by C. J. Archer
"You're right, in a way," he said softly. "Ebony is accomplished and beautiful and well-bred. But I don't love her. I never will, whether she gives up her political ambitions or not. I've told my mother that, and I hope she informs Ebony. Otherwise I'll have to do it, and I'm not sure I will be as tactful."
"Your mother is worried," I said. "She sees your brother's time running out and only wants the Gladstone future secured. Don't be too hard on her."
His eyes briefly fluttered closed. He nodded. "I'll play nice, as long as she treats you well."
"Thank you." Strangely, it wasn't his mother's attitude toward me that concerned me anymore. We'd made a truce on her last visit, after the demon almost ripped Samuel apart. I think she had finally come to believe that I had no intention of marrying him. Now, if only both her sons would believe it.
"Anyway, that's not the only reason I'm here," he said. "I wanted to tell you that I confronted Mother over her involvement in the Society. I told her that we knew she had been part of it in sixty-seven, along with Frakingham and Myer."
"I bet that was an awkward conversation."
"No more awkward than any other we have had lately." He gave me a twisted smile. "She wasn't very forthcoming, although she did confirm that she and Father belonged to the society, briefly. They had nothing more to do with it after leaving Frakingham in sixty-seven."
I nodded, thoughtful. "Something must have happened at that time. I'm sure of it."
"Those men disappeared. Garrett and Owens."
"The question is, what happened to them?"
He leaned his good right shoulder against the doorframe and folded his arms over his chest. With that one simple move, he managed to quicken my pulse. He didn't seem at all aware of how handsome he was, standing there in his shirt and trousers with no waistcoat or tie, and his hair falling over his forehead into his eyes. He wasn't looking at me, but down at the floor, lost in thought. It allowed me to drink in the sight of him to my heart's content.
"Myer either wouldn't, or couldn't, tell us," he said. "So we must confront my mother and Lord Frakingham. Let's do it while they're together, at dinner." His gaze lifted, catching me staring.
My face heated and I pretended to fix my hair, covering my embarrassment as I did so. "Yes, of course. Over dinner."
"I'll leave you to get ready." He must have noticed my blush—and liked it—if the smile in his voice was an indication. "I'll see you in the dining room."
He left without me saying another word, or even looking up at him. I closed the door and leaned back against it, expelling a breath in an attempt to steady my jangling nerves. Aside from that brief moment when he'd lifted my chin with his finger, he hadn't touched me, yet his presence was powerful enough to make my skin burn with the anticipation of his hands caressing me.
It was a reaction I absolutely did not want to have. Yet it seemed that as I began to trust him more, my desire for him rose too.
Worse still, I wasn't sure how to dampen it.
***
After being unable to decide what to wear to dinner, Sylvia came to my rescue and lent me her blue velvet dress. It was a little short, but with white lace trim at the sleeve and down the front, it was easy to quickly pin a wide band of matching lace to the hem so that nobody would notice.
"There," she said, admiring her handiwork just as we were about to go downstairs. "That color looks lovely on you."
I glanced down at myself, and realized with a start that it was the first time in a long time that I'd worn anything other than black, gray or brown. It was that very lack of color in my own wardrobe that had caused my indecision, I realized. I'd wanted to wear something brighter.
"Let's see what jewelry goes with it." She opened her dressing table drawer and pulled out the dragonfly pendent Samuel had given me. The maid must have moved it along with my other things. "Is this yours? It's so pretty. I can give you a chain if you'd like to wear it."
"No, thank you." I turned my back on her and the pendent. "It doesn't suit the dress."
"But—"
"I said no."
She sighed. A moment later I heard the drawer slide shut.
We headed down the stairs together and met the others mingling outside the dining room. I was very pleased to see that Langley was among them. Tommy must have carried him down. Sylvia went to him and rested her hand on his shoulder, then we all made our way inside. Whether by accident or design, Mrs. Gladstone sat on the same side of the table but at opposite ends to Lord Frakingham, making it impossible for them to have a direct discussion. I hadn't been present for their reunion, but I gathered from the distance between them that it had been a cool one.
