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fantasy.

Lord Randolph, a step away now, red with fury.

Lord Bryght, a pistol aimed at him.

Bey here, with her, pulling her skirts down, and cutting her bonds with three quick slashes of a knife. Like a reflex, she jerked into a protective huddle, knees to exposed chest. He gathered her, still locked like that, into his arms.

"Hush, hush," he murmured, and she realized she was weeping.

She didn't want to weep!

But weak tears poured like a river in flood, conquering any will to stop them. His arms tightened and he rocked her, still murmuring words she couldn't hear as she wept till she ached, wept till she burned, wept till she could weep no more.

"Hush now," he said, words making sense at last. "Poor Lord Randolph is awaiting your pleasure."

That snapped her sore eyes open, and saw her would-be rapist, arrogant despite his still-open breeches. As she'd thought, Lord Bryght had him under control of his pistol. Bey seemed almost calm, but Lord Bryght emanated cold fury.

Diana realized she'd unlocked herself from that protective knot at some point, and now she moved out of Bey's arms, clutching around herself the coat she hadn't been aware of before. Bey's coat. He was in shirt sleeves, watching her with deep, dark care.

Silently, he pulled a long cravat pin from the lace at his throat, and gently loosened her clutching hands from his coat. Deftly, he pulled her bodice together and wove the pin through the cut edges so she was decent again.

Still shivering slightly, she dragged her pistol out of her pocket at last, and cocked it. "I vowed to kill him."

"He is yours."

"You can't do that," Lord Randolph said, suddenly pale. "For God's sake, Lord Rothgar, take that off her before she has an accident."

Diana growled. "I need to kill him."

"He is yours," Bey said again. "Somerton, she could put a pistol ball between your eyes at thirty paces, so wherever she hits you, it will not be an accident. I recommend between the legs, Lady Arradale."

Lord Randolph went white, and covered himself with his hands. "By God! Lady Arradale, remember the king!"

"You stupid man, do you really think the king would have ordered this?"

"I have his letter!"

Bey put his hand on her pistol. "Perhaps he should live a little longer. What letter?"

"He claims to have a letter from the king proposing this plan to prevent the union of our two estates. But Bey, de Couriac was part of this. It's the French. I think it's aimed at you - "

"Hush," he said. "I know. This place is well guarded now." He looked at Lord Randolph. "The king will be outraged by this abduction, and he wants a marriage between myself and Lady Arradale."

"You lie. I have the letter in my coat!"

Bey rose and went through the pockets of Lord Randolph's abandoned jacket.

"You'll see I'm speaking the truth," the man said. "Let me fasten my breeches."

"No. You were keen enough to unfasten them, I assume." Bey stood with a folded sheet. He studied the seal in the light of the one candle, then opened the piece of paper.

"See?" said Lord Randolph, folding his arms again.

He wasn't a stupid man, Diana thought, but one blinkered by arrogance and self-importance. He truly thought the king's favor was real, and would save him.

"Indeed I see. An excellent forgery. The king will be even more outraged."

"A forgery!" Lord Randolph stepped forward and snatched the letter. "It has the king's own seal."

"Fabricating a seal is even easier than copying handwriting."

"Someone sent me a letter in your handwriting," Diana said. "That was cleverly done, too."

"I apologize. I should have thought to set up some code to verify such things."

Diana gathered his coat closer around herself. "If you try to take the blame for this, I'll shoot you. Despite illusions on the subject, you are not God."

He laughed briefly, but Lord Randolph exclaimed, "His writing? You thought the note from me."

"No," she said, "I didn't."

"You strumpet!"

Bey backhanded him so he staggered back into the wall.

"You are a fool, Somerton, and the world would be better off without fools. You deserve to die for what you did here, but that is in Lady Arradale's hands. But if you say one word more that is less than respectful, you will meet my sword."

"Perhaps I would win," the man blustered, hand to his face.

"You must be extremely good then, because not only am I skilled, I hunger to drive a blade through your heart."

At the calm but chilling words, Lord Randolph's face turned