Baron

by Joanna Shupe

  “Have you always been able to commune with spirits, Madam Zolikoff?” one of the male guests asked, his eyes firmly on her bosom.

  Ava tried to remain calm. It certainly wasn’t the first time a male guest had stepped over the line of propriety with her, yet it still bothered her. She made a mental note to watch this man closely. “Ever since I can remember,” she answered.

  The doors behind her opened, and Mr. Price’s head snapped toward the sound. “Excellent, you’re here. We can start.”

  Ava casually glanced over—and her heart froze. Everything inside her careened to a hard stop.

  A familiar, tall blond man in stark black evening clothes stood framed in the doorway. Will Sloane. He was as handsome and commanding as ever, while a dazzling, young blond woman clung to his arm. An older woman, probably the girl’s mother considering the similar features, hovered nearby. Ava watched as Will smiled and reached out to shake Mr. Price’s hand. “I apologize for our tardiness. Miss Baldwin was keen on seeing the lights along Madison Square so we took the long way over.”

  Will was . . . here. And he was with a woman.

  Chapter Eleven

  Will glanced about the room, taking a quick measure of the others attending the dinner party, when his gaze landed on a familiar set of lips. His body jerked, the shock of seeing her here like a physical impact. What in the hell was Ava doing at Price’s home? Then he noticed the blond wig and the dark clothing. Goddamn it.

  Madam Zolikoff, in the flesh.

  His jaw clenched. Miss Baldwin had not mentioned that a séance would be taking place this evening. If he’d known, Will certainly would not have offered to escort her and her mother. Now he was stuck here, unable to leave, because he hadn’t arrived alone.

  Ava turned away to speak with another guest. He could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was unhappy to see him, though he didn’t know why. She wasn’t the one who had been rejected. Will had made a perfectly reasonable offer, one many women would have been amenable to, and she’d thrown it back in his face.

  That had stung, yet it hadn’t stopped him from wanting her.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Baldwin, Miss Baldwin, Mr. Sloane. May I offer you all a drink before we get started?” Price asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” Mrs. Baldwin answered.

  “The strongest you’ve got,” Will muttered.

  Price lifted a brow but said nothing before walking away. Mrs. Baldwin excused herself to see a friend in the crowd, leaving Miss Baldwin alone with Will. The girl’s hand tightened on Will’s forearm as she leaned into his side. “I hope you don’t mind there’s a séance tonight. It should be good fun.”

  A debutante from one of the very best families, Miss Baldwin was the current favorite in the Mrs. William Sloane derby. The eighteen-year-old had impeccable manners and a cool blond beauty that appealed to Will. Right now, her pale blue eyes were glowing with excitement. “And I’m told that we can ask for a private reading afterward.”

  Dear God, this night would never end. He tried to keep his annoyance from showing. “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather go to dinner, just the three of us?”

  “Oh.” Her smile dimmed significantly. “We could leave, I suppose.”

  Will suddenly felt like an ass, the stuffy bore that Lizzie always teased him about. But how could he expect to stay in the same room as Ava and not lose his mind?

  The back of his neck prickled, awareness sliding through his body, and he looked up to find knowing brown eyes appraising him. Daring him. Ava obviously expected him to turn tail and run. Did she think him afraid of her?

  He threw Miss Baldwin an affable grin. “No, I apologize. It was rude of me to suggest, especially when you are so keen on staying. I’ll gladly suffer, if only to see you happy, Miss Baldwin.”

  Her face lit up once more. “Please, when we’re alone, you may call me Charlotte.”

  He nodded. “Then you must call me Will.”

  “Here you are,” Price said, returning. First he presented Charlotte with a glass of champagne, then he handed Will a heavy crystal glass with a splash of amber liquid on the bottom. “That’s the finest whiskey imported from—”

  Will threw it back in one swallow, the rich, woodsy liquor burning all the way down to his troubled stomach. He handed the empty glass back to Price. “Thank you. Shall we get started?”

