Water hammered at the windows. The fine hairs on my arms stood up, like soldiers at attention. I suppressed a shiver. I stuck my hand in my pocket and scattered salt as unobtrusively as possible on the ground by my chair.

“Strange,” Xavier murmured, and for a moment I thought he’d seen me. “I hadn’t thought we’d get a storm tonight,” he continued to my great relief.

I kept my eyes on Rowena while trying to smile at Xavier. She circled the room over and over again, trying to catch my attention, clearly distraught. But she wouldn’t stop or pause long enough to single anyone out. I was starting to feel dizzy and overstimulated.

“Are you sure you’re well, Miss Willoughby?” Xavier asked solicitously.

Then in one sudden moment Rowena came apart like rain. There was a massive clap of thunder that rattled the windows. Several people jumped, spilling drinks. Rain hissed at the glass and shook the roses.

“I believe this storm is giving me a bit of a headache,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “Perhaps I should say good night.”

“Good night, Miss Willoughby.” Xavier bowed over my hand. His hand was warm, soft under mine. Rowena followed me out into the foyer. I’d had enough of her theatrics for one night so I ignored her, gritting my teeth. I ought to have known that wouldn’t work. She made a whirling of cold and blurred lights around me.

Lord Jasper was at the front door, shaking Lord Kearsley’s hand. Xavier straightened and went to help his mother to the stairs. Mr. Travis stood in the doorway to the smoking room. Elizabeth and Colin waited impatiently for me by the potted ferns.

All too far away to be any help at all.

Even the shout from Mr. Travis and the sight of Colin fighting his way out of the fern fronds didn’t quite make sense. Only Rowena’s face coming at me so suddenly, shrieking soundlessly, had me staggering back a step.

That one step was just enough to get me out of the direct path of the heavy chandelier, dropping from its hook in the ceiling and scattering lit candles as it fell.

Sir Wentworth appeared out of nowhere, yanking me out of the way. The crystal drops of the chandelier shattered and skittered in pieces across the floor, like icicles falling from a tree in winter. A candle landed near my foot, extinguishing itself with a plume of dark smoke. The smell of burning wax filled the foyer. The other guests stood where they were, frozen and shocked. Lord Jasper was the first to break the moment.

“Violet!” His cane scattered glass shards. “Are you hurt?” He took me from Sir Wentworth’s grasp, eyeing me carefully, as a grandfather might. Colin came next, face pale.

“Oh, Violet!” Elizabeth gasped.

Goose bumps pebbled my bare arms above my gloves and over the back of my neck. Rowena dissipated like smoke. I met Mr. Travis’s dark, serious gaze and knew he was remembering the urn nearly falling on me. I was starting to be suspicious at his presence at both events. I might have wondered at it some more but I was distracted by the pounding of my pulse in my ears and the fact that my heart seemed to have lodged itself firmly in my throat.

“Thank you, Sir Wentworth,” I said, my voice scratchy.

“Violet! My darling!” My mother clutched Xavier’s arm, dragging him toward me. Her eyes were too bright and I knew there’d been more than tea in her cup. She only realized something was happening when attention veered away from her. “We were so worried.” She patted Xavier’s shoulder. “You look faint. Perhaps Mr. Trethewey might lend you his arm.”

“I’m not faint.” She glared at me, then shot Xavier a sidelong glance. I knew what I was meant to do. I should have put a hand to my pale brow and crumpled delicately into Xavier’s arms. I just didn’t have it in me.

“Pardon me,” I murmured before fleeing upstairs.

Because not only had we taken tea with a murderer, but it was also becoming a distinct possibility that someone was trying to warn me away—or kill me altogether.

That night Colin came to my room. It was scandalous to allow him inside but I didn’t care. And his face was so grim, I doubt he would have left anyway. He could be intractable when he chose to be.

“You have to go back to London,” he blurted out, his gaze flicking away from my nightdress. “And don’t stand there.”

I blinked at the abrupt change in topic. “What? Why?” I cast a glance behind me, half afraid there was a ghost looming. There was only a candle flickering.

“The light’s behind you. I can see your legs through your gown.”

“So?”

“It’s distracting.” Something about the way he said it, through his clenched teeth, made me smile. He narrowed his eyes. “Stop that.”

I stepped away with exaggerated primness, still grinning. “Did you just come here to tell me not to stand by the candle?”

“ ’Course not.” His Irish brogue thickened and I knew he was truly upset. “We have to leave. Now.”

“Whyever for?”

He stared at me. “Did you miss the part where a chandelier nearly fell on your head, you daft girl?”

“But it didn’t. I’m fine.”

“For now. We’ve made someone nervous. That was a bleedin’ warning, Violet.”

“Which can mean only one thing.”

“That you’re in terrible danger?”

“No,” I replied, sitting on the settee at the end of the bed. “That we’re getting close to some kind of answer.”