Freeing her elbow from Louise’s grasp, Madison joked, “And there I was thinking that I already had a lot of baggage.”
“If you don’t believe me, at least talk with someone who can help explain certain things. A friend of mine, the one who shared the knowledge with me in the first place. She’s been following your progress from the very beginning.”
“Someone’s been stalking me and you haven’t even called the cops?”
“Hush, hush.” Louise took hold of Madison’s trembling hands.
Madison flinched under the contact of Louise’s skin but she didn’t recoil. She stared down at her hands entwined with those of her aunt. “Who’s this friend?” Her question was toneless.
“You’ve already met her. Her name is Aurélie.”
“The woman I met at your place last week?” The beautiful woman whose face had been familiar. A memory shot back into her mind. “I saw her before. In Baton Rouge. She visited you at boarding school.”
“She did. She kept a close eye on you all those years. Now she thinks it’s time for you two to officially meet.”
But Madison wasn’t sure she wanted to make Aurélie’s wish come true.
16
APPARENTLY RUNNING was supposed to clear her mind, help Madison take a step back from her troubles. Blahdiblahdiblah. She focused on matching her breathing to the rhythm of her feet. The task sounded simple in theory. But it wasn’t. She was so frustrated with her brainwaves getting wired back to her early afternoon, to the whole “calling” chat.
No, no, she had to wipe her mind clean of everything supernatural. And that included “Greensleeves,” Henry the Eighth, his six wives and God only knows how many mistresses he left heartbroken across sixteenth-century Europe.
A pain in the pit of her stomach radiated across her chest. The stabbing sensation peaked each time her foot landed on the ground. What the heck? Her legs weakened and she almost collapsed. She sagged forward and rested her hands flat on her thighs to give herself some support. The awkward posture wasn’t ideal for refilling her lungs, but she couldn’t stand up straight. Battling with her heartbeat and her breathing, she managed to get her vitals back to normal. With a fresh intake of air through her nose, she uncurled her spine and returned to her full height.
With the decrease of her heartbeat against her ribcage, she took in the restful environment around her. The murky smell of the Cherwell River had a sedative effect on her. She had left behind Christ Church Meadow and ventured onto the path skirting the stream. Her finish line was a bench where Rupert had planned to meet her. A few punters propelled their flat-bottom boats along the ambling river by pushing their poles against the riverbed. The slow-moving current didn’t do much to help them. The landscape was idyllic and Madison allowed herself time to enjoy the quietness that seeped into her clouded thoughts.
The flapping of a bird’s wings tore her away from the peace inside her. That and the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.
“Run out of breath?”
The now familiar drawl twisted Madison’s mouth into a half-smile. She didn’t have to turn. Sam. She put her hands on her hips, kept her eyes riveted on the Cherwell and waited for him to join her at the edge of the path. When he did, she gave him a sideways glance. His New Orleans Saints cap was turned backward. He wore a tracksuit with a T-shirt that threatened to explode under the pressure of his bulging chest.
You could grate cheese over those abs. “Not working?” she said. “I wonder how the Turf will meet their bottom line without your waiting skills.”
“I’m losing my touch these days, or so it seems. Apparently I scare off nuns. Not good for business.”
Embarrassment made Madison’s toes curl. “I’m soooo sorry about that. I’ve no idea what came over my aunt. If it makes you feel better, she wasn’t much nicer to my boyfriend.”
A grin spread across his tanned face. “That actually makes my day. Thank you, Pumpkin.”
Peering behind Sam, she noticed he was alone. “Do I look like a pumpkin? And anyway, what are you doing all alone in your free time anyway?”
“Same as you. Keeping fit.” His trademark cockiness brightened his eyes. “For that kind of exercise, I don’t need anyone else.” He lifted his arms to stretch. “But I know ways of exercising as part of a team, a two-person team.”
Madison wrinkled her nose. “Gross. I don’t need to hear about your kind of teamwork, thank you very much.” Sweat covered his forehead. “Have you been running?”