  Price blinked but turned to the rest of the room. “Everyone, let’s adjourn to the back parlor.”

  Will glanced at the other guests as they filed into the hall. Eager faces surrounded him, like fatted calves being led to the sacrifice, these fools who believed in Madam Zolikoff ’s powers. How much would she profit from these ridiculous proceedings?

  Head high, she breezed by him, and he caught a whiff of lavender and spice. His muscles tightened, the memory of her orgasm on his fingers resurfacing and setting fire to his blood.

  He should keep away from her, find another warm and willing bed partner instead. Of course none of those women would have Ava’s wit or bravery, or her sharp tongue that could flay a man like a bullwhip. She had so much fire. Scorching heat. The two of them would be explosive together, if she’d allow it. Perhaps he could request a “private reading” and try to convince her once more.

  Why cannot you accept her refusal? It wasn’t his nature to beg or plead. He’d discussed what he wanted, and she declined. Pride demanded he forget her. And yet . . .

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he heard her say as he entered the dark performance room. “If everyone would have a seat.” Madam Zolikoff gestured to the round, wooden table. The chairs were close, putting the guests shoulder to shoulder with one another. He quickly led Charlotte to the seats directly opposite from where Ava had positioned herself. Stay far, far away from her.

  “Please, everyone sit. Then we will begin.”

  Once Charlotte had arranged herself, Will squeezed into a seat. There must be a reason why Ava needed the guests so cramped together, but damned if he could figure it out.

  Price slid the wooden doors shut, which left only a dim standing lamp behind Ava’s chair. She sat and held up her hands. “You have all come here this evening,” she started in her Russian accent, “to commune with the spirit world. If you do what I say and clear your mind, we might succeed. But if there is negative energy in this room, we will not be able to reach the spirits.”

  Will swore he felt her staring at him though her eyes were on the others. Negative energy, indeed.

  “Now, everyone please, remove your gloves and clasp hands with one another. Once you are ready, we will begin by chanting.”

  Charlotte stripped off her gloves and eagerly grasped his hand. Everyone at the table did the same until they were all touching, including Madam Zolikoff. “Chant with me. ‘Spirits of the past, come forth and visit with us.’” She repeated the phrase a second time, and the guests began echoing the words—all except Will, of course.

  Again and again, the words were repeated, faster and faster. He could hear Charlotte struggling to breathe properly in her corset and keep up with the chant, and Will assumed most of the women in the room were on the verge of passing out. How could this be healthy?

  The lamp suddenly went off, plunging the room into total darkness. The guests, including Charlotte, all gasped. “I sense we are close!” Madam Zolikoff declared. “Do not drop your hands, the chain must remain intact! Everyone keep chanting!”

  Will could not see a thing. The heavy curtains prevented even the glow from a streetlamp to enter the room. He could only feel the small hands of the ladies on either side of him. A few seconds later, a tambourine rattled—and all the guests quieted. “I sense a spirit is with us!” Madam Zolikoff said, and Will rolled his eyes in the pitch black. “Are you from the other side?”

  The instrument rang again, and the guests tittered with excitement.

  “Excellent. Are you a relative of someone in the room?”

  No sound, so she asked, “Then can you help us speak with tho
se on the other side who wish to reach a loved one?”

  Riiiiiiiing.

  “Please, everyone, think of the loved one you wish to contact.”

  The guests were quiet, and Will tapped his foot impatiently. Was everyone buying this drivel?

  “I’m seeing a spirit. It’s a woman. Older. She’s had heart trouble. A heart episode—”

  “My mother!” one of the other guests breathed. “Is it my mother?”

  “I think so,” Madam Zolikoff said. “Her name begins with an M or an N . . .”

  “P!” the same guest shouted. “Her name was Pauline.”

  “Yes! Pauline!” A short silence. “She says you have been taking her death extremely hard. She wishes for you to move on with your life, to take the trip you’ve always wanted.”

  “Out West. My mother knew I’ve always wanted to go out to California.” The woman’s voice trembled as if on the verge of tears. “Tell her thank you and I will!”

