Eliza stared listlessly at the exquisite offering before her, saddened that she had no appetite with which to enjoy the food. Rather, she pushed the delicate slice of pheasant drizzled in mandarin sauce about her plate with the tines of her fork, before laying the silverware down to retrieve her wineglass for a long swallow.

Clara had outdone herself with the dinner party, so it was made all the more unfortunate that she, the earl, Caroline and Eliza could not manage to enjoy it. Candles shone and gleamed from high silver candelabras stationed at intervals along the table, framed by tasteful floral arrangements that perfectly highlighted the fiery colors of autumn. Crystal glasses sparkled elegantly in the light, similarly to their chandelier counterparts, which hung, glittering, above the assembled guests. Polite conversation took place between bites of the course, and while Landry was seated directly across from Eliza, she had managed to partially conceal herself behind the flower centerpiece on the table in an effort to discourage conversation. Instead, she stared at the place Evanston would have occupied that evening. It had been surreptitiously disguised by the swift removal of his setting and chair before the meal, and the expansion of the seating arrangements on either side.

She felt the stinging rise of tears and reached for her wineglass again. Risking a glance towards her brother at the head of the table, she saw that he too endured the meal in unsmiling determination, attempting to affect interest in the discourse that floated around him. William’s eyes darted up to hers for one moment to regard her, his gaze troubled, then returned to the woman beside him, who was prattling on about a recent holiday she had taken in Bath.

Why didn’t you tell me he was courting you? I could have put an end to this sooner.

He had asked her this question in the brief moment they’d had in the library before being summoned to dinner, and she wasn’t sure her answer had succeeded in convincing him.

I wasn’t certain he was truly courting me . . . I don’t think he even knew.

But the truth was, she hadn’t wanted William to stop him. I enjoyed the chase. Had reveled in it, even. How could she possibly confess her shame—not that she might find Evanston attractive, for many women did—but that she longed to accept him. As a friend, as a suitor, and yes, as a husband.

Eliza knew his proposal had been sincere; had felt its honesty before fully believing it. Likewise, she knew the potential for upheaval between the two men had only amplified given the passage of time and the strength of the viscount’s pursuit. The more things had grown between her and Thomas, physically and otherwise, the more there had been to conceal from William.

And after years of doubt, she was no longer certain Thomas was stubbornly opposed to being a father to Rosa. In fact, Eliza realized she was altogether unsure how Landry felt about children. For all her concern on the matter, given their staged encounters with one another, it had never been approached in conversation with the man, although she knew he was familiar with her circumstances. The entire ton knew everything about her. But in retrospect, she supposed she had assumed the best about Sir James, and the worst about Lord Evanston. Setting her fork aside, Eliza pressed the backs of her fingers against her mouth as a tide of nausea threatened to choke her.

Taking a breath, she peered over the centerpiece to evaluate Landry. He instantly caught her gaze, as if he’d been seeking it throughout the course of the entire dinner, which he probably had, and smiled. Eliza tipped him a hesitant smile in return, then lowered back down and looked to her left, where Caroline and Clara surveyed the scene with melancholy eyes.

At long last, dinner concluded. The women departed for their card games while the men remained where they were, with Matthew and Charles bringing cigars and port. Eliza could not maintain the facade, however, and leaned over to touch Clara’s elbow prior to entering the drawing room. Caroline paused beside them in the hallway, her auburn brow creasing in concern, taking a moment to gently close the doors so their conversation would not be overheard.

“Please, may I return home for the evening?” whispered Eliza. “Just to recover enough for a chance to behave better tomorrow? I just—” She broke off, her lip quivering beneath the weight of her somber mood. “I just need some time.”

Clara pulled her aside, casting a miserable look at Caroline. “Eliza, I’m so sorry . . .”

“It would have come out eventually,” said Eliza with a sniff. “I know I ought to be relieved now that there will be no distractions where Landry is concerned. But the one thing that keeps running through my mind is . . . the look on Evanston’s face . . . when . . .” Her breath hitched and she shook her head despondently. “When he said he loved me.” She sighed.

Eliza dissolved into quiet tears, and Clara pulled her into her arms, stroking her head and shushing softly.

“I know how much he means to you, Eliza. You care for him greatly, as does he for you.”

“He loved me. That’s what he said.” She pulled back to gaze at her friends. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”

Clara stroked her cheek and smiled sadly. “I do.”