Sam turned to face her. She took stock of his strength. He wasn’t as tall as Rupert—nobody was—but he was broader, with that rough, brutal energy many girls craved. She enjoyed the view, but it was no more than that.
“I was practicing a few positions.”
“For god’s sake, stop with your dirty jokes. I get it, you’re super flexible and have endless stamina in the sack, but—”
Sam threw his head back with laughter. “That’s not what I meant. I’m practicing krav maga.”
“The Mossad … Israeli special forces martial arts thingy?”
Sam nodded. “Yes, that thingy.”
“Where did you learn it? Why?”
“My dad taught me.” His gaze lost its focus for a couple of seconds then zeroed back in on Madison. “As to why, let’s just say that I’m not always making friends.”
Madison tilted her head to the side. “Does it have anything to do with you being too big for your own britches?” Then she remembered the first time they had met and the arm-long knife he had had concealed underneath his leather jacket. Saliva stuck midway down her throat. Was it safe to talk to Sam? To tease him?
He must have sensed her fear. “I’ll never hurt you, Madison.” His voice had gone soft, and she might have heard a faint crack in it. He maintained eye contact with her and she didn’t try to escape his stare. His eyes conveyed warmth. She chose to trust him. And if she was honest with herself, she knew she had made that choice the first time they had met, the night he had saved her from the thugs. The whole vigilante persona should have worried her, but it hadn’t.
“I want you to …”
Sam’s eyes widened.
“… try and attack me. Share a bit of your krav maga skills with me. That way I’ll know where to hit the next time I’m attacked.” And that wasn’t a complete joke.
Sam circled her as if to assess her ability to fight. She returned the challenge by straightening up and raising her chin. She recoiled inside, only too aware of her low pain threshold.
“Krav maga uses striking techniques. There’s nothing heroic about it and you’re not supposed to play fair. You go for your adversary’s most vulnerable body parts.”
“No need to be part of the Secret Service to know I need to aim for the crotch first.”
“Don’t forget the throat, eyes, jaw, armpits. Krav maga isn’t so much about attack as counterattack.” Sam stopped circling her. The space between them had narrowed. “So, let’s assume you’re trying to take me out …” He waved his hands to prompt her to make a move.
Her feet shuffled. There was no way she could consider “taking him out.” Not while she was in her right mind. But for the sake of argument, she made her left leg break forward and threw her right hand toward the iron-hard muscles of his stomach. Only she didn’t even reach his belly. Sam grabbed her wrist and twisted it, so that her whole body bent in an unnatural direction, her face forced downward.
A pathetic “Ahh” erupted from her mouth, followed by a bunch of swearwords even her mom would have blushed at. And Bernadette knew a lot of them.
“Jeez,” she gasped, “you moved faster than green grass through a goose.”
She was about to twist her head up to ask him to release her, but the wristlock unclenched itself as quickly as it had flattened Madison to a pancake. She lost her balance and stumbled. When she managed to stand back up and complain to Sam, the words caught in her throat.
Sam was lying on his back. Another figure was on top of
him holding him down. Flashes of a different attack shot back to her memory. Outside the Turf, before Christmas, Peter’s dagger pointed at Rupert’s throat. Panic punched Madison right in the guts.
The sensation vanished when she realized that, this time, Rupert was the attacker.
17
STOP THIS.” SHE RUSHED to the two bodies now writhing on the ground. “Please, Rupert, let him go. He didn’t hurt me.”
Rupert ignored her plea. Earl or not, he could be a real badass. His effort to destroy Sam intensified as he arched his elbow and hit Sam in the jaw. Sam’s head smashed against the ground.
“Listen,” she yelled. “Listen to me, Rupert. It was fake. He didn’t mean to hurt me.”
She sidestepped Rupert, searching for a way to break into the mess. He ignored her order, which set her temper on fire. She clenched her jaw and launched herself at Rupert’s elbow. He chose that moment to throw another punch. His elbow buried in her stomach, punching the air out of her lungs. The shock threw her body backward. She hit the dust of the path, landing sideways. She bit her tongue and blood spread in her mouth, only to be replaced by the acrid taste of the nausea that overwhelmed her. A croaking rasp emanated from her mouth.
