by Monica Burns
“Constance.” The rough edge to his voice brushed over her. “Damnation, woman, answer me.”
“Good God, what the devil is wrong with her?” Edward’s voice was easy to make out and she shuddered at his close proximity.
He had died. She’d seen Edward Rawlings die. No. It had to be someone else. The man in her vision had been much younger. There had to be some other reason she’d witnessed this scene. She drank in a sharp breath of air as her eyes fluttered open, and she stared up into Lucien’s cerulean blue eyes. A flash of emotion flared in his gaze before he replaced it with a calm detachment.
“Are you all right, Lady Westbury?”
Aware that she needed to explain her sudden incapacitation, she raised a hand to her brow in a confused gesture. “I’m sorry. I must have fainted for a moment. It happens to me sometimes. The doctors never have been able to explain it.”
Still caught tightly against Lucien, she absorbed the heat of his body. As she lowered her hand, it came to rest on his shoulder, and she waited for him to release her. He did so immediately, but his withdrawal was slow—almost reluctant. She sucked in a quick breath as she realized she didn’t want him to let her go. For a fraction of a second, his fingers tightened against her waist, and his eyes narrowed with a flash of emotion that sent a rush of excitement through her.
“Are you certain you’re all right, dear lady?”
Edward Rawlings’s voice broke the tenuous connection between her and Lucien as she moved out of his arms. Smoothing the material of her skirts, she turned toward the older gentleman and smiled. “Yes, I’m fine. I apologize for troubling each of you.”
“Nonsense,” Major Fenwick scoffed gently. “You have nothing to apologize for. We’re simply delighted that you’re all right.”
“Yes, Duncan is right. You have no need to apologize.” Lucien’s breath warmed the bare skin of her shoulder. It was a reminder of how close he still was to her.
She avoided looking at him for fear her face would reveal the sudden need skimming through her body. The need for his touch was so strong she was certain everyone could see it in her expression. As Jacobs coughed quietly in the library doorway and announced supper, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Edward Rawlings quickly stepped forward and offered her his arm. “If you feel up to joining us for supper, my lady, I would be delighted to take you into the dining room.”
The older man’s pleasant expression made her falter slightly. The resemblance was so startling, and yet she knew the man in her vision couldn’t have been Edward Rawlings. None of it made sense. She shivered. Whose death had she just witnessed? Only time would answer that question. Accepting Rawlings’s arm, she forced a smile to her lips and allowed him to escort her to the dining room.
With supper finished the small party moved to the salon. As he entered the room, Lucien saw Constance bend solicitously over his grandmother.
“Are you well, my lady?” she asked with a gentle touch of the dowager’s blue-veined hand. “Would you like me to have Jacobs bring you a cup of tea?”
With a wave of her hand, Aurora frowned. “Thank you, no, Lady Westbury. I’m a little tired this evening, but I was hoping I could persuade you to play the piano for me. I love music, and we so seldom entertain.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t play the piano, my lady. That talent was reserved for my oldest brother, Sebastian.”
“Good Lord,” Aurora exclaimed. “Do you mean to tell me you didn’t learn how to play the piano? Every woman of good breeding knows how to at least stroke the keys of the blasted thing.”
“I’m afraid I banged on the keys too loudly for Sebastian, and he bought me a violin instead. I’m sure there were times when he deeply regretted that act, but I have a passable talent for the instrument, it seems.”
Her dry note of humor forced Lucien to bite back a smile. Why did he think there had been moments when she’d deliberately played badly?
“I want to hear you play.” The command in Aurora’s voice said the dowager refused to take no for an answer.
“Oh, but—”
“Not another word. Is the instrument in your room?” Aurora vigorously rang the bell she always kept on the table beside her. Constance nodded as Jacobs hurried into the room. “Jacobs, send someone up to Lady Westbury’s room to retrieve her violin.”
