After dinner, Henri meets me at my chair to lead me from the room, leaning down as I slip my arm into his to whisper in my ear. "Make an excuse and go to bed early."

I nod, not trusting my voice to answer. Am I going to bed early for training? Or something else?

He leads me to the ladies drawing room and leaves me with a bow, his energy retreating with him as I make my shivering way toward the marquise to beg off for yet another night.

I can tell from her face she's disappointed. "Really, Belle, I'm beginning to think you're a wallflower. You aren't letting the duchess scare you away, are you?"

I shake my head. "I'm just not very fond of large crowds, and with all the champagne and talk of war, I'm not feeling very social. I still haven't heard from my father and sisters."

Her face falls at my words, and I feel a tug of guilt in my chest. "I understand. I'll see you at breakfast."

Livy catches me as I make my way toward the door. "Where are you going?"

"To bed," I tell her. "I drank too much champagne, and my head is spinning."

She frowns, concern writ across her features. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Another stab of guilt slices through me. "No, Livy. Stay, have fun."

Her eyes narrow as she sweeps her gaze over the room. "I'll stay. But not to have fun. I think one of us should be here to keep an eye on that woman." From her tone, it's obvious she means the duchess.

I place a hand on her arm, bringing her gaze back to mine. "Remember to mind your tongue. You have your reputation to protect."

"I am sweetness incarnate," she says, mimicking de Vergeronne's ingratiating smile.

I shake my head and let her go. "I'll see you in the morning."

We part ways, and I make it out of the door without having to speak to anyone else. The hallway is clear, and some tension leaves my shoulders as I turn toward the stairs. I hear the door of a nearby powder room open as I pass, but I keep walking, hoping to avoid further delays. Footsteps echo behind me, fast and furtive, and a yank on my arm has me reeling back around.

The Duchess de Vergeronne grips my elbow with a strength that belies her petite frame.

Oh, hell.

I try to tug free, but she only digs her fingernails in, looking up and down the hall to confirm we're alone. With a jerk, she brings me down to her level, and I brace myself for whatever nastiness she has in store for me.

"Stop struggling, you little idiot," she hisses, and something in her tone makes me still. This isn't the catty, haughty woman from earlier; she looks almost desperate now. Her eyes burn into mine as she drops her voice so low I barely catch her words. "I know you probably hate me, but believe it or not, I'm trying to help you."

I stare at her, utterly confused. How in heaven could public humiliation be helpful?

She steps closer, squeezing my elbow for all she's worth. "If you value your life, your very soul, you will run screaming from the baron and his son and never look back."

A noise sounds nearby, and she drops my arm and hurries away.

I stare after her, my heart slamming against my ribs. What just happened? What was that? Footsteps echo through the hall, and I realize I can't just stand here with my mouth hanging open in shock. I force myself toward the stairs, hoping with all my might that anyone watching from inside the walls will think the stunned expression on my face is from another slew of insults.

I start pacing the moment I'm safely inside my room. The duchess was trying to jilt me away from Henri by feigning interest in him, belittling me in the hopes of scaring me off. Why? I don't think what just happened between us was an act. Such a monumental change in behavior couldn't have been. She looked so afraid - for both of us? - and the moment she heard someone else, she fled like she was being chased.

Something put the fear of God into that woman; of that, I'm convinced.

I cross my arms over my chest as I pace, squeezing my elbows. Her fear was infections. The woman looked half out of her mind with it, as if she was taking her life in her hands by warning me. Was she? If someone was close enough to hear her warning and the baron found out what she said, what might he do? It's obvious de Vergeronne knows something is off with him, with his son, but how much? Is she like me, a woman who sees too much? Has she noticed their eyes and made assumptions about their origins? Does she think them devils, hoping to drag me into hell? Or does she actually know more than I do? Some truth that I've barely begun to uncover?

Dear God, not two hours past, I decided to give into my desire for Henri.

