If her mother had experienced half of what Selina had during that kiss, it was no wonder the woman had given every part of her to that man.
And that thought, the understanding of her mother’s actions, scared the wits out of Selina. Because she knew she could very easily make that same decision now.
And that meant she needed to keep her distance from the earl.
She needed to help the boy and then get away from them both as soon as humanly possible.
“I’m not my mother,” she finally said, though her voice trembled. “And as you said, we’re late. It wouldn’t do to keep them waiting.”
“Hmph.”
With no more than that grunt of clear disapproval, Agnes turned on her heel and marched toward the staircase, leaving Selina to trail behind her.
Neither of them were used to the dinner hour in a grand house, yet where they should have been sticking together and supporting each other, they were now at loggerheads because of Selina’s stupidity.
Yet, Selina didn’t know what to say to bridge the gap. Besides, she couldn’t concentrate on trying to mend things.
Not when her mind was still filled with memories of being in Philip’s arms.
“You must stand up when the ladies enter the room, Timothy.”
Philip watched with a sense of pride as Timothy jumped to his feet and straightened his coat.
Philip glanced nervously at the ormolu clock. It wouldn’t be long before he’d see Selina again, and he knew he needed to get himself under control.
Earlier, when he’d finally managed to drag his lips from hers and step away from her and the temptation she represented, he’d just stood there staring at her like a dolt.
And then – it had all come crashing down around him. The guilt, the confusion, the shame that she’d awoken in him a desire stronger than anything he’d ever known.
He’d known that an apology was in order, yet could he even say that he was sorry?
Finally, being the coward that he clearly was, he’d simply turned and walked away from her.
It was inexcusable. But then, so much of his behaviour over the last few years had been. Perhaps he just wasn’t a good person.
Kissing Selina had been a mistake. He’d let his body control his actions, and he couldn’t make that mistake again.
When he’d eventually wandered to the kitchen earlier, he’d come across Timmy chatting happily with Mrs. Healy while stuffing Cook’s lemon biscuits into his mouth as he went.
When he’d questioned why Timmy was eating biscuits so close to dinner time, he’d been informed in no uncertain terms that he should worry about his own stomach and not his son’s.
He’d left then with no argument. Partially because he was glad that Timmy was happily munching on biscuits and not picking at his food as he’d been doing before they’d arrived in Ireland, and partially because he was too scared to argue with the redoubtable Mrs. Healy.
And now he awaited Selina’s arrival with no idea how to act when she came through the door.
“Papa?”
Timothy’s soft voice interrupted Philip’s thoughts and brought his focus back to his son.
“Yes, Timmy?”
“I’m glad Miss Selina is here,” he said, his wide, golden-brown eyes filled with a relief that damn near broke Philip’s heart. “I always feel better when she’s with me.”
“I do, too, son,” he said, willing himself to get his emotions under control.
The truth was he did feel better when Selina was with him. The problem was that it wasn’t just because she was going to help Timothy. It was because of the feelings she was awakening in him.
Before either of them spoke again, the door opened, and Mrs. Healy entered. Perhaps she’d changed her gown for dinner. In truth, Philip couldn’t tell.
Mostly because he couldn’t drag his gaze from Selina, who was just behind.
She had definitely changed her gown.
Earlier she’d been wearing bright, violet skirts. Now she was in a deep, midnight blue.
And though the gown was simple and nothing like those usually worn by his female guests, she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.
Philip couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. He could only stare.
Eventually, as the silence stretched to a breaking point, Timothy stepped forward, acting every inch the gentleman his father was fast forgetting how to be.
“Good evening, Mrs. Healy, Miss Selina.”
He executed a perfect bow, and all three adults grinned in response. The tension dissipated, much to Philip’s relief, and he was able to carry on a perfectly acceptable conversation about nothing of significance.
When the bell rang for dinner, he moved to offer Selina as escort.
However, before he could utter a word, Mrs. Healy appeared in front of him, her face deceptively innocent.
“Allow me, Mrs. Healy,” he said, extending an arm.
Glancing over, he saw Timmy extend his own to Selina, who was smiling down at him.
She looked up and their eyes met, and Philip felt the impact of her stare right down to his toes.
“Come on then, or we’ll starve to death.”
Mrs. Healy gave his arm a tug, breaking Selina’s spell over him, and Philip dutifully led them all to the dining room.
He’d meant to ignore whatever this was between Selina and him. Meant to put it from his mind and only concentrate on his son.
Yet, as he waited for the ladies to sit before taking his own seat, he couldn’t help but wonder how he was ever going to ignore the temptation that she was, now that he’d had a taste of the forbidden fruit.
Chapter Eleven
“M
ama. No!”
Selina bolted upright from where she’d been resting in a chair by Timothy’s bed.
She’d been waiting for what felt like hours for something or someone to disrupt the child’s sleep.
Earlier at dinner, she’d sensed the presence. It wasn’t strong, but it was definitely there, and she’d known there would be a visitation tonight.