“Maddie, Maddie.” Rupert knelt by her side and gently took hold of her shoulders to pull her up. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re a douche.” Her voice cracked and she fought back the tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks.
Sam had got back on his feet and stood behind Rupert, trying to steal a glance at her. “I swear, if you make her cry,” he said, “I’ll beat the shit out—”
“The two of you just shut up,” she snapped. “You should have worried about me before the cockfight.”
Rupert pulled her back on her feet. A throbbing pain radiated from her wrist, and she could already guess at the bruise spreading across her hip from the fall. Dusting off the earth from her clothes, she applied herself to avoiding eye contact with the two brainless hunks standing in front of her. Sam thought the sun came out just to hear him crow. That was a sure fact, but Rupert was the guilty party here.
“Sam was just showing me a move,” she told him.
Rupert’s gaze swung back toward Sam, whose lower lip had started swelling. “Showing her a move … could you be more sleazy?”
Sam held his hands in front of him in denial. “A martial arts move.”
Madison grabbed Rupert’s arm to drag his attention back to her. “Stop acting like we’re in a soap opera. My honor is safe.”
“Why is that jackass always hanging around you?”
If she hadn’t been so pissed off right then, Madison would have given serious thought to the question. But Rupert had pushed her too far. “I’m fed up with this crap. First it was Jackson. Now Sam. I don’t throw a tantrum each time a girl you screwed comes and talks—”
“This has nothing to do—”
“Just shut up, Rupert.” Madison buried her index finger in Rupert’s chest. She wanted to hurt him. “I don’t need you to go all caveman each time I talk to a guy. I don’t need you to look after me by locking me in your bachelor pad. I need you to …”
She couldn’t detail her needs in front of Sam, so she chose her words carefully so as not to tip him off about the crazy paranormal shit in her life. “I need you to believe in me, to support me, even if that means embarrassing yourself in front of your goddamned family.” Tears had tipped over her eyelids and ran freely down her cheeks. She wiped them away and sniffed. So classy.
“Don’t cry, please.” Rupert stepped toward her and laid his hands on her shoulders. Pain clouded the emerald green of his eyes.
Why does he have to look so damned good right now? Madison shook her shoulders free and retreated. “I need you to stand up for me. That doesn’t always require you to punch someone’s face.”
Sam was now by her side. “Let me walk you home.”
Anger flashed out of Rupert’s eyes, but he didn’t make a move. His jaw clenched instead.
She shook her head in response to Sam’s offer. “I’m fine.”
After one last glance at Rupert, Madison turned around and broke into a run. This time she had no problem with the fast pace. She had to escape.
Madison lay on her tiny bed, her face buried in her pillow. A country song played loudly on the CD player in her study, making the sparse furniture in her bedroom vibrate. Even as a teen she had never indulged in any rebellious streaks, not even with loud music. But it was never too late for mood swings. Ollie—whose room was on the other side of the corridor—might bang at her door in the next minute or so. But who gave a flying shit?
Two days.
Two days since the last time she had seen Rupert. No texts. No emails. Of course, no phone calls either. Not even one single missed call. Only a dozen or so please-call-me-back messages from Aunt Louise.
Not that she should care. Rupert was a bully. He was the one who should apologize. Shouldn’t he?
Madison punched her pillow in frustration and then twisted her head to take a gulp of air. Suffocation wouldn’t solve her love problems. She shouldn’t be staring at her cellphone right now that was for sure. She should be throwing herself into her next assignment and typing something intelligible for the second draft of her paper on medieval art and feminism. Or she should be at the Bodleian Library deep in research. Jackson was paying her to help with his book. His publisher’s deadline was rapidly approaching and she couldn’t let him down. Or she should be combing Mamie’s little book of magic to figure out how to get rid of a royal ghost.
