Alice considered this. “It’s still dreadful.”
“Well, I promise to do my best to make it less dreadful for you.” She smiled. “I’ve a feeling the two of us will have a fine time together.”
Alice shook her head. “Please don’t relay that prediction to my brother. A companion was his idea, and I simply couldn’t bear it if he were right.”
Gia laughed. “Very well then,” she said. “Let’s start on the invitations.”
* * * *
After a productive day of party planning and dress fittings, Alice and Gia shared another quiet dinner that evening. According to Alice, Landen was having dinner in town with the Widow Filkins. Again. Gia was curious about his relationship with the widow, but refrained from inquiring about her. It wasn’t Gia’s business, and it definitely wasn’t her place. Even so, Gia looked forward to the garden party and meeting the woman with whom Landen spent so much of his time. He’d listed Charlotte Filkins’ name at the top of the guest list, which confirmed her significance.
After dinner, Alice retired to her room to read. Gia sat in her own room, attempting to do the same, but failing miserably.
Her thoughts kept returning to her vision. Possibilities of what might lead to Landen’s death played through her mind, yet none of her imagined scenarios seemed plausible. From what little time she’d spent with him, she knew he was smart, physically fit, and seemed too in control to succumb to overindulgence or addictions to gambling, alcohol, or other dangerous behaviors that might land him at the bottom of a creek. Perhaps he’d be tossed from a horse or slip while out walking.
Whatever the cause, there had to be some way to stop the tragedy from happening. But how? Was it possible that another vision might help? She’d never before attempted to encourage a vision, but she’d never before attempted to stop a vision’s forecast from happening.
If she could manage to touch some of his personal belongings… She stood, heart racing. She could sneak to his room, poke about, and see what transpired. It was a long shot, but it beat sitting here doing nothing.
Abandoning the book, she tightened the cinch of her robe and made her way to the door. With each faltering step, with every painful memory of her failure to save Pru, Gia’s resolve grew stronger. All she had in this world were her visions and the promise she’d made to herself to follow them. She’d go wherever she had to, do whatever she must, to honor that vow—to lighten the burden of guilt she’d carry for the rest of her life.
Like a thief in the night, she crept down the hall to his room, her thoughts spinning. While she was rummaging around his room, she would search for the red scarf as well. Could the omission of just one minor detail change the course of the future? She didn’t know, but she had to try. His aunt and her friend would arrive tomorrow, and there’d be no better opportunity.
She eased open the door, then slipped inside his room, moving quickly. Enough moonlight spilled through the windows to guide her along. She picked up his cigar box from the tall bureau, then closed her eyes. Nothing. She grabbed the whiskey bottle next to it. Again, nothing happened. Frustrated, she opened the top drawer of the bureau and searched for the scarf. She moved to the next drawer, then the next. The blasted thing was probably packed away with his winter garments somewhere. He didn’t need a scarf in the summer after all.
The sound of heavy footsteps carried outside the room. Gia froze. His footsteps! The carpet absorbed the sound of most foot traffic, but not his. Her gaze darted wildly, searching for some place to hide. She dropped to the floor and slid under the bed, tugging her flowing robe with her.
The door opened, and she squeezed shut her eyes, as if that might help. Her nose twitched from the dust, and she plugged it to stifle a sneeze. Just her luck. She’d hidden in the one nook of the house the thorough team of housemaids had managed to overlook during their cleaning frenzy.
Alice had mentioned Landen was a private man. Even the help was not allowed in his study downstairs. Obviously, his desire for such privacy extended to this room as well. She was doomed.
She watched his large boots moving toward her. She shriveled amid the soft glow of the lamp he’d turned on. Coins clanked on the wood surface as he emptied the contents of his pockets onto the bureau.
She held her breath, her body stiff as a board. There’d be no explaining this caper, no reasonable excuse, and she wasn’t clear-headed enough at the moment to concoct one. She had no choice but to hold out until he fell asleep, then sneak out. Please, let him be a deep sleeper.
