Captivating the Countess

by Patricia Rice

  The room erupted in questions.

  “You don’t have to do this.” Rain held her so close, Bell could feel the beat of his heart. “They’re my bloody relations, not yours.”

  The duke had gone to bed. Iona and her husband had left to set up the séance with Rain’s sisters. They were stealing these few minutes for themselves.

  “I’m tired of staying quiet, and I can’t hide anymore,” she tried to explain. “I hated when I had to hide.” She didn’t think quite so clearly when Rain held her like this. “I want to sleep in my own lovely suite and go back to work playing with numbers and enjoying the company of your family. I refuse to be driven out by fear. I did that once, when I ran from my stepfather. I’m simply not doing it again.”

  “Sending you away for your own safety isn’t the same.”

  She shook her head. “We have two possible motivations for the attack, both rather far-fetched, which may mean if there is a culprit, they’re not very bright. For instance, one of the ladies eligible for your attentions may consider me a threat. As far as I’m aware, only Lady Pamela and Lady Dalrymple suspect me of being your paramour. They would have to be seriously foolish to believe you’d marry your mistress.”

  “I’d marry you in a minute! And they cannot conceivably believe I’d marry them, even if they bludgeoned me to an altar,” he argued with a hint of humor. “But if anyone else believes their gossip. . .”

  “As I said, the notion that I stand in the way is far-fetched but your title is a motivation if someone is desperate enough. I cannot imagine Teddy even considering the responsibility of a title. He’s likely to inherit the fortune without the responsibility, so it would have to be a woman who thinks you’ll marry her, which makes little sense. A title without a fortune is an empty promise. Everyone must know you need a son to keep the trust, and Helen and Pamela are older than I am. It’s a gamble to think they might easily produce a son in a few short years. That would seem to indicate a younger lady with a reckless streak. I don’t think your sisters invited any such creature.”

  “I’ll have a servant positioned near each female this evening, but I cannot think a séance will have them leaping up to confess. The whole notion is extraordinary,” he protested.

  Bell leaned her head against his shoulder. “You’ll need a servant to stand beside every guest, including the male ones. But in my experience, it is money that brings out the worst in people.”

  “Which brings us back to the damned trust,” he agreed, shoving his hand through his hair and leaving it deliciously rumpled.

  Bell tilted her head to admire the effect and tried not to go faint with desire. She had to survive a séance first. “The trust is the other motivation I mentioned. If that is somehow the reason for the attack, you are in as much danger as I am. And that puts the suspicion squarely on Teddy again and is even more difficult to believe since he already stands to inherit.”

  “Lady Dalrymple’s brother in New York is in line after Teddy,” Rain warned. “I checked the family tree. It has to be traced back several dukes, but he’s the eldest son of the next eldest son after my father’s line. So Teddy might be in equal danger.”

  “A weak person like Helen trying to kill us all is about as unlikely as one of your family thinking they might control Teddy and the fortune if you are out of the way. And neither have anything to do with me. We may as well believe a ghost pushed me.”

  “Which may bring us back to Lady Pamela, simply because she’s not family, ” he said reluctantly. “Teddy claims he wants to marry her. I’ve tried to dissuade him. But like everyone else, she believes the duke is at death’s door. She has to think Teddy will inherit soon. Why would she attack you?”

  “Spite?” Bell suggested. “Because she’s afraid you’ll suddenly call in a minister and marry me on the spot? She’s not as stupid as Lady Dalrymple. She has to know you’re not likely to do that, and even if you did, there is still a chance of Teddy gaining the fortune if I don’t produce a son.”

  “It’s not stupid to think I’d marry you on the spot. But I’d rather heave her out and Teddy with her to prevent you setting yourself up as a target. The likelihood that you might draw out a confession is about as unlikely as all our theories.” Rain’s jaw muscles set in determination. “I’ll tell everyone the duke is recovered. That should throw a spoke in the culprit’s wheel.”

