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“I would advise you to refuse,” he said quietly, though he still watched her with an odd intensity.

It was as if all the pleasure she’d felt a moment ago, expanding inside her like an aeronaut’s great air balloon, had been drained of all the fuel to keep it afloat.

Electra planted her hands on her hips. “You come here, offer me an opportunity, and then what? You were hoping I would refuse?”

He reached up to pinch the skin between his brows. “A young lady was found floating in the Thames last week.”

The words emerged quietly and shocked all the ire from Electra in an instant.

“Another detective is investigating her death. Calliope Collier was her name. She was a friend of Iris Delacourt’s.”

“So you fear Miss Delacourt will meet the same fate unless she’s found.” Suddenly, she understood the urgency she sensed from him and the unease. Each time they worked together on a murder investigation, Gideon’s fears for her safety came to the fore, often causing him to wish her to step away from the investigation altogether.

“You worry about my well-being.”

“More than you know.”

Electra stepped closer. “But we have worked together on murder cases before. And my assistance has been useful, has it not?”

He nodded and inhaled deeply, though none of his worry seemed to dissipate.

“Miss Delacourt has come to the attention of the prime minister. She has been gone but two days, and the story has already made the papers. Scotland Yard may think they can be discreet about your involvement, but once the press gets ahold of that fact⁠—”

“I was in the papers during the Becknell case.”

“And you were dismayed by the notoriety. You didn’t like the attention.” Gideon did not need to remind her how confronting it had felt to see her name in the newspaper, to have people think her an oddity, to receive letter after letter requesting that she predict a sender’s death or the death of a loved one.

“That is true,” she acknowledged. “But in the end, the attention led to more sittings.”

Gideon inched his shoulders back and lifted one dark brow. “So you will not mind the scrutiny again? Your name bandied about? Reporters digging into your history?”

At mention of her history, a chill skittered down Electra’s back. Her mother’s death in an asylum. Her mother’s decline over months before her father had allowed doctors to cart her off to the vile place where she’d died. Those were matters she and her father had rarely spoken of.

What if some persistent reporter learned of her mother? It was the truth, and there was little purpose in hiding from that truth, especially now that her father was dead.

“I will face whatever comes, but I want this opportunity. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“You never do.” Gideon did smile then. Brief. Fleeting. Yet sincere enough to let her know that he understood. “Your answer does not surprise me. And I know your abilities will be invaluable.”

“You know me well.” She took a step closer. “So, yes, of course I will assist you.”

She could not follow in her father’s footsteps and become an investigator in any official capacity, but she had always had a voracious curiosity and a nose for detection. To work with Gideon, who she trusted more than anyone, also held undeniable appeal. Now that it was all decided, she found herself eager to begin.

“Shall we go to speak with the family now?” she asked.

He glanced up at the ceiling again. “Will you be missed?”

“Not at all. Cordelia will understand if I’m needed elsewhere.”

Whoever won the raffle for a reading with her, Cordelia would inform her later, and she would arrange a sitting and hope she might prove helpful to whoever won.

And that was the crux of it, Electra realized, the reason she was so eager to begin. The gifts she’d once feared, that her mother had also possessed and been called mad for, were needed. And she might do some good with them.

“So let us be off,” she said, since Gideon still watched her with an uncertainty she found slightly maddening. His desire to protect her from the sorts of people one might necessarily encounter during a murder investigation was understandable, but in this case, their first priority was seeking a missing young woman. If they worked quickly enough, they might be able to prevent her from meeting the same end as her friend.

“They will compensate you,” Gideon told her as their hired carriage rolled toward the elegant townhouses of Belgravia, “but they would prefer this to be handled discreetly, and there will be no public acknowledgment of your involvement in the case.”

“Of course.” There was a bit of a bite in her reply. Then, more softly, she added, “I understand, and the compensation will be appreciated.”