He paced the room for what seemed like forever before he began undressing. He tugged off his boots, then kicked them aside. She held her breath, listening as he loosened his necktie. It dropped to the floor, followed by his shirt, undershirt, and trousers. A moment later she was eyelevel with his discarded drawers.
She stared at the garment, trying with all her might not to think about what he might look like naked. Craning her neck, she tried for a peek. The sound of movement drew her back into the dusty shadows. The mattress slumped against his weight as he plopped to the bed. He gave a few sharp fluffs to the pillows, then settled in for the night. The silence was deafening. Why didn’t he turn off the lamp?
And then, just like that, he was up again. He strode to the table to pour himself a drink. Rolling her eyes, she screamed in her head, go to sleep!
As if hearing her desperate plea, he climbed back into bed, released a loud sigh, and finally turned off the lamp.
Closing her eyes, she exhaled in relief.
“Sweet dreams, Miss York.”
She flashed open her eyes, so startled by his voice she smacked her head on the bed slats. Her heart pounded.
“Since you’re obviously comfortable enough to remain under there, I’ll bid you good night.”
She cringed, her blood pumping through her veins.
“The next time you conceal yourself beneath a man’s bed, you might consider forgoing the perfume.”
She mouthed a vile curse. “Soap,” she muttered instead.
“Pardon me?”
“It’s soap. Not perfume.”
“Come out from under there,” he demanded.
“I can’t.”
“And why’s that?”
“You’re naked.”
“You might have considered that before you invaded my room. Where I sleep. Naked.”
She clenched her teeth at the unexpected humor in his voice.
“At least cover yourself up with a blanket,” she said.
She heard a rustle of covers.
“Done.”
She crawled out from beneath the bed. She brushed the dust balls from her hair, off her sleeves, anything to avoid looking at him. Her heart hammered. She forced herself to face him, then wished she hadn’t. He sat on the edge of the bed, a thin sheet wrapped around his waist. He was magnificent. Moonlight cast him in shadows and light. Her breath caught in her throat. Firm shoulders, muscular arms. A silken layer of dark hair graced his broad chest, trailing in a fine line to his taut stomach and beyond.
“Well?”
She could barely breathe, let alone speak. “I can explain.”
“I am listening.”
“I was…looking for something.”
He patted the space next to him on the bed and smiled. “You’ve found it.”
She gaped, shaking her head. “You misunderstand.”
Securing the sheet around his waist, he stood, moving toward her. “Enlighten me.”
The scent of his skin filled her senses, heating her blood and her flesh and her bones.
“Are you a thief?”
She took a step back. “No.”
He moved closer. His tousled hair pronounced a wildness about him, giving weight to the carnal look in his eyes. She couldn’t help wondering how many women had seen him this way, but she knew, without a doubt, she would never forget that she had.
He stopped, reaching toward her. She couldn’t m
ove as his hand touched her hair. Twirling a lock around his finger, he grazed her temple, her ear. He leaned closer, and she closed her eyes, melting in the wisp of warm breath in her ear.
“A wanton?”
She shook her head slowly, her voice barely a whisper. “No.”
“What, then, are you doing in my room?” His lips skimmed her neck with each word. “Why are you here?”
To save your life, she wanted to say. But when she opened her eyes and gazed into his face, she discovered she wanted something else more.
So she kissed him instead.
Chapter 4
Landen didn’t know whether it was the effect of the whiskey he’d enjoyed earlier or some sudden, inexplicable bout of insanity that had him kissing the companion he’d hired for Alice. He knew only that it felt too damn good to stop.
He’d wanted to kiss her from the day she’d arrived. From the moment he’d looked into her dark eyes and been lured by something more potent than her beauty or intelligence. And here she was, in his arms.
