by Monica Burns
“Do you know what William said to her?” There was a hard edge to Edward’s question that pulled him out of his thoughts.
“What?” he asked as he looked at the white-haired man.
“Aurora was less than forthcoming about this conversation Lady Westbury had with William.” Again there was an odd note in Edward’s voice.
“The only thing I got out of Grandmother is that she believes Lady Westbury has the sight.” He shrugged as he looked back at Constance. “I’m not convinced.”
She’d deliberately worn that dress tonight as a way of saying he could go to hell. But he already was in hell knowing he couldn’t be the man who would keep her heart. Christ Jesus, what the devil was the matter with him? Things were what they were. Wishing they were different was pointless.
“You think she’s lying then?”
“I don’t know,” he snapped. “If she’s lying, then she’s incredibly clever at it.”
From across the room, Lady Lyndham pinned the two of them with her eagle-eyed gaze. “Lucien, were you aware that Oliver knows Malcolm Standish?”
His grandmother’s nonchalant tone made him jerk his head in Oliver’s direction. The man had a harsh scowl on his face, and Lucien crossed the floor to join the others with Edward close on his heels.
“I take it from the expression on your face you’ve had dealings with the man?”
“Unfortunately, I have indeed,” Oliver said in his deep baritone. “As I was just explaining to Lady Westbury, I was one of the investors Standish secured for her husband’s failed expedition almost five years ago.”
With a quick look in Constance’s direction, Lucien noted her pallor was distinctively wan, and he saw her eyeing Oliver with an uneasy look. Uncertainty gripped him once more as her eyes met his for a brief instant before shying away. Damnation, she made it decidedly difficult to believe her when she chose to act evasive.
“Have you had dealings with the man, Lucien?” At Oliver’s question, his grandmother snapped her fan closed and used it to point toward his marred face.
“Yes, and he has the scar to prove it.” Aurora declared with a touch of anger. “The man tried to kill the boy.”
At his grandmother’s dramatic announcement, Constance’s gaze of horror flew to his face, and the expression in her hazel eyes warmed him. She was clearly troubled by Standish’s behavior. Her distress made him think she cared about his wellbeing. With a slight shrug, he turned back to Oliver.
“About two years ago, Standish was disputing a claim I’d made on Aramun’s tomb. I’d been digging at the site for more than a month when he showed up and declared I had superseded his claim.” With the back of his hand, he rubbed the scar on his cheek. “Our argument became a bit more aggressive than I would have liked.”
“Aramun,” Oliver mused in the pompous tone he always assumed when he discussed antiquities. “Wasn’t he one of the priests associated with Sefu and the Seth cult? They were based in the lower valley during Horemheb’s reign I believe.”
“Yes, Aramun’s tomb is where I found the statuette of Isis.” His gaze shifted toward Constance, but her expression revealed nothing more than avid interest in the conversation he and Oliver were having.
“Ah, yes, Father told me you’d found the statuette. An excellent find. If we have time, I’d like to see it, I understand it’s exceptional.”
“So it is, son, so it is.” Slapping Lucien on the back, Edward grinned at his son and then Lucien. “And when he finds the Seth figurine he’ll have the location to Sefu’s tomb.”
“You say that with far more confidence than I feel, Edward.” Lucien shook his head as he smiled at the older man. “As I’ve said before, the statuette isn’t here, any more than the labyrinth is.”
Across from him, Constance’s head was bent as if she wasn’t even listening to the conversation at all. But it was the way she gripped the handle of her fan that alerted him to the fact she was listening. The silk glove on her hand was stretched taut across her skin, and her body was rigid as if under great pressure. She was listening to every word, and the fear emanating off her was almost tangible. What the devil was she thinking?
“Supper is now served, my lady.” Jacobs announced in his most stately of tones.
The thick tension in the air quickly evaporated as everyone prepared to move into the dining room. Seeing Duncan making ready to move toward Constance, Lucien stretched out his hand to her.
“Lady Westbury?”
