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He would keep insisting until she relented, and in some corner of her mind she’d known he would never allow her to sleep on the settee when there was a bed at hand.

“Very well.”

“Shall I show you upstairs?”

“No, I’ll find the way.”

He gazed at her a moment longer, then let go of her hand. “It’s the second door on your left, and the lavatory is the first. And if there’s anything you need, just call down and I’ll bring it to you.”

“I’m sure I’ll have everything I need.”

He stood, offered her his hand, and she took it again, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

As he looked down at her, the firelight in his eyes, Gideon and his nearness made her feel a bit spellbound.

She knew she should go up the stairs, climb into bed, and let the whiskey and fatigue do its work. But before she could talk herself out of it or think of any reason she shouldn’t, she reached for him, wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her cheek against his chest.

“I won’t regret it in the morning,” she whispered.

His arms came around her, embracing her tightly, and it was exactly what she needed.

She felt his lips press against her hair. All the tension in her body began to melt. He stroked a hand down her back, up and down. Offering comfort. Making her feel safe. Despite the ugliness she had heard earlier tonight, the cruelty of Tristan Wakefield and the fear that he might be the monster stalking young ladies in London, Gideon, the scent of him, the warmth of his body, was a balm as much as it was a temptation. And when she finally pulled back and started to step away, he reached for her hand once more.

“Good night, Gideon.”

He pressed a single kiss to her knuckles and whispered, “Good night, Electra.”

She parted from him, climbed the stairs, found his room, pulled back the cover, and climbed in. The mattress was soft, and the pillow smelled like Gideon. Only a moment later, she slipped her eyes closed and fell into a deep slumber.

Chapter Sixteen

Gideon awoke to the sound of thunder.

When he opened his eyes, he realized it wasn’t the weather. Someone’s fist was repeatedly slamming against his front door. He sat up on the settee, felt the ache in his back, and was grateful he had only removed his shoes the night before. He stood and went to the door, striding quickly, if only to keep them from waking Electra.

Constable Thacker stood on his doorstep.

“What is it?” His heartbeat immediately sped, his thoughts turning to the prospect that Iris Delacourt had been found or that another young lady had vanished.

“Superintendent asked me to bring this to you, sir. He wanted you to see it immediately.” Gideon took the paper offered by the young officer and unfolded the document.

“What am I looking at?” he asked, his eyes still sleep-bleary.

Constable Thacker pointed. “Letter from someone calling himself Orion.”

“Good God,” Gideon murmured as he read.

Iris Delacourt is alive and well and in my care. Where she will remain. That should put her family at ease. She came to me of her own free will, and I have decided to keep her for all eternity. None are responsible for her continued absence but I. But she lives. Trust in that fact. She lives.

Orion

“It was found in front of the station, sir.”

Gideon examined the handwriting on the page, which was elaborately stylized in some places and a shaky, spidery scrawl in others. He lifted the piece of paper, holding it up to catch the light, seeking a watermark impression or any other indentations. He found nothing.

“Was there an envelope?”

“Yes, sir.”