By the time the picnic ended, Gideon had gotten ahold of his rampant lust. He berated himself for falling for Amelia’s charms like some lovestruck dandy.

What is wrong with me?

It wasn’t like him to fall under the spell of a woman. In the past, he was always the one who ended romantic liaisons, usually when it became clear that the woman involved desired more than he was willing to offer.

His desire for Amelia was nothing like what he’d felt for his former lovers. The almost violent nature of his passions cast the entirety of his previous relationships in the shade. He found the fact that the focus of all this maelstrom of emotions was a woman of dubious character distinctly unsettling.

He had yet to establish if Amelia was involved in his cousin’s death. Until he knew what had happened that day, he couldn’t allow himself to give in to his baser desires. And if she’s not guilty of any wrongdoing, I still have to stay away.

She was Martin’s widow, for Pete’s sake. He had no business kissing her, let alone contemplating an affair.

At least she was starting to trust him. Today he had learned one of her secrets—hers and Sir Clarence.

Elmer Cannonburry. What the devil was his uncle thinking? The idea of a young and vibrant woman like Amelia in the arms of that old fossil was disturbing on several levels.

Gideon didn’t stop to ask himself why it bothered him so much. Very old men frequently married girls fresh out of the schoolroom. He didn’t approve of the practice, but such marriages were common in the ton. Only it was clear Amelia didn’t want this one.

As a young girl, Amelia hadn’t had much of a choice who she married, but as a widow, she had the right to decide the course of her life. Whatever machinations his uncle had planned couldn’t possibly work now.

At least he had an explanation for her most recent behavior. Worthing was right. Amelia was throwing herself into the social whirl to avoid Sir Clarence’s ill-conceived matchmaking. The poor girl had grown up criticized and belittled by his nearest relation. The fact she still lived in fear of him stirred his pity.

Rolling his shoulders, he slipped away from the other guests to confer with Manning, his valet. The former cockney errand boy had originally begun as his father’s valet when he was a young man. Though he was now getting on in years, his loyalty and discretion ensured Gideon kept him on despite his recent elevation to the earldom.

Manning had arrived late this afternoon with his travel carriage and a trunk packed for a week’s stay. Gideon had been grateful for the change of clothes, as well as the other invaluable services Manning provided. The grey-haired manservant had proven quite adept at gleaning information from other servants during his time on the continent. It was a skill he hoped had proved useful now.

“Did you learn anything?” he asked as soon as he reached the privacy of his room to change.

Manning’s long face grew impossibly longer. “I’m afraid Viscount Worthing’s man, Simpson, proved to be a difficult nut to crack. He wasn’t in a particularly talkative mood earlier. Didn’t take kindly to the offer to gossip about his employer. Man’s a bit high in the instep for a servant.”

“Did he rebuff you?” Gideon frowned. Manning was usually subtle when it came to this sort of thing.

“I let one of the new housemaids do the questioning,” Tom replied. “The staff was quite eager to gossip about Mrs. Montgomery, but her maid pretended not to speak English so they turned to his lordship’s valet without success.”

Gideon scowled as Manning helped him with his waistcoat. “Blast. Loyalty is commendable in your own servants but decidedly inconvenient in anyone else’s.”

Manning nodded. “Don’t lose heart yet. I haven’t given up. I brought a bit of your least expensive brandy to share with the other servants and housekeeper this evening. I’m hoping it will loosen Simpson’s tongue.”

“You’re welcome to the most expensive bottle I have if you can get the man to talk about his master’s reaction to Martin’s death. I would also like to know his exact whereabouts at the time of the accident.”

“I thought you established Lord Worthing was out visiting his tenants when it happened.”

“That’s what I was told by those servants who left Amelia’s household just after the accident, but I would like corroboration from someone in Worthing’s employ. Anything you learn about his relationship with my cousin would be of note. Amelia insists they were good friends, which I find hard to believe.”

“It could be the truth, but it doesn’t mean there wasn’t an affair. Your cousin might simply have been ignorant of it.”

Gideon nodded, acknowledging the possibility. “Martin always was a bit naive when it came to the darker side of men’s natures. He tended to believe the best of people,” he muttered, adjusting his cravat. “One last thing. Find out if Amelia is warming Worthing’s bed now if you can.”

Something in his voice must have alerted Manning. “Err…I thought you were convinced she was.”

“So goes the gossip, but I’m no longer certain,” he admitted as Manning straightened his coat.

“I will do my best to learn whatever I can.”

“Good.” Gideon nodded at him. After a few more minutes of conversation and adjustments to his attire, he headed back downstairs for dinner.