Her gaze flitted up to meet his before she accepted his hand. Over the top of her bent head, he shot Duncan a triumphant look. His friend simply scowled at him. Entwining her arm in his, he led her toward the salon door.
“What are you afraid of?” At his quiet question, she jerked her head up, her hazel eyes meeting his steady look for a moment before she averted her gaze.
“Afraid? I think you’re mistaken, my lord. I’m not afraid.”
“Damn it, Constance,” he hissed beneath his breath. “You’re obviously uncomfortable around Oliver, and just now you looked as if the devil himself were going to sit beside you for dinner.”
“I think you exaggerate.”
“And you’re avoiding the issue,” he muttered as they entered the dining room. His time alone with her was almost up. “Why the hell won’t you trust me?”
As he pulled out a chair for her, she turned her head to look at him. The pain in her gaze ripped at him. “What reason have you given that I should do so? Trust must be mutual, my lord. It isn’t exclusive.”
With a graceful move, she swept her skirt to one side and sank down into the chair. As he pushed her forward, he leaned down until his mouth brushed against her ear. “I don’t deny my missteps where you’re concerned, yâ sabāha, but I am making every effort to trust you—to believe you.”
His fingertips drifted across the side of her neck and down over her shoulder as he left her to take his place at the head of the table. Shaken by his words, she inhaled a quick breath as she stared down at the charger plate in front of her.
What was the man thinking to suggest she should trust him? And then to say he was trying to believe her. Did that mean he was actually on the verge of believing in her ability? To do that would be an incredible leap of faith for him. She lifted her head and glanced down to where he was sitting. The complexity of the man continued to astonish her.
“Well now, Lady Westbury, what do you think of my son?” Edward Rawlings shook out his napkin and laid it in his lap as he smiled at her.
“He’s quite nice,” she lied as she suppressed a shiver.
Instinct had told her several months ago Oliver was anything but a pleasant man. Her opinion hadn’t changed. The vision she’d had of him beating Davinia still flooded her senses every time she looked at him.
“It looks like he’s quite taken with your friend Mrs. Armstrong.” Rawlings picked up his spoon to taste the soup a footman had set in front of him. “She’s a delightful woman. A good settling influence on the boy.”
“Davinia is obviously happy,” she said politely. “And I’m delighted by her happiness.”
And the truth of it was, Davinia did look happy. When her friend entered the salon earlier, Constance had been delighted to see her conversing with Lady Lyndham, although she’d been less than thrilled at meeting Sir Oliver.
It had been a blessing her gift had not stirred up any further visions when she’d been forced to shake the man’s hand. No, she was delighted for her friend as long as Sir Oliver didn’t raise his hand to Davinia. But there was something about the man that just made her blood run cold.
“I sense you’re somewhat distracted this evening, my dear lady. Tell me what troubles you.” There was a concerned note in Edward Rawling’s voice, and she turned her head to smile at him.
“I think you mistake a bad night’s sleep for poor spirits, Mr. Rawlings.”
“What? Lost sleep over a suitor?”
Unable to answer honestly, she forced a smile to her lips and shook her head. Relief swept through her as Major Fenwick’s deep voice on the opposite side of her pulled her attention away from Rawlings.
“I think you’ve monopolized the lady’s time quite enough, Edward. Now it’s my turn.”
Laughter escaped her at Duncan’s petulant tone. Turning toward him, her gaze slid over Lucien who was watching her from the end of the table with a frown. Uncertain what to make of his disapproval, she focused her attention on Duncan.
“Well, Major, I’m at your disposal, what shall we discuss?” Wineglass in hand, she took a sip of wine as she looked at him over the rim of her glass.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you look this evening?” His soft whisper made her gulp with surprise as she quickly put her wineglass down.
“I don’t…that’s very kind…thank you.” She stumbled over her words as she stared down at her soup.
“I’ve embarrassed you,” he said with a smile. “Don’t be.”
