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office instead. Perhaps he kept records of things he’d purchased and she could prove these things hadn’t been in his family as he’d previously claimed.
    But then Lord Carlyle had found her.
    Her pace slowed as she recalled the heat of his body as he’d pressed her against the door.  He’d interrupted her search, and yet instead of remembering the jolt of fear, she flushed at the memory of the hint of clove that wafted from his collar, the intensity of his blue-gray eyes as he’d moved in for a kiss.
    She pursed her lips and quickened her steps. Lord Carlyle might have been a potential suitor two years ago, but now he was nothing more than a nuisance. With any luck she’d be able to avoid him.
    Except he was standing at the base of the steps leading up to Mrs. Harwood’s town house.
    “Lord Carlyle,” she blurted before she could order her thoughts.
    “Miss Renwick. I’ve come to speak with you about the other night.” His brows were drawn, his expression quite serious. He looked completely different from the first night they’d met, when he’d been all kindness and solicitation.
    Her body tensed beneath his keen scrutiny. “I don’t believe we have anything to say to one another, my lord. Please excuse me.” She stepped around him and marched up to the door, but he followed.
    When the door remained closed, Jocelyn frowned and then rapped on the wood.
    “Where’s your butler?” Lord Carlyle came up beside her.
    If she hadn’t been occupied with her concern, she would’ve told Carlyle to leave. “I’m not sure,” she murmured, as the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She was recalling another time when the butler had failed to greet her …
    “Allow me.” He opened the door, pushing it wide so she could enter.
    The small entry hall was deserted.
    She stepped cautiously inside, her booted feet tapping against the marble tiles. “Moss?” she called.
    No answer.
    Carlyle followed her inside, and she was suddenly grateful for his persistent company. “Where would he be?”
    Jocelyn chest constricted with oncoming panic. She tried to take a deep breath, to restore her nerves, but this was all too frighteningly familiar. “I don’t know. Let’s look in the—” She’d been about to say kitchen, but as they came abreast of the doorway leading to the front sitting room, she stopped short with a gasp. The room had been completely upset. A small writing desk was overturned, a vase lay in pieces, décor was strewn about as if every piece had been picked up and discarded without thought.
    Oh God, it was precisely like two years ago.
    “Stop.” Carlyle’s hand wrapped around her elbow and he drew her back into the entry hall. “Wait here.”
    She barely registered his words. Her eyes lost focus as her mind went back to when she and her father had returned home that disastrous April night. Their leased town house had looked the same. The butler had been trussed like a goose in the scullery along with the cook, housekeeper, and maid.
    “Miss Renwick?” Carlyle’s face came into view as if from a fog. “Miss Renwick.” His tone grew more urgent.
    She still couldn’t draw a sufficient breath. Her chest rose and fell and her head grew light. “I … I need to sit.”
    Carlyle guided her to the settee in the disordered sitting room. “I need to check on your retainers. Wait, is Mrs. Harwood at home?”
    Jocelyn blinked up at him. Mrs. Harwood! Her heart skipped about her chest as if it wanted to break free and run, which is precisely what Jocelyn wanted to do. But she clutched the folds of her skirt instead. “I don’t think so. She went to tea at Mrs. Montgrove’s.” Jocelyn prayed she was still there.
    “How many retainers are there?”
    “The butler—Moss, his wife—she’s the housekeeper, and a maid. Look in the scullery first, please.” She was torn between going with him and staying put. She didn’t really care to be alone, but fear at what they might find below stairs froze