Tommy poured the wine with calm efficiency. I snuck in a wink at him when no one was looking, and almost earned one in return, but he quickly schooled his features again.
Lord Malborough sat himself beside Sylvia and had already engaged her in conversation. She smiled politely but looked disinterested. Or perhaps she was just worried. I'd told her to expect the subject of the missing men to be brought up. She'd wanted us to leave the conversation until after dinnertime, but I agreed with Samuel. Dinner was the only time we could be sure everyone was together.
Ebony had eyes only for Samuel. She watched him from beneath lowered lashes as she sipped her wine. It was impossible to know what she was thinking, and she was soon drawn into conversation with Lord Frakingham.
Cara caught my gaze and gave me an encouraging smile. I returned it with a genuine one. Despite the arrival of Samuel's family and Ebony, and the unanswered questions surrounding the ruins, I felt happier. I had good friends in Cara, Tommy and Sylvia, a roof over my head, food in my belly, and I was safe from the master.
And something else had changed too. I didn't fear Samuel like I used to. While there was still a chance that he might tip over the edge into complete madness, I knew he wouldn't hurt me. He'd had ample opportunity already, and he'd hardly even touched me.
It was not, however, a reason to accept his proposal, if he ever renewed it. I was still very much the wrong woman for him, and still very much determined to remain free.
"We learned something curious today," Samuel said as Tommy served almond soup. Sylvia winced and scooped up her wine glass. "We spoke with Mr. Myer—"
Mrs. Gladstone clicked her tongue. "That man," she muttered.
"You can't trust anything Myer says," Lord Frakingham added.
"In that case, perhaps you'd like to tell us in your own words what happened to Mr. Garrett and Mr. Owens."
The quiet slosh of soup being spooned into bowls was the only sound in the ensuing silence.
"Mother," Samuel said, "would you like to tell us what you know about them?"
"What did Mr. Myer say?" she asked without looking at anyone.
"That the gentlemen went missing in sixty-seven, when the society was here investigating the ruins."
"Were they found?" Lord Malborough asked. Of everyone there, it became clear he and Ebony were the only ones not privy to the details. I began to wonder how much he knew about the ruins, the portal, and his father's involvement in the supernatural in general. He must have known something, because he hadn't acted surprised that first night of their stay when his father had mentioned the Society for Supernatural Activity.
"No," Samuel went on. "They simply disappeared during a visit at the same time Mr. Myer and my parents were also visiting."
"How horrible," Ebony whispered. "It must have been a worrying time."
"Do we have to discuss this now?" Mrs. Gladstone whined.
"Why not?" Samuel said. "We're all here."
"There's nothing to tell," she muttered. "Mr. Myer is right. Those gentlemen disappeared. We never saw them again."
"The police concluded that they wandered off," Lord Frakingham said, lifting his glass to his lips.
"Mother?" Samuel asked. "Is that what you think happened?"
She also picked up her glass. "It was so long ago, I can't recall the details.
If that's what the police concluded then who am I to say differently?" She drank a long sip.
Samuel didn't ask any more questions, but the tension lingered. It was too simple, too vague, for such a tragic event. Surely if two people went missing, there would have been much speculation at the time. It wouldn't be easily forgotten, as Mrs. Gladstone claimed. Hers and Lord Frakingham's lack of enthusiasm for the topic was telling, as was the fact they agreed with Myer's story. All three accounts were similarly vague. It was as if they'd rehearsed it.
I decided not to press the point, as, it would seem, had Samuel. I didn't think we'd get any answers from them without knowing the right questions to ask. It was so frustrating.
"Myer made a suggestion today," Samuel said to Langley. "He wants you to consider hiring a supernatural archaeologist to untangle the abbey's secrets."
"A supernatural archaeologist?" Ebony enquired with a bubble of laughter. "What is that?"
"Someone who unearths ruins and artifacts of a paranormal nature."
She blinked slowly at him. "This is a joke."
"No."
