Irenna perched on a chair in the drawing room of Chandos House, apprehension fluttering through her. The ambassador had called the entire household to a meeting. Aunt Sophie sat next to her, and the servants stood behind them.

Count Dietrichstein paced before them, more agitated than Irenna had ever seen him.

“I’m very sorry to tell you all,” he said, “that two days ago Sardinia declared war on Austria.”

Irenna pulled in a breath and glanced at her aunt, who nodded, but didn’t seem surprised by the news. Clearly her husband had confided in her immediately upon receiving the information.

The ambassador’s gaze went to the staff. “I know that most of you, being British, are not unduly affected by this news. But it is best if everyone knows that the tensions between our embassy and the Sardinians will be high. I trust you all to behave in a most circumspect manner.”

“We shall, my lord,” the butler said, and the rest of the staff nodded their assent.

“You may go,” the ambassador said. “Fetch some coffee for the ladies, however. They look in need of bracing.”

Irenna certainly did. While not completely unexpected, the knowledge that Austria was at war made her feel oddly vulnerable.

“Should I cancel my tea with Lady Henstoke this afternoon?” Aunt Sophie asked.

“That should not be necessary,” the ambassador said, watching the staff file out. “But make sure to take an extra footman along when you go.”

When the room was empty, he turned back to Irenna and the countess.

“There is more bad news. The Sardinians who attacked Irenna have been let go by the police.”

“What?” Aunt Sophie rose, one hand to her chest. “But Wren and Lord Percival identified the miscreants! How could the authorities be so remiss? Where is the justice?”

Count Dietrichstein blew out a breath. “Since they are relatives of Count Rossi, I’ve no doubt bribery was involved. Don’t fret, my dear—we will not let this stand. For now, take your coffee and try not to let this all overset you.”

“It is a great deal to take in stride.” Aunt Sophie glanced at Irenna. “We will keep our heads high, however, and carry ourselves through the day as best we can.”

“I know you shall.” The ambassador kissed his wife on the cheek, tipped his head to Irenna, then strode out of the room.

With a discouraged sound, Aunt Sophie sat down again, her backbone not nearly as straight as usual.

“So distressing,” she said. “How are you bearing up, Wren?”

“Well enough.” Despite the pit of worry in her stomach. “I don’t think I’ll accompany you to tea later. Will Vienna come under attack, do you think?”

“Highly unlikely. Austria is safe enough. Likely the fighting will be confined to the parts of Italy under our rule, just as the uprisings were. And our forces are stronger. All will be well.”

“And what of the Sardinians who attacked me?” In truth, Irenna found the fact that they’d been let go far more distressing than the distant threat of war.

Aunt Sophie patted her knee. “The ambassador said he will take care of it, and I believe he shall. Now, here comes our coffee. Tell me more about Queen Victoria’s book collection.”

Though it was difficult to muster up much enthusiasm, talking about her work did serve as distraction enough. By the time they finished their coffee, she felt a bit better.

“Now that I’ve drunk two cups of coffee, I must make ready to go to tea.” Aunt Sophie grimaced slightly. “Well, it can’t be helped. Will you be all right staying home this afternoon?”

“Of course. I’d rather stay in.” Remaining at Chandos House felt safer than going about the streets of London, where her assailants might be lurking around any corner. “Besides, I’ve bookbinding supplies to order, and a few sundry items to send out for. I’ll keep busy, Aunt. Don’t fret about me.”

Aunt Sophie rose and gave her a determinedly cheery smile. “Very well then, if you insist. I’m off to change.”

In the now-quiet drawing room, Irenna finished her coffee, then went to the writing desk. She could compose her shopping list upstairs in her room, but it was comforting to hear the bustle of the household around her.

A maid came in and took the tray of coffee away, and Irenna could hear the butler issuing orders down the hall. After a half hour, Aunt Sophie came in, dressed in a deep green tea gown, to bid her niece farewell and inquire once more about the state of her mind.

“I’m well, truly,” Irenna said. “Enjoy your tea.”

Her aunt bustled off, and soon after, Irenna heard the rumble of the carriage pulling away. Finally finished with her list, she rang for a footman and directed him to visit the various shops that stocked the supplies she needed. They were nothing out of the ordinary: hide glue, waxed linen thread, and a small awl.

