(Lady Daneska and Ghost have captured Jane as bait to blackmail Alexander Sinclair. Daneska has Jane alone and plans to torture her, but Jane has distracted her.)

Lady Daneska shakes her head and paces up and down. “I hate you, Jane. You know that, don’t you?”

I almost laugh. “I’d be a fool to think otherwise. So get it over with—kill me and prove Tess wrong.”

She draws her knife and holds it next to my face. “Maybe I’ll just make you ugly. Then everyone will stop loving you.”

She presses the blade against my cheek. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one loves me because I’m pretty. I’m plain.”

“Yes. Yes, you are. Plain, with those no-color eyes—”

“Hazel.”

“What kind of color is hazel?” She snorted. “Boring. Just like your hair. And your thin-lipped mouth.”

“My lips aren’t thin.”

She draws back the knife. “Why do they love you?” It is the most sincere question I’ve ever heard Lady Daneska ask. Then she has to go and ruin it all. “Tell me what it is they love about you. I’ll carve it out, and send it to them in a teeny tiny box.” She looks down at me with disgust.

“Where did he cut you?” She pulls up my dress and stares at my leg. Then she yanks it aside so I can see. “Look! He bandaged you. He does not do that. Ghost does not bandage people.” She presses on my wound and makes it ooze afresh. “Does it hurt?” She pokes it again just to see me wince. “That’s going to leave an ugly scar.”

Her gaze shifts to his cot. “That is his blanket around your shoulders. Mein Gotthe tucked you in—Ghost did this!”

“I wouldn’t know. I was unconscious.”

She flings down my skirts, snatches his blanket away and throws it in a wad onto his cot, stomps back, and kicks my chair. She points the tip of her knife straight at my nose. “What is it you have over people?”

Careful not to move or even breathe, I say, “Nothing. I suspect he was just keeping me alive so you can force Mr. Sinclair to do your bidding.”

“Maybe.” She backs away an inch. “He said he wants you alive.” She mocks his commanding tone. “We will get more out of Sinclair if the girl is still breathing.” She waves her arm, encompassing the whole room. “Still, he didn’t have to cover you with his blanket. Tell me, what it is they all love about you? This Mr. Sinclair. Miss Stranje. All of them. Why do they care about you?”

“I don’t know.” That is the pure truth.

“What is it you give them?”

I try to shrug, as much as possible with my ribs tied to a chair. That’s when I notice Ghost must’ve loosened the ropes Jack tied so tight around my midsection, probably so I could breathe properly. “I have no idea. Perhaps they feel gratitude because I do my best to take care of them. I organize their plans and advise—”

“What? Are you mad? No, no, no. This is not the answer.” She waggles the knife at me as if it is her finger. “No one above the age of seven wants a nanny. And no one likes their governess.”

“I did.”

“Well, no one else does. Take my word on it.”

A nanny? A governess? Is that what I am to them? I blink. “If that’s not it, I have no idea why they would care about me. Maybe it’s simply because I love them.”