He contemplated the tips of his shoes for a moment be-fore meeting her eyes. "Will it satisfy you if I promise to keep you informed of the progress of my inquiries?"

"No," she said. "I'm afraid not."

He gave her an unreadable smile. "You do not trust me, do you?"

She flushed. "It is not that," she assured him quickly. Too quickly, she realized.

"Yes, it is exactly that" He did not appear offended. "But I will not quarrel with you over the matter. If I were in your place, I too would hesitate to put my trust in a person whom I did not know well."

That was probably a veiled way of reminding her that he knew no more about her character than she did about his. Neither of them had any reason to trust the other.

Emma squared her already very straight shoulders. "We appreciate your understanding, sir."

He inclined his head and helped himself to another tart.

Milly smiled cheerfully. "Well, I'm glad that much is settled. I believe you will find Caroline's assistance quite helpful, sir. The world of psychical research is a difficult one for outsiders to penetrate. Caroline has become accepted within it, however, and knowledge of the community of mediums and the Society of Psychical Investigations will no doubt prove invaluable to you."

"At the very least, she can save you a great deal of time and make your investigations more efficient," Emma said.

Adam smiled his enigmatic smile. "It seems we are going to be associates in this affair, Caroline."

ELEVEN

It was sheer luck that he had recognized Adam Hardesty today. Bloody damned luck, that was all.

But then his luck had always been better than that of most other men, Julian Elsworth thought. Or at least, it had been until recently.

He unknotted his silk tie, poured himself a restorative dose of brandy and dropped into the chair near the hearth. Another shudder went through him. He took a long swallow of the spirits to suppress it.

If not for that casual encounter the other evening with a patron who happened to be a member of one of Hardesty's clubs, a man who had pointed out Hardesty as they were leaving the theater, he would never have known that the formidable-looking Mr. Grove was flying under false colors this afternoon.

The questions came fast and furiously. Why was Hardesty in the company of the very attractive Mrs. Fordyce? Why had he used a name that was not his own? Why had he attended Irene Toller's demonstration of the planchette?

But there was only one logical answer. He could not escape it. Hardesty was on his trail. Unless he could be turned aside, it was only a matter of time before he stumbled onto certain secrets.

Julian closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the chair, summoning up an image of the death scene. So much blood. And the terrible odor of it all. Who would have thought that murder would have been such a messy business?

He opened his eyes and looked at his expensively furnished lodgings. After all these years he was finally where he deserved to be, mingling with the wealthy and the powerful in the glittering realm of Society. It was the world that should have been his from birth but that had been denied him because his highborn father had cast an inconveniently pregnant governess out into the streets.

He had worked hard to achieve the heritage that should have been his from the start, Julian thought. Damned if he would let Hardesty bring his carefully constructed life tumbling down around his ears.

TWELVE

An hour later Adam walked into his study and sat down be-hind the large mahogany desk. His thoughts were consumed with Caroline. She was keeping secrets, he reflected. Fair enough. He understood the necessity. He held some closely guarded secrets of his own.

He admired her determination and tenacity. He had been right in his initial assessment of her character. She was a lady of resolute spirit.

Nevertheless, he did not like dealing with the unknown. In his experience, it never failed to lead to complications. A knock sounded on the door.

"Enter."

Morton appeared in the opening. "Mr. Filby to see you, sir."

"Thank you, Morton. Please send him in."

Harold Filby—plump, bespectacled and fashionably at-tired in checkered trousers, a striped waistcoat and a dashing cutaway morning coat—bustled into the room.

Harold dressed as well as—some would say a good deal more fashionably than—his employer. But then, Adam mused, when one hired a man to keep one's confidences, one paid him enough to ensure that he was inclined to do so.

Harold had served as Adam's man of business for more than six years. He could keep a secret.

"I received your message and came immediately, sir," Harold said.

"I appreciate your punctuality, as always. Please sit down."

