He began stalking toward Jemima Darlington (having to zigzag because she was dancing so fast) but halted when he caught sight of Cecilia with that treacherous Lightbourne. In the crystalline light, her hair was gold, and she looked more like Cilla than ever before. Morvath’s heart clenched. Suddenly, a new plan cooled his mind. A way to kill two birds with one knife.
Jemima Darlington could watch Cecilia die before she died herself.
He smiled and licked his lips with anticipation.
Despite the crush in the ballroom, he thought he would have trouble catching his prey unawares, but in the end it proved absurdly easy. Cecilia and Lightbourne were so intent upon each other, they didn’t even notice his approach.
“Excuse me,” he said. “May I cut in?”
And he grabbed Cecilia, pressing his knife to her throat.
Morvath pulled Cecilia from Ned’s hands before either of them could fully comprehend the situation. Stepping back, he knocked into a large potted fern, which rocked loudly against the floor; he shuffled aside, dragging Cecilia with him, and dancers screamed as they rushed away from the scandal. Ned drew his gun but could not shoot without endangering Cecilia, and Morvath laughed at him.
“Foolish boy!” he scoffed.
Ned frowned and cupped a hand to his ear. “What? The music is so loud. Say that again?”
Morvath snarled. “Foolish boy!” he shouted. “I am going to cut off your limbs, drag you to a pit of vipers, and throw you to the very bottom!”
The music ceased abruptly, andbottomresounded through the sudden silence. “Language,” an anonymous woman hissed, and Morvath’s face flamed.
“Shut up!” he screamed. “Shut the hell up! I have heard enough from women to last me for a lifetime! You will all be silent!”
“Who is this conceited fellow?” Prince Wilhelm demanded. “What does he think he’s doing, invading our banquet and spoiling the peace in this belligerent fashion? What kind of man does that?”
“It’s just Patrick Morvath,” Bloodhound Bess called out. “An unpublished poet.”
“I said shut up!” Morvath roared, and Cecilia winced from the force of it. “No artist is truly appreciated in his lifetime! And one more word from any female and I’ll cut Cecilia’s throat open in front of you all!”
“You wouldn’t kill your own daughter,” Ned said tersely. He held his gun with both hands, aiming it between Morvath’s eyes. His own eyes were resolutely focused on the captain; he did not dare glance at Cecilia.
“How do I know she’s my daughter?” Morvath retorted. “Cilla probably cuckolded me. God knows women are fickle, unfaithful beasts. Look at my own mother. Jemima Darlington!” he bellowed. “Step forward so you can be introduced as the trollop you are.”
A gasp arose from the company.
“I say, good fellow,” declared Prince Edward. “Even if she is your mother, you can’t talk about her like that.”
“What do you know about it?” Morvath spat.
“My mother is the Queen,” Prince Edward replied inexpressively. He paused while people came to their own conclusions about his statement. “Apologize to the lady at once.”
“Never! She is the one who should apologize to me! Her lewd, immoral behavior—”
“Silence!” roared a furious male voice. Everyone stared, mouths agape, as a large man in dusty clothes and with a bandaged arm shoved his way through the crowd to stand near Miss Darlington. He was white-faced but his eyes blazed with a dark fire of passion. Miss Darlington looked at him with astonishment, and he returned the gaze grimly, as if he had come to collect a debt from her and not even the hijacking of a royal banquet would prevent him from doing so. “Say another word about this fine lady and I will see you dead, sir!”
“Jaggersen?” Morvath said, incredulous.
“Jacobsen! Jacobsen!” The misnomered man stamped his foot in frustration. “Jake Jacobsen from Coventry, son of Joe Jacobsen, officer in Her Majesty’s royal guard.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” called a wit from the crowd.
“Oh,JakeJacobsen,” Miss Darlington said unexpectedly. “I remember you now.”
He laid a hand to his heart. “I have never forgotten you, madam.”
“The hair tricked my eye. It used to be red, didn’t it?”
“Quite a while ago now,” he said, bashfully running a hand through his gray locks.