Armed with instructions, the butler left the room as the gentlemen joined her and Lady Lyndham in the salon. Seeing Jacobs scurrying out of the room, Mr. Rawlings grinned as he approached the older woman.
“It appears Jacobs is on another mission. What have you sent him to do this time, Aurora?”
“I sent him to fetch Lady Westbury’s violin. I wanted to hear some music this evening, and she doesn’t play the piano. However, she apparently knows how to play the violin.”
“The violin?” Major Fenwick smiled at her. “It’s one of my favorite instruments.”
“How can you have a favorite instrument when you’re tone deaf?” Lucien snapped.
Grinning, Duncan shook his head. “It never pays to covet the talents of others, Lucien.”
With a grunt of disgust, Lucien turned away from his friend and walked to the sidebar. He’d been drinking more than usual tonight, but it eased the pain inside him. All during the evening meal, he’d been witness to Duncan’s and Edward’s flirtations with Constance. With each passing course of the meal, his mood had darkened as he battled with the demons clamoring at his doorstep.
Brandy splashed into a crystal snifter. One glance at the amount in the glass convinced him to double the quantity. He poured it down his throat in a long gulp. A strong hand settled on his shoulder, and he turned his head to see Edward eyeing him with an intent look.
“What the devil are you doing? I’ve not seen you drink this much since Nigel—in years.”
“Leave me alone, Edward.”
“I’d be happy to, my dear boy, but I’m afraid you’re forgetting that Duncan is flirting with your lovely Lady Westbury.”
Anger lashed through him as he shot a quick look over his shoulder to where Duncan and Constance were standing at the piano, their heads close together as they discussed what music she would perform. It made him crave another drink. He reached for the decanter, but Edward’s hand fell on his wrist.
“Don’t be an ass, Lucien. If you want to drive the woman away from you, you’re doing an exceptional job.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered as he shook off Edward’s light touch. But he refrained from picking up the decanter.
“No? Then I’ll tell you. If it were possible, Duncan and I would have died a thousand deaths tonight from the looks we received from you at the supper table.”
Despite the knowledge that Edward was right, he glared at the older man. “If my looks made you uncomfortable, then perhaps you’re feeling a touch guilty at flirting with a woman half your age.”
His dangerous snarl made Rawlings shake his head in disgust. “I enjoy Lady Westbury’s company. And I think you would too, if you’d forget this ridiculous curse and savor life. Both of us know how short it can be.”
With that, Edward walked away from him. Turning around, he surveyed the scene in front of him. Duncan said something witty as he sat in a nearby chair. The remark pulled a laugh from Constance as she tucked her violin under her chin. He ached with jealousy that he’d not been the one to amuse her. Aurora and Edward, seated next to each other, offered her their full attention as with a smile she pulled the bow across the violin strings.
Watching Constance move as she played the violin was excruciating. There was so much passion in her movements it was almost unbearable to watch. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her up to his bedroom where he’d make love to her repeatedly throughout the night.
The need to do so snarled deep in his soul and possessed him with the fury of a wild animal. B
itterly, he fought down the raging beast inside him that was growing more powerful every day. His craving for the woman was quickly becoming unmanageable. If he lost control of his desire for her, God only knew what he was capable of doing. And looking to God served no purpose, for God had abandoned the Blakemores to their curse a long time ago. With a muffled noise of frustration, he stormed from the room, uncaring of what anyone thought of his abrupt departure.
Chapter Seven
Constance crossed the floor of her bedroom to look out over the keep’s gardens. Splashes of varying hues of pink, red and yellow dotted the flowerbeds, while the trees swayed gently in the soft breeze. Today promised to be a glorious day. Even through the windowpanes she could feel the sun warming the air outside. It was perfect for an afternoon picnic, something she’d promised Jamie several days ago when he and Imogene had returned to the house after playing in the garden.
