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energies would have resulted in serious illness of a psychical nature. She suspected that Caleb Jones was unconsciously controlling the disharmony through the sheer power of his will. She doubted that he was even aware of the strange, unwholesome currents that pulsed around him.
    The state of his psychical health was not her problem, she reminded herself, not unless it prevented him from conducting a thorough investigation. Her intuition told her that would not be the case. Determination and resolve emanated far more strongly in his aura than did the unnatural currents. Caleb Jones was a man who would finish whatever he set out to do, no matter the cost.
    This meeting was the very last thing she had wanted but she had not been able to come up with any alternative. Her circumstances were dire and the problem was of a psychical nature. That meant she required an investigation firm that could deal with the paranormal. The only one she was aware of was the recently established Jones agency.
    Unfortunately, becoming involved with the firm meant having to deal with a member of the Jones family, by all accounts an eccentric and dangerous lot. The Arcane Society was a notoriously secretive organization and the powerful members of the Jones clan—descendants of the founder—were always at its heart. Rumor had it they were very good at the business of protecting the Society’s—and their own—dark secrets.
    She had guessed that Caleb Jones would be frighteningly adept at the business of getting at the truth. It was said that everyone in the family possessed a strong talent of one kind or another, and she had expected Caleb to demonstrate an expertise for his unusual profession.
    What had stunned her was the frisson of intense curiosity, indeed outright fascination, that she had experienced when she first sensed his presence in the conservatory. The thrilling little shivers of awareness that were sparkling through her now could only be described as alarmingly sensual in nature. The sensations were disturbing and disorienting; the sort of emotions that might have been forgiven in an innocent young lady of eighteen but which were quite inappropriate in a woman of twenty-seven years; a woman of the world.
    For heaven’s sake, I’m officially on the shelf; a spinster. And he’s a Jones. What on earth is happening to me?
    There was a compelling strength in Caleb Jones but also a dour, melancholic air. It was as if he had examined life with the full powers of his intelligence and talents and concluded that it had little in the way of joy to offer him but he would nevertheless persevere. Even if she had not known that he was a direct descendant of Sylvester Jones, the founder of the Society, she would have recognized Caleb as a powerful talent.
    Something else burned hot in him, as well, an all-consuming intensity, a single-mindedness of purpose, which she knew would be a two-edged sword. In her experience there was often only a very fine line between the ability to concentrate intelligently on an objective and an unhealthy obsession. She suspected that Caleb had crossed that line more than once. That knowledge taken together with the disharmony in his aura was alarming but she had little choice now. Jones might very well be all that stood between her and a charge of murder.
    She fastened the invisible corset of her composure snugly around herself and prepared to move forward with her plan.
    “Now you understand why I asked you to come here today, Mr. Jones,” she said. “I wish you to investigate the theft of my fern. I am convinced that when you discover the thief, you will also discover that he is the one who concocted the poison that killed Lord Fairburn. You will find him and hand him over to Inspector Spellar, along with the appropriate proof of his guilt.”
    Caleb’s brows rose. “All without dragging your name into the matter, I assume?”
    She frowned. “Well, yes, of course. That is the whole point of hiring someone