I stop dead in my tracks and shudder. I don't know what to think. I believed Henri when he said his interest wasn't an act, but then I believed him every time he showed me some new facet of his personality. The charming beau, the stern instructor, the proper gentleman. Which of those is real? They can't all be, can they? Am I a fool for trusting a man with so much skill at deception? Then again, I believed the duchess's loathing and cattiness in the drawing room when she insulted me. Am I a fool for believing her now? Is this yet another attempt at manipulating me on her part? To drive me from the man she wants?

No, a voice answers from the back of my mind. It's a profound, gut-feeling reaction. Some subconscious part of my mind, I think the same part my uncanny calm and focus emanate from, is warning me that what just happened with the duchess is the realest thing I've experienced since coming here. What am I going to do? If I suddenly backtrack and am afraid of Henri again, he'll know something is off.

A knock sounds from my door, interrupting my troubled thoughts, and I pause, staring at it in dread.

"Isabelle?" comes a familiar call.

I grab the back of a nearby chair to keep from sagging in relief. "It's open."

Henrietta ducks into the room and my fingers relax. One of the servants I passed on my way up must have told her I was retiring early, and she came to check on me. I thought it might be Mallory ready to lead me away, or the baron to interrogate me, or Henri to...well.

Henrietta frowns as she shuts the door behind her and crosses the room. "You're back again so early. Do you not like crowds?"

I shake my head. "Not when they speak of nothing but bloodshed and horror."

Her brows crease. "I thought the marquise was going to speak to Jacques about that."

I nod. "She did. He was well-behaved tonight. But those around us were not, and they spent the entire time recounting the past two weeks for us."

She grimaces and reaches for my hair, pulling pins loose. "Were you able to eat anything this time?"

"Yes, though every bite turned my stomach."

Her expression is somber. "It was the same downstairs around the servant's table. Until the butler put a stop to it."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugs as my hair starts to tumble loose. "It's all right. Sadly, I think I'm growing used to it. I've heard so many awful stories that it takes something truly terrible to leave a mark anymore." It's sad that I understand exactly what she means. She stands on her tip toes and lets out a low sound of annoyance. "You're too tall in those heels. I can't reach the top."

"Sorry," I say, striding over to my vanity and sitting so she can take the rest of my hairpins out. "Any good gossip from downstairs?"

"Oh, lord, yes," she says as she goes to work.

I listen with half an ear as she removes all the pins and starts combing out my hair. Should I say something about the duchess's warning? My gut tells me to keep my mouth shut, at least when it comes to the baron. De Vergeronne looked like she was genuinely terrified, and knowing the baron, she should be. I would never forgive myself if I said something and she suffered a mysterious carriage accident on the way home that ended her life. But should I warn Henri? He's already kept so much from his father, and is willing to keep any affair that happens between us secret. Surely that means I can trust him to some degree?

Ugh! What if this is all just another test set up by the baron? I wouldn't put it past such a devious bastard. He might have paid her or lured the duchess into saying something to see where my loyalties lay, whether or not I keep the exchange to myself or tell them about it.

Henrietta moves from my hair to the back of my gown, tugging free the stays. "One of the footmen said there was some ugliness before dinner."

"The Duchess de Vergeronne doesn't think I'm good enough for Lord Giroux." I put some venom into the words, hoping anyone listening will think I loathe the woman.

Henrietta lets out a low hiss like an angry cat. "I hope you set her straight."

"I didn't have to. The Princess de Conde did it for me."

I see her grin over my shoulder in the vanity mirror. "I love it when women come to the rescue of other women."

"Aye," I agree. "Too bad in this case, it was a woman she had to save me from."

Thirty minutes later, I'm pacing my room again. The clock on the mantel tells me it's ten. I don't know how to feel right now. De Vergeronne told me I'm in danger, but I've known that all along, haven't I? Does her warning really change anything? The baron has already threatened my life once, but his son just told me I'm safe from him. Is there a caveat to my safety? Am I simply out of the woods for now? Might I make a misstep down the line and somehow put my head back on the chopping block? Is that what de Vergeronne's warning was about - that I can never truly be safe from such men? And what did that comment concerning my soul mean? She must know something to have said such a thing.

