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Napoleon put his arm around her. She leaned into him and sobbed.

"It will be all right, Loulou." His voice was low, the words worn smooth.

Louise took a shuddering breath. She had lost the love of her life, and she was about to lose her father. Would it ever be all right again?

Rodrick lifted a dueling pistol from the case. The barrel ran forward in long planes, the blued steel holding the light. Near the lock, the engraving—Boutet à Versailles—sat flamboyantly. He turned the piece once, then brought his thumb to the flint to test its edge.

Really, Napoleon had given these beauties to his marshals. Rodrick had given one to himself. He would be the judge of whether he deserved it or not. In fact, the whole concept of deserving was rather tedious.

The door opened without ceremony. William marched in, imperious as you please. Couldn't a man admire his new toys in peace?

"Why are you doing this?" the duke asked, his voice grave.

Rodrick's thumb lingered against the frizzen, then he pointed the pistol toward the window and drew the cock back. "A gentleman must always be ready to kill another for his honor. I wouldn't dream of giving offense."

"I mean going to Vienna."

"You know me," Rodrick said nonchalantly. "I go where the winds blow, and political alliances are the flimsiest."

Rodrick braced himself for the certain reproaches about his treatment of Louise. How she was pining away, and he was a ruthless cad. Really, before his marriage, William had been a veritable stick in the mud. Now he was still a stick in the mud, the only difference being that he tried to poke others with the stick.

"Come back to London with us. I know about your altercations with Arlesford. I can speak with the Foreign Office. Smooth things over."

The screw stilled under his fingers. For a moment, he did not move. Would Louise return to London then? He eased the cock down, careful, as if the mechanism required more attention than it did.

"With us? Who do you mean to join our tête-à-tête?"

"Hélène and the child, of course. Why do you ask?"

Rodrick reached for the cloth and ran it along the barrel, cleaning imaginary smudges.

"For no reason. Only that you are not the first one on her side to come here, and since you have been shackled by the little love god, you must be trying to—"

"You are making no sense."

Rodrick smiled sadly. "I don't usually. Part of my charm."

William frowned. "Really, Rodrick. This is not a matter for jests."

Rodrick closed his eyes for a beat. "Don't I know it."

"Since I've been gone from the committee, you left, and Thornton blew his brains out. It is time we return to London and do our political duty. You remember when—"

"Oh, yes, the good old times. When you brooded very hard at any hint of revolution, and I created a net of spies to pluck any British version of a Marat or a Danton before it even surfaced from the ground." While also serving his own ends. What an astonishingly large capacity for work he had back then. It made him tired to even think about it.

"It will be different this time. We can change things. For the better."

Rodrick traced the barrel with his thumb, then pushed it away.

The clock struck five.

William exhaled. "Well, Hélène is waiting for me. Will you at least consider my proposal?"

"I'll make no promises."

Exhaling in his ducal way, William turned to leave. Rodrick stared at his uncompromising back. So this was it? He would just walk away?

"Come, Will." He kept his voice easy. "You can obey your wife and give me the thrashing I deserve for being less than a gentleman to Louise. I won't say you're a leashed dog for it."