A thin ray of sunshine crept across the Aubusson carpet, and she glanced out the window to see patches of blue mixed with the pewter clouds. Thank heavens it had stopped raining, for she was not certain her mood would be able to bear a day full of leaden drizzle.

Still, all she wanted to do was curl up before her hearth with a book. She was currently reading a historical novel by Henriette Paalzow, and finding it interesting enough.

With that comforting prospect in mind, Irenna headed down the hallway for the stairs. Tense voices from the ambassador’s study made her pause.

“I will go answer Count Rossi at once,” the ambassador said.

“Is it wise?” That was his secretary, Hans. “We’re at war, after all.”

“All the more reason I must reply to his message in person. He has made the first overture, and it’s true that both our countries are better served if the opposing diplomats are at least able to converse. Now is not the time to hold grudges, and I’m glad the count has recognized that fact. But be assured, I’ll insist he send away those ruffians he calls his nephews.”

“Let me go, sir. You oughtn’t risk yourself.”

“Nonsense. Of course I’ll go. But you may accompany me.” There was a note of finality in the ambassador’s voice. “Go arrange for the carriage.”

“The countess has taken it, I believe.” Hans sounded relieved.

“Then we’ll take the barouche. Go, go.”

Mind whirling, Irenna slowly continued to the stairs. She was partway up when she heard the study door open. Pausing, she glanced at the secretary as he went to the front door.

Count Dietrichstein must not go into that pit of vipers. She knew it down to her bones. The young men who’d attacked her were filled with bitterness, and hatred of her people. She’d seen it in their eyes. They would not hesitate to set upon the ambassador if he were unlucky enough to come across them.

She firmed her lips and turned about, descending the stairs once again. Even though she hated to admit that she had eavesdropped, the ambassador’s safety was paramount. She tapped on the half-open study door, then stepped inside.

“Good afternoon, Irenna,” the count said, giving her a preoccupied frown. “Is something the matter?”

“Forgive me,” she said, “but I couldn’t help overhearing that you plan to visit the Sardinian embassy. I know it’s not my place, but I beg you not to go. They hold no love for the Austrians, and I fear you’d be placing yourself in grave danger.”

“While Count Rossi and I have our differences, I trust that I’ll be safe. No need to fret on my account.”

“But the young men—”

“I’m sincerely sorry that they were let go, and I understand that you’re afraid of them. They won’t be a nuisance after this, however, as I shall insist Count Rossi send them packing. Now, don’t worry yourself any longer. Perhaps you ought to go have a lie down.”

The young men were far more than a nuisance. The ambassador hadn’t seen the rage in their eyes, or heard their vows of revenge. But she’d been clearly dismissed, and attempting to argue further would be taken as the worst impertinence. Even though she suspected the letter from Count Rossi might have been forged, the ambassador clearly did not share her worries.

She dipped a wordless curtsey to Count Dietrichstein, nodded at Hans as he returned down the hall, and went up to her bedroom.

Instead of taking to her bed in a fit of the vapors—and what a ridiculous suggestion that had been—she paced back and forth, thoughts racing. There must be something she could do, someone she could go to.

Viscount Percival.

His name came unbidden into her mind, and she halted. Although some people might find it a laughable idea, she’d seen hints that the foppish Lord Percival was, perhaps, an elaborate façade. There were so many little inconsistencies in his behavior: his rescue of her and the way he’d handled the Sardinians, the flashes of melancholy she’d seen in his eyes, the way he danced. And kissed.

She let out a breath. Was she romanticizing him, imagining there was more to the man because she’d foolishly become infatuated?

The sound of the front door closing was a distant thud. She must act.

She could send a footman to Lord Percival with a note, but that would take too long. The ambassador was heading into immediate danger, and there was no time to waste. If the viscount was not the man she suspected, proving to be only a fool, then she would go directly to the police and attempt to enlist their aid.

And if Lord Percival was, indeed, more than he appeared to be? Then once again she had been misled and deceived by a handsome gentleman. The thought twisted inside her, but she stuffed it down and hastily rang for a maid.

Not that her reputation would remain intact if anyone discovered she’d paid a call upon the viscount without her aunt as chaperone. Still, taking someone else along was better than going alone, which would surely brand her as a harlot.

