by Lucy Leroux
“Gideon…” she began.
“Do not worry. I’ll take care of this,” he interrupted, waving at the stain. “We’re getting rid of the lot—the entire carpet has to go.”
“That’s not what I was going to say,” she protested as Carlotta rinsed her own hands in the washbasin.
The water turned pink, and Carlotta excused herself with a murmur to empty the basin and refill the pitcher for Amelia’s use.
Gideon waited till Carlotta left the room. “I know, love,” he said softly. “But I think we should put off any discussion until I’m certain the household is secure. Once you’ve dressed, I will have your driver drop you at Lord Worthing’s house. I’m going to ask Clarke to meet you there. He’ll keep watch over you and Carlotta while I deal with an important matter.”
He wanted Carlotta to go as well? “I’m not in the habit of taking my maid to call on Crispin.”
“She’s had a fright. I think it would settle her nerves to accompany you.”
Amelia suspected he was more concerned with having another set of eyes on her than her maid’s sensibilities but didn’t make an issue of it. “Where will you go? What is this important matter?”
Gideon averted his eyes. “I’ll be making a few stops—Bow Street chief among them.”
He stopped, his gaze flickering over the stain and the bed beyond. His head shook a fraction as if he was arguing with himself. “I don’t understand how I could have slept through this,” he muttered.
Gideon turned back to her, putting his arms on her shoulders. “I’m going to hire a few runners to watch the house from the outside. I’ll also enlist their aid to conduct systematic interviews of your staff. One of them must have seen or heard something.”
“You will need Adolfo to translate then. Most of them speak English poorly,” she said as Carlotta came back in.
“A sound plan. I’ll go speak to him now,” he replied before kissing her hard and quitting the room.
Amelia wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the dark stain on her carpet. She pushed it away in her mind.
Gideon is right. The entire carpet needed to be discarded. Carlotta interrupted her reverie with a signal all was in readiness.
Moving mechanically, she performed her ablutions and dressed. Her mind was quiet and strangely detached, as if she was watching everything from a distance.
When Gideon bundled her and Carlotta into her town coach without breakfast, she didn’t complain. Nor did she utter a single word of reproach when he saw her to the door and then hurried away with a promise that Clarke would be joining them shortly. She was too busy formulating a plan.
Crispin was still indisposed when his butler let her into his townhouse.
“Don’t worry Jefferson. I can hardly expect him to come down on a broken leg. I’ll just show myself up.”
Leaving Carlotta to visit with her friends in the kitchen, Amelia went up to the second story. She entered Lord Worthing’s bedroom after a perfunctory knock and stopped short.
Mr. Clarke was sitting on the bed at Crispin’s side. Their heads were close together, and Crispin’s hand was resting over Clarke’s.
Mr. Clarke noticed her first. He broke away, getting to his feet quickly.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Montgomery,” he said before bowing.
Clarke’s formality betrayed his unease. Just yesterday, he’d been very familiar with her, greeting her with a hug and quick pat on the back.
“Err…I suppose you are surprised to see me here,” he said. “After yesterday’s mishap, I decided to call round early to see our patient.”
Our patient?
“How kind of you,” she said. “I did expect you, but not so soon. Gideon sent word to your house asking you to come here.”
Clarke’s expression changed, an alert expression lightening his eyes. “Oh, I see. Then I’ll have a quick word with Lord Worthing’s staff. Gideon’s notes will have been brought round here by my staff.”
He excused himself with another bow.
“Amelia…” Crispin held out his hand. She gave herself a little shake and went to his side, noting his slight blush.
“How are you feeling, dear?” she asked, sitting on the bed.
“Fine, fine,” he said. “Um, about what you just saw…”
Amelia squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry, my friend. There is no need to explain. Martin wouldn’t have wanted you to spend the rest of your days alone either.”
The viscount looked down at his hands and sniffed, his chin dimpling as he fought not to cry. “I will never stop loving Martin. Quite frankly, I am surprised to be feeling this way—and this may not be mutual. I find Mr. Clarke a bit difficult to read.”
She did not share Crispin’s opinion. Clarke’s behavior just now had been telling, but perhaps it was easier for an outside observer to understand it. Plus, I’ve seen someone fall in love with Crispin before…
“I have no doubts,” she assured him. “There is something there.”
Crispin leaned closer. “Do you really think so?”
She nodded. “I do…And I hope you forgive my selfishness, but I will be trading on your recent attachment to achieve the impossible.”
“Hmm.” Crispin leaned back on the pillows. “Does this impossible task involve a certain determined earl?”
“It does, and I will explain every detail once I’ve secured Mr. Clarke’s assistance.”
“Ah, I think I understand,” he said with a sage nod. “Then I suggest you go down and find him straightaway because I want my curiosity satisfied as quickly as possible.”
Amelia hadn’t thought herself capable of a genuine smile this morning, but it came anyway. She excused herself from her friend, buoyed by his manner and unquestioned support.
If Mr. Clarke was surprised by her request for a private conference, he did not betray it in any way. It wasn’t until she’d sat him down in the library that she truly shocked him.
