‘I am so sorry, Clio.’
She shrugged. ‘It wasn’t you who did it.’
‘But it could have been.’ He stood and walked to where she sat, knelt and gripped the chair, turning it so Clio faced him. Her eyes widened. It was a heavy chair, but he was rather strong. A fact he wanted her to notice. Which was silly and prideful, but also true.He took both her hands in his and squeezed softly. ‘I swear to you, Clio, on my family name, on the blood in my veins, on all that I hold dear, I will protect your secrets. Your truth is safe with me.Youare safe with me. No matter how long our arrangement lasts. This promise is for now and always.’
Clio’s eyes brightened. Her chest rose and fell as rosemary and bergamot surrounded them. The glow started in her sternum, pulsing through the leather, changing the black to heated red as it spread out like fire. When it reached her hands, Thomas felt the electric current passing through her to him. He watched in amazement as his own hands began to glow, the heat moving up his arms, over his chest, like a soothing bath or warm sunlight after a particularly cold winter.
Clio blinked, seeming to realise her power had seeped into him. She pulled her hands from his, breaking the contact and extinguishing the light as quickly as one might snuff a candle.
‘What—?’
She stood, walking swiftly to Sir Robin and tapping her shoulder. ‘We should head down to dinner. We wouldn’t want to keep Lady Langley waiting. I’m sure she’s hoping you’ll escort her to the table.’
Whatever just happened between them had frightened Clio. Thomas was certain of her fear. But it had done more than that for him. It shook his very foundations. Whatever magic Clio possessed had transferred into him for the briefest moment. And it was pure light.
‘Clio, we need to talk about this.’
‘About Anna? We will. After dinner. But we don’t want to arrive late; it’s likely to stir up gossip.’
Not about Anna. About us.
But she wouldn’t. He knew this. And pushing her on the matter wouldn’t change anything. Whatever had occurred, whatever itmeant to Clio, she needed time to process it. He would give her time. But he wouldn’t give her forever.
‘All right. Tonight. After everyone has gone to bed. I’ll come to you.’
Clio shook her head. ‘No. I shall come to your room.’
A week ago, Thomas would have assumed she was trying to exert her power by controlling where they met. It would have infuriated him. But now, he knew differently. She needed to direct their meeting place because she wasn’t in control of whatever was happening. And Clio was always in control. That had an entirely different effect on him.
‘As you wish. Shall we?’ He extended his arm to her. Clio hesitated before she walked to him and gently placed her fingers on his sleeve. The corresponding snap of flames in the hearth brought a smile to his lips and a scowl to hers.
Clio spent most of dinner trying to ignore Thomas. She was feigning interest in the lord next to her as he discussed the merits of pipe tobacco, while desperately trying to untangle what the bloody hell was happening with her magic whenever Thomas was near. One thing was certain: it wasn’t a bloody spirit match. No matter how unequivocally the evidence aligned with the blasted witch lore.
It’s a fairy tale. Only romantic fools like Ellie believe in such nonsense.
And Clio was no romantic fool. The obvious solution was to separate from Thomas. Which meant solving this case. Quickly. She turned her thoughts to their conversation with Anna. As she reviewed Anna’s version of events, several facts emerged.
The first: Anna was speaking to both of her parents.
The second: if she was able to speak to the dead, and it wasbecoming increasingly likely this was true, then it was also reasonable to assume the viscountess couldn’t be found because she was no longer living.
The third: if Viscountess Beachley was deceased, she couldn’t be a perpetrator of murder, but rather a victim.
Most importantly, the fourth: Clio had a new suspect.
Berty.
He was noticeably absent from dinner that night. Clio would very much like to ask him what conversation he had with Mrs Coggins in the kitchen before Anna interrupted them. But she could hardly throw the question out over a game of charades in the parlour.
Even without the details of their conversation, his presence at Viscount Beachley’s Mayfair home meant he could easily have poisoned the man’s drink. He had motive and means. She needed to discuss this with Thomas. As much as she hated to admit it, he was sharper than a rapier and just as quick. She needed his help.
Which brought her scattered thoughts back to the man sitting across from her. She had been avoiding looking at him all night for fear of what her magic might do, but her gaze inadvertently flicked over the table, and she froze. He was staring at her. Not just looking but eating her up with his eyes. It was incendiary and sparked a resonating hunger within her. She rubbed her hand over her wrist, and his fork clattered onto the table. She couldn’t forget the bite of his silk cravat as it cut into her flesh. Gas lights flared before she could look away.
‘Blast! We must have someone look at the lines,’ the duke called from his end of the table. ‘These damnable old houses weren’t built for modern conveniences.’
The duchess merely waved her wine glass at him in what one could only assume was agreement. Crimson liquid splashed onto the white tablecloth. She whispered something to Cynthia, thenthrew her head back in a gale of laughter. Cynthia shot Clio a look. Poor woman. They were only on their second night of this house party, and it was clear Cynthia was rethinking her clever plan.
As dessert was cleared away and the party separated to allow the gentlemen time for smoking and manly discussions of horses, hunting, and politics, Clio made sure to find herself in Lady Langley’s circle of ladies in the parlour.