A lone figure on horseback streaking across the pasture in the distance made her heart skip a beat as she tried to make out the rider. She sighed with frustration as she accepted the fact it wasn’t Lucien. It had been more than a month since the dinner party and his abrupt departure from the salon.
The memory of that morning in the library returned to haunt her, and heat flushed her skin at the manner in which she’d seduced Lucien—pleasured him. There had been little doubt that she’d pleased him, but the awkwardness that followed had made her wish she’d never come to Lyndham Keep.
Despite his reassurance he’d found her adventurous touch enjoyable, she still experienced doubt over her impulsive behavior. What on earth had possessed her to even contemplate performing such an intimate act on him? The erotic papyrus text of the Mystical Rites of Isis had been little more than a flicker in her head one minute, and in the next she was pleasuring him with an act she was certain no woman of society would know about. It was certainly nothing she and Graham had ever discussed, let alone done in the privacy of their bedroom.
Oddly enough, the thought of doing such an act with anyone else but Lucien made her flinch. For some strange reason, when she’d kissed and stroked him so intimately, it had seemed perfectly natural. Her fingertips touched her mouth at the memory.
Had he really found her actions acceptable? It was hard to believe given his quick departure the next morning. He’d left for London at the break of dawn without even saying goodbye to his grandmother or Imogene. She found that surprising because she’d seen how fond he was of the dowager countess.
When she’d heard he was gone, she’d experienced a mixture of relief and disappointment. She had hoped his absence would make matters easier for her, but she’d been wrong. With each passing day, she found herself listening for his voice or his footsteps in the main hall.
Irritated she was even thinking about the man, she grimaced and shook her head. Even Nigel’s spirit had decided to remain silent during Lucien’s absence. Now she regretted her decision to help solve the mystery surrounding Lucien and his family.
There was still little to glean from the visions she had. Everything was a crazy patchwork of clues. She’d tried for days to piece them together in a coherent fashion and had failed. Exasperated with her train of thought, she knew the best way to solve the riddle was to let it go and simply focus on something else. Determined to do just that, she left her room and went downstairs to resume her daily task of cataloging the antiquities in the library. On her way she stopped in at the kitchen to arrange for a lunch basket for an afternoon picnic.
The morning passed quickly as she immersed herself in deciphering two bas-reliefs she’d had several of the footmen remove from their crates the day before. Lost in beauty of the intricate detail of the artwork, she jumped violently when a hand touched her shoulder. Whirling around, she stared into Lady Lyndham’s amused expression.
“Forgive me, my dear, but I did try to capture your attention several times.” She smiled. “The only other person I know who can become so absorbed in these artifacts is my grandson.”
Still recovering from the surprise of the dowager countess’s appearance, Constance simply nodded her understanding as her heartbeat escalated at the mention of Lucien. Laying her tools on the workbench, she dusted off her hands.
“Forgive me, my lady. I often lose track of time and place when I’m working.”
“That is plainly evident.” The old woman smiled broadly. It lightened her aged face considerably. “However, I have two young scamps eager to go on a picnic, which they tell me you’ve arranged.”
Glancing at the watch pinned to her dress, Constance grimaced. “I completely forgot the time. I’ll come straight away.”
With a nod of her white head, the dowager countess headed toward the door before coming to a sudden halt. As the elderly lady stopped, Constance saw the mist forming next to her. The figure shimmered in the air next to Lady Lyndham, and Constance suppressed a gasp as she recognized the man she’d seen in her vision the night of the dinner party.
Even though she was elderly, Lady Lyndham’s hearing was excellent and she turned her head sharply toward Constance. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
Not about to lie to the woman, she nodded. “Yes, my lady.”
A look of sorrow touched the ghost’s face as he reached out to touch the dowager countess’s shoulder. As his hand brushed against her, Lady Lyndham uttered a soft cry.
“William? Is that you, my love?”
The man nodded his head at Lady Lyndham’s tremulous query as he once again tried to touch the woman’s cheek. The intensity of love on his features was painful to watch as Lady Lyndham closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the invisible energy of the ghost.