  Will let out a heavy sigh. This whole exercise was ridiculous.

  “Oof,” he grunted as a sharp, sudden pain exploded behind his head, rocking him forward in his seat. A damned forceful smack, as if someone had walloped the back of his head. He spun around, but his eyes had yet to adjust to the complete darkness. His ears remained keen, however; yet he’d heard no rustling and presumably the group still locked hands.

  “Is everyone still holding hands?” he asked. “Did anyone break away?” Everyone murmured their assent, confirming that hands remained clasped around the table, but Will knew the person responsible.

  Ava. Somehow, she’d managed to get out of her seat and strike him. He would bet his life on it.

  Madam Zolikoff relayed the woman’s message. Nothing was amiss in the placement of her voice, leaving Will baffled. How had she done it? Damn her.

  The séance continued with all the same tricks. More ringing of the tambourine. More messages from the great beyond. At one point, Will felt a strange touch on his shoulder, almost like a metal rod. None of the spirits wanted to commune with him, thank God. Probably because Ava knew he would not play along with this farce.

  Just wait until he got her alone.

  * * *

  The séance lasted little more than an hour. After that time, Madam Zolikoff requested a few minutes to collect herself. Price obligingly cleared the room, and Ava was able to take her first deep breath since seeing Will walk in tonight.

  The man did curious things to her insides—tangible, earthly things that were not figments of anyone’s imagination. No, these were altogether real, as real as they were unwelcome. Butterflies had filled her stomach while she sat across from him. At one point she could’ve sworn his foot had rubbed against hers, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin.

  She lifted a glass of water and brought it to her lips, trying to cool herself off. As much as she hated him, her body still remembered. Late at night, when reason fled and exhaustion crept in, she debated saying yes to his offer. After all, as she’d admitted, she was no virgin, and they clearly had some sort of physical connection unlike anything she’d experienced to date. Why not indulge it? Did she not deserve a bit of harmless fun, after the years of hard work she’d endured?

  Furthermore, it wouldn’t be like what happened with Stephen van Dunn. With Stephen, she’d believed the two of them had a future, that they would build a life on love and laughter. Will was not deceiving her. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’d been brutally honest about the entire business, putting it plainly that the two of them had no future together.

  Was she crazy for reconsidering? Not to being his mistress, but to enjoying the pleasures two people could discover in a hotel room now and then?

  Price stuck his head in the door. “Are you ready for a reading, or would you like a few more moments?”

  “I am ready. Thank you, Mr. Price.”

  “Please,” he smiled, “I would appreciate it if you called me Phillip.”

  Mr. Price had been quite kind, but the unnecessary touches and glances tonight made her wonder over his motives. He would not be the first man to assume Madam Zolikoff amenable to earning money in another manner.

  She inclined her head politely. “Thank you, Phillip.”

  One after another, she saw three guests privately for readings. Thankfully, their faces gave away most everything she needed to know. When people desperately wanted to believe, they were eager to provide clues to help her along. Rolling her shoulders to relieve the tension, she wondered if Will would be foolish enough to ask for a reading.

  The door opened, and a blond head appeared. Not Will, thank God, but this was the woman Will had escorted this evening. Miss Baldwin, as Phillip had pointed out earlier.

  This was Will Sloane’s future, a woman such as this. Beautiful, refined, perfect manners, with a willowy figure. The consummate political wife. No doubt the girl would obey his every command.

  “Madam Zolikoff,” the young woman said. “I hope you don’t mind performing another reading for me.”

  “No, of course. Come, my dear. Sit. Let’s see what the future holds for you.”

  Miss Baldwin, dressed in a sleek mauve-and-cream silk dress, arranged herself in the chair and placed her money on the table. As Ava collected the fee, she studied the other woman closely. Miss Baldwin was stunning, with classic features and milky white skin that had never seen sweat or sun, and young, likely eighteen or nineteen. Ava felt like a grizzled old crone in comparison, though she was only a few years older.

