Terrified that she would lose Duncan before she had a chance to tell him how much she loved him. Terrified of life without him.

Tremley turned the weapon on her, and she’d never in her life been more grateful than when Duncan was no longer in harm’s way. “They certainly won’t care if I kill you.”

“No!” Duncan’s shout came loud and clear and full of fury, and from the corner of her eye, Georgiana saw him running for the earl, leaping from table to table.

Georgiana focused on the pistol, wondering if Tremley had the courage to pull the trigger. Wondering who would care for Caroline if she were killed.

Wondering who would love Duncan if she were killed.

Wishing she’d had the courage to tell him she loved him. Just once.

“Tell me, my lord,” a strong, clear voice rang out next to Georgiana, and she turned to see a masked woman, standing on a table behind Duncan. “Who will care if I kill you, you treasonous bastard?”

It was Lady Tremley.

Georgiana placed the voice a split-second before Duncan leapt to tackle Tremley to the ground, and a gunshot sounded in the massive room.

Tremley and Duncan fell from the tables, and Georgiana was instantly in motion, heading for them, her heart in her throat, before they hit the ground.

The crowd went wild, screaming and scattering, nearly trampling each other in their rush to get away from the weapon and the scene of the murder. Georgiana couldn’t find Duncan – between the smoke from the pistol’s report, and the crush of people, she could not see him..

She flew over the tables, staying on high ground, leaping from roulette to faro to vingt-et-un to hazard, crossing the casino floor to where he had been moments earlier.

Praying that he was safe.

When she found him, he was on the floor, on his back, eyes closed. She leapt down beside him, crying his name. “No…” she whispered, putting her hands to his chest, unbuttoning his coat. “No no no no.” The word became her chant as she slid her hands into his jacket, throwing the lapels back, searching his chest for blood or a wound. Or anything.

He captured her hand in his. “Stop.”

Her breath caught. “You’re alive.”

He opened his eyes. “I am.”

She burst into tears.

“Oh, love,” he said, sitting up and pulling her into his arms. “No. Don’t cry.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Christ,” he whispered to the hair there. “You were magnificent. You saved me, you gorgeous, perfect girl.”

“I thought you were dead,” she said.

He shook his head. “I am not.” He looked past her, finding Tremley’s motionless body on the floor nearby. “The lady is an excellent shot.”

Tremley was dead.

Duncan straightened his coat, feeling in his pockets for brief moments before he turned back around to look at the floor.

“What is it?” she asked.

He leaned over, lifted something from the carpet nearby. “In your desperation to touch me, you nearly lost my most prized possession.” He straightened, brandishing a feather.

Her feather.

Plucked from her coif on the first night they’d met as Georgiana and West, at the Worthington Ball.

The tears came again as she watched him slip the feather into his coat pocket, against his heart. He reached for her, brushing the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t cry, darling. I am well. Sound. Here.”

But for how long?

“I thought he was going to kill you,” she said, hating the way the words shook from her, the way her body had gone cold and shaking in the wake of his near loss. “I thought I would lose you.”

“He didn’t kill me,” he promised. “And you’ll never lose me. You’ve ruined me for all others. Forever.”

She loved him. She should tell him so.

But he was pointing to Lady Tremley. “She did kill him, however. Perhaps we ought to do something to keep her from the end of a rope?”

Yes. That was something she could do.

Anna stood, and the entire room went silent, every person assembled stunned by the events of the evening – none more so than Lady Tremley, who seemed thoroughly shocked by the fact that she’d murdered her husband.

And it was murder; Lord Tremley grew cold even as the owners of The Fallen Angel looked to each other. Something had to be done, for if there was ever a man who deserved killing – this was he.

Georgiana surveyed the room in the silence, finally deciding to take control, returning to the tabletop, taking her spot on the roulette field. “I shouldn’t have to remind any of you that every one of you has a secret kept in our confidence.”

Temple understood immediately what she was saying, pulling himself back up to stand on a table. “If a breath of what happened here tonight —”

Bourne rose, too. “Not that anything has happened here tonight —”

“Nothing besides obvious self-defense,” Georgiana said.

“And, of course, saving two perfectly innocent people from their own demise,” Duncan pointed out, joining her.

Cross spoke from his place on the floor. “But if something had happened, and information left this room, every one of your secrets —”

“To a man,” Georgiana said.

Duncan climbed up beside her. “— will be printed in my papers.”

There was a beat as the words sank in around the room, silence fell as the membership of The Fallen Angel remembered why they came to this place, where their dues were paid in secrets.

For the tables.

The gaming began almost immediately.