The large man appeared as if summoned from the walls themselves.
“Go to Rosehaven House,” Bessie said. “Ask Miss Edgewood to attend me here. Courtesy only. No haste.”
“Yes, madam.”
He vanished.
“You intend to put us in the same room,” Marcus said.
“I intend to know what ground you mean to hold before London forces you onto one of its own choosing.”
“There is no game.”
She huffed. “You stride into my Den wearing that face and tell me there is no game.”
“What face?”
“The one that says you would burn half the city if anyone so much as disturbed the hem of Miss Edgewood’s shawl.”
Marcus looked away. “I don’t intend to burn anything.”
“You intend to protect her.”
“Yes.”
“And your son.”
“Yes.”
“And yourself.”
He hesitated. “That matters less.”
“Wrong,” she said sharply. “A man who does not value his own life is careless with other people’s hope. You will not be careless with hers. Or the boy’s.”
His hand tightened around the glass.
“What makes you so certain there is hope?” he asked.
“Because you came to me,” she said. “Not to a bottle. Not to a brawl. To the place where reputations are made and broken.” Her cane tapped once. “That tells me whose future you are thinking of.”
Footsteps sounded outside the salon. Light. Familiar.
Bessie smiled. “And that tells me she is here.”
Lila arrived with Titan, her steps measured despite the tension coiled beneath her composure. She had not rushed, exactly as Mrs. Dove-Lyon had instructed, yet every instinct urged her forward the moment she crossed the threshold of the Den.
The rooms were quieter than usual, the atmosphere altered, as though something decisive had already passed through and left its mark behind.
Titan opened the door to Bessie’s salon and stepped aside.
“Miss Edgewood.”
Lila entered.
Firelight gilded the walls. The scent of tea lingered beneath beeswax and smoke. Mrs. Dove-Lyon stood near the hearth, cane in hand, her expression attentive rather than concerned.
And Marcus stood near the mantel.
