His gaze settled for several seconds on her mouth… on those lush lips that had parted so eagerly beneath his. Lips he now knew were pillowy soft. And warm. And tasted like vanilla. He felt a sudden urge to squirm and forced his gaze upward, where it collided with hers.

Although he did his damnedest to conceal the flare of desire that ignited in him every time he looked at her, he wasn't certain he succeeded, especially after a scarlet flush washed over her cheeks.

"Did you come to stand mutely in the doorway, Julianne, or is there some reason why you've seen fit to interrupt my meeting?" There was no missing the annoyed chill in the earl's words. Gideon watched her attention jump to her father. She moistened her lips in an unmistakably nervous gesture then ventured several hesitant steps into the room.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Father, but I wished to speak to both you and Mr. Mayne. Regarding this." She drew what appeared to be a bracing breath then crossed the rug, her steps more confident, and held out a dirty piece of vellum to her father.

"What is it?" the earl asked in an impatient tone.

"A note. I found it on my bedchamber floor just inside the door-as if someone had slid it underneath."

"And why would either I or Mr. Mayne find that of any interest?"

"Because the note is… odd."

"What does it say, Lady Julianne?" Gideon asked.

"It says-"

Before she could say, the earl snatched the missive from her and snapped it open. Then he frowned. "What the devil does this mean?"

"May I?" Gideon asked, holding out his hand.

The earl thrust the note at him. Gideon looked down at the crudely printed, misspelled words. "Yor next." He raised his gaze to Lady Julianne. "When did you find this?"

"Just a few minutes ago."

"How long since you'd been in your bedchamber?"

She considered then answered, "At least two hours."

"You're certain the note wasn't there earlier?"

"Positive. I saw it as soon as I opened the door. I would have noticed the pale paper against the dark wood floor if it had been there earlier."

"Do you recognize the handwriting?"

"No."

"Have you ever received a missive such as this before?"

She shook her head. "No."

The earl cleared his throat. "Clearly it was written by someone nearly illiterate. Probably one of the servants dropped it and it was kicked beneath the door."

Gideon raised his brows. "That's an abundance of coincidences, my lord. And I must tell you: I cast a very suspicious eye on coincidences."

The earl favored him with a cold stare. "Then what are you suggesting, Mayne?"

"I'm suggesting that your staff be questioned. Because if one of them didn't coincidentally drop this note, which then coincidentally found its way beneath Lady Julianne's bedchamber door, then we must consider that it's exactly what it appears to be." His insides tightened, and he had to force out the words. "A threat against Lady Julianne. Made by someone who was or still is inside your home."

Chapter 7

Julianne stood in the music room, her fingers restlessly braiding the gold fringe edging the heavy blue velvet drapes. Dust motes floated in the long, gilded rays of sunshine streaming through the windows. Her beloved dog lay curled near the hearth, a tiny bundle of energy temporarily at rest, the tip of her tiny pink tongue sticking out while she dreamed doggie dreams.

With a sigh, Julianne paced to the fireplace. She usually found a profound sense of peace in this room, with its cream silk walls, muted shades of blue and green reflected in the draperies and Axminster carpet, polished cherrywood furniture, and grandly ornate pianoforte. It was her favorite spot in the entire house, the place she considered her sanctuary, cozy in spite of its size. A place she felt calm and safe.

But not today.

No, today restless nervousness jangled through her. What would Gideon discover? And how much longer must she wait until she knew? He'd left Father's study over two hours ago to interview the staff. Surely Johnny was no longer around the household-

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock. "Come in," she called.

The door opened, and Gideon entered. Their gazes met. And for a single instant she fancied fire flared in his dark eyes and the floor beneath her shifted. Then his expression went blank. Feeling the need to support her less-than-steady knees, she took a single step backward to brace her hips against the pianoforte.

What felt like an eternity but was surely no more than ten seconds passed in silence, a quiet space of time during which her entire body heated under his inscrutable regard. She wished she could read his thoughts. Had he discovered the truth? Did he know what she'd done? Unable to stand the suspense any longer, she asked, "You interviewed the staff?"

Instead of answering, he closed the door behind him. The quiet click reverberated through her, a soft confirmation that they were alone. She should have demanded he leave the door ajar. Instead, she had to press her lips together to keep from asking him to turn the lock into place.

With his gaze steady on hers, he walked toward her, his eyes so intense, she felt like a mouse stalked by a large, hungry cat. Surely she should want to flee, or retreat, rather than longing to run toward him and be devoured.

He halted when an arm's length separated them, a distance she instantly yearned to erase. Indeed, she had to lock her knees to keep from doing so.

"No one saw or heard anything," he said, "nor did anyone claim ownership of the note."