It wasn’t that Charlotte ever left, not really. There was always something hovering around the boy, yet as the days had progressed and Timothy had flourished into a chatty, impish, adventurous boy, the presence had eased. So much so that Selina sometimes forgot all about it.
But ever since her kiss with Philip, it had grown stronger. Stronger, but still attached to the boy.
As she watched, he sat up. Alert and filled with terror, his eyes staring at something that nobody else could see.
Just like in the nursery, a sudden and chilling wind swept through the room, and a mournful wail sounded in Selina’s head.
She rushed to light the herbs that she’d prepared by Timothy’s bedside, all the while whispering words of endearment to the scared boy.
She sat by Timothy’s side and placed a hand on each of his tear-stained cheeks, looking into his face, searching for another.
There.
Gooseflesh broke out along her arms as the boy’s face contorted with agony.
“Charlotte.”
Selina spoke firmly but kindly.
She watched closely, waiting, hoping that she’d be strong enough for this.
Inside her head, the crying became screeching, and she had to work not to lift her hands and cover her ears.
“You’re hurting him, Charlotte. You’re scaring him. You must let him go.”
She spoke quietly, willing her words to reach the poor, tortured soul.
“You must let him go.”
She repeated the words over and over and as she spoke, as she held on and stared into those eyes, she felt a calming in the room, a quietening inside her mind.
It was working. She was getting through.
“I know that you’re sad that you left him.” Selina spoke urgently now, not sure how much longer she could hold on.
Her limbs were growing heavy,
and her head was pounding so much it felt as though it were trying to cleave itself in two.
“I know that you loved him and didn’t want to leave him. But you must leave him now. You must move on. Be at peace so that Timothy can be at peace, too.”
A tiny kernel of peace seemed to appear in Selina’s mind, and even Timothy was calming. Though his whole body was trembling beneath her touch, his sobs were losing volume.
There was something though. Something keeping Charlotte here. Something stopping her from truly letting go.
But Selina didn’t know what it could be.
“Why won’t you leave him?” she rasped.
The pain in her head was becoming unbearable, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold on.
Suddenly, the door to Timmy’s bedchamber burst open, and Philip came charging into the room, his eyes blazing, Agnes hot on his heels.
“Timmy,” he shouted rushing toward the bed.
As soon as Philip entered the room, Timothy let out an inhuman scream, and the same scream sounded inside Selina’s head, along with such a feeling of sorrow and pain that she cried out in agony.
From far away she heard a cacophony of sounds – Philip’s shouts interspersed with Agnes’s urgent calls and mutterings from servants. But everything sounded as though she were underwater.
Selina didn’t look at any of them, however. Her eyelids were growing heavy, and her stomach roiled as the pain in her head made her nauseated.
But she kept staring into Timothy’s eyes. Timothy, whose screams weren’t abating.
And she knew.
It wasn’t just Timothy causing Charlotte’s pain, stopping her from moving on. It was Philip.
She couldn’t let either of them go. Or rather, Philip, at least, couldn’t let her go.
Selina felt the helpless guilt, the potent desire for freedom. She felt desperation for them to be happy.
Her teeth began to chatter, and a cold sweat broke out on her brow.
She couldn’t hold on any longer.
Her vision began to dim, but the noises all around her suddenly came into sharp focus, and she could hear Agnes furiously telling Philip to stay back.
In contrast, Timothy’s cries came to an abrupt stop.
He took one long, shuddering breath and fixed an intense stare on Selina. But it wasn’t Timothy. It was Charlotte.
“Help me,” he whispered, the sound rattling and sending ice through her veins. “Help them.”
Then his body slumped as though every ounce of strength had left him.
Selina released him, and he fell back against the pillows.
“Agnes,” she managed to rasp. “The sleeping draught.”
As Agnes ran forward, so, too, did Philip. And while the old lady pressed the vial into Selina’s shaking hands, Philip knelt beside her, his arm pressing into her legs as he ran frantic hands over Timmy’s face.
Selina could barely see past the pain in her head, and she worried that she’d cast up her accounts right there in front of Philip and the servants. She could feel them watching her from behind.
She uncorked the vial and tipped the contents into Timothy’s mouth.
His skin was cool and clammy, just like hers, she’d imagine. But he was breathing deeply and seemed at peace.
The draught would ensure that he stayed thus.
A riot of thoughts were stampeding through Selina’s head.
Charlotte was trapped by her feelings for Timothy and Philip. She knew that made her uneasy, but she felt so ill that she couldn’t even form a coherent thought about it.
“He’s well,” she mumbled, closing her eyes against the onslaught of pain and her wild emotions. “He’ll sleep now.”
Suddenly, she felt a smooth, warm hand touch her cheek, and she opened her eyes to see Philip’s gaze trained on her, roving her face with concern.
“And you?” he asked softly. “Are you well?”
Looking into his eyes, Selina remembered the surge of sadness and guilt that had washed over her when she’d been trying to communicate with Charlotte and that, coupled with her own growing feelings for the earl, served to make her even more confused and uneasy.
