forward as if sneaking up on a skittish rabbit that might bolt. “Duke Leopold?”

The man turned. “Oh,” he said. “I see.” He nodded some understanding that eluded Royce. Perhaps he thought he was there to retrieve dishes or turn down the bed.

The duke lifted a decanter filled with an amber liquid and poured some into a crystal glass. He held up the decanter in offering.

Royce shook his head.

“Do you mind if I . . .” He didn’t wait for approval, and drank, then took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

“For what?” Royce asked.

“You’re here to kill me, right?”

Royce was stunned.

“You look surprised.”

“I ah . . .”

“What else could you possibly be doing in my