Watching their silent interaction, Constance bit back tears at the love and pain on both their faces. The ghost turned his head toward her, the silent plea in his gaze heart wrenching. Quickly, she shook her head no. How could she explain to Lady Lyndham that the man she’d called out to was standing next to her?
“William, please. Give me a sign that it’s you. Please my love. I miss you so much.” The heartfelt plea nearly broke Constance’s heart as the dowager countess touched her cheek, her hand brushing through the spirit’s shimmering shape.
Once more the ghost looked in Constance’s direction, his gaze now an autocratic demand. She recognized the expression as one she’d seen on Lucien’s face on more than one occasion. Her decision made, she inhaled a quick breath then released it in a soft whoosh.
“He’s here, my lady,” she said quietly. “He’s standing right next to you.”
The dowager countess turned her head sharply to meet Constance’s steady gaze. “You can see him?”
“Yes, my lady.” She nodded slowly as the older woman’s face filled with hope and disbelief.
“Then describe him to me,” Aurora demanded hoarsely. “And take care with your words, Lady Westbury. I will know if you’re lying.”
Swallowing the sudden wave of fear that swept over her, Constance squared her shoulders. “He’s taller than you, my lady. Tall and lithe in form. His hair is dark, like the color of coal. I believe he has brown eyes, although it’s difficult to tell.”
“You could be describing any number of men, Lady Westbury,” Aurora snapped. “Tell me something specific. Can’t you talk to him?”
“I’m sorry, my lady, he’s not strong enough to communicate that way.” Constance spread her hands helplessly at her inability to give the woman what she wanted to hear.
“Of course not,” Aurora sneered. “Why would he when we both know ghosts aren’t real?”
The ghost’s face grew angry as he wagged his finger at the elderly lady. Despite his inability for anyone to hear him, he was arguing with her fiercely. With a glare at Constance, he grimaced with frustration as she shook her head in confusion. The ghost’s ire grew as he desperately looked around for something.
An expression of satisfaction settled
on his face as he floated across the room and pointed to a bootjack beside the French door leading outside. Confused, she shook her head.
“I don’t understand.”
“What are you babbling about, Lady Westbury?” The cold anger in Lady Lyndham’s voice sent a chill through Constance.
She recognized that note of disdain and disbelief. She’d heard it often enough when people had learned about her gift. Befuddled by the ghost’s behavior, she heaved a vexed sigh as the ghost moved to a statue of Alexander’s horse, Bucephalus. With an apologetic grimace, the spirit pointed to the rear of the horse. Thoroughly confused, Constance shook her head.
“What are you trying to say?”
The ghost pointed at the bootjack and then the rear of the horse repeatedly before pointing to Lady Lyndham. Baffled by what the spirit was trying to say, she met the older woman’s cold gaze.
“He’s pointing to the bootjack and then the horse, my lady. Do either of these mean anything to you?”
“Certainly not.” The old woman turned away and started to walk out of the room, her cane beating a sharp tap of anger against the floor. “In fact, I’ve grown weary of all your posturing, Lady Westbury. You obviously take me for a fool.”
At that moment, a tingling sensation tickled her throat. Thinking she was about to cough, she raised her hand, but not quickly enough. “Jackass.”
Horrified, she clamped her hand over her mouth as the dowager countess came to an abrupt halt before slowly turning around to face her. Constance shook her head with dismay.
“I’m terribly sorry, my lady. Please forgive me. I don’t know what prompted me to say such a thing.”
“William.” Heartfelt emotion filled the single word as Lady Lyndham closed her eyes and a small smile tilted the corners of her mouth.
Turning toward the ghost, Constance saw him return to the dowager countess’s side, an expression of satisfaction on his transparent features. Tenderly, William reached out to brush his fingertips across Lady Lyndham’s face, and her smile brightened.