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“I should never have come!”

As soon as she had heard the words, the ground had disappeared from beneath her feet.

Was their unprecedented affinity to be another casualty of the venomous Lady Blackwood’s schemes?

Meeting Miss Dubois out in the hall after leaving the gathering in the study, Molly found her spirits as low as they had ever been. As low as the day her mother died months earlier. When Mama had died, Molly had lost her entire life. All familiar people and places had been left behind to join the baron’s household. Now she was losing the only hope of building her own future. Lady Blackwood might be dead, but her legacy of destruction lived on.

What would it have been like if she had met Marco without the specter of danger and discreditable secrets to ruin their introduction? How was she to tempt him into staying when there were such excellent reasons for him to return home?

“Lady Blackwood, she never made me zit out in the cold. It ees … ’ow you zay … freezing. I miss her zo much, I do.”

Molly ignored Miss Dubois, requesting her coat and bonnet from Duncan, who was on duty in the front hall.

“What would she say about zo many unwed men een residence? C’est impropre! It iz scandalous, no?”

She had heard quite enough about the paragon of vice, Lady Blackwood. She needed some time alone to collect herself.

Duncan assisted her into her coat, then she put on her bonnet and tied the ribbons.

“Where are we going? Mon Dieu, eet ees zo very cold! Surely, you do not truly wish to go outside?”

Molly did not reply, making her way toward the back door and wishing that Madeline was still here to talk to. She had not realized how much she had begun to rely on her friend’s presence, but she was feeling her absence now. Perhaps she should write to Madeline and ask about joining her household. Perhaps she could move in before Madeline and Simon even returned from Scotland. Then she would have a distraction while she tried to pick up the pieces of her broken heart when Marco eventually announced his departure.

Reaching the exit, she turned with a gasp of dismay. She hoped the ploy might work one more time, because she needed the poodle to leave her to her thoughts.

Miss Dubois frowned, before relaxing her face to prevent wrinkles, as Lady Blackwood had advised. The French pest truly had idolized the late baroness. “What ees it, zen?”

“My gloves! I quite forgot them!” She was not sure it would work a second time, but she did not think Miss Dubois was clever, so it was worth a try.

“You must wait ’ere, yes?”

“Of course! It is far too cold to leave the house without them.”

Molly watched the servant hurry away. As soon as Miss Dubois turned the corner, Molly swung the door open and strode away. There was only one place to find peace, and Miss Dubois was not the companion to take with her. She lengthened her stride, so she may extend her time alone as long as she could.

Entering the walled garden where she and Madeline had shared tea and conversation, Molly dropped onto the bench under the magnificent urn, closed her eyes, and leaned back to think, tucking her chilly fingers beneath her thighs to protect them from the cold. It was not like her to be pessimistic, but something about Marco’s tone had told her he was reaching his decision and it was not the one she had hoped for.

While she attempted to regain her equilibrium, a crunch of gravel had her sigh in despair. She had thought she would have at least a few minutes before Miss Dubois caught up with her.

She slowly opened her eyes and yelped in surprise.

MacNaby stood facing her with a flintlock pistol pointed to her chest.

And there was madness glinting in the blue depths of his eyes.

“Miss Carter, I believe I have you to thank for my worsened circumstances,” he fumed, his Scottish brogue more pronounced than ever.

“I … that is …”

“You searched through my things and removed a personal item. A gift that was not yours to take.”

Molly frowned, a little confused that he called it a gift. Had Nicholas not said it revealed the details of Lady Blackwood’s seduction and manipulation of MacNaby? “Did you read it?”

“That is none of your business.”

She thought that probably meant no. Several questions flashed through her mind, but she deemed it poor timing to raise them as she tried to think of what to do about the angry would-be killer threatening her.

“What … are you doing here?”