Even at that moment, it stung. She must look horrendous.

He took a step closer and repeated, louder, “Aren’t you?”

“Yes!” She wiped at her nose with her sleeve. “Yes, I am. I know I am, but please-”

“Please what?” Sir Jasper was enjoying himself now. “Please don’t snuff out your pathetic, vulgar little life? You ought to be thanking me for putting you out of your misery. If Bedlow’s tired of you already, just think how he’s going to feel when you’re six months gone and fat as a sow.”

Through her sobs, Penelope heard a twig crack. Sir Jasper blinked, and Penelope screeched like a fishwife, “ Nev isn’t tired of me!” A triumphant smile spread across Sir Jasper’s face, and Penelope hated him, just hated him. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and glared.

“Oh, isn’t he?” he said. “You’re crazy about him, aren’t you?”

The sobs froze in Penelope’s throat. She stared at Sir Jasper, at Sir Jasper’s horrible smile, and could not think, could not speak, could not make a sound. Sir Jasper’s eyes flickered again, as if he were going to look away, and Penelope heard herself say loudly, her voice choked with tears and nearly unrecognizable, “Yes! Yes! I’m crazy about him! Are you happy now?”

“And how do you suppose he feels about you?” Sir Jasper asked.

Nev rolled under the tripwire and came up in a crouch, his knife out. “He feels pretty much the same.” He lunged at Sir Jasper.

Within a very few moments, Penelope had more sympathy with Gothic heroines than she ever had before. There simply did not appear to be anything she could do to help Nev, or even anything she could do that wouldn’t actively hinder him. So she stood like a particularly useless stone and watched as he and Sir Jasper lunged and feinted and were very, very careful not to step too far to the left or right, because the tripwires were close.

The one good thing was that Nev knew what he was doing. He was swift and focused, and Penelope saw quickly that he had the advantage over Sir Jasper in skill, speed, and condition. The problem was the enclosed space, and that his only weapon was a short pocketknife. Sir Jasper was soon bruised and bleeding from a dozen small cuts, but it was clear that Nev did not dare close with him for fear of toppling them all into a wire. He tried to drive Sir Jasper back, away from the deadly corner and Penelope, but Sir Jasper was no fool and refused to give ground.

But, Penelope realized, Nev did not seem desperate. He fought steadily and calmly, as if he did not have to win.

Then she thought she heard another rustle in the trees, and Nev tensed, ever so slightly.

Nev was waiting. Nev thought help was on the way.

Penelope remembered the Gothic heroine’s weapon. She began to scream, as loudly as she could. Surely they would hear. Surely they would come. Her throat hurt and Nev was beginning to sweat, and she could not tell how near help might be because her screams drowned out their noise. But if she could not tell, then Sir Jasper couldn’t either, and that was something.

“Tell your wife to shut the hell up!” Sir Jasper snarled, looking decidedly wild. On Nev ’s next lunge, Sir Jasper seized his wrist. Nev twisted easily out of his grasp, but somehow Sir Jasper used their contact to swing them round so he was between Nev and Penelope.

Nev’s eyes widened, but whether he was looking at her or at something behind her, Penelope could not say; she saw him come to some sort of decision.

Nev charged forward, and Sir Jasper clocked him in the face. Nev fell like a stone.

The screams died in Penelope’s throat. In the abrupt silence, she heard a rustle directly behind her, and thought she understood. Nev wasn’t unconscious. He was making Sir Jasper a clear target.

Sir Jasper made to kneel beside Nev, and Penelope said past the pain and soreness in her throat, “I’ll kill you if you touch him.” Where was the help? Why weren’t they shooting? Had she been wrong? Any second now Sir Jasper would kneel down and put his hands around Nev ’s throat. She began to count to three; if nothing had happened by then, surely she could run into Sir Jasper hard enough to knock the two of them into a tripwire. If she could twist them round so he was toward the tree, she might not even be hurt.

One.

Two.

There was a deafening noise and a flash of red, and Sir Jasper slumped to the ground on top of Nev.

Penelope’s knees buckled, but she pushed herself forward in time to land on the ground at Nev ’s side instead of falling into the tripwires.

Nev opened his eyes and looked at her. There were leaves in his hair and Sir Jasper’s blood was spattered across his face, and his smile was as sweet as ever. “I think I have a handkerchief in my pocket,” he said. He sounded absolutely all right, but when Penelope gingerly reached a hand under Sir Jasper’s shoulder to pull it out, her fingers came away wet with the baronet’s blood.

She started to cry again, and Nev shoved Sir Jasper off him and gathered her up. She clung to him, pressed into his chest, ignoring the blood smeared across her face and the snot still dribbling down her chin and the horrible, sniveling picture she must make. She focused instead on Nev ’s heartbeat, steady under her ear. He held her and shushed her and stroked her hair and murmured, “It’s all right, sweetheart, you’re safe now, it’s all right, he can’t hurt you anymore, he can’t hurt our people, we’re safe.” He knew just what to say and just how to hold her and he was perfect, perfect for her. How could she leave him? That had been death’s chief terror too: leaving Nev.

Penelope got through the next half hour in a daze: thanking the men who had shot Sir Jasper, telling Edward and Lord Thirkell that she was all right, really, it wasn’t her blood, it wasn’t Nev ’s. Edward looked guilty and on edge. Penelope didn’t know why and didn’t have the energy to find out.

They were in the hall at the Grange. Nev was explaining for the tenth time what had happened, this time to the constable, inquiring how soon they could have an inquest and asking after Agnes Cusher and generally being a responsible landlord and a rational adult even though he was still gripping Penelope’s hand hard enough to hurt. Penelope was tired and bloody and her feet ached. “I want a bath.”

She was shocked at herself in the next instant, but Nev said, “Of course you do. I’m sorry, I’ll ring for Molly.”

She nodded. “C-come with me.” The constable smirked, Lord Thirkell coughed, and poor Edward looked as if he might have a coronary at any moment. Penelope blushed and set her chin and looked at Nev.

He blinked. “Penelope, are you sure-?”

She nodded, and Nev turned to the other men and said in his most charmingly rueful tones, “My wife has had a very long and frightening day. Perhaps if you came back tomorrow morning, we could discuss the matter further. Thirkell, you can move your things into one of the guest rooms if you’d like. And thank you.”

All too soon they were in her room, alone, waiting for the footmen to bring up the tub. Penelope did not know what to do. Reluctantly, she let go of Nev ’s hand and went to the mirror. Good God, she looked dreadful.

It didn’t matter. Nev knew what she looked like.

Nev sighed behind her. “It’s all right, Penelope. I know you were just trying to distract Sir Jasper. I know you didn’t mean it. And I know you’re upset now. You’ve been through a lot today, and you don’t want to be alone. I understand. I won’t-” He stopped for a moment, then said, very steadily, “I won’t think it means more than it does. You don’t have to say anything.”

“No. No, I think I do. Nev, what I said this morning-”

“Can’t we talk about it later, Penelope?” He looked at the floor, sounding so tired it broke her heart. “I know you want to go, at least-at least for a while, and I know that it complicates things that there might be a child, and I know we have to talk about it. But does it have to be right now? Can’t we just take a damned bath because we’re both filthy and covered in our nearest neighbor’s blood and not talk about it?”