“Good…ness gracious, Your Grace. You gave me a fright.” Hannah clapped a hand to her chest.

Mina ushered the maid to an embroidered armchair before she could wilt, then crossed to the window and twitched the curtains aside. Her home was in the middle of Mayfair, and there was not enough traffic this time of the morning to hide the presence of a man reading the broadsheets as he leaned against a wrought iron fence opposite the house.

“It couldn’t be helped.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The maid wouldn’t mention a hint of this to anyone else. Hannah’s mechanical hand was hidden inside her glove but it more than ensured her loyalty to Mina. No other mech served within the Echelon, but Mina chose to overlook the flaw and Hannah was eternally grateful.

Servants could always be bought, but it was easier to keep their loyalty if they were paid in currencies beyond gold.

A fluffy white cat lifted her head from the bed, her tail lashing. She examined Mina with golden eyes.

“I want you to send for Mr. Gow,” Mina said. Her nerves were entirely stretched. Last night… She couldn’t seem to forget a single thing. What had Barrons meant by any of it? To ask such a price of her and then not take the prize when it was offered.

You never did understand my motives…

Devil take him. It was hard to think of him as the son of her enemy when he was so charming. Far too easy to see him as just a man, and that could be dangerous for her.

There was an odd little silence as she picked up the cat, pressing her face into Boadicea’s warm fur, and she realized Hannah was waiting, hands folded. “Mum?”

“Yes?”

“Do you wish to entertain him here or downstairs?” Hannah asked, and it sounded as if she were repeating herself.

“My study.” She never liked having anyone else in her rooms. They were hers. Mina pressed a kiss to Boadicea’s head. The feel of that warm body was comforting. “Then return here to see me dressed.”

Hannah bobbed a curtsy and left. She’d not said a word about the ensemble Mina wore. The dress that Barrons had found for her to wear before he’d handed her up into a hackney was utterly ludicrous, a low-cut yellow walking gown devoid of anything resembling style. Everybody knew the Duchess of Casavian wouldn’t be caught dead in such a thing, which was precisely the point. The image she’d perfected over the years as the very fashionable, untouchable duchess was foolproof. Nobody had even glanced twice at her as she entered the back of Madame Chevalier’s shop.

Only one man had ever seen something else beneath the polished veneer. Mina turned and started tugging at her gloves. Last night had been disastrous in more ways than one. The bath and blud-wein, and the swift sleep she’d managed to snatch in his bed, had provided some distance, allowing her to clear her mind and focus on what must be considered more important.

The queen’s note.

This was where her focus must lie, though she had no intention of allowing Barrons to slip her mind. His motives were just opaque enough for her to question them.

Fact: The prince consort had ordered Goethe murdered.

Supposition: He knew something about the notes she’d been delivering for the queen.

Mina frowned. No, he would have confronted her if he had. There’d not been a single hint that he suspected her of delivering such notes. Indeed, he’d tasked her only last week with increasing supervision over the queen’s movements, which meant that he’d somehow discovered the affection his wife held for Goethe through other means.

Or was this a move against Goethe for some other reason? She couldn’t discount that possibility.

Fact: She and Barrons were both witnesses, but how would they ever prove that the men had been Falcons?

Oh, she knew it, but she had not seen their faces. All she’d caught a glimpse of were shadowy figures in the night, cutting out the duke’s heart. If she dared speak up, would that be her next time? Cold spiraled through her. She could almost feel the knife edge beneath her feet.

“At least I have you,” she whispered. Boadicea chose that moment to sink in her claws and try to escape. Mina let the feline drop to the bed with an exasperated sigh. “Cats have no respect for a duchess.” But the thought made her smile sadly as Boadicea started licking her paws.

Hannah returned promptly and helped her to remove the heavy gown. As she dressed, Mina was unable to stop her thoughts from drifting somewhere far away from fact.

Goethe was dead. That alone dealt her a pang of guilt and regret somewhere in her chest. She’d warned him, after all. What else could she have done?

Not given in to the queen and delivered the messages in the first place.

Queen Alexandra had caught her at a weak moment. “Please, Your Grace… I should be forever grateful…”

And Mina had given in, for in truth she knew there was very little pleasure in the queen’s life. The prince consort saw to it that his pretty little human wife was well supplied with the laudanum she desired and otherwise kept her in her chambers, locked away from the world. As the queen’s Mistress of Robes, Mina alone saw his petty cruelties. Pity was not an emotion she should let herself suffer, and yet she had allowed it to dictate actions she knew were dangerous.

Fact: Mina was going to have to tell the queen that the man she had come to care for was murdered.

Mina’s shoulders slumped.

At least she had destroyed the note. Goethe was dead and the prince consort would eye his wife with suspicion, but he wouldn’t know what the letter had contained. Or that Mina had delivered it herself.

“There we are, mum,” Hannah murmured respectfully.

Mina came out of her thoughts and found herself dressed in a tight velvet day dress. It was so dark a blue as to be almost black, and gold epaulets gleamed on her shoulders. A spill of white lace framed the neckline of her jacket, with golden fringe outlining each layer of her bias-cut skirts. Eminently fashionable, but nobody else saw it as armor the way she did.

“Will you be turning in for the day after your meeting, mum?” Hannah asked, fetching Mina’s hat and pinning her hair into a chignon.

“No.” There was too much to do to sleep. The prince consort would know by now that Goethe was dead and that a woman had witnessed it. The theft of the airship would only draw further attention to the entire affair. She had to act quickly to allay the prince consort’s suspicions while most of the Echelon slept the day away.