She looked to Caroline, who nodded solemnly in reply.

“I need to go.” She eased away to wipe away her tears and straighten her dress. “If anyone should ask, I will return tomorrow afternoon.” Eliza leaned forwards to kiss Clara on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered, in a less stalwart tone of voice.

She embraced Caroline hurriedly, then rushed away before she could be seen by the other guests. Eliza was desperate to avoid Sir James, knowing his proposal was likely to come soon, and that he would require an answer. As of this moment, she couldn’t even bear to think about it.

Clara sat in her chemise, Abigail having assisted in divesting her already, sliding a pin from her hair when William entered the bedchamber. She avoided meeting his gaze as he closed the door heavily behind him, leaned against it and sighed.

“What has been going on?” he asked with no small amount of irritation. “And why do I have the feeling you’ve known about this for longer than I have?”

She winced at his accusation and at the truth behind it, but rotated in her chair at the vanity to face him.

“I only discovered some of the details upon Eliza’s return from London, but I have always suspected Evanston’s partiality for your sister. I suspect you have, as well,” she added wryly, “since he was not especially skilled at hiding it.”

William scoffed and pushed away from the door to strip off his formal dinner jacket. He slung it heedlessly over a chair and seated himself upon the edge of the bed. “It has always been my firm belief that Thomas is partial to every woman he meets, in varying degrees. His interest in Eliza was an annoyance that I discouraged, and I unequivocally instructed her to look elsewhere for love—”

“You instructed Eliza in matters of love? Unequivocally, even?”

Her sardonic tone gave him pause. “Well, yes. Why wouldn’t I?” he replied. “I instructed Thomas too. I am the acting patriarch of the family and her older brother, after all.”

“Who found his love with a housemaid!” she exclaimed in disbelief.

His mouth twisted sheepishly. “You weren’t truly a housemaid . . .”

Facing the mirror once more, she removed the final pin from her coiffure to send the heavy sable waves cascading down her back. William’s admiration was plainly visible from the reflection in the mirror and she smiled to herself, the familiar ache of her attraction for the earl awakening at the sight.

“You will permit me some skepticism, I hope, given that your choice of wife was so highly unconventional,” she stated succinctly, sinking her fingers into her hair to loosen the curls. “As you know, even Clara Mayfield was considered a prohibitive choice in terms of the ton’s version of respectability. And let us not forget that, technically, Thomas is quite a catch.”

She could see William behind her, removing his white waistcoat with a scowl. “I cannot abide the fact that he was pursuing Eliza without my knowledge or permission. In fact, I had actually told him to stay away. And let us also not forget that he is a changeable, dishonorable, disreputable rake who seeks pleasure where he can find it most easily,” he bit back.

“I know he has been these things in the past,” she responded thoughtfully, “but I have neither seen nor heard of it in his interactions with your sister, and certainly not since they have returned to Kent. Honestly, how many women do you think he has proposed to during his time as a reprobate? How many have been the recipient of his professed love? Are these not notable enough occurrences for you to give them due consideration?”

William fumbled for an answer. “I—”

“I would like to point out too that I am not the only one who believes Evanston’s love for your sister is genuine,” Clara continued. “Lady Caroline is also convinced, and she was not a defender of his before this London season.” She rose from her seat and approached him, taking his face in her hands. The barely detectable roughness of his beard growth scratched against her palms, and his eyes fell closed with a sigh. She gazed down at him with brimming affection. “Come now, my darling. You chose a woman who had ruined herself in the eyes of society. Are you really unwilling to grant some latitude to your own sister, who so obviously is in love with Lord Evanston, degenerate that he is?”

William stilled beneath her hands, his eyes snapping open. “What makes you think Eliza loves Thomas?”

“The same thing that prompted her to defer Landry’s proposal when they were in London. She longs to please you, and your deceased father, for that matter. But she cannot escape her feelings for a man whom you have both forbidden.” Clara shook her head and stroked his cheek tenderly. “What a sad predicament for her. After every sorrow she has suffered, has she not earned the right to make her own choice? It seems as if she already has.”

He sat pondering her words with a dawning expression of dread. “If this is all true . . . if he has indeed changed . . .”

“Then you have made a terrible mistake by casting Evanston out. And you have not only insulted your friend, you have injured him as well.” She lowered herself beside him on the bed, taking his hand in hers. “As the acting patriarch, and soon to be literal patriarch, of this family, you must remedy this. With both of them.”