"Samuel, don't tell me you believe in the hocus pocus that seems to be sweeping the nation these days. Mediums, ectoplasm, ghosts…it's all just parlor tricks for the feeble minded."
Everyone except Ebony looked at Cara. Sylvia whimpered into her soup. Cara's lips curved into a devilish smile. Clearly she didn't care that Ebony was doubting her status as a true medium. Perhaps she was used to it. Everyone in London society knew of Emily and Cara's pasts as mediums, but not everyone knew they were genuine. It was a past largely glossed over after Emily married Jacob Beaufort, and it was no wonder Ebony had forgotten. She would have been quite young at the time.
Ebony bit her lip, suddenly realizing her mistake. Her cheeks flushed scarlet and she looked as if she wanted to slide under the table and out of sight. "I, er, that is to say—"
"It's just a bit of fun," Mrs. Gladstone said with a nervous laugh.
Sylvia made a choking sound. "Dawson, more wine! Please, much more wine. It's from the Bordeaux region of France," she declared to nobody in particular. "I've heard tell that French wines are the best. As are French cooks, so I believe. Do you have a French cook, Miss Carstairs?"
The supernatural discussion was dismissed, thank goodness. It wasn't only for Cara's sake, but for Sylvia's, too. She seemed to be more affected by Ebony's comments than anyone.
"You did that on purpose," I whispered to Samuel as we filed out of the dining room after dinner.
"Did what?" he asked innocently.
"Tried to get Ebony to lose interest in you by pulling the supernatural card."
"If she claims to love me, she needs to know everything about me, including my own supernatural trait." He limped off, leaving me staring at his broad back. He was right; of course he was. Ebony did need to know everything about him, and yet she didn't even know the most important thing about him. That he was a hypnotist.
***
I retired from the drawing room before most of the other guests. Only Bert and Samuel had vacated before me. Bert in particular looked tired, his eyes cocooned in dark circles.
I was about to enter the bedroom I shared with Sylvia when I heard slow footsteps approaching in the darkness. "Samuel?" I lifted my candle, but it shed only a small arc of light. "Is that you?"
"You'd prefer that, wouldn't you?" Bert's voice emerged from the darkness before he did. The light from my candle cast demonic shadows across his cheeks and the flame's reflection danced in his pupils. "Too bad it's only me."
I shrank back against the door, my hand around the knob. "Good evening," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I thought you'd gone to bed."
"I've been waiting for you." The predatory smile he gave me sent a chill to my bones. "I'm so glad I didn't have to wait too long. And that you're alone."
My swallow was so loud he must have heard it. My knees felt weak, but the solid door at my back was a comfort. Could I get inside and lock it in time if he lunged at me? Or was the fear creeping through me enough to paralyze me?
"What do you want?" I whispered.
"Isn't it obvious?"
I shook my head.
He stroked my cheek with his hard knuckles. "I want you, Miss Charity."
CHAPTER 8
He dragged his knuckles down to my chin and clasped it in his hot, sweaty fingers. I couldn't move. Didn't dare. He might hit me, or try to strangle me. And then later, he would think up an even crueler punishment. That's what the master used to do.
My body shook. My insides tumbled over. My head screamed at me to run, but there was no way that I could. Fear had me in its grip. I felt pathetic and weak, as vulnerable as a small child.
I hated it.
"I won't hurt you, Charity. I wouldn't dare mar that beautiful skin of yours, that pretty face. But I do want to make myself clear."
He wrapped the fingers of his other hand in my hair. He didn't tug, but his tight hold was enough to tell me that he could do whatever he wanted with me. It didn't matter that he was ill; I couldn't fight him off at that moment.
He bent his head closer to mine and his rapid, ragged breathing sounded as loud as a steam engine. "I only want to worship your beautiful face, your body." He kissed my throat beneath my ear, his rough lips raking over my skin. "Let me be your benefactor. I will give you whatever your heart desires. Money, jewelry, parties." This man knew me not at all.
His lips traveled to the underside of my jaw, my chin. I pulled my head back and closed my eyes against the kiss I knew would be next.