I let out a frustrated breath. Argh, why didn't we have longer together? Why didn't I think to grab her as she tried to flee and beg her to tell me what she meant by that statement?

A whoosh sounds from the far corner of the room. I stop in my tracks and turn to watch Mallory duck inside.

She straightens to her full height, regarding me across the space that separates us. "What did de Vergeronne say to you in the hallway?"

Relief floods through me - no one overheard after all - but I keep my spine stiff and force annoyance into my expression and voice. "Nothing she didn't already say in the drawing room. Were she and Henri ever lovers?"

Mallory eyes me a long moment as if she knows I fired a question back at her as a distraction. "How should I know?"

My annoyance isn't feigned any longer. "Because you seem to know everything that happens beneath this roof?"

One shoulder lifts in a gallic shrug. "True, but he's not always here." She turns and motions me toward the passage. "Come on. We need to be quick this evening."

I lift my dressing gown with my free hand and follow, wondering at her sudden haste. Something gusts over me as I near her, and I nearly trip on my hem when I realize I can actually feel her tension. It's the same strange sensation I get around Henri.

Wait, no. That isn't right. This is different, sharper. How does one describe the experience of invisible forces pushing against one's awareness? I suppose hers feels more like a breeze than a caress, and where Henri's is warm and rolling, hers is fickle and cool, wafting in spurts and starts.

I keep my mouth shut about it as we walk. I don't know how much Henri has told the baron about what's transpired between us, how I know about his strange powers, have felt them since we first met. If Henri's kept it to himself, it might make the baron question everything else if Mallory goes running to him with tales about me sensing their energy.

We reach the costume room, and Mallory snipes at me to get changed quickly. The clothes she lays out aren't the same that I'm used to; the fabrics, though black, are much finer. She even drapes a corset over the back of the threadbare couch.

I eye it warily as I tug on my trousers. "What's all this?"

She hefts the whalebone garment and comes over to me. "Turn," is her response.

I do as she says, wondering why I even asked. At least she's not grinning at me as if she has some great big secret or I'm the butt of a joke. She's quieter tonight than usual, and she feels...excited maybe. There's an air of anticipation about her movements that makes me wonder what's so different about this evening, and what it will bring. My questions, I keep to myself, knowing she won't answer them.

I hold the front of the corset close as she laces me in. It's high and tight enough that my breasts are flattened, constricted even more than our previous bindings. Thankfully she ties it looser around my stomach, so I'm not in danger of suffocating. Next, she hands me a pair of riding breeches and a black silk shirt, the top of which is cut low and square like a ball gown. It laces in the back, and Mallory ties me into it with deft fingers. Once finished, I shrug into the riding jacket she hands me. It fits as though it's been tailored to my form. Did Henrietta provide someone with my dimensions to have this made? Or worse, did she craft the outfit herself? I pull the fabric between my fingers, staring at the fine stitching.

Don't get ahead of yourself. Henrietta keeps a small journal with all my measurements and her design notes. Someone could have easily slipped into her room and copied them down.

Mallory has me sit on the couch with my back to her. "You're going on another excursion tonight," she says as she begins to rebraid my hair so tight that tears spring to my eyes.

"Ow," I grumble, trying to lean away from her.

She tugs me back hard enough that I think she just pulled some hair out. "Stop squirming. You're going to be on horseback; it needs to be tight."

"On horseback? Why?"

"You'll find out soon enough. No matter what happens tonight or any other night you ride forth with the men, do as you're told. They need to see that you can follow their direction, that you trust them to lead you."

I want to crane my head and look back at her, but she holds me too tightly. My God, is Mallory actually being helpful for once?