William nodded. “I will speak to Eliza in the morning—” The earl ceased talking, his eyes widening. “Wait. What do you mean, ‘soon to be literal patriarch’?”

Holding his tremulous gaze, she moved his hand to shift it over her belly.

“Why, I suppose it means you will be a father in roughly eight months’ time.”

He stayed frozen in position, bound by his own incredulity, then suddenly hauled her up and onto his lap with a rough gasp of joy.

“Gentle!” she laughed, a second before he claimed her with an ecstatic kiss. He continued to beset her until her limbs had loosened, and her need had been stoked to a nearly unbearable degree. His hands caressed her through the filmy fabric of her chemise, and he pulled away to gaze at her in adoration.

“Truly?” he asked, unable to prevent himself from leaning in to nip feverishly at her neck.

Clara squirmed in delight. “Truly,” she finally managed.

With an unspoken promise between them to rectify things with Eliza and Thomas in the morning, the Earl of Ashworth and his countess unceremoniously tabled the subject for the remainder of the night.

Eliza sat, gazing despondently through her window at the beauty of the morning. The glow of golden sunlight wove through the trees to illuminate the garden below, and she sighed, her chin sinking further into the palm of her hand. She’d sat in this very spot for most of the night, unable to sleep at the thought of Thomas’s tortured confessions, and at the notion of accepting Landry’s proposal simply because she felt she must.

A soft plunk alerted her to the drop of an errant teardrop onto the sill, and she passed a hand across her face, her gaze never straying from a gray-and-orange robin that kept watch in a tree, carefully seeking its breakfast in the grass. The bird suddenly dove down at a wriggling worm, clamped it with its beak and plucked it neatly from the soil.

A barely discernible knock at her bedchamber door roused her attention from the scene below.

“Come in.”

Patterson cracked open the door to hesitantly reveal herself. “My lady?” she inquired, her brown eyes round with concern. “May I speak with you?”

Eliza shifted on her seat by the window to pull her shawl more tightly across her shoulders. A lethargic nod was her only reply.

Her lady’s maid entered and shut the door behind her, coming forwards to survey her mistress with a sympathetic mixture of affection and concern. “You wouldn’t speak of it last night, but I’d like to know what has upset you so very much. If there is some way I can be of assistance to you.”

“That’s very kind of you, Patterson, but I’m not sure there’s anything to be done.” She turned back towards the window. “Landry will propose tonight, and Thomas is gone, perhaps forever. He and William had a . . . disagreement, of sorts.”

Patterson’s eyes widened. “A disagreement about what, my lady?”

“About me. After William found us embracing in the library.”

The maid’s jaw dropped, then snapped closed. “Oh . . . I see.” She cleared her throat awkwardly and directed her attention to the floor. “Was this the first time such an, ahem, event, has taken place?”

Eliza shook her head, watching as the robin took flight to land in a nearby tree, dropping its prize in the process. The bird sat motionless on a branch as if coming to terms with its loss.

“Do you think he wished to seduce you?”

“He told William he loved me,” she responded, closing her eyes.

Patterson came closer to grasp Eliza’s cool hand in her warm one. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”

A tear slid out from between her eyelids. She nodded.

“He would have no other reason to say such a thing to my brother. It could only succeed in damaging their relationship. Or ending it, as the case may be.”

Her lady’s maid sank down onto the bench beside her. “And do you love him, as well?”

Eliza sobbed loudly, unexpectedly, and she clamped her free hand over her mouth. “Landry will be proposing this evening,” she whispered, as a way of negating her feelings on the matter. “Do you know, I’m not even certain how he feels about Rosa?” she added bitterly.

“Surely, he knows of your daughter.”

“Oh, he knows. But it’s only now, in the final hours of my search for a husband, that I realize I’m uncertain what kind of parent he will be.” Eliza shook her head in disgust. “Rosa was my primary concern, and I always worried that Thomas lacked stability. Yet, I find myself here, no closer to an answer with the man whom I believed held the solution.”

Patterson considered her thoughtfully. “Did you sleep at all last night, my lady?”

The dark circles beneath her eyes were an obvious answer to the maid’s query.

“Well, let’s get about setting you to rights, in any case. What time are you due at Lawton Park?”