Yet in the darkness that enveloped me, I didn't see Bert, I saw myself. It was like I'd exited my body and watched the scene from a distance. What I saw sickened me. I saw myself surrendering. The me of many years ago, the defiant, willful girl who'd survived on the streets was allowing herself to be manipulated into something she didn't want, by a man she didn't desire.
There was just enough of that girl left in me to resist. "I don't want those things," I told him.
"Of course you do," he murmured. "All women do. Don't be a coquette and pretend otherwise."
I put my hand to his chest and held him off. Not pushing, just enough to signal that I didn't want him to advance any further. He straightened and glared at me. "You're not still holding out for him? Don't you think my brother would have given in by now, if he wanted to pay a mistress?"
This time I did shove him. I couldn't help it. The anger burst out of me and instinct took over. "You're right," I growled. "He doesn't. I've told you, I want nothing from him. Or you. Now kindly leave or I will be forced to do something I haven't done in a long time."
His lips peeled off his teeth in a sneer. "And what's that?"
"Fight back." Perhaps I'd been wrong. I was beginning to think it wasn't the fierce girl of my past that had resurfaced now, but a new woman. One just as fierce, but in a quieter way, one who accepted her mistakes and learned from them, but refused to be defined by them. One who had begun to heal.
"Charity? Bert?" The effect of Samuel's voice was like a bullet ricocheting along the corridor. Bert jumped back and jerked around. I twisted the doorknob in my hand and opened the door. I went to step inside, but stopped myself. Fleeing now would only make me feel weak, defeated.
"Brother!" Bert cried. "You startled us. Miss Charity and I were just having a quiet discussion away from curious eyes and ears."
Samuel stepped into the light cast by my candle. The shadows hollowed out his cheeks and eyes, made him look surly, dangerous. "Charity? Is everything all right?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" Bert snapped.
Samuel sucked in a breath between his teeth. "Charity?" He peered at my face. Deep lines crossed his forehead and pulled at his mouth.
I held his gaze and nodded. "Everything's fine." Perhaps it was foolish to lie, but this was his brother. When I was long gone, they would still be family.
"What were you talking about?" Samuel sounded innocently curious, but the ha
rd gleam in his eyes betrayed his true thoughts. He knew what had happened between Bert and me. He knew.
My tongue felt thick and dry. I couldn't answer him, couldn't tell him what Bert had wanted to do to me. It might break him. And yet it might be the only thing to push him away from me and into Ebony's arms.
"It's none of your affair," Bert said.
Samuel's jaw hardened. "Tell me." It was a command, not a request.
"It's not gentlemanly. Come, brother, you know that."
"Tell. Me."
Bert sighed. "Very well, but I don't want to do this. You see, Charity tried to seduce me."
Everything inside me shrank and recoiled from his words. I wanted to scream my protest, tell Samuel it wasn't true, make him believe me.
But I did not. I stood there, as still as I could, not even my breath making my chest rise and fall. And waited for Samuel's response.
It came in the form of a bitter laugh. "Don't," he said to Bert. "You're better than that."
Bert shrugged. "What do you mean? It's not a lie. She tried to kiss me." He rubbed his throat above his collar. "She grabbed my tie and everything."
Samuel crossed his arms and fixed an ice-cold glare on his brother. "Is that so?"
"She wants to be my mistress."
Samuel's jaw went rigid. "Stop it," he hissed. "She doesn't deserve this."
Bert snorted. "She doesn't deserve your faith in her, that's what she doesn't deserve. Are you accusing me of lying, brother? Because if you do, there is no going back. I'm warning you, tread carefully."
Samuel's hand whipped out and grasped Bert's tie, just as he'd accused me of doing. "I don't want to punch you, but if you insist on going down this path, I will feel compelled to knock some sense into you."
Bert's eyes bulged. Even in the poor light I could see his face turning a deep shade of red. He held up his hands. "Ask her," he croaked. "Go on. She has an arrangement all planned out. She's a clever one. She had you believing she wanted nothing from you, from us, but I can assure you, it's all an elaborate scheme to feather her nest. I can't say I'm entirely averse to the idea—"