Dangerous

by Monica Burns

Damnation, it couldn’t be Nigel. Striding through the back hall, he stepped out into the stable yard. He needed to clear his head, and the best way to do that was a hard ride across the estate. Perhaps the fresh air would provide him with a logical answer to all of this hocus pocus nonsense.

  Constance sat in front of the fire, sipping on the tea Anna had brought her more than an hour ago. Breakfast, then lunch, had come and gone without her feeling the least bit hungry. The plate of cold meats on the tea tray remained covered and untouched.

  It had been an effort simply to dress this morning, but she’d done so, sitting in front of the fire for most of the day. Occasionally she’d dozed off, only to wake from the nightmares that haunted her brief naps. Images from last night that made her heart ache all the more when she awoke.

  The sudden intrusion of giggling and snorts of laughter in the hallway broke through her numbness. Recognizing her son’s voice, she rose from her chair and crossed the room to open the door. Both Jamie and Imogene were only a few feet past her door as she poked her head out into the hall.

  Heads together like conspirators, they were covered in dust and spider webs. Startled by their appearance, she gasped in dismay. Immediately the pair spun around to face her, guilt clearly evident on Imogene’s face while Jamie quickly schooled his features into a cheerful expression of innocence.

  “Where in heaven’s name have the two of you been?” She gestured for them to enter her room, and with obvious reluctance the two of them did as she bid. As she closed the door behind them, she caught Jamie by the shoulder to hold him still as she tried to dust him off.

  “Well, young man, you haven’t answered my question,” she said as she shifted her attention to Imogene’s dust-covered dress.

  When he didn’t answer, she turned her head to look at him. The expression on her son’s face immediately told her he’d been up to something. She arched an eyebrow and sent him a stern look as she planted her hands on her hips.

  Dropping his head to avoid her questioning look, Jamie scuffed his shoe against the large floral rug covering most of the floor. When he didn’t answer her, she turned a stern eye on Imogene who was standing quietly beside her friend. Despite being older, the girl always followed Jamie’s lead.

  “Imogene, why don’t you tell me what the two of you have been up to.”

  The girl sent a sideways glance toward Jamie then dipped her head. “We were playing.”

  Not surprised, Constance frowned in puzzlement. “Yes, but where were you playing?”

  “In the secret—” Imogene’s words came to an abrupt halt as Jamie elbowed her in the ribs.

  “James Percival Athelson, you will apologize at once for hitting Imogene.” Appalled at his behavior, she glared at him.

  “I’m sorry, Gene,” he mumbled.

  “And when did you start calling her Gene?” Constance exclaimed.

  “She doesn’t mind, Mother, do you, Gene?”

  Imogene shook her head. “No, my lady, I like it.”

  “Well, I doubt your uncle or grandmother would approve. It’s inappropriate. Jamie, in the future, you will address Imogene by her full name, is that understood?” At her firm tone, Jamie grimaced with displeasure but nodded.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a nod at her son before smiling at Imogene. “Now where is this secret hideaway where the two of you were playing?”

  Almost without thinking, Imogene grinned. “It’s the labyrinth. We found it a couple of weeks ago.”

  The words sent a chill through Constance as Jamie groaned loudly.

  “Awww, Gene—” He pulled a face as he sent Constance a quick glance. “Imogene, why did you have to go and tell her that? Now she’ll make us show it to her.”

  “Do you mean to tell me the two of you have been traipsing around in dark tunnels for the past two weeks without telling anyone where you were?” She gasped in horror at the possibility they might have gotten hurt. “What if something had happened to you while you were playing? No one would know where you were.”

  The children stared up at her with an expression of first surprise and then guilt. Satisfied they were suitably chastened, she shook her head. “You’re not to go back into this labyrinth—”

  “But Mother—”

  “No, Jamie. You’re not to go back into it again. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Jamie said with a deep sigh.

