A look of confusion crossed her father’s face. He seemed uncertain how to respond. Leo continued to stare at him, his gaze unblinking and cold.

Ultimately, her father said, “I will respect your judgment.”

Leo’s mouth twisted. “How gratifying.”

“These past hours have been very taxing.” Anne rose up from her seat and urged her father toward the door. “It’s time for you to go.”

His head jerked like a puppet. “Yes. Yes, I should ... I ought to ...” But he did not know what he should or ought to do. He peered around her, and produced a smile for Leo. “My thanks.”

The response was merely a flick of Leo’s wrist. Though he continued to lounge on the settee, tension coiled through him, as though he were a hairbreadth away from tearing the chamber apart.

“Good night, Father.” Anne gave him a dutiful kiss on the cheek, catching a thread of his scent of reboiled tea and adulterated tobacco.

He muttered a farewell, then followed a footman down the corridor. As his footsteps retreated, Anne shut the door to the parlor, then pressed her back against it, facing her husband. He stared into empty air.

“That was kind of you to make a better investment.”

Once more, that bitter twist of his mouth. “Nothing kind about it. It was my capital.”

“Against his estate. If the venture had not succeeded, you nonetheless would have emerged the richer.”

“As I said, a more advantageous opportunity presented itself.”

She studied the long lines of his body, her gaze moving up to trace the clean delineation of his profile, the curve of his lower lip. A sweet agony to look upon him.

“I wish you would let me into your confidence.”

His gaze snapped up to hers. “You know everything.”

“Who can we be honest with,” she said quietly, “if not each other?”

He stared at his hands, the rows of healing wounds on his knuckles. “I’ve told you everything I can.”

Which was not an answer, and they both knew it.

Leo waited until shadows swathed the house. He left Anne upstairs, deeply asleep. They had not spoken much after her father had quit the house. What words had been said aloud were terse, strained. Yet the whole of the evening, he wanted to clutch her close, to bury his face in her hair and draw her scent deep into his lungs. To whisper the things that weighed heavy within him.

Instead, they had sat far apart, mute, and even in the bedchamber, they had moved around the room like strangers encased in glass. They had lain beside each other with intimate formality. Smothering darkness pressed down, leaving words and touches stillborn.

Now Anne slept. He hated having to leave her, limbs soft, skin warm and fragrant. But his business could not wait.

Slipping on his banyan, Leo padded through the dark corridors of his house, and down the stairs. A lone footman drowsed by the front door. The servant did not stir as Leo passed through the foyer. The place was still as a tomb.

In cold and darkness, he entered his study. He did not bother lighting a fire, but he lit a candle and set it on the end of his desk.

“Veni, geminus,” he said.

The scent of burnt paper stained the air. And then there stood the geminus, dressed for an evening out, like any man of means. Leo tried to stare hard at the thing’s face, yet his gaze continually slid away.

“Such a pleasure,” the geminus said, bowing, a smile in its voice.

Leo folded his arms across his chest. “Time for answers.”

“I am in all things obliging. Whatever you desire shall be yours.”

“The truth,” said Leo tightly. “Neither you nor your Mr. Holliday ever told me about the flaw in my gift.”

“Flaw?” The geminus chuckled. “Not a flaw, but merely a limitation.”

“The name you give it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I couldn’t tell Wansford about the mining disaster. I couldn’t even warn the damned mine owners when I went down to the Exchange.” Leo had approached the men at the coffee house, determined to tell them that there would be loss of life if they did not take precautions. And he had stood there like a dullard, spouting nonsense about the best kind of fish to eat, whilst the mine owners stared at him, baffled.

He had tried to write, just as he’d done with Wansford. Again, only nonsense came from his pen. There had been nothing he could do. No way to prevent the disaster.

“Such events cannot be averted,” answered the geminus. “Even my master cannot stop it.”

Leo stalked toward the creature. “None of this was told to me.”

“Why should it?” The geminus spread its hands. “Until now, it has served you exactly as you desired. Have you not profited, and profited well, from this gift?”

Leo dragged in a breath. Only one answer: he had.

“It matters naught,” continued the geminus, its tone appeasing, “this tiny aspect of what is a most generous gift. So you cannot prevent what is foreseen. What of it? You can still reap profits the likes of which are unknown to all mortal men. Your wealth and power continue to grow. Those men you consider your enemies continue to fall. There is nothing you cannot have. Nothing,” it added, “you cannot give to your wife.”

Damn it, but the geminus was a sly bastard. Leo knew the thing manipulated him, said precisely what he needed to hear. He was aware of the creature’s machinations, yet they played upon him, just the same.

He fought against the subtle trap the geminus wove. “That doesn’t change the fact that, even if I didn’t want to stop the mine from collapsing, I couldn’t warn Wansford not to invest in it.”

The geminus shrugged. “Again, ’tis trifling. The man is no friend of yours. Further, with your knowledge of the imminent misfortune, you made a counterinvestment that shall yield very agreeably, to both you and to him. I see no difficulty.”

Surely the Devil and his underlings must practice their art at the Exchange, for this creature spoke honeyed words intended to beguile. Had Leo not trained himself well in the art of deception, he might have ceded to the geminus’s blandishments.

“The underhandedness of this whole business makes me wonder: what else are you not telling me? What hidden traps does the Devil have in store?”

The geminus made a shocked sound. “Sir, you wound me and my master. He has been most generous, and here you cast aspersions.”

“He’s been called worse, and by far more than me.”

The geminus strolled away toward the fireplace. With a wave of its hand, the kindling blazed. Firelight limned the outline of the geminus, the rest of it naught but shadow. It studied the flames for a moment.

“It is time,” the geminus said, “for a reward.”

Leo frowned. Of all the responses he’d anticipated, this was not one he’d considered. “Why?” he demanded.

“Because you have served my master well.”

His frown deepening to a scowl, Leo said, “I serve no one. I act in my own best interest.”

“Of course,” the geminus answered quickly. “You are your own man. A quality my master admires greatly. What I meant to say is that you have made my master exceedingly proud. The ruthlessness you display at the Exchange, the men whose lives you destroy ... all of this pleases my master. Thus, he desires to give you a reward, in recognition of your good works.”

“Tell me about this reward.”

“Greater power. Should you so desire it. You will be able to see farther into the future, decades, and to trigger this ability, you will no longer require coins, but simply any object belonging to your intended prey.” Laughing, the creature said, “Is this not a wondrous gift? And most generous of my master to offer it?”

Leo turned the idea over and over in his mind. Tempting, indeed. Obtaining items owned by his quarry would be an easy matter. The cuff of a coat during a handshake. Inspecting a gentleman’s ornate walking stick. The rewards would be even greater than before, his power immense. Anything he desired—his. Anything Anne could ever possibly wish for—hers.