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“Lydia is enduring the same fate, I may remind you,” Vincent remarked. “And she is doubtless freezing, being forced to stand there in only her chemise.” A rakish smile spread across his features. “Perhaps we could go down and have a peek.”

Rafe scowled. “I don’t want you looking at my woman.”

Vincent folded his arms and glared. “Well, I don’t want you looking at my woman!”

For a moment, they stared in mute challenge before both burst out laughing.

“Good God, what has become of us?” Vincent shook his head.

Rafe shrugged. “I do not know, but I hope they are worth the trouble.”

Deveril spread his hands in surrender. “Very well, we shall leave them be for now.”

“What is your next scheme?” Rafe asked, lighting a cigar. “As much as I’ve enjoyed playing the dandy, we do have a war to prepare for.”

Vincent nodded. “Yes, and I have plans for that as well. Tonight we are going to Hyde Park. Lydia will teach Cassandra how to shoot.”

Rafe stiffened. “I was under the impression that she was to remain under guard and as far away from the fighting as possible.”

He and Cassandra had had a terrible row about it last night. She’d insisted on coming with him to the battle to treat the wounded. He’d refused, and she’d pointed out that she would follow him anyway, and besides, he could not spare a single vampire to leave behind to guard her.

He’d then said he’d lock her in the room. Then Anthony, Elizabeth, and Vincent had joined the argument, agreeing with Cassandra’s logic that they needed a healer on the field.

And then they’d all, including the Siddons sisters and their guards, donated vials of blood for her to use. And now they wanted her to have a pistol.

Rafe remained reluctant. “Are you certain that is wise? What if a constable comes to investigate the noise? What if she is hurt?”

“Don’t be a ninnyhammer. She needs to have some way to defend herself.” Vincent leaned back and steepled his long fingers. “And as for her safety, for one thing, we will be there and if any mortals intrude, we shall have ourselves a meal. For another, Lady Rosslyn is a competent woman and strong. If she can wield the monstrous instruments in her laboratory without nicking herself, a simple firearm should prove to be no difficulty for her.”

Incredulous, Rafe leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Did you just call me a ninnyhammer?”

“I did,” Vincent replied cheerfully. “Or would you prefer goosecap, chicken heart, or perhaps lily-livered?”

“All right, you have made your point,” Rafe snarled, rising from his seat. “You should be grateful I do not call you out.”

“You wouldn’t. You need me too much.”

Rafe stalked out of the room, grumbling curses in his own language.

Vincent’s laughter echoed behind him.

* * *

Cassandra’s arms ached as she lifted the heavy flintlock pistol. Her eyes strained to see the target: a rusty pail hung on a tree limb about ten yards away. Taking a deep breath, she aimed and fired.

The sharp report made her ears ring. The dratted bucket did not move.

“Are you certain we cannot bring it closer?” she pleaded.

Lydia shook her head. “Though the fighting will likely be at close range, Rafe will want to keep you as far away as possible.”

“Why did he agree to bring me with him?”

The countess smiled and lifted her finger. “Well, first, you determinedly refused to remain behind and your inarguable logic about the need for a healer was difficult to deny. Second, he doesn’t trust anyone but himself to protect you. Third, if things do not go well, he wants to be sure he can get you out of the city as quickly as possible.”

“I do not want to leave him.”

“You may not have a choice,” Lydia said firmly and handed her the leather pouch containing the powder horn, lead balls, and wadding. “Reload and try again. You almost nicked it that time.”