  When she swung her gaze to Imogene, the girl nodded her agreement as well. The labyrinth. They’d found it, which meant that if the labyrinth existed then the Seth statue might exist as well.

  “How do you get into this labyrinth?” Eyeing her son sternly, she watched him hesitate before straightening his shoulders.

  “I found the hidden doorway in the library, Mother. It’s part of the bookcase.”

  “Then how did you get up here?” She stared at him in puzzlement as she remembered how she’d caught them passing her bedroom door.

  “We found an exit in Uncle Lucien’s room.” Imogene’s words tugged a gasp of surprise from Constance’s lips.

  “Good Lord,” she muttered. “I can’t believe the two of you didn’t think to tell someone what you found.”

  “Well we did, Mother.”

  “Whoever you told, obviously didn’t think to order you to stay out of those tunnels,” she snapped. “Who did you tell?”

  Jamie grimaced as he averted his gaze again. Beside him, Imogene frowned as she took his hand and squeezed it. Then looking up at Constance, she lifted her chin to a defiant angle.

  “We told my Papa. I know you told Jamie not to talk to my Papa, but I made him. I told him I wouldn’t be his friend anymore if he didn’t tell me what my Papa was saying.”

  With a sigh, Constance looked at her son as he stared down at the floor. Obviously he’d tried to do as she’d ordered, but when faced with losing his friend, he’d chosen to do as Imogene bid. She understood all to well the desire to hold on to his friendship with the young girl.

  As for Nigel—the next time he made an appearance, she was going to give him an earful. The most important thing at the moment was to ensure the children didn’t reenter the labyrinth. She would have to tell Lucien, but now wasn’t exactly the right moment.

  “Tomorrow, you’re going to show me where this secret door is, and neither of you are to enter the labyrinth again. Is that understood?”

  Both children bobbed their heads as if they’d just received a last-hour reprieve. For the first time that day, a smile tugged at her lips. A quiet knock on the door made all three of them jump nervously.

  Opening the door, she greeted Anna who stood in the hallway. With a smile, the young maid curtseyed. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but his lordship asked me to bring you this straight away.”

  The chill washing over her at the sight of the envelope made her shiver as she stiffly accepted the note. As Anna walked away, heated whispers and scuffling caught her attention from behind. Her gaze pinned on the bold writing across the face of the envelope, she barely glanced over her shoulder at the children.

  “I want both of you to go to the nursery, and ask Nanny to help you get into some clean clothes.”

  The chorus of obedience echoed softly in the room, and as they passed by her into the hall, Jamie stopped at her side. With one hand on her wrist, he stared up at her. “Are you feeling ill, Mother? You look very pale.”

  “I’m fine, Jamie.” Forcing a smile to her lips, she gave him a gentle shove out the door. “Go on now, and remember what I said.”

  Closing the door behind them, she stared down at the note in her hand. Afraid to open it, she moved to the vanity and sank down onto the small stool. With mixed emotions, she laid the missive on the dressing table, her fingers smoothing across the fine linen envelope in an abstract gesture. She stared at the note for several minute
s before she drew in a deep breath, exhaled it with sharp resignation and reached for the envelope. She tore it open and pulled out the single, folded sheet.

  Lady Westbury,

  It seems we are at an impasse. While I remain unconvinced about your dubious claim, my grandmother has interceded on your behalf. If you are amenable to the suggestion, I request that you continue cataloging my antiquities collection. Your skill and knowledge in the field of Egyptology is the one, singular truth, which I cannot deny.

  Lyndham

  For a moment, she simply sat there, a tremor running through her. He wasn’t sending her away. The relief and joy warming her blood made her wince. The man had used her for his own pleasure, labeled her a liar and yet she was behaving as though he’d just given her the world by asking her to stay.

  She shook her head. What a fool she was. If she had any pride at all, she’d pack her possessions and run as fast and as far from Lyndham Keep as she could. But she didn’t have any pride where Lucien was concerned. With a sigh, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  What had made him reconsider? Not the dowager countess. She could be quite persuasive, but while Lucien might on occasion indulge his grandmother by giving in to her whims, it was unlikely he would do so in this matter. She read through the words one more time.