  “And you’d still attempt to crush a confession out of your guests.” She knew she’d hit close to the truth when he growled a protest. “As much as I’d like to see you crush Lady Pamela and her wicked tongue, I don’t want you thinking badly of Teddy if he’s innocent. It’s time I use my gift as it was intended.” Despite all her doubts, she knew this had to be done.

  “It doesn’t seem worth the risk. What if your heart stops and doesn’t start again? Let me try healing you first.” Rain crushed her tighter against him.

  She was grateful for his physical support and perhaps for his rationality, but she needed his belief that she could do this. “What are the chances I can enhance your abilities while you’re attempting to heal me? You need time to explore what you can do, and we don’t have time. We don’t know anything for certain. My assailant might even attack the duke if they think he’s healing. It would be so simple to put a poisonous herb in his drink—”

  Rain shuddered. “I hate thinking like that.”

  A knock interrupted.

  “It’s time, my lady,” Button called from the other side of the door. Even the maid sounded solemn and worried.

  They’d pegged down as many details as was possible. Everyone would be keeping an eye on everyone else. Bell feared the spirits more than she did the human villain, especially if Lady Pamela was the culprit. Lady Pamela was easily defeated, but who could control any spirits she might let loose?

  But terror was her only weapon. She prayed it would work.

  “Have Mrs. Damon bring Drucilla down to the drawing room, will you, please, Button?” Bell gathered up her shawl, lifted her chin, and waited for Rainford to open the door and let her out.

  “Must we include the child? It cannot be safe.” The normally unruffled marquess appeared very ruffled, indeed.

  “She’ll be safe in our arms.” Bell hoped that wasn’t a lie. “If anything supernatural occurs, Dru will see and scream. Secondly, she can tell me what she sees the ghost doing, which might be important. Thirdly, she helped your grandmother speak without rendering me comatose. It’s still not pleasant, but I’d rather not end up senseless again.”

  “I do not like this,” he warned. “I mean to fling you over my shoulder and flee with you if I perceive any threat.”

  She supposed it was comforting to know he cared, but that didn’t assuage her terror of what she was about to unleash.

  Rather than gripping the banister as she usually did, Bell took comfort in clinging to Rain’s muscled arm as they descended the entry stairs. The family, guests, and servants had gathered at her request in the large drawing room. She was quite likely to make a quivering ass of herself in front of everyone he knew. And even if she succeeded in speaking to a ghost, she would still create a spectacle—and have people begging to talk to their long-dead family members.

  She knew of no other way to protect herself and Rain’s family—unless she retreated to Craigmore. Every ounce of her soul resisted returning to her desolate estate after the life and liveliness of Rain’s active household.

  Besides, she could not leave Rain and his family in danger, which seemed to be what his grandmother was saying.

  So she held up her chin as she entered the towering hall. Conversation died and every head in the place turned to watch her on Rainford’s arm. She refused to quake, wondering if a killer watched, if someone hated her that much.

  Alicia, bless her heart, had set up a table in front of the roaring fire, far away from the crystal chandelier. There was no room large enough to comfortably allow this audience to spread out that didn’t have a chandelier.

  Tre
ating her with the respect afforded a royal princess, Rainford set her down in a comfortable chair beside the table. Bell hadn’t coached him in what to say. He knew more about public speaking than she did.

  While he addressed his guests, she busied herself with locating all her prime suspects. The family was all here, naturally. Teddy was sketching in one corner. As requested, Salina had set up a tarot reading that held Lady Dalrymple and Lady Pamela ensnared. Estelle hurried in at the last second, apologizing, after seeing to the children in the nursery. The governess and Drucilla took places in a distant corner. Most of the men had drinks in hand. The ladies clustered and gossiped. The servants discreetly took their places as directed, looking uneasy and out of place.

  Iona and Gerard sat on a loveseat to her right, acting as guardians. She’d set the stage as best as she knew how.

  Bell had utterly no idea how to summon Rain’s grandmother. She didn’t know if the spirit rested in between bouts of speaking or disappeared to some ethereal plane. If she survived this, she would have to start learning more about her dreadful gift.

