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“Maledizione!” Marco growled, wishing he could find a corner in which to curl up and sleep, though sleep itself had become a peril, inevitably leading him back into the dreadful dreams that had plagued him since his arrival.

“It is time to change our tactics, brother,” Angelo continued. “Perhaps locking our doors is not enough. Perhaps we must keep watch through the night. We cannot allow anything to happen to you.”

As tempers rose between Marco and his brother, Sebastian rose to his feet, towering over them. “We have not had much sleep, so I understand the impulse to quarrel, but I believe we can plan security measures to protect Marco from further … accidents.”

Marco inhaled deeply, digging within himself for a measure of composure, until he finally nodded in acceptance of Sebastian’s proposal.

Suggestions were flung back and forth, and over the next half hour, they hammered out a plan to protect Marco, the baron, and Angelo before his friends departed to take their breakfast. Angelo waited by the door as Marco rose to his feet, his entire body protesting with a stiff refusal of movement.

As he straightened, a familiar face appeared at the window across the room, pressed close to the glass, which fogged with her warm breath. Molly’s eyes found his, and she gestured for him to join her, lifting her hand to reveal something he had not expected.

“Angelo, go ahead. I must attend to something before I eat.”

Shrugging, his brother strode off, eager for sustenance after the long night. Marco closed the library door, crossed the room, and opened the terrace doors, startled by how keenly relieved he was to see her. “Molly?” he called softly.

She ran toward him, gathering her skirts, and Marco paused to take in the sight of her eagerness as she raised the journal again in triumph. Her obvious excitement dispelled the lingering horror of his nightmare, in which her hair had burned and her face twisted in agony. The desire to draw her close surged sharply, but he stepped aside to admit her into the room instead.

“I found it! It was in the butler’s pantry! MacNaby tried to hide it, but I would not be deterred.”

Marco caught her by the upper arms, alarm surging at the unknown risks she had taken, mingled with reluctant admiration for her resolve. He had long known she was unlike any woman he had met, yet the force of his reaction still startled him. For a brief, unguarded instant, he embraced her, drawing in the scent of cinnamon and warmth, not the acrid smoke of his nightmares, and allowed himself the comfort of her nearness before stepping back. He must not mislead her with gestures he could not honor while his future remained uncertain.

“You may tell me the rest later,” he said quietly, “but first I must send for MacNaby and demand an explanation.”

She nodded and placed the journal in his hands, her eyes bright in the morning light, and Marco found himself dangerously tempted to forget all restraint and close the distance between them.

The impulse set off a cascade of competing emotions that left him unsteady. Relief that she was unharmed. Dread at the continued attempts upon his life. Bewilderment at the thought that the butler might be involved. Added to this were the lingering terror of waking to flames the night before, the image of Molly suffering in the fiery visions of his dreams, and the unresolved question of what course his future ought to take. The weight of it all rekindled his earlier temper, bringing it to a sudden boil⁠—

“Where is your chaperon?” he demanded.

Molly recoiled as though struck. “I … well … I wished to speak with you privately. To be certain you were … well. After the fire.”

“You must stop running off from her!” he snapped. “It is not safe. You could ruin yourself if you persist in this way!”

Molly blinked rapidly, her expression falling. “I … am sorry.”

When she turned away, Marco saw the depth of her distress and was instantly appalled by his outburst. He wanted to call her back. To explain that fear, exhaustion, and helplessness had stripped him of his better judgment, that he had quarreled with his own brother scarcely half an hour earlier, a thing he had never done before.

Magnifico, you beast. Add cruelty to your growing list of disgraceful impulses.

Looking down at the recovered journal, he knew he would have to make amends later. For now, he must find MacNaby and demand answers to secure the household. Rubbing at his aching eyes, Marco left the library in search of the butler, keenly aware that lives, perhaps even Molly’s, hung in the balance.