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The man frowned but said nothing more, so Gideon made his way out the front door.

As with everyone he’d spoken to during the course of the investigation, barring Electra, Gideon’s instinct told him that Callister had not been entirely forthright. Yet even with an overheard threat and a history of having stabbed Pennington, he had no evidence for calling the man a viable suspect.

At least, not yet.

Chapter Eight

Under most circumstances, Electra would never consider seeking Gideon out at his home unannounced or without prior agreement. But she had gone to Vine Street station after leaving Kit and Cordelia, and he’d not been in. She’d left a note with the desk sergeant and then placed one on his front door shortly thereafter, conveying her need to speak to him. She also mentioned that he should not call at Russell Square and stated her intention to visit his home address in the early evening.

Now, many hours later, as her hired carriage rolled down his street, a wash of nervousness had her fiddling with the buttons at the edge of her glove, straightening the folds of her skirt, and trying not to think about how Gideon might react when she revealed Cordelia and Kit’s involvement with Mr. Percival Pennington.

She and Gideon had grown close again since reuniting the previous year during her involvement in the case of Lady Helen Becknell. That increasing closeness had been a balm at times, and yet unsettling at other times. He knew her as no one else did, and despite how she’d hidden her psychic gifts from him, he trusted her in a singular way. Even when she did not desire his protective impulses, his strength reassured her. They had been friends and allies as children, but now she struggled to define what was between them.

Their friendship endured, of course, but there was more. A yearning she sometimes saw in his eyes, and then told herself she might have been mistaken. That uncertainty unsettled her, and it was one of the reasons she had only visited his home on three previous occasions.

Her hired cab drew up to his terraced house, and she released a relieved breath to see the note she’d slipped inside the door frame earlier was no longer there. Gideon was home.

She paid the driver and approached, noting the light on in the front room. Before she could lift a hand to knock, the door slid open.

Gideon stood on the other side in his shirtsleeves and suspenders, without any necktie or coat or waistcoat. He looked tired, a bit disheveled, and yet undeniably handsome. It had been a long while since she'd seen him in such a state of undress. Not since they lived in the same home as children, when the need for formal dress didn’t matter to either of them. Now, it jarred her to see him this way.

“Electra?” His voice emerged in a questioning tone because she’d stood before him too long saying nothing. “Would you like to come inside?”

“Yes, of course.” She stepped in, allowed him to help her remove her coat, and then followed him down his narrow hallway into the front parlor.

“Are you all right?” he asked as soon as they’d crossed the threshold. “I received your notes and they had me a bit worried.”

“I myself am fine.” She had expected this to be difficult, fearing his reaction when he learned of Cordelia’s involvement with Percival Pennington.

At her hesitation, he gestured toward a steaming cup on a side table near the chair she knew he favored.

“I’ve just made myself a cup of tea, and the kettle is still warm. May I pour you one?”

“Yes, that would be lovely.”

While he went to the kitchen, Electra clasped her gloved hands together and considered how to tell him what she’d discovered. He didn't know Cordelia and Kit the way she did. And once he knew of Cordelia's involvement with Pennington and, worse, the fact that she had spoken to him on the day of his death…

“Here we are,” he said as he entered with a teacup and saucer on a small tray for her. “A spot of milk, no sugar.”

Gideon placed the tray on a side table and sat down. Electra sat in the cushioned chair across from him. He waited until she’d taken her first sip, took a drink of his own tea, and then tipped his head as he looked at her.

“Something is troubling you.” He leaned forward in his chair, elbows braced on his thighs, hands together. “May I help in some way?”

Electra found, to her very great frustration, that her hands were trembling. “I have information about the Pennington case that will be of interest to you.”

He blinked in confusion. “You know something about Percival Pennington after all? Did he come to one of your sessions?”

“No.” Her voice emerged too sharp. She closed her eyes, reminding herself that the man across from her was someone she had known most of her life. “I did not lie to you last night. I did not know the man. I even looked back through the diary I keep, in which I note everyone who’s come to me. There was nothing.”

“Then what information have you learned about him?”

Electra met his gaze squarely. “I know what you must do when I say this. I know the steps you must take and everything that will be required of you as a Metropolitan Police detective.”

He said nothing, merely gazed at her expectantly.

“It's Cordelia.”

“Lady Redmayne?”