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“I am not here for money, Your Grace. I am here for papers.” Sellers smiled, a sickeningly self-satisfied smile. “Papers that will allow me access to new and lucrative investments.”

Sebastian’s ire simmered. “Stealing another man’s work does not qualify as sound business any more than does placing large bets at White’s.”

Sellers’s smile disappeared. “As much as I have enjoyed this exchange, I believe the time for talking is over. The papers you have been working on, Your Grace. I know they are here, so do not attempt to dissemble. I will take them now.”

Rosalind was close. Sebastian could feel it. He moved his arms behind his back and heard the soft swoosh of her dressing gown brushing the floor as she entered Sellers’s line of vision.

“No closer,” Sellers barked.

All sense of movement stopped.

“I do not see any papers, do you, Mr. Sellers?” Rosalind asked.

Sebastian held his breath. All he needed was for the man holding the gun to be distracted for one second. Sellers frowned. His eyes darted to the table, and in that fleeting moment, Rosalind pressed the pistol into Sebastian’s hand. How she’d hidden it all the way across the room, he did not know. But if he’d needed any assurance of how brilliant and brave she was, she’d handed it to him along with the weapon.

Sellers was not stupid either. He may not have seen the exchange, but he must have detected something because in the same moment Sebastian raised his pistol, Sellers lunged for Rosalind’s arm, dragging her to stand in front of him.

“I think not, Kelbrook.” The barrel of Sellers’s gun dug into Rosalind’s ribs, and she took a sharp breath. Sebastian’s fury was tempered only by his desperate fear. “Put down your weapon, and give me the papers.”

Slowly, Sebastian lowered the gun.

“I want it on the table, where I can see it,” Sellers demanded.

Sebastian set his pistol down.

“Now walk away.”

Sebastian hesitated, and Sellers tightened his grip on Rosalind’s arm. She winced, and Sebastian moved.

“Well now, it seems that we are finally getting somewhere.”

At Sellers’s smug look, Sebastian’s hands fisted. He’d shown the man his weakness and could do nothing about it. Rosalind’s life was not—and never would be—up for barter.

“Let her go, Sellers.”

“I will need to be in possession of some papers first.”

Setting his jaw, Sebastian walked to the armchair and retrieved the satchel lying behind it.

“No, Sebastian!” Rosalind cried.

Sellers yanked her arm, and she hissed in pain.

“Hurt her again and I will throw this satchel in the fire,” Sebastian said.

“Throw it in the fire and I kill her,” Sellers responded scornfully.

Rosalind did not quail, but tears welled in her eyes.

Sebastian turned away, knowing that witnessing her distress would be his undoing. His only hope for outmaneuvering Sellers at this point was to act as dispassionately as possible. He walked to the table and set the satchel beside the gun. “Take it,” he said.

Keeping the gun firmly against Rosalind’s side, Sellers shifted her toward the table. He released her arm long enough to claim Sebastian’s pistol and tuck it into his pocket.

“Pick up the bag, Your Grace,” he said.

Rosalind reached for the satchel.

“Put it over your shoulder,” he ordered.