Amelia flew up the stairs. It felt like she had been struck, a body blow that was threatening to knock her to the floor.

Reaching her room, she dismissed her maid. As soon as the door closed behind Carlotta, Amelia flung herself down on the bed. Hugging a pillow to her stomach, she let the violent storm of tears overtake her.

How could Gideon say those things? What had happened between now and this afternoon to change his opinion of her so radically?

He had kissed her. Though she wasn’t overly familiar with it, she thought she had glimpsed sincere desire in his eyes. His embrace had been more fervent than that Italian count in Modena who had tried to lure her into an illicit liaison during her honeymoon.

Amelia had told herself not to dream, but despite her stern lecture, she had managed to build an entire future around that one kiss. For one glittering moment, anything had seemed possible. The impossible fantasy she had spun since childhood, one of a future with Gideon, almost seemed within her grasp.

But now her dream was a pile of glass shards at her feet.

It’s your own fault. She had let herself hope, and despite her great wealth, that had been a luxury she had never been able to afford.

Amelia wiped away the tears with a rough hand. There were always plenty of members of society ready to spread lies and innuendo about her, but she had thought Gideon was above listening to them. Clearly some viper had been whispering in his ear tonight. It was only to be expected. She was deeply unpopular among the ton. There were several ladies present who would love to fix the earl’s attentions on themselves. The fact Gideon had believed whatever lie they had told meant she had overestimated both his intelligence and noble nature.

A little shudder passed through her, but she ignored it. Taking a deep breath, she sat up. She no longer had Martin, but she still had her pride. Gideon could choose to believe the lies about her, but he wasn’t going to get away with belittling her. In the morning, she would take him aside and give him a dressing down he would never forget.

Hardened by her resolution, she began to undress and prepare for sleep. It was still early. With luck, none of the other guests had returned to their rooms in time to hear her cry. Whatever spiteful creature had been gossiping about her would only be too happy to spread the tale of her tears. From notorious to pitiful in one evening.

It was unlikely anyone was about. Everyone was still downstairs playing cards and drinking. They would not have come back upstairs yet—not unless they had pre-arranged a tryst in their bedroom.

The convenient access to bedrooms explained why country parties were so popular despite the largely insipid entertainments. Affairs and illicit rendezvous were much easier to conduct away from the watchful eyes in town.

Amelia put down the pillow she was holding on the empty bed with a snort. The only crowded thing about it was the abundance of cushions. Their hostess was very fond of tiny embroidered pillows and velvet bolsters. She felt the irony of her situation bite deep.

With a little more energy than was strictly necessary, she tossed the many pillows aside and climbed into bed. She lay there staring at the canopy for some minutes. After a few more moments of feeling sorry for herself, she fell back on the trick her father had taught her to quiet her mind.

The yearly compound interest of fifty thousand pounds is two thousand. The interest on sixty thousand pounds is twenty-four hundred pounds.

Amelia continued calculating interest until she was numb, the pain of her confrontation with Gideon receding into the background. Hollowed out and empty, she fell asleep.

Several hours later, a noise startled her awake. She opened her eyes, expecting to hear one of the other guests in the hallway, but the crashing sound that followed was not some drunk reveler stumbling to their room.

Someone was pounding on her door. The force was enough to make the wood vibrate in the jamb.

Bang! Bang!

Amelia gasped as the wood shuddered in the bright moonlight illuminating that part of the room.

Good Lord, the house must be on fire. Scrambling out of bed, she threw on her pelisse over her bed jacket and hurried to the door.

“I’m coming,” she called out.

The door shook once more. It was so violent that Amelia hesitated for a moment. Whoever was on the other side was massive and agitated. Fear tightened her chest, but she shook off her apprehension and went to open the door.

She threw it open, expecting to see a footman or Lord Westcliff on the other side. There was no one there. Confused, she peeked out, scanning the empty hallway.

Rushing footsteps signaled the approach of a pair. Mrs. Kimball, another widow, rushed up with a man she recognized as Lord Windmere. The much younger man was adjusting his waistcoat and trousers.

“What was that noise?” Mrs. Kimball asked.

“I don’t know. Is the house on fire?”

“No. We just heard the pounding and…er…we ran upstairs to see what the matter was.”

Comprehending that the pair had exited one of the bedrooms farther down the hall, she nodded nonetheless. She pulled the pelisse closed tight wondering who had been knocking at her door.

The murmur of conversation grew in volume as more and more guests gathered. “What was that racket?” a newcomer asked.

“Someone was pounding on Mrs. Montgomery’s door. I think they were trying to break it down,” young Lord Windmere said, the excitement in his voice growing with the promise of scandal.

“I’m sure that’s not the case. Perhaps there’s an emergency,” she said, looking around for Gideon.

He wasn’t there, but Crispin was running up the hallway with Lord Westcliff at his heels.

“Amelia! What’s going on? Who attacked you?”

“No one, there’s been a mistake. Someone was knocking on my door is all.”

Amelia wasn’t sure he could even hear her. The volume of the conversation around them had grown precipitously. She continued to assure him everything was fine, but Crispin did not pay her any mind.

“Excuse me, my dear.” Lord Westcliff was frowning. He stepped around her, pulling the door closed.

A little wave of dizziness blurred her vision. She forced herself to focus, a familiar dread creeping up her spine.

Whoever had struck the thick oak door had done so with enough force to splinter it in the center—someone very strong.