Lord Westcliff’s country party was in full swing. Their host and hostess had organized all the usual country amusements as well as a few others unique to their household. For the women, archery had been followed by croquet and then a trip to the local village. The men had been indulging in endless rounds of billiards interspersed with the occasional grouse hunt. That afternoon, there was a contest to see who could make it through the immense garden maze first.

Having had more than enough of hedge mazes, Amelia pleaded a headache and excused herself to rest in the ladies’ salon. The well-trained staff had left a tea tray at her disposal, and she selected a novel from the library before sitting down.

Crispin had gone fishing with the men. His family had been connected to Westcliff’s for generations. Despite their eleventh-hour arrival, they had been welcomed to the country party with ready grace and good humor. They waved away the fact Crispin had already sent his regrets.

If their hosts were reluctant to have Amelia under their roof along with Crispin, they showed no sign. Indeed, the Westcliff’s were all that was gracious, a rarity among the ton. It was the first time Amelia had felt accepted at one of these affairs. But her host’s opinion of her was the least of her concerns at the moment.

I am either being pursued by a monster or I am going mad.

Either prospect was terrifying. She set her book aside and picked up the fine china cup set in front of her. Ignoring the rattling of the saucer on the bed, she drank until her hands steadied.

It was a terrible situation when madness was the best prospect she faced, but Amelia could not afford to deny reality any longer. But how did one know when they were going mad?

Well, imagining monsters was probably an excellent indication of mental derangement. She shuddered involuntarily, the image of those unnatural eyes watching her from the balcony of the Marlborough’s ballroom burning in her mind.

It hadn’t been the first time. They had watched her from the upper story of their house in Kent the day she had found Martin’s body.

You are not mad.

In the year since her husband’s death, Amelia had convinced herself she’d imagined that ghastly vision.

Self-delusion had been easy. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened while she had been in mourning. It was only now that she was reentering society at Crispin’s behest that strange and unnerving events had begun to occur.

But those eyes belonged to no man or animal she recognized. Their glow was not the reflective sheen of any night beast. It was the light of hellfire. And it had been as real as the floor under her feet.

She hadn’t known what to tell Crispin after she collapsed at the ball. He’d been so concerned about her this past week. He hadn’t understood her frenetic need to socialize the last few days—she who had avoided and criticized the shallow frivolity of the ton at every turn. Crispin had been confused and a little hurt by her behavior and the silence she had maintained about it.

Amelia hadn’t wanted to come to the Westcliff’s. She had been determined to quit England altogether that night, to flee to Italy and travel to her former governess’ home. Isobel would take her in.

This had been Amelia’s plan for some time, although she hadn’t admitted that to herself. But she’d had her maid pack her trunks in preparation to depart since the morning she woke up on the floor of her private parlor.

That troubling episode had merely been the first. In the time since, Amelia had begun to see things out of the corner of her eye. She would get to her feet to chase the flicker of movement around a corner or into another room only to find there was nothing there. And sometimes, late at night, she would hear whispers in rooms that were empty save for herself.

Yes, she should have left England. However, at the last minute, she had been too shaken to think clearly. All she had told Crispin was that she wanted to leave town. He had tried to convince her to travel back to his estate in Kent, but Amelia would not set foot anywhere near the place.

Crispin’s estate was only a stone’s throw from the house where Martin had died. That was where this nightmare had started. She was determined it wouldn’t end there as well.

When Amelia had rejected traveling to his home, Crispin had remembered his invitation to this country party. He had taken charge, bringing her here. And in her weakness, she had let him.

Would the beast follow them all the way here? Was she putting these innocent people in danger? What if the creature decided to harm Crispin?

I should have gone to Italy. The shadows and darkness plaguing her couldn’t survive under the hot Italian sun, could they? She honestly didn’t know. What if she made it all the way to Isobel and Matteo’s home only to find she was still being pursued? She could not bear it if Isobel and her family were harmed because of her.

Every move she made felt like the wrong one.

“Amelia?”

She started, her eyes flying to the doorway. Crispin frowned at her response.

“Oh, I didn’t hear you come in. Is the fishing outing over?”

Crispin came and sat next to her on the couch. “No, I found myself falling asleep and decided to come back early for a few fortifying cups of tea. Did you sleep well last night?”

“Better than I have in ages,” she confessed.

Crispin’s light blue eyes flicked to her face before he turned to the tea tray to pour himself a cup. He drank deep before turning to her. “Amelia, I know what’s going on.”

Her eyes widened. “You do?”

“Of course. You told me about the confrontation with Sir Clarence yourself and his desire to wed you off to that pile of dust Cannonburry. It’s obvious he’s made more threats, and you’ve been afraid to confide in me.”

Her mouth dropped open. She was unsure what to say, but Crispin didn’t require an answer. He held up a hand.

“I’m no fool, Am,” he said, using Martin’s pet name for her. “You can save your denials. I’ve put it all together—that confrontation in the maze, your sudden need to be out in public. Even your sudden preference for other men’s company. I know you haven’t been avoiding me completely, but you’ve certainly cut down on the amount of time you have spent with me—before this sojourn to the country that is. You’re afraid to be with me, but you’re more afraid to be alone. Obviously, Sir Clarence has made some manner of threat against me, something you’ve taken to heart. Well, I’m not afraid of him, and I won’t let the bastard get away with intimidating you!”

