He avoided the main path, opting instead for a secluded track that ran alongside the house. There was a door there that led to the hall by the billiard room. It was the way he’d come out. As he approached, he paused to put out his cigarette, tipping his head back to take one last look at the waning moon.

It was then he saw it.

Or rather, her.

The distinct flash of violet silk was unmistakable. It shone briefly in the moonlight, a fleeting glimpse of color through the stone railing of a small terrace three floors above.

Gabriel’s body went still.

For the barest moment, he wondered if he’d imagined it. It couldn’t be her. That wasn’t the ballroom terrace. It was the balcony of someone’s private quarters. And she wasn’t standing there, as any sane person would do. She appeared to be seated on the ground, her skirts billowing about her in a heap. What the devil was she—

There was a faint shudder of a tremulous breath.

His heart lurched. He took a sharp step forward. “Miss Flite?”

There was no response, only the same soft, unsteady gasping. It sent a jolt of apprehension through him. “Euphemia?” he said, raising his voice. “Is that you?”

A slim, ungloved hand slipped out of the terrace railing, gripping the stone pillar in reply. “Gabriel?” Her voice was a mere thread of sound. “I can’t…”

“You can’t what?”

“Move.” The bewildering statement was followed by a pitiful breath of unsteady laughter.

The sound squeezed Gabriel’s already quaking heart in a viselike grip. “Good God. Are you hurt?”

She uttered another short laugh. It had more in common with a whimper. “Scared,” she breathed. “S-Stupid of me.”

He didn’t require any other explanation. What would be the point? She couldn’t move. She could barely talk. And she’d just admitted to being frightened. Her situation must be alarming indeed.

His reaction to her distress was no less alarming.

Shedding the close-fitting constraints of his evening jacket, Gabriel strode to the wall of the house. He gripped the thick branches of the aged wisteria. Whether it could hold his weight on its own was debatable. He didn’t pause to test it. Impelled by the sound of her whimpering breaths, he hoisted himself up.

He had some experience in climbing. In his youth, he and the other street children had often broken into houses searching for food and coin. Back then, Gabriel had become adept at shimmying up vines and running along rooftops.

Granted, it was decades since he’d last attempted it. He was much bigger now, and far broader of shoulder. Maneuvering his weight took some doing. The branches made ominous creaking noises beneath him, and he muttered more than one curse before he reached the terrace. But reach it he did. Gripping the edge, he hoisted himself over the railing like some demented Romeo.