The Wrong Girl

by CJ Archer

  ***

  Training began immediately after luncheon. Jack took me to a room on the first floor that had a horribly familiar furnishing arrangement. It was bare except for a table, two chairs and a lot of woolen rugs and hangings covering every inch of wood. Three pails of water stood near the fireplace as they did in every attic room at Windamere. It was the strangest thing to be in a similar room at another house that it quite took my breath away.

  "I'm sorry it's not more comfortable," Jack said.

  "That's all right. But why the caution here? My bedroom isn't set up like this, nor are the parlor or other rooms. You're not afraid I'll set those alight?"

  "I didn't want you to suffer the indignity of stark conditions everywhere you went, so I told Sylvia we're not to upset you. If we appease you, then everything should be fine."

  It was like listening to only half a conversation. "I don't understand. Appease me?"

  "Keep you calm. Not make you angry." He looked at me askance. "You do understand what I'm saying, don't you? I know you can't control it, but you do realize that your talent is linked to your temper?"

  I toyed with the idea of agreeing with him, and saying nothing, but I decided a little bit of the truth would lend credence to the lie I was living. "Are you saying that your ability to set things on fire comes about when you're angry?"

  "Of course. But I can control my temper." He frowned. "Yours has a different trigger?"

  "It's brought on by fear. Grave fear. For my loved ones." The choker at my throat suddenly felt too tight, and I stretched my neck, but it did little to relieve the constriction. I'd thought lying would be easy, but I suddenly felt as if Jack knew my every thought. Those green eyes drilled into me, and I eventually had to sit down and avoid his gaze altogether. If I hadn't, I may have found myself telling him everything.

  "Jack, forgive me, but...you seem to know very little about this affliction," I said, rather boldly considering my weakened knees and racing heart.

  "It's not an affliction. Don't ever call it that, Violet, or people will see you as a candidate for the asylum." He sat in the other chair without taking his eyes off me. "Fear, you say. Fear for your loved ones. But...that doesn't quite make sense. Firstly, I thought you had no loved ones at Windamere."

  "I had a companion."

  He nodded slowly. "I saw her with you on your walks. Hannah Smith, isn't it?"

  Hearing him say my name for the first time shook me to the core. "You've not answered my question," I said.

  "You're right. I know only my own case. I'd assumed yours was exactly the same."

  "How did you—we—get this way?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know. I've been like this for as long as I can remember, so I suppose I was born with it. You?"

  "The same. Do you know anyone else who can set things alight?"

  "No." He shook his head slowly. "I admit I don't understand why it's only you and I."

  "How did you become aware that Lady Violet Jamieson was like you? Considering I've been locked away for so long, it could hardly have been local gossip. Not even the servants knew."

  "Are you sure they didn't? If you had servants attending your rooms at all, then they would have seen the burn marks and formed a conclusion of their own."

  "Yes, but the right conclusion? That is rather a big leap to take, don't you think?"

  Another shrug, but he made no further comment.

  "So was it gossip that made you aware of me?"

  His gaze shifted away. "August told me about you."

  "Your uncle? How did he learn of my existence?"

  "I don't know. He wouldn't say."

  "I see. When did he tell you?"

  A brief smile touched his lips. "The day before I came to Windamere as a new gardener. I couldn't start quickly enough once I heard."

  "You were that eager to spy on me?"

  "Of course. I thought I was the only one like this. I thought I was alone." He raised his gaze to mine, and heat shimmered down my body all the way to my toes. "Do you know how relieved I was to find out about you? How happy?" He gave me a grim smile. "Yes, I suppose you do."

  My breath came in shallow bursts so that my next words came out as a whisper. "But you weren't alone. You had your uncle and Sylvia."

  "It's not the same."

  "Isn't it?" I was genuinely curious. Is that how Vi felt? All alone despite having me for company? It explained her melancholy and all those forlorn gazes out the window.

  "Not nearly the same." His murmur vibrated through me. He spoke as if I were the only person in the entire world who could ever understand him, and that was a heady, thrilling thing. To be cherished by such an enigmatic, handsome man would make any woman giddy.

  I could not let it affect me. I was all too aware that I was not the one who understood him. It was Vi. She deserved his attentions, not me. I felt quite terrible that I was responsible for keeping them apart, in a way, yet I felt even more terrible at the jealousy brewing inside me. A very big part of me wanted to keep this man to myself.

  "So," I said in an attempt to shatter the thick silence that had enveloped us. "You said your uncle told you about me."

  "He did." He shifted in the chair, stretching out his long legs to the side, away from me. The movement did indeed break the last remaining strain of tension, but it was unfortunately replaced with awkwardness.

  "It's odd that you and I live in the same county as one another," I said.

