Gideon paced outside impatiently. He’d risen at dawn and dressed quickly, determined to examine the area around the house as soon as he could. A weighty resoluteness settled in his breast when he saw the traces of giant footprints under the trees.

Forcing himself to focus, Gideon followed the prints until they faded some hundred yards from the cottage. They ended well before the ruin of the main house, but after checking the lower floors of the burned building, he was certain last night’s visitor had been there, too.

He clenched his jaw, taking a steadying breath before heading back to the cottage. If what Amelia had said last night was true, then someone—or something—had been responsible for his cousin’s death. And it was following her.

A demon. Gideon didn’t believe in such things, but that was what Amelia had said while half-asleep. After what he’d seen last night, he didn’t question her choice of words—not that she’d elaborated. Despite his poking and prodding, Amelia had slipped back into slumber without further explanation. He’d decided the discussion could wait until the light of day.

It was difficult to credit, but the threat to Amelia had taken an occult turn. Or at least it was what someone wanted him to believe.

Despite the strain and distance in their relationship, Sir Clarence would not have harmed Martin. Though he had been frustrated with his son at times, Gideon knew from past conversations that his overbearing relative had loved Martin.

Clarence’s feelings for Amelia were another story. Nevertheless, connecting Sir Clarence to these events didn’t wash, not if last night’s visitor had something to do with Martin’s death.

Gideon tracked the position of the sun in the sky, wondering if it was too early to wake Amelia. He needed to question her. She could no longer afford to keep any secrets from him. He couldn’t let her.

The sound of carriage wheels cut his rumination short. He reached for his pistol before he recognized the man peering out the vehicle’s window as it stopped a few dozen yards down the drive.

Clarke stepped down and greeted him with a frown. “I received your note. What in the blazes happened here?’ he asked, gesturing to the house.

Gideon explained his suspicions about the cause of the fire tersely, thanking the impulse that led him to ask his friend to follow him. Clarke had arrived via the most expedient route, traveling on the mail coach and then hiring a carriage in a nearby town.

“How badly is the viscount hurt?” Clarke asked after Gideon detailed the accident.

“I’m not certain. But it’s fortunate you’re here. I’d appreciate if you could examine his injuries and make an assessment. We had a doctor look over him last night, but he was quite young and struck me as still wet behind the ears.”

He hadn’t mentioned this observation to Amelia last night. There had been no reason to distress her further—and he’d known Clarke was on the way. His friend had medical training and had even sewn shut one of his knife wounds after a particularly eventful night in Toulon.

Clarke nodded and dismissed the driver and postilion with a handsome tip, letting them take the hired chaise back to the posting inn. “I’ll look in on the patient straightaway, but perhaps you’d like to explain why you and the viscount are suddenly on good enough terms to tear across the country together? Not that I question the wisdom of the trip,” he added with a nod at the ruined Palladian.

Gideon hesitated, weighing disclosing the truth about Worthing and Martin. It was the conflict of a moment. He trusted Clarke with his life—and Worthing’s. They had been keeping too many secrets as it was.

Clarke was surprised, but not appalled to hear of Martin’s proclivities. He grew quiet and thoughtful before promising not to breathe a word of the truth to anyone. His only exclamation came when Gideon showed him the footprints and described what he saw, but he cut him short—they’d discuss the situation again once he’d spoken to Amelia.

He sent Clarke to wake Worthing and examine the viscount’s injury before going in search of the caretaker. Now that Clarke was here, they might need more provisions for breakfast.

The old venerable was one step ahead of him. Gibson had sent messages to the local taproom and the nearest baker. An assortment of freshly baked breads and pies were on their way. Gideon was about to go and wake Amelia when she stumbled into the kitchen of her own accord.

Somehow, she’d managed to wash and dress in a fresh gown without the aid of a maid. Still blinking sleepily at him, she allowed him to usher her to the table without argument. He’d just informed her of Clarke’s arrival when his friend joined them in the kitchen and the caretaker retreated to check on the horses.

Clarke greeted Amelia with a warm smile, and then took her hand in a sure sign something was wrong. He didn’t prevaricate, promptly sharing what was bothering him.

“Viscount Worthing is doing well enough under the circumstance, but his convalescence may be long if he’s not cared for properly. He’s determined to return to London, to the care of his personal physician. Normally I’d advise against moving him, but given the distance to the nearest neighbors and the relative isolation here, I think it would be prudent to accede to his wishes…”

Amelia’s eyes had darkened as he explained. “Of course, we’ll depart for town as soon as he’s ready,” she said, rising from her seat.

“After breakfast is soon enough,” Gideon murmured, urging her back down. He waited for her to finish before fetching her pelisse.

Then he took her out to the space under the trees. He didn’t say anything, watching silently as Amelia’s lips parted. Her creamy skin paled, the horror in her eyes growing until he pulled her into his arms, trying to envelop her with his strength.

“You’ve seen these before, haven’t you?” he asked quietly.

Her chin rubbed his chest as she nodded. The noise of the carriage stirred her. Clarke was helping Worthing into his carriage.

“No, put him in Amelia’s coach,” he called out. “It’s bigger and he’ll be able to stretch out more comfortably.” He turned back to her. “Clarke will ride with him. We’ll take Worthing’s coach back alone so we can talk. You are going to confide in me now, aren’t you?”

“I…yes. It’s time.” She inhaled audibly and pulled away, but was checked by the hold he kept on her arm. Reluctantly, he released her so she could speak to the servants. Once her trunk was loaded, they departed.

Miles passed in silence. “It’s not a demon,” he began.

Her blue gaze searched his face in shock, confirming she’d been asleep and had no memory of what she’d said.

“That is what you said last night. I went out to investigate our trespasser last night and you asked if it was the demon that killed Martin.”

