Vivy tried to smile. “Forgive me if I am not entirely reassured by silk and satin.”
Sabrina’s mouth curved into a mischievous smile. “Then be reassured by stone. Lionston House has survived worse than a disgruntled secretary.”
Vivy tightened her grip on her cup. “He had a knife at my throat.” Something that would haunt her dreams for a while. She still relived it when she closed her eyes. She wished she could forget, but that seemed impossible.
Sabrina’s eyes cooled, just slightly. “Yes. I know.”
Vivy blinked. “Then you know I cannot just simply forget it.” She sighed. “Does your husband tell you everything?” She hoped she could have that sort of relationship with Dash, but she feared he would still try to keep secrets. It was the nature of who he was and while she loved him, she hated that part of him.
“Leander tells me everything that matters,” Sabrina replied calmly, as if that were simply the way marriages worked. “If he loves you, he will do the same with you.”
The words warmed Vivy more than the tea. Of course, her friend would understand why she asked. Before she could respond, the sitting room door opened. Vivy turned, expecting a footman. Instead, Mr. Halford walked in. He was disheveled now. His coat was rumpled with eyes that were bright and filled with panic and rage. In his hand he held a pistol, aimed steadily at them both.
Vivy’s breath stopped. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the black circle of the barrel. “Stand,” Halford snapped. “Both of you. Now.”
Vivy’s body turned cold and heavy, as if her blood had frozen her in place. Her mind scrambled and she lost the ability to think. There was no escape possible and they were too far from the bell-pull. They could not alert the servants of the danger and they were completely alone.
Beside her, Sabrina did not move and she did not even flinch. She stared at Halford with a serene, almost bored expression and then she laughed.
Halford drew his brows together in confusion. “What are you laughing at?”
“You are a fool,” Sabrina said pleasantly. “You are not the first man to attempt to harm me, Mr. Halford and I doubt you will be the last.” She took a delicate sip of her tea as if she were discussing the weather. “My husband will make you regret your choices.”
Halford’s face flushed. “It is you who are the fool,” he hissed. “I have no time for your theatrics. Stand now.”
Sabrina lifted her cup again, slowly and deliberately, and took another sip. Vivy stared at her, stunned into silent incredulity. What game was she playing? Did she not believe Halford would actually shoot them?
Sabrina waved a hand dismissively, as if shooing a persistent fly. “Do not worry, Vivy,” she said lightly. “Leander will deal with the riffraff.”
Halford’s hand jerked, the pistol wavering for an instant. “Stop saying that. He isn’t here to protect you.”
“But isn’t he?” She said in a flippant tone. She smiled at Halford, and sighed. "Darling, haven’t you heard enough?”
A male voice drifted in from the corridor, calm as if arriving late to tea. “My love,” Lionston drawled, “it is gratifying to know you have such faith in me.”
Halford whipped around. Lionston stood in the doorway, impeccably composed with a dark coat, perfect cravat, and a mildly amused expression on his handsome face. He looked like a man who had wandered in to inquire after biscuits rather than confront a gun.
Sabrina smiled. “Naturally.” She winked at him. Vivy stared at the two of them as if they had lost their bloody minds. They were acting as if being held at gunpoint was the most natural thing in the world. Had they lost their minds?
Halford’s pistol snapped toward Lionston. “Stay back!”
Lionston did not move. “You really are an idiot,” he observed, as if disappointed. “Did you have to make this so easy? I thought it would take longer to find you.”
Halford’s breathing turned ragged. “I will shoot…”
He did not have the chance to finish. Dash appeared from the side of the doorway. He moved with brutal speed, crossing the space in a single heartbeat and striking Halford hard at the side of the head. Halford crumpled like a puppet with cut strings, the pistol clattering to the rug.
Vivy’s cup slipped from her fingers and shattered, tea splashing across the carpet. For a heartbeat she could only stare. Then she remembered how to move. “Dash,” she cried and surged forward. There was no dignity left in her—only relief so sharp it hurt. He caught her easily and closed his arms around her as if they had always belonged there. Vivy pressed her face into his coat, trembling now that the terror had passed.
His hand cradled the back of her head; fingers firm and protective. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, voice rough.
“No,” Vivy whispered, pulling back to look at him. “No, I…”
He did not let her finish. He kissed her. Not the careful, stolen sort of kiss that could be denied afterward. This was fierce and certain and absolute, as if he were sealing an oath. When he broke away, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath unsteady. “I love you,” Dash said, sending a thrill through her.
Vivy stared at him, her throat tight with emotion. She wanted to tell him that she loved him too, but she couldn’t find the ability to speak. Everything was happening so fast. If she blinked something else would change. At least this was what she had always wanted. She just never believed she would have it.
Dash’s gold and green flecked gaze held hers with merciless intensity. “Marry me,” he demanded. “Now. Today. Before anyone else tries to take you from me.”
