Amelia’s heart was racing as she stared into Gideon’s dark eyes. Pulse pounding in her ears, she bit her lip before taking the arm he offered.

He was bigger than she remembered. It was strange because he was a giant as a child, an unusually tall youth who dwarfed even her guardian, Sir Clarence. But now, Gideon had the body of a man. He’d filled out, adding layers of muscles to his once-lanky frame. Combined with his height, it made him an imposing figure, even in a ballroom full of blue-blooded nobility.

His hair was also darker than she remembered. The vivid streaks of gold he had from spending so much time in the sun were gone now. His boyish handsomeness had matured into something harder and darker.

He almost looked dangerous, but, if anything, his appeal was only heightened.

Every woman in the room is staring at him—including myself. Her face heated and she started to pull away, but Gideon forestalled her. He pressed his hand over hers, making sure she didn’t let go of his arm. The muscle underneath the fine cloth of his fitted waistcoat was like steel, and she wondered what sport he indulged in to become so fit.

The hair on the back of her neck lifted. Amelia didn’t know if it was because of the number of eyes trained their way, or because she was with Gideon again, the small touch of her hand on his arm a burning brand.

Seemingly aware that most of the guests were watching, he led Amelia to the relative privacy of the balcony on the far side of the ballroom. Once on the other side of the doors, she let out a pent-up breath, one she hadn’t even been aware she’d been holding. She laughed self-consciously, about to thank him for rescuing her, when she checked herself.

How much did he know? Did he blame her for Martin’s death as well? If he did, why was he being so solicitous?

“I heard you were back in town,” Gideon said, not acknowledging her obvious relief at being away from the crowded ballroom. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you before. I was still traveling on the grand tour when Martin…”

He coughed, his face tightening. For a moment, she imagined some of the weight of her grief had been transferred to him, pressing them both down into the earth.

Amelia ducked her head, her throat tight. “I know. He—he used to read me your letters.”

The words were hoarse, revealing the effort she’d made to get them out. She cleared her throat. “It sounded exciting…so much that he decided he wanted to travel himself. Nothing as extensive as your explorations, of course, but we ended up spending most of our marriage abroad. I half expected to stumble upon you one day.”

Gideon cocked his head to the side. “I did as well, but I was always on the move, trying to make the most of the opportunity before my cousin Matteo changed his mind and decided to stop funding me.”

He smiled, but his face was still too hard for it to be a happy expression.

“Oh, I see,” she said. Martin hadn’t mentioned that detail to her. “I like your cousin Matteo very much. We spent some time with him and Isobel our last few months abroad—right after their twin sons were born.”

Gideon leaned against the terrace balustrade and crossed his arms. “She was your governess, I believe?”

She nodded, warming to the subject. “Only for a short while. Then Matteo visited. Before you could blink, they were married. But she wrote every month.”

Those letters had been one of the few bright spots in her bleak childhood. She had treasured every one of them. Isobel was one of her few confidantes, but there were some things Amelia hadn’t told her…not yet.

Perhaps I need to change that.

“Amelia?”

She jerked her gaze up to find Gideon watching her expectantly.

“Woolgathering?”

Her shoulders dropped, but she was suddenly too tired to be embarrassed. It wasn’t like she was in the company of some stranger. There was no need to fabricate a delicate excuse. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been sleeping much of late. I have trouble focusing on even simple tasks, conversations included. Please excuse my distraction.”

His face softened. “There’s no need to apologize. Not on your part anyway. I am the one who needs to make amends. I should have come to see you after I returned from the continent.”

“I was traveling myself then,” she said, gripping her hands tightly together. After Martin’s death, she couldn’t stay in that house. “I decided the Lake District was more to my liking.”

Amelia glanced at the ornate glass doors of the terrace. In her imagination, the well-dressed horde was staring at her with their faces pressed against the glass. The reality was not far off. She turned back to Gideon. “I don’t expect I’ll stay in town very long.”

“That’s disappointing…I had hoped we could renew our acquaintance. I’d like to hear about Martin and your travels.” He uncrossed his arms and put one of them on the railing behind him to brace himself. “I let too much time pass since seeing him last. Tell me, was he happy those last few months?”

“He was the happiest I’d ever seen him,” she said, not thinking, and then wanted to bite her tongue. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her for more details.