Instead she replayed her last words to Rupert: the last week, pretty much all that had happened since they had come back from Louisiana. It had been so perfect there. Everything had been perfect until the concert in the church with Rupert’s parents, until she started seeing dead people again. Of course, Henry the Eighth was a hell of a ghost. He probably had a VIP pass between this world and the next, and he must be piling up his frequent-flyer miles.
A groan of anger burst from her without Madison being able to stop it. She sat up and this time her fist met the duvet. Her legs hung over the edge of the bed and she shook them.
She missed Rupert. She missed his voice, the way he nestled his face in the nape of her neck, and his smell. The freshly laundered scent of his clothes had been the first thing she had noticed about him. She could overdose on it.
Instead she grabbed the bottle of Dreamy Pillow and Body Mist standing on her bedside table and sprayed it around the room. She inhaled deeply. Not the same effect as laying her cheek on the soft wool of his cricket sweater. Not even close. Stop being so weak and whiny. Either call him and have it out, or get yourself together and move on!
Two quick knocks on the door made her jump to her feet. A thrill ran across her body and settled in her churning stomach. She took a sip from her bottled water and made the liquid gurgle in her mouth. With a jerking movement she readjusted her ponytail and rushed to the door.
Only it wasn’t Rupert standing on the other side, regretful and begging for forgiveness.
It was his stepmother.
Camilla looked her usual designer-clad self, from the tips of her stilettos—while pregnant, ouch!—to the leather handles of her handbag. Hugo’s wife was an older version of Harriet. Their likeness twisted Madison’s heart. She didn’t fit into Rupert’s world; she never would.
“I’m sorry to come unannounced.” A smile lightened up Camilla’s delicate features. She almost looked shy.
Is pregnancy mellowing her? Madison shook herself. “Not at all.” She opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Please come in.”
Camilla entered the microscopic space of Madison’s studio and sought the arm of the chair to sit down. Her hand caressed the swell of her belly. “Less than three weeks to go … the stairs up here aren’t very pregnancy-friendly,” she apologized in an out-of-breath voice and with another smile.
Gosh, Camilla was turning into an authentic human being. “Can I ge
t you some water?” Then Madison’s brain cells wired up and connected. Three weeks to go … that meant Madison had less than thirty days to figure out how to depose Henry the Eighth. “Rupert told me about the fall. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”
A shadow troubled Camilla’s expression, and her lips gave in to a slight tremor. “I’m much better. We decided on an elective C-section for the end of the month, so I see the end of the tunnel approaching.”
Elective C-section. End of the month. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
“When exactly is the C-section taking place?” Madison managed to keep her tone neutral.
“The twenty-fifth. But back to my presence here, I was on my way to Magway and thought I’d stop by to ask you a question directly.”
Rupert must have finally told her.
“I want to throw a last-minute party for Rupert’s twenty-second birthday. It’s this Saturday.”
Madison’s chin dropped. First, party planning was miles away from a four-hundred-year-old curse. Second, she had forgotten about her boyfriend’s birthday.
The hormonal overload must have sharpened Camilla’s sixth sense because she guessed at Madison’s surprise. “Don’t worry. Hugo had forgotten about it as well.”
Reminding Madison that Rupert’s own absent father was as negligent as she was sharpened Madison’s guilt even more. “What can I do to help?”
She might not even be invited to the party anymore. Maybe Rupert had turned the page. On her. On them. Giving herself a mental slap, she shook her head. However much of a jackass he had been, he would not bail out on her after their first argument.
“You don’t need to do anything,” Camilla said, waving her hand. “Only make sure he comes to Magway this weekend. Lots of people will already be there.”
“Thank you.” Camilla going to so much trouble for Rupert could only comfort him.
“The dress code will be black tie in the evening so make sure he packs his dinner jacket.”
Camilla shifted her body to get back on her feet and picked up the bag she had left on the floor. When she straightened up, a faint squeal escaped her lips. Her hand flew to her distended belly. “Oh God.”
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