  As Rain spoke to the gathering, the suffocating presence she’d noticed earlier descended. Had that been the ghost trying to protect her when Nevins had treated her so rudely? She’d experienced it again while holding Drucilla.

  She prayed the manifestation meant the ghost was present.

  Before Rain even stopped explaining what they meant to do this evening, Dru’s small voice piped up. “Look, the lady is up there!”

  Bell heard the creaking of the enormous crystal chandelier—the one Rain’s grandmother had brought with her when she married—perhaps confirmation that the “lady” was the deceased duchess? Swallowing hard, she glanced up with everyone else in the room. The crystals quivered.

  Lady Dalrymple turned pale and tried to rise, but Salina curtly gestured for her to remained seated.

  “Your Grace.” Bell spoke deferentially to an entity she couldn’t see. “I thank you for all you’ve done to help this household.”

  The crystals tinkled nicely, as they may have when the candles were lit and the glass heated. Except they weren’t lit this evening.

  Ignoring the other guests, Bell focused on Dru. When the child said no more, but merely watched the swaying fixture with fascination, she forced herself to speak again. How did one order about a dead duchess?

  “Your Grace, you said I was pushed. Could you tell us who did it?” She couldn’t be any more plain than that.

  A gasp and murmur of alarm swept the room. Bell returned her attention to the main suspects at the tarot table. Lady Dalrymple seemed fretful, darting looks to her daughter. The actress merely turned over the next card for Sal to interpret.

  Even if the ghost designated a murderer, they had no proof. Rainford had pointed that out, but he didn’t speak now, merely stood protectively behind her.

  Sal abruptly sat back, letting out a little yip of surprise. The tarot layout she’d been working on scattered across the table, as if by an unseen hand.

  Bell tensed, scanning the room for anything resembling a guilty reaction. But everyone was mesmerized by a card lifting of its own accord—to fall down in front of Sal. The two ladies with her uneasily pushed away from the table.

  “The Justice card!” Sal cried, just as another card fell down in front of her. “And the Seven of Swords. I didn’t do that.”

  Bell didn’t know the tarot, but flying cards were enough to cause consternation. Justice card? She liked the sound of that, but she knew the cards weren’t that simple.

  “The lady did that!” Drucilla cried. “She wants to play cards.”

  “Salina, do you know what Her Grace is telling us?” Bell didn’t know what else to say.

  Sal looked reluctant to speak, but glancing at Rainford, she took a deep breath. “I cannot explain how the tarot works if you don’t already know. It depends on the person turning the cards, the question being asked, and my own interpretation, which is related to my gift for reading people. I have never tried to read a ghost. But in the position these cards fell, they’re negative. There is resistance to change, ambition, betrayal, deception, unfairness, dishonesty. . . I would not trust the person who had these cards.”

  “I cannot imagine ghosts are trustworthy.” Lady Pamela drew away from the table. “This farce is almost as juvenile as the script Lady Alicia wrote.”

  “Only because you’re not starring in it.” Sitting close to Bell, Alicia added her crystal to the small tea table in front of Bell. “Try concentrating on this. It’s easier to look at than people.”

  Bell preferred to look at people. She wished she could see the ghost.

  “It’s positively icy in here, Theodore.” Lady Pamela pulled her shawl over her nearly bare bosom and stood up. “I’m as likely to die of the cold as the boredom. I’d like to retire for the evening.”

  “You’ll walk through the lady!” Drucilla cried. “She doesn’t want you to leave.”

  Lady Pamela hesitated a fraction, long enough for Rain to signal the butler he’d assigned to the door. Franklin closed it and blocked the exit with his bulky frame.

  If Lady Pamela was guilty, as they suspected, Bell really wanted to know why she’d earned the actress’s spite. She had to continue and hope to draw her out.

  “This may be an unorthodox means of detection, but it’s better than throwing everyone out of the house. Lady Pamela, if you’ll take your seat again, please, we’ll continue.” Rain’s voice rang with authority.