  "Is it?"

  "And that there are none others like us in all of England."

  "Isn't there? There may be, but we may not be aware of them yet."

  "Surely you would have heard."

  "I'd not heard of you two weeks ago."

  "Your uncle had."

  He lifted one shoulder. "I'd wager there are a great many things in this world that exist, but nobody knows about them."

  "Like what?"

  "Spirits, for one thing."

  "Ghosts?" I scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Ghosts don't exist."

  "If you say so." He stood suddenly. "We ought to begin."

  "I have more questions."

  "I thought you might." He winked. "Try saving them until later when we have more time."

  "But I'd like to ask them now."

  "Lady Violet, I do believe you're stalling."

  I crossed my arms and tried not to let him see that he was right. "Very well. Let's begin. What should I do?"

  He put his hands on his hips and studied me. "We begin with you answering some questions. I need to understand your talent better. If there are more differences between us than the trigger then I may need to change my methods. Tell me, where do you feel hottest?"

  "Whatever do you mean?"

  "Your fingers, your feet, or inside you?"

  "I don't know. I've never really thought about it."

  "Think about it now."

  I shrugged. "I couldn't really say right now."

  "Do you feel it coming on?"

  "Coming on?"

  "Like a wave, a surge through your body."

  "Yes," I lied. I thought it best to agree with his own symptoms since Vi had never confided in me about hers.

  "And you can't stop it from bursting out of you?"

  "You already know I can't."

  "Have you ever tried?"

  "Tried?"

  "Have you tried to control your fear? For me, it's a matter of dampening my temper, but for you, it'll be overcoming your fear since that's what you think is your trigger. You could try breathing exercises or counting backwards whenever you feel scared."

  "I can't say I've ever tried to quell my fears like that."

  "Shall we attempt to now?"

  "Counting backwards? You're beginning to sound like Miss Levine. Will I receive a rap across the knuckles if I falter?"

  "Will that induce enough fear to set off the sparks?"

  I gave him a withering glare, and he gave me that now familiar almost-smile.

  "You're right
," he said. "There's no point in doing breathing exercises if we don't first study how it's triggered."

  "Are you going to leap out from behind a cupboard and shout 'Boo'?"

  He didn't even laugh at that, although I couldn't help smirking. I'd be checking around corners for the next five weeks.

  "You don't strike me as the fearful sort." He continued to look at me, twisting his mouth in thought as he studied me. "It's very odd that your talent would be triggered in that manner when it's not something you appear to suffer from overmuch. Besides, you must have been afraid when I abducted you, yet nothing happened."

  "You drugged me! And anyway, how do you know it's odd? For all we know, you may be the odd one and everyone else with our afflic—talent—has the same trigger as me."

  "You may be right. The question still stands—how am I going to frighten you?"

  "You could get Bollard to chase me with a shovel again." My joke fell flat, and I shuddered at the memory of stumbling across the mute in the woods.

  Jack was at my side in an instant. He touched my hands, and sparks zapped between us. I felt a shock through to my bones. It was as if every part of me had been struck by lightning and even after he drew back, my nerves continued to sizzle.

  He stood and shook out his hands. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

  I expected to see burns on his hands, but they appeared perfectly fine. As did mine. They did, however, feel hot. Indeed, I felt hot all over. I removed the choker from around my neck, but it did little to alleviate my discomfort.

  "Why did that happen?" I asked. "I thought you only started fires when you were angry."

  He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and turned away.

  "You touched me when you kidnapped me, yet that didn't happen," I said, talking more to myself than him. I didn't expect an explanation and nor did he offer one.

  He made a great fuss with the pails, kicking them gently and watching the water ripple on the surface.

  I studied my palms again. They were still hot, as was the rest of me, but they no longer tingled. Remarkable. "There seems to be so much that we don't know about this. Jack, I must ask...what makes you think I can be trained at all?"

  He stopped kicking the buckets and knelt on one knee in front of me. There was resignation in his eyes, and a deep sadness, but I did not touch him like I wanted to. "We have to try, Violet." His voice was smooth and chocolaty thick. Despite my confusion and uncertainty, it instantly lifted my spirits. "Otherwise you'll be a prisoner for the rest of your life. Now." He stood again and removed his waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves.

  "Jack!" I shielded my eyes with my hand, but peeked through the fingers. "I may have lived a sheltered life, but I do know undressing in company is not appropriate."

  "To hell with propriety. I'm boiling inside."

  I quite understood, and I thanked God that I wasn't wearing a corset and had chosen a light dress for the day. "If you're trying to frighten me, it's not working."

  He laughed. "I'm not trying to frighten you. Not yet. Let's begin with some breathing exercises you can employ for when you're feeling afraid."