"Thank you," I say, meaning it. We might not like each other, but over the past several weeks, I've developed a strange sort of respect for her. Her advice makes me think that it might go both ways.

"Livy isn't going to be drugged again, is she?" I ask.

"There shouldn't be a need. We have someone coaxing her into drinking enough champagne to put her out."

I wince, thinking of the hangover Livy will face in the morning, and then I realize the significance of Mallory's words. If they have someone goading Livy into drinking, that means they have a noble working for them. I don't know what makes me more worried: that or the fact that I'm riding out with more men than Henri. Hopefully, they're all deadly loyal to the Bisclavrets, otherwise, someone will surely betray me. An unmarried woman taking a nighttime ride with God knows how many men would be a scandal for the ages.

I'd pray for my continued safety, but lately, it's felt like an empty act. I don't think anyone is listening.

"I'm done," Mallory says. "Here, you have one last piece."

I stand and turn to face her. She hands me a black half mask, silk ribbons streaming off each end. I take it from her and examine it for a minute, wondering why I'll need it even as I'm grateful for it. My fingers tremble as I tie it into place. She hands me a heavy cloak and gloves next, and my shoulders relax a little. Maybe with the mask tied on and my hood up, I'll be so well disguised that there won't be any threat of someone recognizing me.

Is tonight my final test? What I've been training for? I have to assume I'm about to be judged by the baron. It's one thing for Henri to tell me I'm ready, that I'm useful. Someone like the baron will need it confirmed with his own eyes. Please, let these last weeks have been enough. My aim has improved dramatically, as well as my strength and endurance. I feel stronger than I ever have, even though my recovering arm still pains me sometimes, and my pinky refuses to budge.

Mallory opens the door for me and meets my gaze. "Good luck tonight."

I nod, wondering at her somber tone. Is she worried for me? "Thank you," I say as I pass, taking some of her crackling energy with me.

I walk to the training room alone, trepidation my only companion. This is it, I tell myself. Tonight, my life changes. I'll either be tied to the Bisclavrets for the foreseeable future, or I won't have a future.

I pause when I reach the door, taking a fortifying breath before pushing it open. Only a handful of the wall sconces are lit, leaving most of the cavernous room in darkness. Two towering figures stand bathed in the flickering light, swathed, as I am, in black, and both masked. I know at a glance it's Henri and his father, and now that I'm more familiar with them, it's easy to pick out who is who.

The baron steps forward, his eyes flashing inside his mask. "You must be curious about your change of costume."

"Of course," I say, folding the cloak over my right arm. I don't even ask how he knows this is a change of costume. His energy is similar to the day he interviewed me, goading and malicious, and it feels like yet another test. He wants me to ask the obvious question, but instead, I school my face and settle in to wait him out.

A grin splits his lips, and then a low chuckle rumbles through the room. Beside him, Henri looks less amused, at least from what I can see with his mask in the way.

"You'll have to teach her about submission," the baron says, and Henri and I both jerk. "This dominant streak of hers will only cause you two grief."

I clench my jaw shut to keep from snapping back. Submission? Excuse me? Is he one of those men that think women must defer to their male counterparts in all ways? That we're the lesser, weaker sex and need to be led around by apron strings, not a thought in our heads that a man didn't put there?

Another chuckle rolls through the room. The baron looks like he's having the time of his life. "See even now how she bristles. Oh, I don't envy you breaking her in."

Heat rushes to my cheeks. "I'm not a horse," I bite out, even as Henri says, "That's enough, Father."

The baron merely shrugs at his son, unperturbed. "Suit yourselves." He sobers some as he turns from Henri to me. "A ship with questionable loyalties docked yesterday in one of the smaller ports in Brittany. We've learned that the republicans had a shipment of arms on it, which they smuggled off this morning in the wee hours. Their path will take them near the border of our property as they make their way south, skirting the Vendée ."

I blink at him. Oh, no. This isn't another test, is it? This is the real thing.

"We're going to rob their carriages," he says, confirming my fear.