Collecting her thoughts, she pressed one hand to the base of her throat as she looked at the man seated beside her. “I confess to being more surprised than embarrassed, Major, although I’m quite flattered.”
“But your heart belongs to another.” He briefly glanced in Lucien’s direction before eyeing her with a small smile. “I’ve known from the beginning I suppose. It’s simply that I’m not accustomed to losing.”
Relieved she wouldn’t have to answer his unspoken question, she arched her eyebrows and picked up her knife to butter the roll on her bread plate. Smiling, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
“I’m not sure if my being likened to a prize in some gaming concern is a compliment or not.”
“I can assure you, Lady Westbury, even the most exclusive of London’s professional beauties insist upon being a prize at one time or another.”
Major Fenwick winked and sent her a mischievous smile, which was impossible to resist. Laughing, she shook her head with amusement as she returned her attention to her plate. A sudden frisson skimmed over her shoulders, and she knew Lucien was watching her.
She tried to resist looking in his direction, but failed. The moment she met his piercing gaze, she swallowed hard. The brilliant blue of his eyes blazed with a stark look of possession that thrilled and frightened her at the same time. It was only when Davinia captured his attention that he looked away from her.
Shaken by the intensity of his stare, Constance had difficulty focusing on anything for the remainder of the meal. It was with a suppressed sigh of relief that she saw Lady Lyndham rise to her feet. Although the dowager countess suggested the men remain behind for a glass of port, they refused, and the small party moved back into the salon.
They’d only been in the room for a few moments, when Imogene and Jamie appeared in the doorway. Their appearance was remarkably changed from when she’d seen them earlier, and she smiled as Jamie quickly crossed the floor to where she sat on the scrolled-back gossip seat. He greeted her with a small bow then kissed her cheek.
From across the room, Lady Lyndham called to him, gesturing for him to join her and Imogene. A tingling sensation tickled the back of her neck then skated its way down her back as Lucien sank down into the opposite side of the serpentine-shaped seat that curled away from her and faced the opposite direction. Although there was a hard surface between their bodies, the intimacy of the chair set her pulse racing. The brief glance she sent his way told her she was the object of a fierce, steady look.
“I don’t think I’ve ever told you what a wonderful boy Jamie is. You’ve done well by him, Constance.”
Startled by the compliment, she nodded in mute acknowledgement of his words as she watched her son greet Sir Oliver. Watching him, she tensed as Jamie shook the older man’s hand. His usual charming self, her son immediately engrossed himself in an animated conversation with Sir Oliver. The end result was that Jamie had the man laughing heartily with something he’d said.
Puzzled, she frowned. How odd that Jamie didn’t seem to react negatively toward the older man. Obviously his abilities were different than hers. Lucien shifted restlessly in the seat beside her. She glanced in his direction, and his obvious discomfort made her laugh.
“I think the seat you’ve chosen makes it quite difficult to monitor the room. Why they call it a gossip seat is beyond my comprehension.”
With a smile that was devastating in its brilliance, he shrugged. “I would imagine it was designed more to keep lovers from holding hands than gossips from spreading rumors.”
The huskily spoken words sent her pulse rocketing as their gazes locked. There was a haunting need in his eyes as he studied her. It was the look of a man who could never have what he desired most. Her heart ached with love as she lifted her hand to reach out to him.
The sudden impact of the vision was brutal.
Her breath was sucked out of her as if she were under cold water. The darkness swallowed her whole, and she struggled to reach the light in front of her. As she stepped into a small room lit by candles, dank air flooded her lungs.
In front of her there was a small altar with icons of Seth and Isis. Close by was a larger altar. Something lay on top of it, but in the dim light, it was difficult to make out what it was. Drawn forward by some inexorable force, she reluctantly moved toward the large stone. Whatever was on the slab didn’t move, and she shivered. Something was wrong.