Despite the upheaval of his emotions, it wasn’t too difficult to pretend he was like all the other male guests—a privileged and jaded nobleman seeking to relieve his boredom with country entertainments. Interminable cases of ennui were a popular affectation among his class, and for a former spy of his experience, easy to emulate.

At dinner, he was seated directly across from his hostess—too far from Amelia and Worthing to even consider conversing with them. Normally being situated so far from the subject of an investigation would have been enough to annoy him, but in this case, he used the opportunity to shore up his resistance to Amelia’s charms.

If only there weren’t so many damned charms. His quarry was looking especially lovely tonight. She wore a lovely silk damask dress the color of deep violet. The creamy silk of her skin seemed to glow in the candlelight. It was a challenge not to stare at her—one other men did not seem to mind failing. One man, a young and gangly baron name Bruxton, was practically drooling.

Amelia pretended not to notice the attention. She conversed with Worthing and her neighbors, only occasionally peeking toward the head of the table to look at him and their hosts.

After dinner, the women retired so the men could enjoy their port. After, the two groups met again for cards and subdued conversation in the main salon. Gideon thought he’d acquitted himself quite well until later that night after Amelia and most of the other women had retired.

The men drifted into the billiards room. Gossip and spirits flowed freely. At first, Gideon was hopeful Worthing would soon be in his cups. Unfortunately, his nemesis decided to focus on the game instead of his drink.

“I was surprised to see you here,” Worthing confided as he leaned over the table to align his shot.

Gideon stood near the other end, cue in hand. “I wanted to speak to our host,” he said.

“Mmm-hmm.” Westcliff gulped the brandy he was drinking. He made an approving sound in the back of his throat. “Yes, we are partners in a new consortium. Flint here had a few questions about it. Came to me to clear them up,” he said, managing to sound more paternal than boastful.

“Your expertise in the matter was enormously helpful,” Gideon assured him, bending to align his cue when Worthing’s ball bounced on the bumper, missing the pocket.

Gideon sank his ball effortlessly and walked around for the next shot while their host preened.

“How fortunate that your business with Westcliff coincided with his seasonal house party,” Worthing said, not bothering to inject any enthusiasm in his voice.

“It was lucky, wasn’t it?” Gideon said blandly, sinking the next ball neatly. With a vindictive little flourish, he proceeded to clear the table.

“Congratulations,” Worthing said with a courtly bow better suited to a drawing room—and directed at a female matriarch.

Gideon acknowledged that with a nod. The glitter of something gold on Worthing’s breast caught his eye.

It can’t be. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the small ornament in the shape of a key on Worthing’s waistcoat.

“That’s an interesting pin,” he said, a hollow feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. “Where did you get it?”

Worthing stiffened. His hand went to his waistcoat, covering the key in an abrupt instinctive move. “My father gave it to me.”

He was lying, and they both knew it. “Did he? Was he very good at maths?”

“Maths?”

Gideon could see the small flicker of panic that crossed Worthing’s face.

“Why yes, he was quite good at them. This is a school prize.”

Except that pin is given as the classics prize at Abingdon—not mathematics. Martin had been inordinately proud of it. Literature was the one field he excelled in. He’d been a miserable mathematics student.

The realization that Amelia had given Worthing one of Martin’s most prized possessions settled in his gut like a lead weight.

“Would you all excuse me? I seem to have developed the headache.” He exited the room abruptly, heedless of the reaction of his host and the other assembled gentlemen.

Once he was alone he took a deep breath, but it did little to calm him. The slow burn kindling in his breast was building into a towering rage. He stalked off, intent on getting as far away from the other guests as possible. It was a move that guaranteed he meet the last person he should be near.

“Gideon.”

He spun on his heel to find Amelia standing alone in the dimly lit hallway.

Unable to form a civil greeting, he stared down at her. She hesitated, her lips forming words she did not let fall.

“Yes?” he asked coldly.

“I…err…Lord Westcliff has a fine conservatory. I thought you might enjoy taking a turn with me.”

His stomach was roiling. He swallowed heavily before straightening his spine. “I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

Amelia drew back, visibly stung by the coldness in his voice.

“Oh, I see.”

Gideon fought to keep an even tone, but it was difficult with his composure in threads. “No, I don’t think you do. I regret I gave you the wrong impression today in the woods, but I don’t intend to share your bed tonight or any other night. It’s a little too crowded for my taste.”

Amelia’s mouth parted, a shocked look on her face. She blinked rapidly before spinning on her heel and running away.

Muscles tensing, Gideon forced himself not to run after her. Would a cold-blooded killer be so sensitive?