“Really? Was there something in particular, some change that was responsible for such a state?”

Her lips parted. Oh, dear.

Amelia belatedly realized the conversation had ventured into troubling territory. She had been too unguarded with him. But Gideon interpreted her hesitation as embarrassment.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped. I didn’t mean to imply the marital state alone was not sufficient to achieve bliss. I’m sure he was very happy married to you.”

“He was,” she assured him with a blush. “But you’re right; there was more. The return home to England for one. I don’t think he realized how much he had missed home until we returned.”

“But you didn’t return to Northumberland. You settled in Kent.”

“Err, yes,” she said, looking out the corner of her eye for Crispin.

He warned you about situations like this.

“I did not think you had any connections there,” Gideon continued, his relentless questioning as inexorable as the Flood.

“No family connections to speak of. Only friends. Martin was my only family,” she said, a shaft of lonely longing spearing her.

“And Uncle Clarence,” he pointed out.

“Yes, of course. There’s Sir Clarence,” she replied weakly.

“Have you spoken to him recently? I heard he’s also in town this season, but I’ve not had the occasion to visit with him yet.”

“Well…”

As if on cue, Crispin, Lord Worthing, stepped outside at that moment, displaying his impeccable sense of timing. Her relief was short-lived, however, dwindling to nothing when she saw who was on his arm.

“Amelia, darling, where have you been hiding?” The graceful woman at Crispin’s side was dressed in a fashionable cerise gown paired with a modest string of pearls. Amelia recognized the dress as the work of her own modiste, an exclusive dressmaker whom Crispin had recommended.

“Mrs. Spencer,” she said, feigning enthusiasm to see her former guardian’s mistress. “How nice to see you again. I wasn’t aware you were here tonight or I would have come to pay my respects.”

Ellie Spencer laughed, a light tinkling sound. “No need to be so formal, my dear,” she said with a charmingly dismissive wave. “I saw the viscount here and imposed upon him to find you. I wanted to make sure you were attending my little garden party next week. You will attend, won’t you?”

The look in Mrs. Spencer’s eyes and the surreptitious glance she gave Gideon told Amelia all she needed to know. She had been neatly trapped. Somehow, Ellie Spencer guessed Amelia did not want to appear ill-mannered in front of Gideon.

“Of course I will attend.”

“But, my dear, you’ve already agreed to attend the Marston’s country party next week,” Crispin interjected smoothly. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said, extending a hand to Gideon. “I’m Worthing.”

Gideon hesitated so long Amelia was afraid he was about to deliver the cut direct, but he eventually accepted the hand and shook it. She suspected his grip was painful because Crispin winced, but her erstwhile protector managed to smile and murmur something polite about being members of the same club.

“Congratulations on the title, by the way,” Crispin added after a moment. “I have some property near one of your new estates in Cornwall. We are neighbors in fact.”

“Is that so? Is yours the old Cavendish estate or do you own the bit of land to the east?”

“It’s the latter. I’m eyeing just the right spot for a snug cottage or country house. It’s a pretty little piece.”

“That it is,” Gideon agreed, turning back to her. He raised an eyebrow when he saw she had a hand to her mouth.

Amelia was mortified. “Oh dear, I forgot you’re an earl now!” He must think her a perfect ninny. “At the very least, I should have congratulated you as well.”

“Think nothing of it.” In a swift economical move, he leaned over. “I remember your father’s views on the nobility—don’t worry. I haven’t let it go to my head.”

She blushed and ducked her head, hoping that was true. Hazy memories of certain conversations trickled back to her. Her father had choice words about the peerage. Words she had repeated, uncensored, to Gideon as a girl.

At the time, he had been highly entertained by her knowledge of certain colorful, vulgar expressions. And now he’s an earl.

“Oh, what a shame you can’t attend,” Mrs. Spencer interjected during the awkward pause, accepting defeat with her trademark good grace. “But perhaps I can impose on the earl to come instead. I know Sir Clarence would love to see him.”

Gideon turned to Mrs. Spencer as if he’d forgotten she was there. He belatedly introduced himself, bowing over her hand. “Pardon me, how do you know my uncle?”

The older woman smiled, waving a graceful hand over her bosom. “Oh, Sir Clarence and I are good friends. I often act as hostess for him on those rare occasions when he chooses to entertain.”