  That Will and Miss Baldwin were an excellent match was obvious, even to someone like Ava. So why had a lump-sized ball formed behind her ribs? It couldn’t be jealousy. Definitely not. That would mean she had feelings for the stiff railroad man, which was ludicrous.

  Focus, Ava.

  “Before we start,” she said, “are there any specific questions you want to ask? Anything in particular you are curious about?”

  The girl’s lips twisted in a self-satisfied smile Ava did not care for. “I want to know about my future husband.”

  Of course she did. Swallowing her reluctance, Ava pushed her sleeves up and reached for Miss Baldwin’s hands. “I should have known. It’s what any young woman wishes to know, eh? When will you find the man of your dreams . . .”

  “No, I’ve already found him. I want to learn specifics about our life together.”

  Already found him? Dear Lord, had Will proposed? That piece of information spun around in Ava’s brain like a Coney Island carousel. “Are you . . . ?” She could not even spit the rest out.

  “No,” Miss Baldwin said with a flick of her dainty wrist. “But everyone knows he is considering only me and Miss Iselin for a bride. She is lovely, but . . .”

  She drifted off, the implication clear. But not as lovely as me. Bile rose in Ava’s throat, a sour-tasting dislike of both this woman and the competition Will had initiated. It would serve him right to end up married to this self-centered girl.

  The hollow feeling in the pit of Ava’s stomach returned. She gave herself a strong mental shake, then took Miss Baldwin’s hands and placed them palms up on the wooden table.

  “Excellent, let us see. This is your Head line.” She traced the line in the middle of the girl’s palm. “It is long and straight, meaning you overthink things. This can also be a tendency to talk yourself into a course of action, where you lead with your brain instead of your heart.” The girl nodded, eager for Ava to continue.

  “This here, this is your Heart line.” Without questioning the reasons why, she said, “See how it starts under your middle finger? That means you have not yet found love.” Miss Baldwin did not appear too concerned, so Ava pointed to a spot on the girl’s hand. “And the break in the line? That means your true love is out there waiting for you, waiting to join you and complete the line on your hand.”

  Miss Baldwin started chewing her bottom lip. “Are you certain? Perhaps I’ve met him, and the line will complete once he’s kissed me.”

  So they haven
’t kissed yet. Ava didn’t know why that knowledge gave her a tiny thrill, but it did. “No, that is not what the lines mean. If that were the case, you would have a short, curvy Heart line starting at your index finger.”

  “Will my true love at least be rich?”

  Oh, indeed, Will was well rid of this woman. Ava studied both palms, as if searching for an answer. “Your Fate line, here, is very faint. And it crosses the Life line, starting at the base of the thumb. This generally means you will need the support of those in your life, such as your family.”

  “Or my husband.”

  “Not without the Love line connected,” Ava said patiently. “You have not met your future husband as of yet.”

  Miss Baldwin left moments later, her porcelain brow marred by tiny wrinkles. Ava felt a bit like one of the witches in Macbeth, causing mischief with her otherworldly powers and playing upon the weakness of others—not that she was experiencing any guilt, however. Will should thank her for saving him from such a shallow, conceited harpy.

  A knock sounded before the latch turned. Ava expected to see Mr. Price—and found Will instead.

  “Madam Zolikoff,” he said with exaggerated effect, a sharp bite to the words. “I would like a private reading.”

  He closed the door and stepped into the room. Gray eyes burned from his great height, causing her insides to dance under her skin, an avalanche of longing and desire. Could he tell? Could he see the effect he had on her?

  She let out the breath she’d been holding since he appeared. “I do not perform private readings on nonbelievers.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Even paying nonbelievers?”

  “Especially paying nonbelievers. They are doubly disappointed, seeing it as a waste of both time and money.”

  “I’ve already wasted my entire night. Where’s the harm in five more minutes?”

  Everywhere, considering she was struggling to contain herself around him. “I am certain your Miss Baldwin is eager to return home.”

  “She is not my Miss Baldwin and she may wait. I wish to speak with you.”

  “Two hundred dollars.”