“I was planning to arrive by one o’clock.”

Patterson nodded crisply. “That’s more than enough time.”

After a leisurely soak in a warm bath, Eliza felt more like herself, and a couple hours after their conversation in her room, she was almost fully restored. Rosa came downstairs to join Eliza for a light repast of tea, bread and jam, but not before seating her two dollies at the table. Her daughter’s natural exuberance cheered her immediately, and before long the pair of them were making funny faces at each other and snickering into their teacups. The appearance of the butler interrupted their games.

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Roberts said, “but you have a visitor.”

Her eyes darted up in surprise. “Really? Who is it?”

“Sir James Landry, my lady. I’ve already summoned Florence,” he said with a bow, glancing surreptitiously at Rosa. “For your convenience.”

Once she’d recovered from the shock of her unforeseen guest, and his likely purpose for visiting her, she had an idea. Rising slowly from her seat, she stared down at her daughter, the girl’s abundance of golden curls only partially restrained with a green ribbon. It looked suspiciously similar to the ribbon Thomas had affixed to her gift.

“Actually, no,” she replied slowly. “I’d like Rosa to stay with me.”

Roberts looked as if he’d been physically slapped. “My lady,” he breathed in a tone that hinted of impending scandal. “I don’t believe your guest would appreciate the intrusion—”

“Well, he had better,” Eliza snapped testily. Instantly, she regretted the outburst. “Forgive me, Roberts. Just show him to the drawing room.”

The butler departed in haste. Rosa stood to join her, retrieving her dolls from their seats and skipping ahead of Eliza through the hallways to disappear around a corner.

“Rosa!” she called. “Wait for me—”

She heard the audible gasp of a man before rounding the corner to see Landry himself, standing stock-still in the hallway, faced with her equally motionless daughter.

“Hello,” said Rosa shyly.

Landry cast his gaze beyond the tiny girl to seek out Eliza, confusion stamped indelibly across his features. His eyes darted about as if seeking a missing person.

“Greetings, Lady Eliza. Where is this young girl’s nursemaid?” he asked, indicating Rosa with a cursory sweep of his hand.

In an effort to give him the benefit of the doubt, Eliza worked to remain calm. She approached to place both hands squarely upon Rosa’s shoulders.

“This young girl,” she stated, ignoring his question, “is my daughter, Miss Rosa Cartwick.” At the lift of the man’s eyebrows, she extended her arm to the side. “Shall we proceed to the drawing room?”

He nodded stiffly and followed. Roberts waited near the door with pursed lips, while Patterson stood by silently with a poor attempt at hiding her smile.

Rosa seated herself on the floor by the fireplace. This particular morning, for all its beauty, lacked the warmth of summer as they now gradually ebbed into autumn. The radiating heat from the blaze was a welcome comfort. Eliza and Sir James seated themselves in armchairs, separated by a small round table between. Landry opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when Roberts returned briefly to provide tea service, then subsided to close the doors upon his exit. Eliza turned to her guest at last, watching him as he took his teacup in hand.

“This is a surprise, Sir James. I was not anticipating your company again until this afternoon.”

Landry seemed to find the soft sounds of Rosa’s play behind them to be excessively distracting, but he took a sip of his drink and smiled faintly. “Yes. Well, truth be told, your departure last night, however irregular, provided me with an opportunity for privacy today I would not otherwise have been afforded.”

He returned his cup and saucer to the table, folding his hands into position on his lap. Rosa’s dolls were having a grand time of things, by the sounds of it, and Eliza watched the ticking of his minute facial expressions with great interest.

“I’ve come here today . . . that is, if you will permit me, I—” Sir James winced, casting a disapproving look over his shoulder, then leaned closer. “Tell me, though, my lady. Do you, in fact, employ a nursemaid?”

“I do, sir.” Eliza felt her face growing hot.

His gaze turned speculative. “And is she not home, at present?”

“She is.”

Rosa’s enthusiasm grew, and she stood suddenly to race around the couch with both her dolls, although Eliza noticed she was still exceedingly careful with her ceramic one. She finally halted to land extravagantly on the couch, her tiny feet flailing in the air before falling to rest on the carpet. Rosa looked to her mother and grinned with a sigh. Eliza chuckled in reply, then started at the feel of Landry’s hand sliding over her own. She turned to evaluate him in dismay.