Understanding lit Gideon’s eyes. “Oh, you’re that Mrs. Spencer.” He nodded. “A pleasure. If I’m in town, I will be sure to attend, although I plan on catching up with Sir Clarence at the club this week.”

“He’ll be delighted to hear it,” Mrs. Spencer said before nudging Crispin. “Darling, I’m parched.”

“One champagne on the way.” He stepped away to flag down a waiter, asking for two flutes. Then he returned with a regretful expression. “I’m afraid we can’t stay to partake ourselves. Amelia and I are expected at the Turner soiree.”

With barely time for a civil parting, Crispin ushered her away.

“That was hardly subtle,” Amelia chided once they were safely ensconced in the dark interior of the viscount’s carriage.

“Neither was using your uncle’s mistress as a distraction, but you had spent long enough in the earl’s company.”

“Crispin, he’s a friend. He’s also Martin’s cousin.”

“And he’s also a dangerous man from what I’ve heard,” Crispin said, inclining his head with a dark expression. “You must take care what you say to him.”

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating? I’ve known Gideon since I was a child.” She paused to smooth her skirts. “I admit I was anxious when I first saw him. I didn’t know if he believed the rumors about me.”

“You mean the rumors about us and whether we were involved in Martin’s death,” Crispin said with his trademark bluntness.

She shook her head. “If Gideon thought I killed my husband, he would have confronted me or publicly cut me. He’s always been direct. Even as a youth. I don’t think he would have spoken to me at all if he blamed me.”

Crispin threw her a pitying glance. “Amelia, you must listen to me. That is not the young man you knew. Gideon Wells has changed—and I’m not talking about his new title. There are some disturbing rumors about him and what he was really doing on the continent a few months ago. If what I’ve heard is correct, then there is no chance he’s overlooking the gossip.”

She frowned at her companion. “What sort of things did he do?”

He sniffed. “Well, as to that I’m not precisely certain. A well-informed friend with connections to the war office mentioned something but wouldn’t elaborate. Suffice to say it was a warning of sorts. Don’t tangle with the earl. He is to be avoided at all costs.”

She clasped her hands together, the omnipresent weight on her shoulders growing heavier. “That’s going to be difficult. He’s a family connection. And he wants to hear more about Martin, about our time together.”

Crispin straightened in his seat. “Even more reason to avoid him.”

Amelia sighed. “Fine. I will do as you ask, but it will be difficult unless…”

“Unless what?”

“I’ve been thinking I should leave town. Go back abroad.”

Crispin passed a hand over his face. “I was afraid you were going to say that. But it’s not safe to leave England at the moment. The rumors say we are on the brink of war with France. Travel is growing more hazardous. Soon, it won’t be possible at all.”

“Which is why I should leave now.”

He argued, naturally, and she countered his assertions, but her effort was half-hearted at best. In truth, she suddenly had a reason to stay.

Leaving would mean not seeing Gideon again.

And despite her promise to Crispin, she wouldn’t—couldn’t—stay away from Gideon. That had always been beyond her abilities.

Hours later, finally done with the night’s round of parties, Crispin delivered her home. She had told her butler not to wait up, so she let herself in with her key.

Amelia had just closed the door behind her, preparing to go upstairs to her bedroom, when she saw it.

Lying in the middle of a pool of moonlight was a small object. Bending, she took a closer look. It was a dead rose. Puzzled, she bent to pick it up, and it crumbled in her hand. Even the stem fell to pieces.

She spent a few minutes picking up the fragments. Had one of the maids dropped it when cleaning? She didn’t remember having any fresh-cut roses placed in any of the rooms. Perhaps one of the staff had cut it in the garden and forgotten about it.

“Damn.” A particularly sharp thorn had pierced her finger. A drop of blood fell to the floor.

A rushing sound filled her ears. She straightened abruptly, her ears filled with whispers. Turning in circles, she searched the shadows for their source. It was as if she was surrounded by an unseen crowd of people, but there was no one there.

She tried to calm herself, but her skin broke out into a cold sweat. Covering her ears, she turned on her heel and ran up the stairs, dropping the fragments of the rose in the process. Once she’d reached the second floor, the noise stopped as suddenly as it had started.

Wiping her hands on her skirt, Amelia hurried to her bedroom, locking the door behind her.