  He still thought she was lying, but he couldn’t prove it. That’s why he wasn’t sending her away. The man was plotting something. He was going to try to trick her into confessing she was a liar. The paper rustled loudly as she crumpled it in her fist. God, she didn’t know whether to be furious with him or grateful she didn’t have to leave. She hated feeling this way. Hated being at odds with him.

  A soft chime sounded behind her, and she turned to look at the clock. Supper was in little over an hour, and she’d hidden long enough. She would have to face him sooner or later. Better to do it at supper with Lady Lyndham as a buffer than alone. Looking at herself in the mirror, she grimaced.

  If she arrived downstairs looking like this, Lucien was going to view her washed-out appearance as that of a guilty party. Well, she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. She might not be able to make him believe she wasn’t a charlatan, but she didn’t have to look the part of someone ashamed of who they were. She had no control over her gift, but she could conduct herself with dignity and grace in spite of his angry accusations.

  She was tired of feeling ashamed of her ability. Tired of walking in the shadows for fear of being ostracized or viewed as a madwoman. It was time she stopped feeling ashamed of her gift. And that’s what it was—it was a gift. She had the ability to help others. It might be unorthodox and unusual, but it was a talent few others possessed. And she used it for good.

  Lucien might label her a charlatan, but she knew better. She was through believing as others did that her talent was a curse or a ruse. Springing to her feet, she crossed the floor to the wardrobe. Quickly searching through her evening gowns, she reached for a dress she’d never worn before. As she pulled the satin garment from the large chest, she smiled. Tonight the Earl of Blakemore was about to discover that a Rockwood never admitted defeat.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sonorous chime of the grandfather clock in the main hall had just sounded the quarter hour as Constance slowly descended the staircase. Her earlier bravado was beginning to fade as the time to face Lucien drew imminent. Worse still was her choice of dress. It was the first time she’d worn the gown and with good reason.

  It might not be scandalous in Paris, but in England she’d known it would be viewed as outrageous. None of that had occurred to her when she’d seen it in Worth’s showroom. All she knew was that she had to have the crimson gown. Swallowing hard, she relaxed slightly as she heard Edward Rawlings and Major Fenwick conversing jovially in the salon.

  There were other voices floating out into the hallway, but she couldn’t place them, although the woman’s voice sounded familiar. She was two steps from the bottom of the stairs, when Lucien emerged from the salon calling for Jacobs. His cry died on his lips as he saw her.

  The sight of him made her heart slam into her chest. He’d dressed more formally for the evening, and tonight he was more devastating than she’d ever seen him before. The crisp white collar of his shirt was a stark contrast to the black tie at the base of his throat.

  His dark hair was swept back without the aid of any oils, and the piercing blue of his eyes swept over her with a look she couldn’t decipher. Tension tightened the scar on his cheek, and she sucked in a sharp breath at the raw, untamed masculine power he exuded. The force of it sent a wicked flame of desire skimming through her blood until it heated every part of her body.

  Dear Lord, the man had only to crook his finger and she would willingly submit herself to whatever torture or pleasure he desired. Afraid to speak, she remained frozen on the stairs. For a long moment, he did nothing but stare at her before he stepped forward to offer her his hand.

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second before sliding her glove-encased palm against his. The connection was sharp and electric, and Lucien struggled not to pull her into his arms as she descended the remaining stairs to the hall floor. It was impossible to believe any other woman could ever compare to her voluptuous beauty.

  The dark red dress she wore was the most seductive gown he’d ever seen. Not even when she’d been dressed as Isis had she looked so tempting. With only two straps of material embracing her upper arms to substitute as sleeves, her shoulders were completely bare. The gown’s bodice was so low as to be almost indecent, while the large velvet bow at the valley of her breasts served as a soft edging that failed in any attempt to hide her attributes.

