Page 72 of Black Widow

“Don’t.”

Amelia cowered against the trunk, her hands up to cover her face for the inevitableblow.

Staggering to his feet, Gideon watched, transfixed, as it reached out. But it didn’t hit Amelia. Itfondledher.

Amelia’s dumbstruck expression was as shocked as his. The creature was touching her breast, roughly rubbing its massive hand across the rosy-tipped peak clearly visible through the translucent material of her shift. And then it gotworse.

The human-shaped hand trailed down, stroking to the shadowy cleft between Amelia’slegs.

Face appalled, Amelia shrank down against the tree, slapping at the violatingfingers.

The pistols. Blood surged, and Gideon fought to stand, only to fall when he dived for the basket. But the guns were loaded; he just needed to squeeze thetrigger.

Holding his aching head with one arm, he climbed back up and staggered forward, squeezing between his wife and the monster. Aiming for the head, Gideon fired at point-blank range—andmissed.

Somehow, the creature managed to jerk its head out of the way. The monster reared back, hissing that strange whistling soundagain.

Clutching the back of his shirt, Amelia sobbed. The creature reacted, jerking again. It stood still for a heartbeat and then spun on its misshapen heel, stalkingaway.

Gideon released a shaky breath, pushing the pain in his head to the back of his mind. Steadying his arm, he took aim, calling on his instincts and the skill he’d honed with hours of practice atManton’s.

The blast caught the hand, blowing off a chunk. Fingers exploded into dust and shards of pottery. Then it began to move away, heading for the treeline.

Gideon tried to follow but the tug on his shirt reminded him of Amelia. He couldn’t leave her unprotected. In the blink of an eye, the creature was gone, having melted into thetrees.

Chapter 27

“Will you stop touching it?”Clarkescolded.

Crispin glanced up with a guilty expression, his hand hovering above the still-recognizable clayfinger.

Gideon glanced up from the book he was perusing, surprised at the vehemence in his friend’s voice. “It’s completely harmless now,” he assuredhim.

He should know. He’d been turning the thing over and over since the day the creature hadattacked.

At first, Gideon had insisted on decamping, but Amelia wouldn’t hear of them leaving Tarryhall. He could barely walk in the immediate aftermath. His ears rang for days—a side effect of the blow the creature had dealthim.

Once the monster had gone, Amelia called their guards for assistance—chiding him for insisting she throw her gown over her head for modesty’s sake before the men saw her indishabille.

It took two of them to help him to the house. He only remembered fragments of the trip back. His next clear recollection was of being in his study, undergoing an examination by the surgeon Amelia had insistedupon.

The doctor had proscribed travel by carriage for at least two weeks. He’d been prepared to disregard the medical edict, but Amelia hadn’t. By the time he could think clearly enough to argue with her, she’d organized the staff against him. The male servants were split into teams that guarded the house day and night. And the maids or Amelia herself attended to him at all hours, making sure he didn’t exert himself, while cook prepared tonics and enough fortifying dishes for anarmy.

Amelia had also sent for Clarke. Lord Worthing had accompanied him. Despite the injury to his leg, the viscount had stoically endured hours of carriage travel to come to their side. His presence had comforted Amelia, so Gideon was grateful, but he was a little surprised Clarke had allowedit.

Though social in ton terms, his old friend had few close confidantes. In fact, before Lord Worthing, Gideon had believed himself to be the only one. But in a short amount of time, Clarke and Worthing had become fast friends. Their ease with each other was like those who’d known each other from thecradle.

He was still marveling over the change in Clarke’s usually reserved disposition when Amelia appeared around a tall library shelf with several books in herarms.

“I’ve found it!” sheexclaimed.

She hurried to the central table and laid down the volumes, indicating a small dusty volume on top with aflourish.

Lord Worthing glanced down. “The Maharal of Prague, a history and dissertation.” He frowned, squinting at the smaller text on the pocket-sized leather volume. “A rabbinic text? I thought we were meant to be searching for our monster in these occultvolumes.”

“And that’s where we—or more specifically I—went wrong.” She turned to Gideon. “You were correct, my lord, it is not ademon.”

Gideon frowned and she cradled the bookexcitedly.

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