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But she wasn’t wrong. How long could he keep her here before questions were raised? How long before her husband grew worried enough to involve the authorities?

He needed to take matters into his own hands… Perhaps if he talked to her husband, told him she was sick. Or if he could somehow convince him to leave London immediately with his wife.

A part of him ached at the thought of losing her.

He shook his head. What made him think that after this night she would ever look at him favorably?

“I need to prepare my horse.” He stood abruptly.

She blinked in surprise. “You’re leaving me here?”

“My servants will see to your needs.” He moved quickly toward the door. “Mrs. Hill will bring you fresh clothes, food, whatever you require.”

“Where are you going?”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “To check on your husband’s health.”

“No! Wait!” Her voice trailed behind him as he stalked away.

He had a few things he needed to accomplish tonight. Distracted by Leila, he’d almost forgotten his more important mission. He needed to ransack Norfolk’s home and find any and all documents pertaining to the Brotherhood.

If Norfolk was indeed the leader of the Brotherhood—which he adamantly denied before Gideon stuck a knife in his gut—he surely had all the proof in his home.

Gideon wondered if his family had found his corpse in the garden yet. He also wondered if they would be happy to discover their patriarch dead.

He had not been the best of fathers, at least from what Gideon had seen until recently.

But perhaps they loved him nonetheless.

He almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

After all, they were innocents in this. But so was Sarah. And so were their daughters.

Gideon’s heart pounded against his ribs as he rushed to the stables.

Quickly saddling his horse, he galloped toward Norfolk’s estate.

He slowed his mount several houses away from the imposing manor, tying the reins to a low-hanging branch in the shadows of an oak tree.

Crouching low, he circled the building, studying the grounds. Two footmen were stationed at the front entrance, their postures lazy but alert enough. Another patrol was making rounds near the garden.

Norfolk was indeed very worried for his safety.

Not worried enough.

Gideon slipped through the shadows to the servants’ entrance on the east side.

It was unguarded at the moment—the circling guard still a few minutes away from this spot.

The lock yielded to his skilled touch, and he slipped inside, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the dimness. The house was quiet except for the distant murmur of voices from what sounded like the servants’ quarters.

Gideon moved like a ghost through the corridors, his soft-soled boots making no sound on the polished floors. He had memorized the layout of the house from previous reconnaissance—Norfolk’s study was on the second floor, overlooking the garden.

The study. That’s where he assumed Norfolk kept his secrets.

Gideon took the stairs two at a time, every sense alert for the approach of servants or guards. His pulse quickened as he reached the landing. The study door was locked firmly. He made quick work of the lock and slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

He approached the desk and easily found a candle and a tinderbox. With a lit candle in hand, his eyes immediately began scanning the room: a heavy oak desk, leather-bound books lining the walls, and portraits of stern-faced ancestors glaring down at him.