Pulling her firmly against him, he kissed her harder, deeper. The sound of her soft moan rumbled through him, setting him ablaze. He pushed his tongue through her lips and into the warmth of her mouth. She tasted so sweet. The heady scent of her, the heat and the feel of her body pressed to his was consuming. In all his summers spent in this house, he’d never before had a woman in this room. He felt like a randy schoolboy, rock hard with want, mind void of all rational thought.
She drew her mouth abruptly from his, panting for air. Her lips were parted and dewy and so irresistible he had to have more. “Gia,” he uttered.
Her eyes sparked with yearning at his use of her name. His chest swelled with the conquest, along with parts down below. He bent toward her but she stepped back, blinking hard.
“I…” She shook her head, struggling for words, a dazed expression on her face. Wrapping her arms across her breasts, she stared at him like a frightened child, so unlike the woman who’d kissed him with such passion only moments before.
She’d engaged him in a dangerous game but hadn’t the nerve to continue. He, on the other hand, was ready to play through to the end. The chill of disappointment helped him reclaim his senses. Was soliciting danger her pastime? Whatever her game, he should have known better than to participate. The stakes were too high, and nothing was worth risking his freedom. But looking at her now, her hair all disheveled, her eyes shining in the moonlight, he could almost forget that. He took a long breath and gave a reluctant nod toward the door. “Go.”
Gathering the robe around her, she hurried for the door. He watched, aching to stop her, as she halted briefly to compose herself. She turned the knob hard, then flung open the door. The sound of a loud gasp filled the room.
Landen cringed at the source of the gasp outside the door.
Aunt Clara stood in the hall, mouth agape, hand clutching her chest. Beatrice stood next to her, on the verge of a swoon as she took in the sight of their state of undress. Two wide-eyed housemaids rounded the corner. The trunk they carried between them hit the floor hard. The loud thud echoed through the hall with the sound of their giggles. This wouldn’t be good.
He moved to shield Gia from the audience of stunned faces, but his half-naked stance did little to defend her or the shameful situation. Clutching the sheet at his waist, he took a step forward. “Aunt Clara.” He clenched the sheet in his fists to combat a curse for this stroke of bad luck and Gia’s obvious disgrace. “You’re early.”
His aunt stared at him, speechless. Her loss for words was a rarity, and despite the unfortunate circumstances, he couldn’t help the momentary surge of satisfaction her stunned silence brought him. As if sensing this, she narrowed her eyes, her pale face turning three shades of red. “No, my boy,” she said, shaking her head. “Unfortunately for you—and this girl—it appears I’m too late.”
* * * *
Pandemonium erupted, echoing through the hall. In the midst of the chaos, Gia made her escape, leaving Landen alone to defend against the squawking women who flapped around him like a pair of frantic hens. Gia bolted down the hall. He watched, resisting the impulse to chase after her and console her, to make it all right. But things were far from all right.
“Get that trunk to my room,” Aunt Clara snapped to the snickering maids. Shoving Landen back into his room, she followed after him. She slammed the door, leaving a sputtering Beatrice outside.
She strode to his discarded clothes on the floor. “At least have the decency to get dressed.” She tossed him his trousers, then turned her back as he put on his clothes. He was still buttoning his shirt when she spun to face him. “Sit.” She pointed to the bed.
Landen plopped to the mattress and prepared for her wrath. She paced slowly, ensuring ample time for him to stew in the juices of her latest disappointment.
“Had you taken my advice, you’d be married by now and well past such tawdry behavior,” she said.
“I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of this opportunity to crow.”
Her face hardened. “Who is she?”
“Gianna York. The companion I hired for Alice.”
“Convenient.” She stared down at him in disgust. “You’re sleeping with the help.”
“No,” he said. “I kissed her, nothing more.”
She arched her brow skeptically. “Your restraint will be a great comfort to the Widow Filkins.”
He frowned at her sarcastic jab. He hadn’t slept with Charlotte Filkins in weeks, but that was none of his aunt’s business.
