Saffron grabbed Inara’s arm and pulled her inside the suite. “What are you doing here?” she hissed. She didn’t wait for a response, just glared at the two men still fussing around her. “Go away.”

“But Madam –”

The glared notched up a couple of levels. “I hardly think this woman is a threat to me, do you? Go find something else to do.”

“Yes, Madam.” They didn’t look convinced but disappeared through a door to one side.

“Well?” Saffron went on, looking back at Inara. “What are you doing on board this ship?”

Inara had taken the few moments to compose herself, and just smiled slightly. “The same as yourself, I imagine. Taking a cruise. Unless you’re on a job.”

“I'm going home.”

“Whose?”

“Mine.”

Moving past her, Inara asked, “And where would that be? Just so I know not to go there.”

“Bellerophon.”

The ex-Companion successfully hid the shudder that wanted to course through her, the only outward sign of any distress a brief closing of her eyes. Bellerophon brought up too many bad memories, and she had to restrain herself from touching the almost invisible scar on her cheek. Instead she glanced down at the very prominent bump at the other woman’s waistline, saying “Congratulations, by the way. On the baby.”

“Thanks.” Saffron collapsed into a very large, very squishy leather armchair that looked out of place amongst the ormolu and delicate tracery.

As far as Inara was concerned, the room might be obviously larger and more expensive, but it had a vulgarity her own didn’t possess, full of golds and scarlet reds. “Who’s the father?”

Saffron’s eyes flashed, but she said, “Durren, of course.”

Durren Haymer, the man who was quite possibly the first of Saffron’s many husbands. “With you there’s no ‘of course’ about it,” Inara pointed out.

If looks could kill ... “Well, he is.” Saffron tried to cross her arms testily, but her stomach got in the way and she had to content herself with clasping her hands tightly on top.

“Then why aren’t you at home?” Inara nodd