It was nearly half past two, and the sun was shining brightly in a clear aquamarine sky. The fashionable hour was still many hours away. Ladies and gentlemen of every stripe were nevertheless out in force taking advantage of the fine weather—riding, driving, and walking along the avenues below.

Unlike the other gentlemen strolling in the park, Gabriel had no hat, gloves, or walking stick. He wore a plain black three-piece suit, the single-breasted coat open to reveal the gold chain of his pocket watch. There was a rumpled, impatient air about him, rather like an attorney or other busy professional who had been prematurely called away from his office.

In that taut moment, her thoughts already occupied by the latest lure she’d cast, Effie could think of only one thing that would have dragged him from his betting shop. And it wasn’t the kiss they’d shared. It was her visit to the London Courant this morning.

Her heart ceased its fluttering. It sank into her stomach like a stone. Was it possible that Gabriel was in some way connected to Mr. Wingard?

He appeared provoked enough for it. To be sure, he was looking at her just as he had that first night in Compton’s library in the seconds before Effie had removed his hand from her throat—cold, implacable, dangerous.

Franc didn’t register the threat. At finding Gabriel blocking their way, the little poodle gave only the faintest tail quiver of recognition before he resumed pulling on his lead, demanding Effie continue their walk.

Effie obliged him. Deftly sidestepping Gabriel, she proceeded down the path, letting Franc lead the way. The swell of her poplin skirt brushed Gabriel’s leg as she passed him. “However did you find me?” she asked.

He came alongside her, his face hard as granite. “Lady Belwood’s footman directed me.”

Effie somehow managed to keep her countenance. “You called in Brook Street?”

“I did.”

“You must be keen to see me indeed if you were willing to pay a formal call.”

“Keen,” he repeated. “That’s one way of putting it.”

The alarm bells in Effie’s head grew louder. “Whatever can have prompted such eagerness?”

“Need you ask?”

Effie cast him a veiled glance. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her, neither for her mission to the Academy, nor for her pride. Of the two, she knew which was the more dispensable. The Academy must come first.

“Yes, I see,” she said carefully. “I confess, I did think you might come today.”

He returned her opaque glance with an enigmatic look of his own. “Did you.” It wasn’t a question.

They were far from the busy promenade now. No one was likely to remark them walking together unchaperoned. Even if they did, they would think them no different from any other courting couple who had broken away from the ranks for a private stroll.