Page 16 of Black Widow

Clarke may have been right. Now that Amelia Montgomery had the Earl of Flint’s social approbation, she was throwing herself into the whirl and glitter of theton.

“She’s glorying in her newfound social acceptance,” his friend had said at the club last night after Gideon had missed Amelia at the opera. “She married very young, didn’t she? And before that, old spendthrift Clarence never gave the chit a season. I wouldn’t judge her too harshly. It can be overpowering to experience freedom for the first time. It’s only natural she would want to partake in society’s little pleasures and peccadillos now that she’s ableto.”

Those words rang in Gideon’s ears as he turned up his collar against the damp air, but he rejected them. It was true Amelia had spent most of her life buried in Northumberland and had only socialized among foreigners, but he didn’t agree with the assertion that Amelia wanted to be embraced by theton.

She doesn’t consider them her people, he thought as he cut through the park on the way to histownhouse.

Amelia’s father had taught her to detest the artificiality and pretense of the British upper class. Gideon knew that because whenever Sir Clarence would make his snide comments about his and Amelia’s parentage, she would repeat her father’swords.

A man’s worth is defined by his actions, not hisbirth.

Though Gideon had never been cut as deeply by Sir Clarence’s constant barbs, he had found comfort in the earnestly delivered words at the time. He still did despite his unexpectedinheritance.

However, Amelia had been little more than a child when she’d said them. What if she’d only been spouting her father’s ideas with no understanding of what they trulymeant?

He hadn’t believed that at the time. Or did Amelia simply not hold to themnow?

What if she’d changed? It wouldn’t be the first time a young sheltered woman was seduced by the glitter and pomp of high society. Gideon would never have guessed that Amelia could be one of them; however, recent events were making him re-evaluate what he knew abouther.

Could she be a murderer?He snorted. Just because Amelia suddenly enjoyed balls did not mean she had committed such a heinous act. He needed to adhere to the facts at hand. The problem was that he had precious few of them, despite his bestefforts.

Clarke had successfully befriended Amelia’s maid, Carlotta. He’d managed to meet the Italian woman on one of her half-days off in the market, but little had been learned from that source. The language barrier notwithstanding, all Clarke had managed to get out of her was that the maid waslonely.

As for Willie, the servant who’d witnessed Martin’s death, he was being as elusive asAmelia.

The buzz of questions in Gideon’s mind stopped when he spotted a woman in a navy riding habit in the distance. By rights, she was too far away to be sure of her identity, but he knew it was her. He would recognize the graceful lines of her figureanywhere.

There were other women in the ton with similar coloring and figures just as fine, yet for some reason, he could always spot Amelia in a crowd—even when her back was turned or his view was partly obscured.Funnythat.

Gideon studied her impatiently as she and her companions approached. Amelia appeared more comfortable in the saddle than when he’d last seen her riding. She’d been an accomplished rider as a child, but lack of opportunity to continue practicing had made her more hesitant as a young girl. It had been his teasing that had gotten her back on a horse—but only when Sir Clarence had been away onbusiness.

Amelia must have ridden often since then. Her back was straight and she held the reins with grace, but even from this distance, he could see the strain in herform.

She was between two men riding on matching chestnut mares, both eager young pups he recognized as belonging to the dandy set. Ignoring them, he raised his hand in greeting as she approached. The involuntary scowl that darkened his face went unnoticed as the trio passedhim.

Amelia hadn’t acknowledged his wave. Indeed, she never even glanced his way. And her companions were too engrossed in their conversation to notice him. He caught enough of what they were saying to know they were gossiping, sharing the latest amusing on-dits as if they were competing for herattention.

But she wasn’t paying them any mind. Amelia looked distracted and…miserable.

She was hiding it, but he recognized that resigned blankness of expression. It was one she wore whenever Sir Clarence had started disparaging her father. He’d seen it multiple times on the faces of others during his time with the waroffice.

The wind picked up, its icy tendrils working their way under the collar of his greatcoat. He pulled it closer around him, debating if he should follow the riders. Hesitating, he swore and decided to head home. Tonight was the Duke of Marlboro’s ball—one of the largest and most lavish events of the season. If socializing was now a priority, there was no way Amelia would missit.

Gideon took great care with his attire that evening. He didn’t go in for the brightly colored waistcoats and jackets that were all the rage at the moment. He chose a dark blue waistcoat, white shirt, and a simply tiedcravat.

He was meeting Clarke at ten, a few hours after the ball officially started. Clarke was already there. If Amelia arrived early, his friend would follow her and send word of her movements. So far, no messages had arrived, meaning she hadn’t yet made anappearance.

By the time he arrived, the event was officially a crush. As expected, everyone in the Beau Monde had decided to attend the Marlboro’s ball tonight. He greeted the duke and duchess, spending the better part of a half-hour talking to the old duke about the possibility of a war withFrance.

Not normally one for socializing, Gideon was nevertheless having a fine time disparaging Napoleon’s prospects with the old hawk when the duchessinterrupted.

“That’s enough war talk, my dear,” she scolded good-naturedly. “Don’t monopolize theearl.”

She took Gideon’s arm and led him away to the refreshments table, chatting politely on the decorations and the many preparations she had made for the evening. All too soon, however, the conversation veered into dangerousterritory.

“You simply must dance with Lord Harrow’s daughter,” the duchess instructed, tapping him on the sleeve with her fan. “She’s a lovely girl fresh out of the schoolroom. Then there’s Clarissa Scott, the Earl of Quinnay’s niece. She does the most beautifulwatercolors.”

Unsure why he was getting that advice, he nodded. “Err, thank you, Your Grace. I will be sure to ask her about them should I be fortunate enough to dance with her tonight,” he said, looking out of the corner of his eye forClarke.

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