  The actress shot him a glare, glanced around, and finding no support even from Teddy, who was still sketching madly, she grudgingly removed herself to a place near the door, prepared to depart the moment it was allowed.

  Bell took a deep breath and reminded herself why she was making a fool of herself—for Rain and his family and to be able to stay here. “Dru, is the lady still near the cards?”

  Wide-eyed, Dru shook her head. “She followed the pretty lady to the door.”

  Wishing she had a better understanding so she could form better questions, Bell addressed the apparition again. “Your Grace, the lady by the door is Lady Pamela, your grandson’s model. Is she the one to whom your cards refer?”

  If it was possible for cards to be thrown derisively, the ghost accomplished it. The deck rose from the table and flew at the actress. Lady Pamela looked startled. Murmurs whispered around the room. But everyone knew séances were dramatic performances and not real. No one appeared unduly alarmed. A few of the men began examining the cards to see how the trick was accomplished.

  Bell rubbed her temples. Card flinging did not help. She had achieved nothing. She needed facts, not dramatics. Séances were meant for actresses like Lady Pamela.

  She simply did not have the creativity to interpret ghost behavior. Reluctantly, she knew she had one last resort. With distaste, she asked, “Lady Dalrymple, would you object if Drucilla sat with me? She was useful this afternoon in helping Her Grace to speak.”

  “Her Grace?” Drucilla’s mother looked confused. Rightfully so, since there was no one living to claim that title.

  Estelle didn’t wait for simple-minded Lady Dalrymple to work it out. She picked up the child and carried her to Bell. “You have been doing a fine job, Drucilla. You are a very brave girl. Lady C would like your assistance in speaking to the lady, if you don’t mind.” She sat the child on Bell’s lap.

  “The lady is walking back and forth again,” Dru whispered.

  “She wants to say something,” Bell whispered back. “Let’s see what happens if we hold hands and look at that pretty rock, all right?”

  The child looked dubious but didn’t object.

  The moment Bell held the child’s hands and focused on the crystal, she felt the terrifyingly oppressive atmosphere fall over her. She knew what the spirit wanted—access that Bell had always blocked unless comatose. But she didn’t dare fall unconscious while holding Dru. She’d always been terrified of harming a child if she dropped like a ninny. But Dru
was her best focus for reaching the spirit.

  Stomach clenching, head pounding, Bell tried to accept that the ghost was helpful, not dangerous. Beating back her fear, she opened her mind instead of blocking it, and let the spirit in.

  Words that weren’t her own immediately spilled out. The witch did it. Don’t let her leave.

  “The funny-looking gentleman is here,” Dru whispered in excitement.

  A suit of armor at the exit rattled.

  The gas lights died. A crash of metal followed, and a woman screamed.

  Twenty-six

  The blackness descending over the enormous drawing room had all the occupants screaming and swearing.

  Rain immediately kneeled beside Bell in her chair, placing his body between her and the child and whatever in hell was happening. Outlined only by the fire’s light, the pair seemed frozen in place. He knew he should be seeing to his family and guests, fighting his way to the door where a potential murderer might be escaping, but he couldn’t abandon a child or this courageous, insane female who risked her own sanity for him and everyone else.

  “Light the sconces,” he shouted, since the crash of armor seemed to have led only to insensible shrieking. “Gerard, can you find your way to the door?”

  Iona dropped down on the other side of the chair. “He’s heading that way now. Bell, Bell, are you there?”

  Bell didn’t reply. Rain rubbed his hands up and down her arms—not easily because the child was clinging to her, weeping.

  The voices of his brothers-in-law rose above the chaos, repeating his orders. Relieved to have their aid and that he needn’t leave Bell, Rain spoke with trained neutrality—his healing voice, he prayed. “Bell? Can you hear me?”

  She shook her head, then shuddered a little. Rain continued running his hands up and down her arms, speaking soothingly, willing her to wake.

  Finally, she drew a deep breath. “I’m. . . I’m all right, I think. I didn’t fall comatose. I just. . . I don’t know.” Sounding a little shocked, she glanced down at Dru. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”