“Look at me,” Celeste said.
His sharp blue eyes found hers.
That mattered. He was conscious. Frightened, though he would have had three men killed before admitting it.
Celeste pressed two gloved fingers beneath his jaw. His pulse was fast, uneven, then fast again.
Outside the bedroom, somewhere beyond the closed oak door, a floorboard gave a soft complaint.
Elias’s hand closed around the sleeve of her pale gray cardigan.
“Don’t call them.”
The words were barely more than breath, but they were clear.
“Who?”
His fingers tightened.
Celeste followed his gaze toward the door.
A narrow blade of cold blue hallway light appeared between the door and its frame. Through it, she saw part of a black suit, one polished shoe, and the edge of a silver tray held vertically against a man’s leg.
Silas Venn, the Cade household butler, stood watching.