Page 6 of Black Widow

Amelia had just closed the door behind her, preparing to go upstairs to her bedroom, when she sawit.

Lying in the middle of a pool of moonlight was a small object. Bending, she took a closer look. It was a dead rose. Puzzled, she bent to pick it up, and it crumbled in her hand. Even the stem fell topieces.

She spent a few minutes picking up the fragments. Had one of the maids dropped it when cleaning? She didn’t remember having any fresh-cut roses placed in any of the rooms. Perhaps one of the staff had cut it in the garden and forgotten aboutit.

“Damn.” A particularly sharp thorn had pierced her finger. A drop of blood fell to thefloor.

A rushing sound filled her ears. She straightened abruptly, her ears filled with whispers. Turning in circles, she searched the shadows for their source. It was as if she was surrounded by an unseen crowd of people, but there was no onethere.

She tried to calm herself, but her skin broke out into a cold sweat. Covering her ears, she turned on her heel and ran up the stairs, dropping the fragments of the rose in the process. Once she’d reached the second floor, the noise stopped as suddenly as it hadstarted.

Wiping her hands on her skirt, Amelia hurried to her bedroom, locking the door behindher.

Chapter 3

Gideon impatiently pushed awayhis plate and sank deeper into the fine leatherchair.

“Will that be all, Lord Flint?” Ames, the Standard club’s steward bent over himsolicitously.

“Yes, Ames. Just show Mr. Clarke to my table when he comesin.”

“Of course, mylord.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, picking up his paper again, turning back to an article about flooding down south as Ames took away hisplate.

Gideon tried to focus on the news sheet, but in his mind, a pair of bright blue eyes burned brightly. Eventually, he threw the sheet aside. Passing a hand over his face, he sighed and examined the minute changes in the familiarsurroundings.

Despite the number of years that had passed, little had altered at the old Standard. Just a few new touches here and there. A new leather chair in the corner, a vase on the table next to it. Though other clubs had invited him to join their rolls—some of which he had—loyalty compelled him to spend most of his time here, despite his membership in other more fashionable and exclusiveestablishments.

The Standard had granted him membership when he was a mere mister. Old Ames had even given him extensions when he hadn’t been able to pay his dues on time. As a young man, Gideon had privately teased Ames about his preference for him having more to do with his dislike of his uncle, who was also a member. Old Ames steadfastly denied it, insisting he felt the same way about all theirpatrons.

Many members of the Standard were either very young men or part of the old guard. During his time with the war office, he had found both types useful. The younger military types were happy to talk as long as the liquor flowed freely. Something similar could be said for the older set, although in that case, the vintages he’d been required to buy to encourage loose tongues had been substantially moreexpensive.

That reminds me.He ordered a fine bottle of port and displayed it prominently on his table. When his quarry appeared, it would be useful. A few minutes later, his uncle walked into theroom.

“Sir Clarence,” hehailed.

Across the room, his uncle looked up. His face stiffened before breaking into something resembling agrin.

Close, but not quiteright.

“Gideon, my boy, hello.” He sat down across from him, making sure the others in the room noted his easy familiarity with the wealthy earl. “How are youdoing?”

“I’m well, Uncle, and very glad to see you,” he said, pouring himself a few fingers of port. “Would you likesome?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” his uncle murmured, accepting the glass Gideon offered. He relaxed in his seat, chatting for a few minutes before asking. “So…when did you arrive intown?”

The unspoken implication that Gideon should have notified him hung in theair.

“I arrived yesterday. I was planning on calling on you tomorrow if I didn’t find youhere.”

His uncle waved that away. “Don’t be silly. You’re an earl now. It’s my place to call on you,” he said generously, though his tone was a trifleflat.

“There is no need for us to observe such formalities as rank. We are family,” Gideon assured him smoothly before segueing into a discussion of mutual acquaintances. After his uncle had helped himself to a few more glasses of port, Gideon guided the conversation toward his trueaim.

“I met a friend of yours lastnight.”

“Which one?” His uncle wasn’t slurring yet, but his speech was deliberate and careful, a sure sign he had imbibed too much before his arrival at theclub.

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