“I received Gideon’s note,” he began, reaching out to pat her gloved hand. “I want you to rest assured that you are well looked after. No harm will come to you while you’re in my care.”
“Thank you, but my life is not in danger. It’s Gideon who will die if you don’t help me.”
Clarke frowned. “Mrs. Montgomery, Amelia, you’ve been through an ordeal. I assure you—”
“Crispin will also die,” she interrupted. “And most likely you as well if you don’t listen to me now.”
She took both his hands in hers and began to explain.
Chapter 21
Gideon was furious. Since waking to a bloodstained mess in Amelia’s bedroom this morning, nothing had gone right.
He had lied to her, of course. A visit to Bow Street had been low on his list of priorities that morning. His chief purpose in leaving her that day had been to find Sir Clarence and wring his bloody neck.
He had stormed to his uncle’s townhouse, ready to tear him apart. But his plans to exact a painful retribution had been put on hold when he was told his relative was out of town.
Gideon had been so put out the housekeeper had shown him in, fetching his mistress to confirm that Sir Clarence was indeed away on business.
Only Mrs. Spencer’s genuine surprise had convinced him to quit Clarence’s house. Spoiling for a fight, he had gone back to Amelia’s to interview her staff. He was certain Clarence had bribed one of them to terrorize Amelia. Unfortunately, he had failed to materialize a single suspect.
Perhaps it had been the language barrier, or the fact there were so many of them, but when no one had broken down with a confession or come forward with a helpful clue, he had lost his temper. He’d stormed out of the house to Bow Street, where he’d hired not one but two runners to watch over the house. He also resolved to ask Amelia to send some of the staff away to one of his country estates—preferably all of them.
Gideon was no fool. There was no way Amelia would dismiss any of them outright, but he needed smaller numbers to deal with right now
. Besides, they’d be combining households once they were married.
All those plans and suggestions he was about to make were for naught.
He’d returned to Amelia’s house after a few hours absence. His steward had sent an urgent message, relaying a minor kerfuffle between tenants on his country estate. Believing Amelia to be securely ensconced under Clarke’s watchful eye, he had taken the time to write detailed instructions to his man on how he wished the problem handled.
Then he’d taken himself off to Doctors Commons to secure a special license. Gideon wanted to be married right away.
When he’d gone to collect Amelia at Worthing’s, he was told she had already gone home. Gideon swore under his breath the entire way, hoping Adolfo had faithfully executed his order to replace the carpet in the bedroom. But he didn’t find out if the butler obeyed him.
Amelia had barred him from the house. No one answered his knock. When he tried to open them, he found she had added bars to the exterior doors and extra locks to the windows. To the outside observer, the house appeared empty.
He knew it wasn’t. The Bow Street runners reported movement behind the drawn curtains. Additionally, both Amelia’s town carriage and travel coach were still in the mews.
Gideon ignored the snickers of the Bow Street runners when they realized he was locked out.
“A fine toff like you can find another bit o’ muslin,” the one named Owen suggested helpfully.
The burly man scrambled out of his way when Gideon turned on him with a black look.
“Just do what I’m paying you for,” he ordered. “Watch for anyone approaching the house—and I mean anyone. I even want to know when the night man visits and how long he stays.”
The two runners exchanged a look but agreed. He was paying them too much for them to do otherwise. To their credit, they didn’t laugh aloud when he was forced to scale the back garden wall to access the rear balcony of the house.
He broke into one of the salons and stalked down the hall to her bedrooms, intending to confront Amelia straight away.
No carpet, but also no Amelia. Nothing in the other rooms as well. The house was almost empty. The few servants left only spoke Italian. After a stilted but productive conversation, he learned they had been instructed to pack their belongings—theirs, but not Amelia’s. While they were being sent to the country for their protection, their mistress was selflessly staying on in town.
Knowing better than to wait for Amelia to come to him of her own accord, he sent out notes to his informants. Ten pounds to the man, woman, or child who could give him Amelia’s whereabouts.
The answer came in a record twenty minutes. Amelia was at a ball.
Chapter 22
Lord Durney studied the list Amelia had copied from Isobel’s letter. His expression was paternalistic and shrewd. “You know most of these volumes are very dear.”
He pointed to a title on the list. “This one alone is quite costly. It’s worth more than my wife’s jewels.”
Amelia smiled politely in the direction of the Lady Durney. The lady’s modest string of pearls was probably paste, but she didn’t dare mention that. “I imagine most genuine occult volumes are expensive, but if the text is on this list, then money is no object. Not for me. If you procure these volumes for me, I am prepared to pay a generous commission. Say twenty percent?”
Durney leaned in closer, a spark of eagerness lighting his eyes briefly before it dimmed. “But that commission alone would be hundreds of pounds on some of these,” he warned, his head bobbing between her and the list.
“As I said, money is of no consequence. Speed is essential. If you can get me those books this week, I’ll be pleased to compensate you for any additional expenses you might incur.”
She put her gloved hand on his wrinkled one. “My dear friend the Contessa Garibaldi specifically recommended you as the man I needed for this task.”