She sat gaping at him while he took her hand. “You don’t have to worry anymore. I have the solution. We will announce our engagement. In a few months’ time, we can be married and Sir Clarence will have no choice but to leave you alone.”

Amelia tried unsuccessfully to retrieve her hand. “Crispin, you are my dearest friend—indeed you are my only friend—but you know that is quite impossible.”

His chin lifted. “I know marriage to me is not what you would wish, but you weren’t meant to spend your life alone. Martin wouldn’t have wanted that. You deserve more, a family. Children. You can’t tell me you’ve never desired a child of your own. I know of your plans with Martin.”

Her mouth tightened. Forcibly, she withdrew her hand from his.

Crispin winced. “I’m sorry. I’m only trying to say I understand what you’ve lost because I’ve lost it, too.”

Amelia picked at her skirts and sighed. “I know. But a marriage between the two of us will not restore those dead dreams.”

He nodded but did not give up. “It won’t be the same. Everything will be different. But that doesn’t mean you won’t find a measure of happiness with me. Our relationship is not unlike yours and Martin’s.”

He broke off and patted her knee. “We did not grow up together, but I know you better than you think.”

Crispin leaned closer. “You see, Martin confided certain things to me. Things about you.”

She was tempted to roll her eyes. “I’m aware of my husband’s proclivity to be indiscreet.”

“But you loved him anyway.” Crispin’s smile was as devilishly charming as Martin’s could be.

“Of course I did. So what exactly did he tell you?”

He looked around before answering. There was no one else in the room, but he lowered his voice anyway. “About Gideon and the way you felt about him.”

Heat crept up her cheeks. “Good God, Crispin. I was little more than a girl back then. I’m a grown woman now. Those sorts of childish feelings fade.”

He looked skeptical. “Do they? In my experience, the strong emotions of youth tend to stay with you into adulthood. It might be different if the man in question had a receded hairline and a paunch, but the Earl of Flint cuts a dashing figure. The ton adores him. All the men want to be his friend and the women want to marry him. Just last night, I heard a grey-haired dowager waxing poetic on the breadth of his shoulders and the way he fills out his breeches.”

She huffed an unwilling laugh, but Crispin’s face was sober. “He’ll marry soon enough and when he does, it will be to one of the young innocents making their debut. It’s what men in his position do. The future Countess of Flint will be some chit fresh out of the schoolroom with an unstained reputation and significant property as her dowry.”

Amelia blinked, waiting for the sudden lump in her throat to subside before she answered. “I know all that.”

He continued relentlessly as if he had not heard her. “Martin said he was your girlhood hero. And now he’s a man, an attractive and commanding one at that. You can’t tell me you haven’t wished for something more. I’ve seen the way you look at him. And…there have been more unpleasant rumors since he danced with you.”

Amelia could feel her patience wearing thin. Would she never be free from spiteful tongues? “What sort of rumors?”

Crispin had the grace to blush. “People are starting to whisper. They say you are his mistress. I caught the first hints of that last night.”

“What rubbish,” she snapped, her blood heating. “As if the earl would engage in such a liaison with his own cousin’s widow. Society has nothing better to do than invent vicious stories for their own amusement. If they spent half the energy trying to do something productive like helping the poor not a single person would go hungry in town. But they only do and say things for their own selfish ends. I can’t believe you would listen to such drivel.”

Crispin gave her a chiding glance “Am, it’s time to stop being naive. We must stay informed about what people are saying about you. And you need to be realistic about your prospects with the earl.”

“For the last time, I have no designs on Lord Flint. He is a family connection, nothing more.”

Crispin did not look convinced. “I don’t mean to depress your spirits. I only wish to help. Regardless of your decision on whether to take me up on my offer, we will find a way to deal with Sir Clarence. And perhaps in time, you might meet a man willing to overlook the rumors, someone you can love. Although, I would like to add that being married to me would not be an impediment to such a future. It’s one of the small blessings of our society. A girl can’t dance too many times with the same gentlemen before she is a bride, but once she is married and gives her husband an heir, she is free to do as she wishes.”

“A widow has a certain amount of freedom as well,” she pointed out. “And I’m not prepared to give it up because of…an uncomfortable situation.”

Like going mad or being hounded by a demon.

Crispin reached for her hand again, squeezing it before rising from the settee. “At least think about what I’ve said.”

“I will,” she promised, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

“I’m going to find our hosts. They should be stationed outside the entrance to the maze. Once all the women are through it, the staff will serve refreshments on the south lawn. I hope you will join us.”

“I will—later. I think I shall go for a walk first,” she said as she rose. “I have a lot to think about.”

“That sounds like a fine idea,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him out of the room.

A maid fetched her bonnet, and she and Crispin parted in the garden. She skirted around the massive hedge maze, heading toward the nearby path to the fruit orchard.

Amelia wandered, lost in thought, heedless of the time, until the small noise of a twig snapping jolted her out of her reverie.

She spun in a circle, startled to see she’d wandered much farther than she’d intended. She had meant to stay in sight of the house, but now all she could see were trees and unkempt shrubbery. Pinpricks of apprehension assailed her before she took a deep breath and forced herself to get her bearings. The house couldn’t be that far away. She would start back now and meet everyone on the south lawn a little late.

It wasn’t until she heard leaves being crushed behind her that Amelia realized how foolish she had been. Not bothering to turn she ran, blood pounding in her ears.

She’d not gotten more than a few steps when large hands seized her, pulling her into an unbreakable embrace.