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He could not deny his eagerness to see her, nor the pleasure he took in working with her on a case. She was clever, observant, and her abilities allowed her to understand people’s motives in a way he sometimes could not. Still, during the past months, they’d occasionally shared a meal or exchanged visits, and it had given him a great deal of peace knowing she was no longer connected with any case involving conniving killers or those who would do others harm to protect their own skin.

Now he was minutes from her doorstep, and he was going to ask her to step straight into the fire once more.

Chapter Two

The string quartet Lady Cordelia Redmayne hired was assembled in the corner of the ballroom, and the resonant sounds of the violin and cello had risen to the ceiling for nearly an hour.

When Electra focused on the lovely harmony of the music, it made the crush of bodies feel less overwhelming.

Throughout the room, the persistent buzz of conversation was sometimes overtaken by laughter, or the clashing of glass or silverware scraping against porcelain plates. And Electra did her best not to open her mind to read the thoughts of those assembled. She’d worn her black gloves, and since many attendees had dressed as if attending a formal event, most of the ladies had donned gloves for the event too.

Thank goodness it wasn’t actually a ball and there was no expectation to dance. She’d never been good at dancing.

No, this midafternoon charity luncheon had been intended as an opportunity for ladies to chat and mingle, and it had certainly been a success, judging by the number of wealthy Londoners who’d accepted Cordelia’s invitation.

As she still resided with Cordelia, Electra had offered to help as soon as the topic of hosting a charity soiree had arisen. And she did not regret her involvement, nor her willingness to agree with Cordelia’s suggestion that they offer a reading with Electra as one of the prizes to be raffled off to those who donated.

But as soon as Cordelia introduced her as a lady psychic, some had tracked her movements around the room. A few ladies seemed to keep their distance, as if fearing proximity would allow Electra to read all their thoughts, and others drew closer. One, an elderly countess with thick silver curls arranged with diamond pins, approached her and asked quite bluntly how her abilities worked.

Electra had liked her immediately. Bluntness was far preferable to prevarication.

She’d told Lady Mulberry the truth—that she wasn’t entirely certain how or why her gifts worked, even admitting that there were moments when she yearned for them to show her images or visions, and yet they failed her.

“Nothing,” Lady Mulberry had said, “is infallible.”

And that had been reassuring somehow. Even if her gifts still felt like a wild part of herself that she’d yet to fully tame, they were useful. It was not frivolous to spend her time using her abilities, and she had helped many in the months since she’d begun offering private sittings. She was busier and busier as the ladies among Cordelia’s social circle and beyond sought her out because of word-of-mouth recommendations. Indeed, Countess Mulberry had given Electra her card and asked for her to write to arrange a sitting before they’d parted ways.

After her father’s death four years past, she’d felt aimless, uncertain about her future and any prospects for gainful employment. Now, she had a sense of purpose and no longer doubted she was on the right path.

Strangely, Gideon came to mind as thoughts about her future took root.

And, stranger still, she sensed his nearness, even in the crowded confines of Cordelia’s ballroom, a place he would have no cause to be in the middle of the day. A place he’d certainly avoid if he knew it was packed with upper-crust London matrons.

But then she saw the Redmaynes’ housekeeper, Mrs. Hurst, approaching, wending her way through the guests, straight toward Electra.

“Miss Poole. You have a visitor downstairs. I asked him to wait in the sitting room.”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

Those she arranged sittings with never came without a prior appointment.

“It’s Detective Inspector Pierce.” Gideon had visited her at Cordelia’s home often enough for Mrs. Hurst to look less surprised by his appearance on the doorstep than Electra felt.

Her sense of his nearness hadn’t been mere fancifulness, it seemed. Yet why had he come?

“He said he has come on an urgent matter, miss.”

Electra nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Hurst.”

She glanced toward Cordelia as she made her way toward the ballroom threshold. Under other circumstances, she might have let her know she’d been called away, but Gideon wouldn’t use a word like “urgent” lightly.

Rushing from the ballroom, she descended the stairs quickly as a dark sort of anxiety overtook her. A sense that someone was in danger. But she wasn’t certain if it boded ill for Gideon himself or someone else.

By the time she stepped into the sitting room, her pulse was racing.

“What is it?” she asked. Much more abruptly than she’d usually greet him. “Are you unwell?”

She scanned him from head to toe, and he immediately took a step closer.