“The damage may be controlled,” she said. “We will send the girl away in the morning, and that will be that.”
His disappointment trumped reason, and he averted his eyes.
“If you’re questioning the necessity of this, let me remind you that the audience to your little encounter included two housemaids. The help loves to talk. The girl will be ruined by daybreak.”
He nodded, unable to dispute this point. “I’ll speak with her.”
“No!” She shook her head. “You’ve done quite enough. It’s obvious you can’t be trusted to be alone with her.”
Landen stiffened but held his tongue. No wonder Uncle Howard had died so young. Aunt Clara’s incessant jabs had prodded the poor bastard into an early grave.
“I will take care of it.” She straightened her spine, preparing for business. “Just as I always do,” she muttered before she marched out the door.
* * * *
With a deep breath, Gia answered the loud knock on the door. The old woman barreled into the room. She’d recovered from the shock of discovering Gia and Landen together and currently seemed well in control. Her stern expression articulated the severity of the situation before speaking a word. “I am Clara Elmsworth, Miss York. Landen’s aunt.” Her formidable tone demanded respect—the respect Gia had denied her earlier by behaving so scandalously in her presence. “You’re in very hot water.”
Gia nodded.
“It will be best for all involved if you left town immediately. I have several connections and will find you gainful employment elsewhere.” She narrowed her eyes. “I will also compensate you handsomely before your quiet departure.”
Gia turned from the woman, wringing her hands. She couldn’t leave. She had nothing. No one. Her desperate need to save Landen filled her with a swell of crazed panic. She had to stay. For him. For Alice. For Prudence and her brothers. Her visions came to her for a reason, and she’d been led here for that same reason. She was certain of it. She would not leave until she accomplished what she’d come here to do. No matter the cost.
But she needed this woman’s permission to stay. After what had transpired tonight, and Clara’s ensuing disdain, it would take drastic measures to get it.
“No.”
The woman’s shocked expression turned defiant. “Pardon me?”
“I can’t leave. Not yet.” Desperation prodded her onward. She forged through he
r fear and shame and guilt, well aware of the consequences. Fully knowing he would hate her. But at least he’d be alive. “I must stay for at least a month.” She touched her stomach. “To be sure.” She lowered her eyes, in part from the lie, in part for effect. “Once I’m certain all is well, I will go.”
“What…?” The woman’s face drained to white as she absorbed Gia’s meaning. Although Clara had likely assumed the worst all along, Gia’s open admission had undoubtedly stunned her.
“Are you telling me that you may be… That my nephew defiled you?”
Gia winced at hearing the words out loud, but said nothing to dispute them.
An earsplitting silence filled the room. Clara grasped Gia’s hand with surprising strength for a woman her age. “Come with me.”
* * * *
Landen paced in the parlor while he waited for his aunt’s return. While he regretted not being able to speak with Gia before his aunt sent her away, after experiencing Gia’s kiss, he didn’t trust himself to be alone with her any more than Aunt Clara did. This was a delicate matter, and he wasn’t a delicate man. It would be less embarrassing for Gia to have the situation handled by a female.
Even if that female happened to be Aunt Clara.
Gia certainly would be eager to go. Especially since she’d brought this mess on herself. She should have considered the consequences before sneaking into his room. Even so, his response to her kiss made him guilty for his part in the debacle. He would have done far more than kiss her, had she been willing. This admission struck him with the force of his mounting regret. What the hell had he been thinking?
The door opened and he rose to his feet. Aunt Clara charged into the room, dragging Gia with her.
“Sit,” she told him. “You too.” She all but shoved Gia toward a chair.
Gia straightened in her seat, looking more frightened than Alice did while in the midst of a crowd. His chest tightened at the stark panic on Gia’s face, and all at once, he rued allowing his aunt to handle Gia as he had.
“There’s been a change of plans,” Aunt Clara announced.
The Lady Who Saw Too Much Page 3