Amelia had given up on receiving any aid from her former governess. Her appeal for advice had been sent weeks ago when she first encountered Gideon again. When she didn’t hear anything, Amelia assumed her letter had been lost. With the recent outbreak of war with France, the mail service abroad had been thoroughly disrupted. But by some miracle, Isobel’s letter had been waiting for her when she returned from Devon.
Amelia felt loved when she read the letter. Isobel was distraught over her predicament. Her former governess had expressed regret at being unable to come to her because of the perils of traveling in wartime. Nevertheless, Isobel managed to convey in a few simple words her concern and affection for her former charge.
More importantly, Isobel had practical advice to offer—just as Amelia had hoped. It contained an extensive list of books and several names.
Lord Durney had been at the top of the list. A brief inquiry via her solicitor revealed him to be an aficionado of rare and antique books. Isobel had also sent the names of a handful of other collectors, as well as an apothecary and another of a midwife.
Amelia wasn’t certain how the latter was supposed to help with her current predicament, but at least she had a place to start her inquiries into the supernatural.
Durney pulled his collar away from his neck. He was blushing. “The Contessa is generous with her praise. She’s a discerning collector. But while I’m familiar with most of these volumes, I should warn you that most are in private collections much like my own. Some of their owners may not wish to part with them for any price,” he added anxiously.
Disappointment threaded through her. Amelia bit her lip. She had expected this part to be simple. “If they won’t sell, perhaps they would consider letting the volumes.”
“Letting the books?” Gurney guffawed. “These are hardly the type of works one finds in a lending library.” His aristocratic tone was filled with disdain.
For a man of modest means, the old collector was certainly high in the instep, but Amelia didn’t let her annoyance show on her face. The idea of renting out their books might strike some of them as one step too close to being in trade. Amelia knew many in the genteel class would rather starve than stoop so low.
She took Durney’s arm and prodded him to walk with her around the edge of the Trenglove’s ballroom. “They shouldn’t think of it that way,” she said with a dismissive wave. “It would be more like being a patron who lends a work of art for an exhibition. The difference is it won’t be a painting, but a book and the audience will be considerably smaller. Namely myself and possibly a friend.”
“A patron, you say? I hadn’t thought of it in such a light.” Durney puffed up. “Well, I do think some of the collectors involved might be moved to become patrons for your special project. An index of the supernatural is a Herculean task, but with your resources, you are advantageously positioned to make a better than decent start.”
Amelia thanked him, promising to consult him if she had any difficulties understanding the books he had already agreed to part with—something he seemed preoccupied with. She bristled at such condescension but held her tongue. She knew nothing about the occult and Durney was an expert, although strictly in an academic sense.
Though he was only one of half a dozen collectors she had to consult, Amelia felt better than she had in ages. It was good to be doing something rather than wait for the next horror to befall her. She turned the corner, intending to find the exit now that her business was concluded.
The familiar hand that snaked out, pulling her into the dark corner, was so quick she didn’t even have a chance to scream. Not that Gideon gave her a chance. His hand covered her mouth.
Amelia blinked up at him. How had he even found her? Though the Folsom ball was well attended, it wasn’t considered the most fashionable of events. Their hosts were too old to be considered high-flyers, their music and refreshments tired and uninspired.
She didn’t have the opportunity to question Gideon about his spy network. He kept his hand on her mouth and caught her up in his arms. Moving like a cat, he melted deeper into the shad
ows, abducting her from the ballroom with next to no effort.
There was no hue and cry in their wake. He managed to snatch her from under the ton’s nose without anyone being the wiser. Marveling at his skill and the blindness of the other guests, Amelia waited until he had taken them to a dark and empty sitting room.
“Damn it, Gideon! You can’t just carry me off without so much as a by your leave!”
Gideon’s grip on her arms was firm. “And you can’t seriously believe changing a few locks is going to keep me away from you.”
Amelia shivered involuntarily, but it wasn’t fear she felt. Stop it. She couldn’t afford to be alone with him anymore.
“I have to leave.” She tried to break his hold, but he wouldn’t release her. In fact, he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her until she was crushed against his chest.
His scent enveloped her, and her body reacted predictably. Her breasts swelled, moisture pooling low in her body.
He stroked one of her curls. “Amelia, why are you trying to do this alone?”
“You know why!”
He winced. “As unfortunate as this morning’s incident was—”
“It was more than an incident!”
Gideon held up a hand. “I know. But it changes nothing.”
He lifted her chin, meeting her eyes imploringly. “Amelia, I know you may have some doubts. Someone is trying to intimidate you and last night, I slept through their latest assault. I understand your faith in me might be shaken now, but it’s not a mistake I will make again. I can and will protect you.”
She shook her head. “No, you need to stay away from me. The dead dog wasn’t just intimidation. It was a message—a warning.”
“Amelia…” he began.
She pushed against him, clutching at his waistcoat. “No, you must listen to me. That poor creature died because the monster wants me to know you’re next.”
“Me?” Gideon scowled. “No, my love. You are the one in danger.”