  The gown was a bold announcement of her knowledge that she was alluring, a siren capable of seducing any man with only one look. Swallowing hard, he raised her hand to his mouth. Through the silk of her evening glove, the warmth of her heated his skin.

  “If you thought to convince me of your allure this evening, you’ve succeeded.”

  “Since you are a man I cannot easily convince of anything, I must credit Monsieur Worth for this particular miracle.” Beneath her sarcasm, there was a trace of pained disappointment that tugged at him. As she tried to pull her hand from his, he tightened his grasp, refusing to release her.

  “The dressmaker can make the gown, but not the woman inside it.” It was the best attempt at an apology he could do at the moment, given the discord between them.

  He wanted to believe her, and yet it was difficult to believe something so foreign to everything he’d ever believed in. The flash of emotion in her eyes scraped tension across his skin. He’d been a brute to her last night, and he hated seeing the guarded expression she wore because of his behavior.

  With a slight tug, she pulled her hand from his, but not before the shudder sweeping through her brushed across his fingertips. Jacobs’s sudden decision to answer his earlier call prevented him from keeping her at his side as he turned toward the butler who had emerged from the back hall.

  Acutely aware she was no longer close to him, he ignored Jacobs for a moment. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Constance hesitate briefly at the edge of the salon before entering the well-lit room to a welcoming chorus of male voices. Jealousy streaked through his blood with the speed of an out-of-control fire.

  Seeing the butler’s attentive look, he cleared his throat. “Jacobs, her ladyship would like the children to meet Sir Oliver and Mrs. Armstrong. Please ask Nanny to bring them down after supper.”

  Not waiting for the man to acknowledge his command, he whirled around and charged back toward the salon. As he crossed the threshold, he saw Constance being warmly greeted by Mrs. Armstrong. As the two women hugged each other, he noted how Oliver was looking at both women with a smile of deep satisfaction.

  Constance drew back from the other woman, and Lucien frowned as Constance hesitated to accept Oliver’s hand.
It wasn’t a noticeable waver, but he knew her far better than anyone else in the room. There was something about his cousin that troubled her. Puzzled, he started to move closer only to have Edward grab his arm and pull him aside.

  “Devilishly attractive woman, your Lady Westbury,” Edward said cheerfully. “Only a woman with spirit could wear a dress like that.”

  “A dress like what?” The cavalier note in Edward’s voice grated against him as he turned his head to pin the man with his gaze.

  “Why, it…it…” Edward stammered as he blanched under Lucien’s fierce look. “It was a compliment, Lucien. Not every woman could wear such a daring gown without either embarrassing herself or looking like an embarrassment.”

  Returning his gaze to Constance, he saw Duncan had joined her. Immediately, his body strained with the urge to put himself between the two of them. He was about to move forward, when Edward’s deep sigh stopped him. Politely, he turned his head toward the older man.

  “Is something wrong, Edward?” he asked despite the intense need to reach Constance’s side.

  “Not really, I was simply wondering how accurate Lady Westbury’s skills are.”

  “Skills? I think she’s proven herself more than knowledgeable with the work she’s done on the collection so far. I’m quite pleased.”

  “No, no, my boy. The woman’s other talent. Her talent for speaking to the dead.”

  “Good God,” he growled. “How the devil did you learn about that?”

  Edward simply raised his eyebrow as he turned his head toward Lady Lyndham. Glaring in the direction of his grandmother, Lucien inhaled a deep breath as the man at his side cleared his throat.

  “So you believe her?” Edward sent him an inquisitive look.

  “Believe what? That she can talk to the dead? That she’s talked to Nigel, to my grandfather? I don’t know what to believe.”

  He fixed his gaze on Constance as she stood conversing with Mrs. Armstrong and Duncan. It was true. He didn’t know what to believe where she was concerned. He only knew he wanted to believe her. And he was doing his damnedest to do so. It just was too fantastic an idea to comprehend as possible.