“I can see the difficulties you must face as a widow, my lady,” he said in a low voice. Sir James smiled comfortingly. “Finding good help can be a trying complication of running a household without a man to oversee.” To her mortification, he patted her hand and leaned closer. “Rest assured, if you were to accept me as your husband, these irritations would trouble you no longer.”

Eliza was rendered speechless by his words. She couldn’t help but glance over to her daughter, who was now sitting up quite properly on the couch cushions, paying close attention to their conversation, her dolls forgotten on either side of her.

She knew that Landry had intended no offense. Granted, in typical high-society fashion, children were often stowed away in the nursery with a capable maid, not to be seen except at specific points during the day, and then only briefly. She and William had not been raised that way, nor had Eliza perpetrated that parental method upon Rosa once she’d been born. The little girl was free to express herself in their presence, and Eliza had to admit that Landry’s resistance to engaging her daughter in this way posed . . . a significant problem.

She slid her hand out from under his and cleared her throat demurely.

“Am I to consider that an offer of marriage?”

Now Rosa’s eyes had grown huge. Her large green orbs studied Eliza closely from the nearby velvet-cushioned couch.

Landry’s back straightened and he smoothed a hand over his cravat. He allowed himself a small smile.

“Surely you cannot be surprised, as I have made my intentions known throughout the course of the season,” he offered, covering her hand once again. “But, yes. Lady Eliza, I wish to have you for my wife. I can think of nothing that would please me more.”

His words grated on her. It was impossible not to notice the differences between Evanston’s repeated heartfelt pleas, and Landry’s calculated bid for her hand. In fact, mere feet away, Rosa sat observing this interaction, yet might as well have been absent altogether. Sir James paid her no mind, and Eliza knew that, while they could perhaps grow closer over the years, it was more likely that he would continue as he had begun—by viewing her daughter as somewhat of an annoyance.

Three light taps upon her right shoulder brought her out of her troubled thoughts, and she turned to find Rosa standing beside her, her diminutive hands curled tightly around her new china doll. Eliza leaned over to receive her quiet whisper in her ear.

“But Mama, what about Thomas?”

She jerked back in surprise, but Rosa’s concerned gaze did not waver. Her uncharacteristic seriousness alerted Eliza to the extent of her anxiety. She was young, to be sure, but she was also highly intuitive. To make this decision without, at the very minimum, consulting with her daughter, would not be giving her the credit she was due. After all, Eliza’s next husband would be acting as Rosa’s father.

Eliza tipped a meaningful look at Rosa, hoping to silence her for now on the subject. Then, again, slid her hand out from beneath Landry’s insistent grasp. She met his eyes.

“I would like some time to consider, please.”

Sir James appeared shocked. He opened his mouth to speak multiple times, before finally organizing his thoughts into a stuttering reply.

“I—well, of course. Certainly. But . . . have you not had sufficient time to consider the . . . possibility . . . of my proposal already? Am I somehow lacking?”

She rose from her seat and took Rosa’s hand in her own. “No, Sir James. You are an admirable man. It’s simply that I have not yet properly weighed certain aspects of the situation. As such, I am unable to provide my answer this very moment.”

Landry rose from his chair, a pensive expression creasing his brow. “Perhaps I can help alleviate your apprehension by answering whatever questions still trouble you.”

Eliza crossed to tug on the bellpull with Rosa in tow, who managed to lunge towards the couch to claim her cloth moppet on the way. “I believe you already have, sir, but I thank you for your understanding.” She smiled gently. “I will not prolong the delay . . . you shall have my answer by tonight.”

Roberts opened the drawing room doors, leaving Landry little choice but to perform a stunned bow and make his exit. She shut the door, then turned to lean against it, staring down at her daughter.

“Talk to me, little one.”

“Are you going to marry him?” Rosa asked.

“I’d been considering it.” Eliza paused. “What do you think?”

“I thought you were going to marry Thomas.”

She lowered down to one knee to place both hands on Rosa’s shoulders. “And why did you think that?”

The little girl’s eyes dropped. “So it’s not true?”

Eliza sternly checked herself at the excitement that bloomed at the mere thought of marrying Lord Evanston. To hear it suggested by her daughter made the possibility feel all the more real.

“Right now, I haven’t agreed to marry anyone.”

Rosa’s eyes raised, shining with happiness. “Good. You can marry Thomas, then. I don’t like that other man.”