Amelia averted her gaze, her hands fisting in her lap. He waited and she laughed to keep from crying. “I’ve seen things…things that cannot possibly exist in a sane world. I thought I was going mad.”

“You’re not mad, but I think someone is trying to convince you that you are. You need to tell me everything. Start when Martin died.”

She nodded, but her gaze was fixed on her lap, her expression remote. “It was the worst day of my entire life. I had paid a few calls and then attended a tea. We were new to the area, but Crispin had introduced us to all the major landowners—he’d thrown a ball in our honor. He made certain the local gentry embraced us, so I was always being invited to some event or another.” She paused, a trace of a smile on her face. It faded quickly.

“Everything was going well. Crispin and Martin were happy, and I had met some like-minded females who devoted themselves to charitable causes. I was with the ladies’ auxiliary discussing ways to raise funds to expand the local school…and then I came home and found him.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and he fought the impulse to yank her back into his arms. He needed her to tell him everything, even if it meant letting her face the agony of her memories alone. The most he could do was take her hand, which he gripped tightly.

“His head had struck the marble floor. There was blood everywhere,” she continued in a whisper. “I didn’t know what to do so I took him in my arms. The servants tried to make me let go, but I refused…The creature was watching from the top of the stairs. By the time I noticed it, the sun had set and it was dark. All I saw was its eyes—they glowed like the fires of hell. And then I blinked and it was gone. Afterward, I was convinced the shock had momentarily unhinged me. Nothing happened while I was in mourning. But then Crispin convinced me I needed to go up to town…”

She stopped speaking, her eyes growing bleak and distant.

“You’ve seen it since then,” he prompted when she remained silent. “Was it at Westcliff’s?”

Amelia shook her head. “No, it was at the Duke of Marlboro’s ball. The demon was watching from the musician’s balcony.”

That explains it. “It was why you fainted,” he murmured, marveling at the arrogance of the villain, to attempt such a thing in full view of half the ton. “Did you get a good look at it?”

“No, again, I only caught a glimpse of the eyes.”

“Where else have you seen it?”

“That was the only other time I saw it physically, but I also found similar marks in the soil of my garden in town. And there have been other…disturbances.”

“What kind of disturbances?”

Her blue eyes clouded with uncertainty. “It’s not the same. You’ll say it’s my imagination.”

“No, I won’t.” Gideon stroked her palm with his thumb. “What I saw last night looked demonic. I’m not so much of a braggart that I’d deny it nearly made me piss myself.”

Amelia scoffed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

“It’s true,” he assured her. “But I think the force behind this monstrous vision is a person. One who is trying to frighten you—and they’re doing a fine damn job of it. If this villain is willing to taunt and intimidate you at a major ball, then it stands to reason they’ve made other attempts. This bastard is without morals or scruples and they’re devilishly inventive.”

Amelia failed to repress a shudder. “I’ve heard voices coming from empty rooms, and have seen shadows cast by nothing at all. Thrice now I’ve been walking in the hallway and caught movement out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn the corner, there’s nothing there.”

“What else?” He knew from the way she was avoiding his eyes that there was more.

“I keep finding things at the bottom of the stairs. Dead things. It used to be roses, but the last was a rodent of some sort. Gideon—”

“What?” he asked, perplexed.

“You’re hurting me,” she said, gesturing to the hand holding hers with a now-painful grip.

“Oh, good God.” He relaxed his hold, rubbing her fingers gently. He was losing control. He needed to refocus.

“Why did you say it was your fault?” he asked, aware he was holding his breath.

She frowned, her confusion apparent.

“I had your servants questioned,” he said, apologizing when her eyes flared. “When you found Martin’s body, you said it was your fault. That’s the reason I suspected you to begin with. Why would you say such a thing?”

Amelia’s lips parted, and she began to speak before hesitating and beginning again. “I don’t recall saying it…but I do know what I meant. You see, I have often thought those words since that day.”

She raised her eyes to his, the crystalline blue sparkling behind a pool of unshed tears. “If I hadn’t agreed to come back to England, Martin would be alive today. I didn’t want to return. This place—the peerage—had nothing but contempt for my father—a man who built a fortune out of nothing. My father was brilliant and kind. He had more nobility of spirit than any blue blood born to a title… but any fat slovenly lord thinks he can spit on his memory because he wasn’t titled. They’re not fit to even speak his name,” she hissed.

Gideon knew enough of the haute ton’s secrets to agree with her. He winced. “I know you may not believe this, given my recent ascension, but for some I’ve met, I am in complete agreement.”

Amelia snorted lightly and took a shaky breath. “My plan was to make our life in Italy near Isobel and her family. Although he missed England at times, Martin agreed. We were free on the continent in a way that simply wasn’t possible here. It was like I could breathe for the first time. He felt the same way…until he didn’t.”

“Because Martin met Lord Worthing,” he said, filling in the blanks. “And the viscount had to return home to attend to his estates. He convinced the two of you to come with him.”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. She squeezed his hand. “I know you don’t agree that what we saw is a demon, and maybe it isn’t, but whatever its true nature, it is evil. Perhaps there is a person behind all these incidents, but if so, then they are in league with something unnatural and occult.”

Oh dear. She really believed that…

It wasn’t her fault, of course; the villain had done his job too well. What Gideon had seen had made him question reality, too. But demons and mysticism was the realm of charlatans. “Whoever the culprit is, they are both ruthless and clever. But they are not magical—there are no supernatural forces at work here.”

One corner of her mouth turned down and he moved to sit down next to her, giving in to his impulse to hold her in his arms.

“I’m going to find this person, and I’m going to stop them. I promise you that.”

Gideon waited for her to agree with him, to express some faith in his ability to take care of her. He was still waiting when they arrived in London.