It was a risk she could not afford, but neither could she sit by as the Austrian ambassador put himself in peril. Dear heavens, she hoped her instincts were correct. Despite the fact that she’d been badly led astray by them in Vienna.

The maid arrived, and Irenna quickly explained the situation. Although the girl’s eyes grew wide, she didn’t protest, only ran to get her cloak.

Irenna donned her pelisse, then went to the servants’ staircase. She listened a moment, but heard no footsteps. Satisfied there was no one about, she hurried down the narrow stairs and let herself out the servants’ entrance with none the wiser.

The maid met her outside a moment later.

“Now what, miss?” the girl asked.

“We must hire a cab to Mayfair.” Luckily, Irenna had some pin money—not that she’d ever dreamed she’d be using it to illicitly visit a gentleman.

Her breath plumed in the damp air, and for a moment she wanted nothing more than to return to the safety of the house. But it was too late to turn back now. She would discover who Lord Percival truly was—a fool, or a liar.

Keeping out of sight as best they could, she and the maid gained Regent Street and hailed a cab.

“Percival House, in Mayfair,” Irenna told the driver as he went to open the door for them.

He gave her an incurious look. “Right you are.”

The clop of the horse’s hooves echoed her pounding pulse. As they went past St. James’s Park, she tried to imagine how the meeting with Viscount Percival would go. Would he let his mask drop—if indeed he wore one? And would her heart survive the truth?

The cab rocked to a stop outside a townhouse with a white façade. Feeling as though the pounding of her pulse was going to engulf her, Irenna disembarked and paid the driver. Then, exchanging a quick look with the maid, she strode up the walkway. It was edged with yellow crocus in bloom, which lifted her mood not at all.

The knocker was an ornate brass bird, heavy under her fingers as she lifted it and let it drop. Please, let him be home, she thought, even as the other half of her wished mightily that he would not.

The door opened and a portly butler with a ruddy face regarded her.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “May I help you?”

Irenna cleared her throat, which did not seem to want to issue words. “Is Lord Percival at home?”

Boom, boom went her heartbeat.

“He is.”

Thank heavens. Relief made her a bit lightheaded, but her troubles were not over yet. Indeed, they might just be beginning.

The butler moved back and held the door open so that she and the maid might step into the foyer.

“Whom might I say is calling?” he asked.

“Miss Irenna Brunner,” she said, in as firm a tone as she could manage.

“You may wait in the parlor. This way, please.”

Whatever the butler thought about an unchaperoned young woman paying a call upon his master, his face and voice showed not a trace of judgment. He led Irenna and her companion to a room furnished with comfortable chairs and a colorful Turkish carpet, with a window overlooking the side yard. She was too nervous to sit, however, and ended up pacing before the empty hearth.

In a very short time, Viscount Percival stepped into the room. He glanced at the maid, but went directly to Irenna and took her hand.

“Miss Brunner, what is the matter?”

She closed her eyes briefly, thankful that he was at home, and that the man greeting her showed no trace of foolish mannerisms. At least, not yet.

“Lord Percival,” she said, “I hope you might be able to help.”

Something flashed across his expression, and she held her breath. Would he revert to the foppish and feather-headed viscount?

“Come, sit.” He led her to one of the chairs, then nodded at the maid to take a seat as well.

Irenna was going to have to reveal the embassy’s secrets—but there was no help for it. He correctly interpreted her hesitation, for he took the chair in front of her, his face serious.

“You may trust in my discretion, Irenna.”

“I hope so,” she said, giving him a level look. “I pray I have not misjudged you, my lord.”

If she had not, then it meant he’d been lying to her—to all of them. The implications shivered through her, but she pushed them away. For now, she must concentrate on the matter at hand.

He met her gaze. “I am at your service in any way possible. Tell me how I may assist.”

She hesitated, but it was too late to turn back now.

“Two things you must know,” she said. “Sardinia has declared war on Austria. And the men who assailed me at the opera have been released.”

He gave a short nod, as though he’d already been in possession of one or both of those facts. “Have they threatened you?”

“No.” She leaned forward. “But the ambassador received a message, ostensibly from Count Rossi, and is even now on his way to the Sardinian embassy. As soon as he left, I came straight to you. I fear for his safety.”