“I’m fine,” she answered dismissively, coming to her feet.
But as soon as she stood, she knew she’d made a mistake.
The room tilted alarmingly and the pain in her head intensified enough to take her breath away.
Stumbling on legs that couldn’t support her, Selina reached out to try to gain purchase.
“Selina!”
Just as Philip’s alarmed cry sounded in her head, blackness descended and the pain in her head, the memories of Charlotte’s terror, Timothy’s cries, they all disappeared into a blissfully silent abyss.
Philip caught Selina as she fell, lifting her into his arms and turning toward Agnes in alarm.
The fear that he’d felt when he’d heard Timothy’s cries, then to come in and see his distress, had been awful. Having to stand there and not be able to comfort his own child had been worse.
But though he would have easily been able to break Mrs. Healy’s hold on his arm, he’d listened to her urgent mumblings.
“Let them be,” Mrs. Healy had implored over and over. “Let her help. Don’t break the connection.”
Philip had had no idea what connection she spoke of.
Was it Selina’s hands on Timothy’s face or something deeper? Something he couldn’t see?
When Timothy’s voice had sounded so tormented, so filled with sorrow, Philip’s knees had almost buckled.
Help me, he’d said and then, far more ominously, help them.
Philip had watched in helpless despair as both Timothy and Selina had grown weaker and weaker before his eyes.
His heart had pounded painfully as he’d desperately checked Timothy over, but Selina had spoken the truth. The boy lay in peaceful repose even now.
But Selina.
His eyes darted between Mrs. Healy and Selina’s shockingly pale complexion.
The last time she’d done this, she’d been drawn and her head had ached, he knew.
But this? This was so much worse. There wasn’t so much as a flutter from the eyelashes that lay long and dark against her pale cheeks.
He was worried sick about her, yet a small part of him was shocked by how right she felt in his arms. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
Perhaps he’d be able to mull that over if he wasn’t so scared for her.
“What’s wrong with her?” he demanded now of Mrs. Healy, who reached out and placed a wrinkled hand against Selina’s forehead. “Should I call for the doctor?”
The old woman watched Selina’s face intently for a moment before shaking her head.
“She doesn’t need a doctor,” she finally said, much to Philip’s relief. He had no idea why he trusted Mrs. Healy’s word so implicitly, but he did. “Perhaps some sustenance for when she wakes.”
He glanced over at the cluster of servants that were witnessing the spectacle, faces agog. Only Mrs. Leary’s face still held unfettered antagonism.
What the hell was wrong with the woman? Philip wondered angrily. She must have seen, they must have all seen, what had happened in here. And what it had done to Selina.
“But –“
Mrs. Healy’s softly spoken word dragged Philip’s attention back to her and though he would have said it was impossible, his sense of foreboding grew.
“But what?” he asked.
She looked up at him and shrugged, suddenly seeming frail and even older. “This spirit. It’s strong. The torment, the pain – it can make things very difficult. For Selina.”
Philip’s heart stopped dead in his chest.
“Difficult?” he repeated past suddenly parched lips. “You mean – dangerous?”
Mrs. Healy sighed and turned a pointed stare to the servants before dropping her eyes on
ce more to Selina’s unconscious body.
Philip immediately followed the lady’s thoughts.
“Leave us,” he instructed hastily. “One of you bring a tray to Miss Lee’s room.”
“Will Timothy be well? By himself?” Philip asked Mrs. Healy.
“He will. And we’ll be right next door,” Mrs. Healy said before turning and leaving the room, giving Philip little choice but to follow.
He entered Selina’s bedchamber and moved to lay her gently on the bed.
She stirred slightly as her head met the pillow, and Philip could have wept with relief.
He reached up and smoothed a chocolate brown lock from her brow.
“I shouldn’t have left them alone,” he said softly as his eyes raked her face.
Was some colour returning to her cheeks or was that wishful thinking?
“She told you to,” Mrs. Healy answered stoutly.
“But I should have been there,” he argued, spinning to face the woman.
Her eye-roll told him better than anything else could have that she found him wanting.
“To do what, exactly?” she asked now, her tone dripping with scepticism.
“I don’t know,” he answered defensively, not unlike Timmy when he was in trouble with one of his tutors.
“Hmph.”
Philip decided to ignore Mrs. Healy’s disdain in favour of finding out what she’d alluded to in Timmy’s room.
“Mrs. Healy,” he began hesitantly. “This – whatever it is. What is it doing to her?”
Mrs. Healy’s sigh seemed to come from her soul.
“Why don’t we sit?” she said, taking a seat at the small table and waiting for Philip to take the other.
“Selina is – special,” Mrs. Healy began. “She is the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter, Lord Breton. That makes her powerful beyond what you, or even I, can fully comprehend.”
“I don’t understand—“ Philip began.
“No, I don’t suppose you do. There are ways and customs, gypsy ways and customs, that you wouldn’t understand. Not unless Selina wanted you to. And even then, unless you’re born to it…” She shrugged as though she’d said enough on the subject.
The Wicked One Page 7