He dragged his mouth off hers, tipped her head, and kissed her throat. She was trembling now, utterly transported. The very pavement on which she stood threatened to dissolve beneath her feet.

“Anthony.”

“Good God.” Anthony abruptly broke off the kiss and raised his head. He was breathing hard. “Forgive me, Emeline. I don’t know what came over me. I can only apologize-”

“No.” She clapped a hand over his mouth to silence him. “I vow, sir, if you say that you are sorry, I shall never forgive you.”

He studied her over the edge of her fingers. Then a warm light appeared in his eyes. She felt his mouth curve into a smile beneath her palm. Cautiously, she lowered her hand.

For a few seconds they just stood there in the middle of the street, gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Anthony?” She was having difficulty breathing properly, she realized.

“Come.” Anthony grasped her elbow and propelled her forward toward the end of the lane. “We must hurry. Tobias and Mrs. Lake will want to know about Fitch.”

“Yes, of course.” She wondered if all gentlemen were so adept at switching moods in moments of great passion.

Then again, perhaps Anthony had not felt the same intensity of emotion that she had just experienced in his arms. This was, after all, the first time she had ever been embraced in what one could call a serious fashion. Granted, while in Rome she had indulged in a stolen kiss or two in a garden or on a terrace, but she had considered the small incidents more or less as experiments. The results had been interesting, but not particularly inspiring, in her opinion. Certainly they had not set fire to her senses as this kiss had just done.

Anthony, on the other hand, was two years older, a man of the world. He had no doubt kissed any number of women in such a fiery manner.

It was an appalling thought.

She was mulling over the dark vision of another woman in Anthony’s arms when she glimpsed the object that the coachman had hurled toward her.

“I almost forgot.” She came to a halt. “He threw something at me as he went past.”

“Who? The bloody coachman?” Anthony followed her gaze. His expression hardened. “Looks like a rock. Rot the bastard’s eyes. He could have hurt you.”

“There is something tied to it.”

She hurried across the pavement to where the rock lay on the ground. There was a string tied around it. Attached to the string was a piece of paper.

“It’s a note.” She removed the paper and unfolded it.

Anthony came to stand behind her. He read aloud over her shoulder.

Stay out of this affair. Where

there has been one murder,

there may well be another.

“We assumed that the coachman was attempting to run down the gardener’s son, perhaps to prevent him from talking to us.” Anthony looked at the others gathered in Lavinia’s small study. “But now it appears that the man likely never even noticed the boy. He was intent only on delivering his message. Must have been following us, saw his opportunity, and took it.”

“A warning.” Tobias lounged on a corner of the desk and contemplated the note that lay on the polished surface. “It could have been sent by almost anyone involved in this affair.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t going to stop us from pursuing our investigations,” Lavinia said from her post behind her desk.

“Absolutely not,” Emeline declared with equal force.

“I agree.” Joan Dove absently arranged the folds of her elegant gray skirts. “In fact, it only whets one’s appetite to solve the case, if you ask me.”

“Indeed.” Lavinia plucked a leather-bound volume from the shelf beside the desk, flipped it open, and picked up a quill. “I have begun a journal of events that are directly related to this affair so that we may keep track of all the information and observations that come our way. I shall enter this bit about the note while it is fresh. Emeline, tell me everything you noticed regarding the coach and the driver.”

Emeline launched into a detailed description. Lavinia wrote swiftly. Joan rose and went to stand beside the desk, listening intently and offering occasional comments.

Tobias glanced at Anthony, who was watching Emeline with a grim expression. The incident in the street near Banks’s mansion had left its mark, he thought. This was no longer merely an exciting adventure so far as his new assistant was concerned.

It was perfectly natural that Anthony would be alarmed by Emeline’s close encounter with danger. But he sensed something else going on between the two young people, something beyond a gentleman’s normal concern for a lady’s safety. It seemed to him that there were some storm clouds gathering in Emeline’s and Anthony’s heretofore sunny relationship. What the devil was going on here? He made a note to discuss the matter later with Lavinia. She was far more perceptive about this sort of thing.

“From what you have told us,” Lavinia said, scribbling madly, “it would appear that, until recently, Mrs. Rushton was having an affair with Banks’s valet. For some reason she decided to let him go.”

“A lover’s quarrel?” Mrs. Dove suggested. “They argued so she turned him off without references or wages?”

Lavinia pursed her lips. “Whatever the reasons, Fitch was furious and had a motive for theft. He was later seen sneaking out of the dressing chamber with a small object wrapped in a cravat.”

Tobias clasped his hands behind his back. “If Fitch elected to take the Blue Medusa instead of some other valuable that would have been much easier to sell to a fence or a pawnshop proprietor, he may have had a particular buyer in mind. Someone he was certain would pay well for the cameo.”

Lavinia met his eyes. “Celeste Hudson.”

A charged silence settled on the room.

“Obviously we must speak to Fitch as soon as possible,” Tobias said after a moment. “Anthony, you will look for him. He probably won’t be hard to find. When you discover his whereabouts, notify me at once. I will handle the interview.”

Lavinia put down her quill. “I wish we knew more about the Blue Medusa. It might help us identify other people who have a particular interest in it.”

Joan smiled slightly. “I know of one person who could answer most of your questions about the Medusa, assuming he is willing to do so.”

Lavinia, together with Joan and Tobias, was ushered into Lord Vale’s impressive library the following morning.

The chamber was long and vast and crammed with books. It was illuminated by tall, classically proportioned windows. A circular staircase led to the upper level where yet more bookshelves were filled with leather-bound tomes. There was an air of scholarly elegance about the room that caused one to speak in hushed tones.

Unable to sit in the midst of such splendor, Lavinia began to prowl the room, examining some of the books with wonder and fascination.

Lord Vale waited until the housekeeper had poured the tea and departed. Then he leaned back in his chair and surveyed his guests with polite speculation.

“Mrs. Dove tells me that you wish to interview me in a matter that involves murder,” he said.

“I hope you are not offended.” Lavinia looked up from the study of a large volume that lay open on a table. She had been a bit anxious on this point. A gentleman of Vale’s status had every right to be extremely annoyed at the prospect of being dragged into a situation that involved something so distasteful as murder.

“Not at all.” A glint of acute interest nickered in Vale’s eyes. “As much as I enjoy my scholarly researches into antiquities, I must admit that I occasionally find myself in a mood for other, equally stimulating diversions.”