Harold lowered himself into the chair directly across from the desk, adjusted his glasses and took out a small notebook and pencil.

"You said the matter was urgent, sir?" he prompted.

"I want you to leave immediately for Bath." Adam clasped his hands on the desk. 'There you will make some extremely discreet inquiries concerning a certain scandal that took place there some three years past."

Harold made notes. "These inquiries concern a business venture, I assume?"

"No, they are of a more personal and private nature. I want you to discover whatever you can about a lady named Caroline Fordyce."

"Mrs. Fordyce?" Harold's head came up swiftly. "Would that by any chance be the author, sir? The Mrs. Fordyce whose novels are serialized in the Flying Intelligencer?"

A sense of resignation settled on Adam. "I appear to be the only person in all of London who was not familiar with her work until quite recently."

"Very exciting stuff," Harold enthused. "Certainly keeps one guessing. Her latest is her most thrilling yet, as far as I am concerned. It is called The Mysterious Gentleman."

"Yes, I know." Adam flexed his hands and deliberately relinked his fingers. "I believe the villain's name is Edmund Drake"

"Ah, I see you are following the story, sir. We haven't seen much of Edmund Drake yet but it's plain that he's a very menacing sort. Safe to say that he'll come to a nasty end, just like Mrs. Fordyce's other villains."

Adam tried and failed to suppress his morbid curiosity. "Doesn't the fact that you already know the identity of the villain and that he will meet with an unpleasant fate take all of the surprise and astonishment out of the story? What is the purpose of reading a novel if one knows the ending be-fore one turns the first page?"

Harold regarded him with acute bewilderment. Then Adam saw the light of comprehension strike.

"I take it you are not a great reader of novels, sir," Harold said, sympathy as thick as cream in every word.

"No." Adam sat back in his chair and gripped the arms. "I do not count novel reading among my vices."

"Allow me to explain, if I may. Of course one knows that in a sensation novel, the villain will pay for his villainy, just as one knows that the hero and heroine will be rewarded for their good hearts and noble actions. Those things are givens, as it were. They are not the point of the business"

"Indeed? Well, what in blazes is the point?"

"Why, it is seeing how the characters arrive at their various fates that compels our attention." Harold spread his broad hands wide. "It is the series of startling incidents in the various chapters that entertains and amazes, all the twists and turns and emotional sensations. That is why one reads a novel, sir. Not to discover how it ends, but to enjoy the strange and exotic scenery along the way"

"I shall bear that in mind if I find myself tempted to read any more of Mrs. Fordyce's work." Adam narrowed his eyes. "Meanwhile, speaking of strange and exotic scenery, I think you had best go directly home and pack your bags. I want you on your way to Bath as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir." Harold got to his feet.

"Keep me advised of your progress by telegram."

THIRTEEN

"I fear this may become a dangerous business for Caroline." Emma propped her slipper-clad feet on the small hassock in front of the reading chair and contemplated the cheery blaze that warmed the small parlor.

Milly lowered her book and removed her reading glasses. She was well aware that her companion had been brooding on recent events for hours. After all these years together, she had learned that she had to allow Emma time to digest things.

"I do not think you need to be overly concerned about Caroline's safety." She put her glasses on the table. "I am quite certain that Mr. Hardesty will take excellent care of her."

"But who will protect Caroline from Mr. Hardesty?" Emma asked in foreboding tones.

Milly opened her mouth to reply and then found herself hesitating. Her usual inclination was to take the most optimistic view of a situation. Emma, of course, could be counted on to take the opposite approach. In most cases they balanced each other very well.

Her first instinct was to defend Hardesty. She had respected him on sight and her intuition told her that he could be trusted. But what did she really know about him? She was forced to admit that Emma was right to be concerned. There were risks.

"Caroline is old enough and wise enough to deal with the likes of Adam Hardesty," she said, trying to sound assured. "It is not as if she is unaware of the dangers. After what happened three years ago, she knows she must be cautious."