and as he came in and pulled it to, the late-night breeze blew in with him. Vincent was what I knew. I felt relieved to be back on solid ground again. He was dressed handsomely in a navy tailcoat, and beneath the matching waistcoat his white shirt was crisp. A maroon scarf had been thrown hastily around his neck. He crossed the foyer in two strides to where I stood and caught me up in his arms.

‘Are you well?’

I nodded, my head against his chest. Beneath the cigar smoke I could make out the smell of starch on his shirt.

‘You’re not wearing an overcoat,’ I said.

‘A runner came to the club and said you weren’t feeling well so I came immediately.’

He pushed me back away from him slightly so he could examine my face. There was concern in his gaze and I dropped my eyes so he wouldn’t see the guilt in them. I’d done nothing wrong by talking with Lucien but Vincent might not see it like that.

‘Is there anything I can assist you with, Lord Woodward?’ Barky said. On another night he would’ve melted away into the shadows, but he was still trying to work out what he’d missed between me and Lucien. I prayed he wouldn’t give me away.

‘Ah yes, Barky. I’m glad you’re here. You’ve been keeping an eye on Zillah for me?’

‘Soon as she knew you were on your way, she wanted to wait in the foyer for you, sir. I thought it was best to keep her company.’

I looked round at him and smiled. I’d have to get him a little thank-you gift for this favour. He was partial to a pinch of snuff – that would do it.

‘Good man. There was a fellow I just ran into outside. Something about him I didn’t like. This back door must be kept locked, do you hear? There are far too many undesirables about.’

Was it only his skin, then, that made Lucien, well dressed as he was, an undesirable? I pushed down the treacherous thought. Vincent was only trying to protect me.

Barky nodded. ‘Can I assist you to the carriage, sir?’

Vincent looked over at me. ‘What do you say, Zillah?’

I needed a walk to clear the thoughts that swirled around my head.

‘I’d prefer the fresh air, if you don’t mind.’

‘Of course,’ Vincent said. ‘Is that all you have for a coat?’

‘It’s enough,’ I said. Though the weather had been getting steadily colder, it wasn’t as if I was used to sables, but Vincent tutted and unwound his scarf.

‘Here, take this.’ It smelt of him, of cigars and influence and money. It was enough to drive away the remaining hint of cedar on the air. He arrayed me in it like armour. I suppose it was.