Then she saw him. He stood in the shadows. Although she couldn’t make out his features, she could feel his hatred, his power—the essence of his evil. The sound of his laughter echoed in her head as he pointed at the slab. Oh God, Lucien, he’d hurt Lucien. Propelled forward, she stumbled toward the slab. The blood was everywhere…
The scream began as a silent cry deep in her soul. It wailed up out of her like a banshee in agony. The sheer terror of the sight in front of her filled her lungs, pressing in on her until she opened her mouth and shrieked in horror. Scream after scream poured out of her throat as she stared at the devil’s handiwork.
A sharp crack rent the air, and she flinched at the stinging sensation in her cheek. Disoriented and frightened, she stared up at Lucien who was speaking to her, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying because someone in the room was screaming at the top of their lungs. In that instant she knew it was her screams she was hearing—screaming Jamie’s name with a shrill panic that etched agony through every part of her body as she tried to find her son in the suddenly crowded room.
Chaos reigned around her as she heard appalled cries over her head. Then a small body flung itself against her. Enveloped in Jamie’s warmth, she wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as she sobbed with relief. The cacophony of voices assaulted her like a harsh wind, and still clinging to Jamie, she fainted.
As Constance went limp, Lucien pulled her close with Jamie still hanging on to her. One arm wrapped around her waist, he gripped Jamie’s shoulder. “It’s all right, lad. She’s simply had another one of her spells. She was frightened.” Even as he spoke, he knew it was far more than that. Constance had been terrified to the point of hysteria.
“Frightened,” exclaimed Edward, “the woman was screaming as if she was being murdered. Good God, Lucien, what did you say to her?”
“Actually, I don’t think it’s what Lucien said, so much as what Lady Westbury might have seen,” Oliver mused as though having just made an interesting discovery.
Lucien jerked his gaze up to look at Oliver’s speculative expression, while Edward looked at his son with irritated confusion. “What the devil does that mean, Oliver?”
For a moment, Oliver look decidedly uncomfortable before one corner of his mouth dipped downward in a bored frown. “Just something Davinia mentioned some time ago about the lady.”
Mrs. Armstrong touched hi
s arm and whispered something to him, but Oliver shrugged. “Well, if they didn’t know before, they do now, don’t they.”
Gently pushing Jamie away from his mother, Lucien shot his cousin a look of irritation. From behind them, Lady Lyndham rapped Oliver on the shoulder with her cane, causing the man to yelp. “Now is neither the time nor place to discuss the matter, Oliver Rawlings.”
“I quite agree.” Edward directed a disapproving glare at his son.
“Lucien, take Constance up to her room,” his grandmother ordered. “When she comes to, she’ll not want to have all of us ogling her.”
Throughout the incident, Duncan had remained silent, but he now stepped forward to gently pull Jamie away from his mother. The moment he did so, Jamie fought him off violently. Lifting Constance up into his arms, Lucien sent the boy a stern look.
“Jamie.” The commanding note in his voice made the boy jerk to attention. Fear flashed in his eyes as he met Lucien’s gaze. “Come with me, lad. Between the two of us, we’ll see to it that your mother is well cared for.”
Relief evident on his pale features, Jamie nodded. Over the top of the boy’s head, Lucien met his grandmother’s strained look. Once again, he was reminded of her fragility as she swallowed hard. “I’ll have Jacobs send up tea for when she awakens.”
With a sharp nod, he followed Jamie out of the salon and up the staircase. He was halfway up the stairs when she stirred in his arms and uttered a soft sigh, which was quickly followed by a shudder.
“Jamie,” she gasped in fear.
“He’s safe, yâ sabāha. He’s just up ahead.”
Another shudder rocked through her, and she buried her face in his solid shoulder as he reached the upper hallway. The movement brought her hair close to his nose, and he inhaled the soft scent of jasmine. Reaching her bedroom, he saw Jamie open the door for him, and he swiftly crossed the bedroom floor and laid Constance on the bed.
Jamie was at her side in a heartbeat, and he touched the boy’s shoulder as he stepped backward. “Stay with her. I’ll return in a moment.”