Page 9

I used to.

His tone cooled. “No.”

“Oh. Forgive me if my question was rude. I did not mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” he lied, suddenly feeling the urge to flee. Yet he remained still.

It would be rude to leave. It would be unwise to stay.

She took another sip of wine and then coughed lightly, as if choking on it. “Pardon me, were we supposed to toast? I keep forgetting.”

“No, it’s not necessary.”

“But I learned it is a tradition—to toast to new… ac-quain-tance-ship,” she said slowly, laughing at herself. “Pardon, some words are difficult.”

“No need to apologize, and no need for a toast—”

“But I insist!” She clinked her glass to his, tilting hers deliberately. A bit of her wine spilled into his.

His skin prickled at the back of his neck again. A warning.

Danger.

Were his senses warning him about the woman before him… or something else?

He glanced toward the spot where Norfolk had stood, but he was gone. Gideon’s gaze shifted, and he spotted a couple returning to the ballroom, giggling as they did so—Mr. Townsend and Miss Burke.

Near the back, Vivienne whispered within the circle of her friends, their gazes caressing Gideon like a physical touch.

He had lingered too long. It was past time for him to leave.

“It’s customary,” Lady Leila said, drawing his attention back to her, “to clink glasses before drinking. This tradition was meant to discourage poisoning, you see. The idea was that if either cup contained poison, both parties would share the same fate.”

“Really?” Gideon asked dispassionately, setting his glass on a nearby table without drinking. “I heard it was to dispel ghosts.”

She pointedly glanced at his untouched glass. “And you’re fond of ghosts, I presume?”

He shrugged. “I’ve lived with them for fifteen years.”

Her brows lifted slightly.

“If you seek support for your charitable endeavors,” he replied, his tone clipped now, “you should speak with the Duchess of Kensington. I’m sure she will point you in the right direction.” He inclined his head. “Excuse me.”

“Your Grace—” she attempted to stop him, but he turned and walked away.

The prickling sensation intensified, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. What was that?

Perhaps it was just his own unease, the anxiety of lingering too long. Or was it the persistent thought that everyone in the ballroom had a reason to mean him harm?

Or did it have something to do with the mysterious woman who had enthralled him so?

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter what caused his unease. It was past time for him to leave.

Gideon reached the entrance hall and waved the butler over to help him into his coat. But before the man could finish tugging it over Gideon’s shoulders, he paused mid-motion, startled by a distant, blood-curdling scream that shattered the air from somewhere upstairs.

Gideon stepped away from the stunned butler and shrugged into the coat himself.

He buttoned it and took his hat from the butler’s slack fingers just as the sound of footsteps echoed toward the hall.