Harry looked at Cordelia in the room they were once again sharing in Berkeley Square. He'd been quiet and steady-eyed in the library, and Cordelia had seen him touch Malcolm's arm before they went upstairs. But now his gaze was raw in a way she hadn't seen since Waterloo.
"A damnable night," he said.
"Yes. And I didn't even see the worst of it."
Harry pulled off his coat, as though his bad arm pained him. He was still wearing his stomach padding from the Winsley party, Cordelia realized. She didn't think he was even aware of it. "There was a moment—" he said. "I think we all—Mélanie and Raoul and I—thought Malcolm had been shot."
"Which would have been unbearable."
"Mélanie and O'Roarke were terrified."
"You were terrified."
Harry set the coat down on a chair. "All right, yes. I was terrified."
Cordelia went up behind him and slid her arms round him. "There's nothing wrong with needing people, darling. In fact, I think we both know just how beastly life is when one tries to pretend one doesn't."
He turned in her arms and pressed his lips against her hair. "You're a wonder, Cordy."
"Malcolm's going to need you, Harry."
Harry's arm tightened round her, but his gaze had shifted to the uncertain future. "He's going to need all of us."
Raoul bent over the cradle to tuck the blankets round Clara. He was moving slowly, and Laura didn't think it was entirely owing to the September damp and the exertions of the evening. "I've worried about keeping Malcolm safe from the moment he was born," he said. "I haven't always done the best job. At times, one could argue he needed to be kept safe from me." He touched his fingers to Clara's cheek. "But I never thought the threat would come from his own brother."
"I keep seeing Edgar laughing with the children in Paris," Laura said. "I always knew there was some constraint between him and Malcolm. But I never guessed—"
Raoul nodded. "It's going to be hell for Frances. As well as for Malcolm."
And not just for them. Laura moved to her husband's side. "You must remember Edgar as a baby."
"It was a constant balancing act. Not leaving him out when I spent time with Malcolm but not intruding. I knew he was jealous of Malcolm. But I never imagined—" He bent down to smooth a crease from the blanket. "There was a moment tonight when I thought he'd shot Malcolm."
Laura looked down at Clara, flopped on her back, her small fist curled beside her head. "It's the most frightening thing a parent can face. However old one's child is."
Raoul nodded. "I forget sometimes. That being back in Britain, that having some of our problems resolved, doesn't make the dangers go away."
Laura slid her arm round him. "We've always been equal to dangers, sweetheart."
He pulled her closer and pressed his chin against her hair. "I'd have been powerless to protect Malcolm tonight if it weren’t for Julian St. Juste."
"I think Mr. St. Juste is even more tangled up with the Rannochs than we realized."
"Yes." Raoul's brows drew together, as though he were scouting changing terrain. "So do I."
Mélanie slid her arms round her husband and held tightly to him. "I'm not sure when I've been more frightened."
"Given your life, that's quite a statement, sweetheart." Malcolm's arms closed round her. "All things considered, we owe a great deal to Julien St. Juste. Which is not something I thought I'd find myself saying."
"When I heard that pistol shot—"
Malcolm's lips came down on her hair. "I should have realized Edgar might be a danger. But even when I started piecing together that he'd attacked Annabel, I didn't think—I underestimated all the reasons he had to want to be rid of me."
Mélanie pulled her head back and looked up at him. "Edgar used violence to solve problems. With Martinez. With Annabel. With Kitty." She hesitated. "I hadn't realized Kitty and Julien were so close."
"Nor had I. The trust they show in each other speaks volumes."
"Strange to find Julien trusting anyone."
"I think he trusts Gisèle."
Mélanie touched his face, savoring the warmth of his skin. "He actually seemed concerned about you tonight, darling."
Malcolm's brows drew together. "St. Juste surprised me tonight in a number of ways."
"He really is an ally, I think. At least, to a degree."
"So is Kitty. At least, to a degree." Malcolm hesitated a moment. "Given his apparent connection to Kitty, I suspect St. Juste had a number of reasons not to be sorry for killing Edgar. In many ways, I find myself in sympathy with him. While I can't forget—"
His gaze held a tangle of memories that went back to before she had been born. Decades of playing and fighting, laughing and quarreling. Confidences shared and secrets kept. A world she could never share, smashed now in so many ways.
She slid her fingers into his hair. "Darling—"
"It's bad," he said. "And no doubt will get worse in the coming days. But right now, I confess a part of me is simply very relieved to be alive."
She held him, because it was all she could do.