She prayed her relief didn't show. Clearly Johnny was no longer about. Either that or the coal porter was an accomplished liar. Thank goodness.

"What is your theory?" she asked.

Another silence stretched between them, and she found herself curling her fingers against the pianoforte's wood to keep from giving in to the desire to brush back the ebony lock of hair that fell over his forehead.

Finally he said, "Clearly something is afoot. And I intend to find out what it is."

And God help me if he does.

"And I intend to see to it that no harm befalls you." His gaze raked her face. "It appears that note was left as a threat to you. Do you have any idea who might have left it?"

"No." Could he tell that single syllable was an outright lie? She studied his eyes in hopes of finding the answer but instead found herself drowning in their intensely dark depths. And holding her breath.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt you?"

"No." That much at least was true. "I find it difficult to suspect any of the servants. They've all been with us for years."

"Perhaps more time to build up some sort of resentment. And servants have friends. Families. Cohorts. Aside from them, a parade of suitors made their way through your home today."

Julianne couldn't hide her surprise. "Surely you don't suspect one of them."

"Why wouldn't I? Because they're wealthy? Titled? Men in their positions are capable of criminal acts."

"What possible motive could they have? I'd hardly be a viable bridal candidate if I cocked up my toes." A humorless sound escaped her. "I'm worth much more alive than dead, believe me. But surely the words 'yor next' merely referred to my family's jewels-that they would soon be stolen-rather than as a threat against me. Surely Lady Ratherstone and Mrs. Greeley were killed because they came upon the thief during the commission of the robbery."

"I considered that both women would still be alive if they hadn't happened upon the thief; however, it's just as likely-more so in my opinion-that the ladies both knew their killer. That that's how he gained entry into their homes. And were killed for their trouble. Therefore I think it's rather odd for the robber to give warning to his next victim. To afford your family the time and opportunity to take precautions against an imminent theft."

Julianne frowned. Botheration. Perhaps she'd overplayed her hand. Still, she hadn't asked Johnny to leave the note; the enterprising young man had done that on his own. How could she have known that by hiring the coal porter to make ghostly noises he'd improvise in such a way?

Of course, she could have just ignored his note. Slipped it into her pocket and pretended she hadn't seen it rather than bringing it to her father's and Gideon's attention. But at the time it had seemed the most expeditious way to accomplish her goal-to make her ghost story real enough to convince both her father and Gideon. So that Gideon would investigate. Thus enabling her to spend time with him. It had all seemed perfectly plausible, but now, with Johnny acting on his own without consulting her… she needed to tread carefully so as not to trip into the dark abyss of her own lies.

She cleared her throat. "Yes, a robber giving his victim warning does seem a bit odd, although it's no secret my parents are hosting a ball next week. More than two hundred guests are expected."

"In Lady Ratherstone's case, precisely the sort of occasion after which the criminal struck."

"Perhaps our would-be thief isn't concerned, because he truly is a ghost."

"I'm afraid I don't share your belief in the fanciful. A real, live person left that note in your bedchamber." He leaned toward her just a bit, but it was enough to make her forget how to breathe for several seconds. Not only because of his nearness but due to the unsettling sensation that he could somehow see directly into her soul. Discern each and every one of her falsehoods. "Make no mistake-I will find out who's responsible."

She prayed she didn't sound as breathless as she felt. "Excellent. Yet so far your only suspects are servants who have been loyal to my family for years and esteemed members of society seeking my hand in marriage." She cocked a brow. "Are you always so suspicious?"

"Yes. It's the only reason I'm still alive." He moved a step closer to her. Now only two feet separated them. She could see the fine grain of his clean-shaven jaw, skin her fingers itched to explore.

"Everyone lies, Lady Julianne," he said softly, and she found herself nearly lulled into a trance by the movement of his lips.

Pulling her gaze back to his eyes, she asked, "Even you, Mr. Mayne?"

"Everyone, Lady Julianne." Before she could think up a reply, he lifted his hand. And she stared.

Dangling from the end of one long finger were her embroidery scissors. She blinked, and her hand flew to the pocket in her gown. Her empty pocket.

"How did you-?"

"Everyone," he repeated softly. "Although it appears your claim that you carry embroidery scissors was truthful."

"Of course it was." There was no need for him to know that she'd developed her long-standing scissor-carrying habit only that morning. Adopting a very put-upon air, she held out her hand.

"Everyone has secrets," he said, setting the small gold scissors in her palm. His calloused fingertips brushed her skin, and she pulled in a quick breath at the contact. "Facets of ourselves we don't share with anyone else."

She couldn't refute his words, as she'd never shared her inner longings with anyone, not even her closest friends. She'd never heard anyone voice such an opinion, and it prompted her to say, "It's as if there are different people inside us… people known only to ourselves."