Eliza chuckled in amusement at the finality with which Rosa declared her opinion. However, she sobered quickly at the remembrance of what had recently passed between her brother and Thomas. Their relationship was severed; all trust between the men was broken. If marrying Evanston had been out of the question before, it wasn’t even a recognized possibility now.

The thought of the viscount, alone, after the harsh assessment of his character by a man whom he’d considered to be his friend, caused her vision to blur with tears. Knowing she had added to his misery gave her no end of shame. He could be cursing her name at this very moment.

A soft knock upon the door caused Eliza to stand, and she heaved an irritated sigh. How many unwelcome interruptions could there be in one day? She swiped a sleeve at her eyes.

“Yes?”

Roberts’s salt-and-pepper head appeared once more with a salver balanced neatly in his hand. “A letter from Lawton Park, my lady.”

She hoped to find a brief note from Clara but soon her heart sank, for resting upon the tray was a missive addressed to her in a familiar hand.

It was a summons from her brother, William, the Earl of Ashworth.

Thomas stumbled, drunk and bleary, from the rear exit of Putnam’s gaming club. He was far too intoxicated to feel his legs, or control them, for that matter. Luckily, there was a woman tucked under each of his arms, laughing loudly as they hauled him into the street, their hands straying greedily across the linen covering his chest.

His eyes fell closed, distantly wishing it were Eliza touching him now and not these cackling pale things who preyed on wealthy drunken lords. There had been a time where he might not have cared whether these women followed him back home. But even in his current state of grief, he found himself solidly under Eliza’s spell. He attempted to shrug them off, only managing to stumble across the uneven ground instead.

“Easy there, love!” exclaimed the one on his left. “Don’t want ye missing the curb—”

His boot slipped on the grimy edge, and he dropped heavily, grunting as he hit the cobblestone. The women who’d been supporting him had not been very supportive at all, having fallen off to the side to lie in skirted heaps beside him, gasping noiselessly at the hilarity of the situation. He tried to push himself into a respectable seated position.

Who am I trying to fool?

No one, not even his friends, and certainly not Eliza Cartwick, thought of him as respectable. How many times could they say it, and in how many ways, before he finally believed them? Before he relinquished this folly of somehow deserving Eliza’s love?

He finally righted himself to a slouching seated position, knees pulled up, arms resting on top of them. Thomas had overindulged as a way of forgetting what had taken place, not to dwell on it sadly, sitting amidst the muck of a London street. How was he to even find his way home? He’d made the trip from here a hundred times, yet he couldn’t remember ever having been so compromised by drink.

“Yer in your cups now, m’lord,” said the other woman, who was clearly, likewise, in her cups. Her friend hooted in mirth. Their presence was an irritation. He hadn’t asked for their company, anyway. He tried to moisten his numb lips with his tongue.

“Leave,” he slurred.

The noise of a man’s shoes crunching against the grit of the road alerted him to another presence. He did not wish to be seen in his present state, but dimly acknowledged that it could probably not be avoided at this point. Oddly, the women who’d been accompanying him seemed to have vanished, and Thomas cast his blurry gaze upward to survey the newcomer. A bare hand stretched out to meet him.

“Looks like you could use a lift,” said a gravelly voice.

Too drunk to care about the man’s identity, and whether or not this was a good idea, he reached forwards to accept the offered hand. He was immediately pulled upward into a swaying, standing position. With his left eye swollen over from his skirmish with William, his vision was worse than it might normally be after a hard bout of drinking. He could only make out that the man was wearing a cap.

“Thank you,” he said, breathing harshly, certain he stunk of good brandy. Honestly, he was grateful for the assistance. The past few days, in particular, had not been kind to him. “What is your name, sir?”

“That’s not especially important,” came the reply, the man still gripping his hand like a vise. “But Mrs. Varnham sends her regards.”

A sudden sense of alarm flooded through him and he lurched clumsily away, but not before feeling the burning sear of the knife as it slid into his side. Evanston heard his own sharp intake of breath before his knees buckled, and his assailant spoke to him again from what now seemed like another world.

“She only asked that I rough ye up a bit, but I reckon I like to do things my own way.”

The man carelessly wiped the bloody blade across his pants, and Thomas, his senses sobered by the pain, listened to his attacker’s hasty retreat echoing between the buildings until the ground rushed up at him, the darkness finally pulling him under.