“As you should.” He rose and gave the bell pull three sharp tugs. “I’ll go to the Sardinians directly, and take my stoutest footmen. Don’t fear, Irenna.”

Her heart gave a huge thump, then settled. Viscount Percival was not the man all of London thought him to be. Her gamble had paid off—though the consequences still remained to be seen.

She stood. “Take me with you. There is the third man who must be identified, after all. Unless you were able to get a good look at him before he fled?”

The viscount’s face hardened. “I was too busy dealing with the others, I’m afraid.”

“I cannot sit about waiting for you,” she said. “Especially not here, in your town house. After all, even the most discreet of servants gossip.” It might already be too late for her reputation—but if the ambassador was saved because of it, she would bear the consequence.

Lord Percival frowned slightly. “It’s no more proper for you to go off in my carriage with me. No, you’d best return to Chandos House.”

The butler appeared at the parlor door.

“My lord,” he said, handing the viscount a cloth-wrapped bundle, “your carriage is ready.”

The barrel of a pistol peeked out from under the cloth, and Irenna caught her breath. It was one thing to hope the viscount would rush to the ambassador’s rescue, and quite another to see him armed.

“Don’t worry,” he said to her. “I’m a crack shot.”

“Goodness, Lord Percival,” she could not help but say. “Who are you?”

He snared her with his bright blue gaze. “We can discuss that later.”

There was a mix of emotion in his eyes, but foremost was a steely determination. Whatever happened, Irenna knew that he would save Count Dietrichstein.

“You also have another visitor,” the butler said, glancing over his shoulder.

“Who is it?” the viscount asked.

“Let me by.” Aunt Sophie spared the man from answering as she pushed past. She saw Irenna and stopped, her eyes widening in surprise. “Wren! Whatever are you doing here?”

A ridiculous stab of jealousy went through Irenna. It was not outside the realm of possibility that she’d stumbled into the middle of an assignation between her aunt and the viscount.

“I might ask the same,” she choked out. She could scarcely breathe, as though her corset laces had been tightened almost beyond bearing.

“I came to speak to Lord Percival. About you, in fact.” Aunt Sophie’s mouth firmed. “And what is your excuse, young lady?”

Irenna’s lungs eased. Judging by her aunt’s reaction, there was nothing romantic between her and the viscount.

“This isn’t what it seems,” the viscount said, stepping forward. “And we have very little time for discussion. I’m very glad to see you, Countess Dietrichstein. Please do me the favor of escorting your niece home. I must be off immediately.”

“It’s true,” Irenna said. “We mustn’t keep Lord Percival any longer.”

“Hmph.” Aunt Sophie turned to Irenna. “I expect a detailed explanation from you the moment we depart.”

The viscount ushered the ladies, including the maid, out the door. His carriage waited just behind the Austrian embassy’s vehicle, and was manned by two large footmen.

“Don’t fear,” he said. “I’ll call upon you later this afternoon.”

He tipped his hat, then strode to his waiting vehicle. A heartbeat later, they were off.

“Explain,” Aunt Sophie said as they clambered into their own carriage.

Irenna quickly outlined the situation, watching her aunt grow more agitated as she spoke.

“What? My Fritz is in danger? I won’t allow it.” Aunt Sophie stuck her head out the window in a most unladylike fashion and called to the driver to make all haste for the Sardinian embassy.

“Are you sure that’s the best course?” Irenna asked. A shiver went through her at the memory of the hate in the Sardinian’s eyes.

“If the men are being difficult, Countess Rossi and I can prevail upon them to see reason.” Aunt Sophie patted Irenna’s knee. “Truly, I’ve often thought that women ought to be made the official ambassadors of countries. Things would be so much easier that way.”

They had a frustrating delay in Regent’s street, where a cart had broken an axle and had to be hauled out of the way, but at last carriage reached their destination. Irenna leaned forward and peered out the window. The front of the grand brick townhouse the Sardinians used for their embassy seemed perfectly peaceful. For a moment she wondered if Count Dietrichstein had decided not to come after all.

Then she saw the barouche with the Austrian coat of arms on the side parked nearby, and her heart clenched.

Viscount Percival’s carriage was there, too, though there was no sign of him. Heart clenched, Irenna stared at the blank windows and closed door of the embassy, and said a quick, silent prayer for his safety.