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Gideon felt Electra’s gaze on him, and he suspected she could recognize that Wakefield’s comment hit its mark when he glanced at her, his expression momentarily open. A flash of vulnerability he rarely let others see but could not seem to avoid with her.

“Yes,” he admitted to Wakefield. “And what of the moments when control fails you, Doctor?”

“She was a uniquely sensitive young woman. As I said, of great intelligence and kindness. A kind heart, but also tender and fragile. I had feelings for her that I should not have.”

Was. Electra seemed to take note of the word as Gideon had, and it sent a frisson of fear for Iris Delacourt through him.

“And you acted on those feelings?” Gideon asked.

Wakefield scowled at Gideon and gave no reply.

Electra leaned forward, extending her bare hand. “May I hold your hand, Dr. Wakefield?”

The young doctor looked at her hand and sneered. “I am not in need of a psychic, Miss Poole.”

“Perhaps you could tell us the truth, Doctor,” Gideon bit out, “and then we needn’t extract it through supernatural means.”

“I met her thrice. I have admitted as much,” Wakefield said, his voice and color rising.

“And you kissed her. Did you cross the line past kissing?” Gideon demanded.

“I lost control,” Wakefield confessed. More quietly, he added, “I regretted it.”

“You shared intimacies,” Electra said quietly. “And how did Iris feel about your regret?”

His gaze lifted to hers again. “I think she hoped that I would break my engagement, but I have no intention of doing so.”

Gideon watched Electra. He suspected she was wishing she could touch Wakefield or something that might allow them to divine the truth.

Electra still felt resistance in Wakefield. His emotions were not opaque, as she experienced in Roger Delacourt’s presence, but they spilled out only momentarily. As if they were held back by a high dam with only a few chinks in the barrier.

If she lunged for him and achieved even the briefest of contact, she doubted she would see anything. Yet she also felt that no matter how long they spent in this room with Tristan Wakefield, they would not get the full accounting of his relationship with Iris Delacourt.

Did he know the young woman’s fate? Did he know where she was at this very moment?

Gideon finally turned his focus back to Wakefield. “Miss Poole is assisting us with this investigation at your fiancée’s request, Dr. Wakefield. Would you submit to a sitting with her?”

“No, I will not. I’ve told you private matters, personal failings that can have nothing to do with Iris’s disappearance. I swear to you.”

Electra cleared her throat, trying to get the physician’s attention again. “She must have been affected by your rejection. Might she have gone off because of that rejection?”

Wakefield’s breathing increased, his chest rising and falling. “I… No, I do not think so. We spoke civilly after that final private encounter. She told me that she understood my choice, that she didn’t wish to hurt her sister.” He met Electra’s gaze, and there was naked fear in his eyes now.

But fear of what, Electra wondered.

“As I said, she was a terribly sensible, intelligent, good-hearted young woman.”

Was. He had said it again.

Electra glanced at Gideon and saw his eyes narrow. He’d noted it too.

“You’re the only person we’ve met with who consistently speaks of her in the past tense, Dr. Wakefield,” Gideon said.

“Do I?” Wakefield’s eyes widened.

“You said she was intelligent, kind, etc.”

The doctor’s throat worked as he swallowed. “I… I misspoke. Nothing more.”