“We’re proud to be your sons,” Jonathan answered, and Neal thought he would lose the fragile hold he had on his emotions. There was a strong chance that the Chattan name would end with his generation.
And yet here was something good. He loved these boys. He could freely love them as a father without fear of their futures.
But for how much longer?
His father’s words in the letter haunted him—“I loved! What sweet words! May God have mercy on my soul.”
Thea and Cass were quiet as they walked through the halls to the front door. Dawson opened the door, his expression grave. He, too, apparently waited for Cass Sweetling to leave.
Cass turned to Thea. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, albeit a short visit. I wish you good luck in your future, Lady Lyon.” Cass walked out the door. Dawson started to shut it, but Thea found her voice.
“Wait,” she said. She slipped out the door, catching Cass on the front step. The day was overcast, the air heavy with the threat of rain. “One moment of your time, please.”
“Of course,” Cass said. A sedan chair waited to carry her away. She nodded to her servants, and they set the chair down.
“Go ahead and close the door,” Thea told Dawson. “I shall be fine here.”
“Are you certain, my lady?”
“I am.” What did he imagine the petite dancer would do to her? Thea took Cass’s arm and walked her toward the corner of the house, where they were away from prying ears. Thea said, “I’m sorry for what happened in there. My husband and his family have—”
Thea stopped, needing to search for the right words while debating whether or not she should even say anything. “There is this curse they believe in—”
“You should believe in it as well,” Cass cut in.
Startled, Thea said, “Why do you say that?”
Cass leaned close to her. “Have you had the dream?”
A coldness settled over Thea. “What dream?”
The other woman smirked, pulled back. “Pretending, are you?”
“Pretending about what?”
“You know.”
Thea shook her head. “I don’t know anything. You are talking in riddles.”
“Oh, I think you understand me very well. Tell me, are you in love with Lyon?”
Thea wasn’t certain she should answer. However, the truth of her love must have shown on her face, because Cass took her hand. “If you love him, then you must accept that this curse exists. People didn’t think I loved my husband. He was older than myself and I was, after all, merely a dancer. Funny how love ignores all class distinctions, petty jealousies, even allegiances, and certainly the barrier of age. He was everything to me. Harold changed how I thought, what I did . . .” Her voice drifted off as her eyes became misty.
“I’m sorry his children are not kinder.”
Cass shrugged away her apology. “It is what it is. You saw their expressions in there. I had the best of their father. They had a shell of the man.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Harold was very proud of his children and their accomplishments. But he feared showing them any affection. He helped them, saw to their welfare and prodded them when they needed to be pushed, but he wasn’t even necessarily kind about it. At least that is my observation. I don’t know what impact his letter will have on them.”
“I don’t know either.” Thea crossed her arms. “There is a strangeness here. Neal is very close to his brother and sister. They support each other, but there are walls also.”
“There are always walls when one feels it dangerous to love freely and openly,” Cass answered. “Harold’s first wife was beautiful and wealthy, but cold and uncompromising. She was happy to keep everyone at a distance. Much like I imagine Margaret does.”
Thea thought of that horrible night with Harry. “She is not so strict. She cares deeply . . . and perhaps that is what she is afraid of—caring too much.”
“Harry, from all I have heard, is on his way to ruining himself. The women still like him, though. They think he is a bit of a rogue.”
Thea dared not touch that statement. Over the last few weeks, her sons seemed to have brought out a better side of Harry, but that didn’t mean he had changed. “And what do you think of Neal?”
“I think he’s in love.”
Her words filled Thea with gladness. She’d not dared let herself think as much, and yet she so wanted to believe it was true. “I love him. I’ve told him I love him.”
Cass held up a warning hand. “Don’t be so pleased. You are in danger of losing him. Harold’s death was not good. It started with a numbness, and he grew worse over time. It started in a pesky way, but he knew what would happen. His father had the numbness and his father before him. I ask again, have you had the dream?”
A gust of wind scampered along the ground, teasing their skirts, then whirling up and around them. It was a cold wind and at odds with the warmth of the day. Cass looked around as if testing the air. “She’s here.”
“Who’s here?” Thea demanded.
“Fenella, the Scottish witch who put the curse on them. She knows.”
Thea shook her head, backing away. “Knows what?”
“That she almost has Neal. She is going to claim another.”
This was too much. Cass had obviously been a good actress as well as a dancer. Thea turned away, not liking the way Cass’s eery declarations put shivers through her. There was no such thing as curses, and Thea did not believe in witches, either. . . .
Cass reached out and caught her arm. She whirled Thea to face her. “You must not be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Then why do you deny what I’m telling you? It is of the greatest importance.”
“I don’t believe in curses,” Thea said, but her insistence was sounding weaker.
“She is here.” Cass tightened her hold on Thea’s wrists. “I didn’t believe either, but she came to me in my dreams. They were the most horrific ones I’ve ever had. She wanted to burn me alive.”
Thea immediately wanted to reject the knowledge that they might have shared the same dream. “If she lived centuries ago, she is not alive,” she said, struggling for reason.
“She reaches from beyond the grave. Her hatred is that strong. If you are having the dreams, then know she is sharpening her claws. You’ve heard her in the dream. I can still recall the sound of her laughter. Her evilness. She will claim Lyon.” Cass released her hold on Thea. “And I’m sad, because in spite of his ill will toward me, Lyon truly is a good man.”
“He has never said he loves me,” Thea protested.
“But what is in his heart?”
And in that moment, Thea realized the curse was true.
The horror of what the curse meant came home to her. “He can’t die,” Thea whispered, almost afraid to speak aloud. “I won’t let him.” She loved him. Within weeks, he’d become the center of her world—
“What can I do?” she asked Cass. “How can we stop it?”
“We can’t” was the bleak reply. Tears were now rolling down Cass’s cheeks. “I don’t know if there is a way to stop the witch. Harold tried everything. His father, his father before him. They’ve all tried to stop her and they’ve failed.”
“Thea?” Neal’s voice interrupted them.
With a start, Thea turned to see her husband standing on the step. He frowned, seeing her with Cass. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, it is,” Cass answered for her.
Thea was thankful she’d spoken. She was having trouble finding her voice. She loved Neal so much. She could not imagine her world without him.
Neal started walking toward them. Cass gave Thea a quick hug. “Be safe,” Cass whispered. “Be strong.”
“Wait,” Thea said. “How much time do we
have?”
“No one knows,” Cass answered and started for her waiting sedan chair, as if wishing to avoid Neal. She climbed in and waved her servants onward.
“Are you all right?” Neal asked. The concern in his voice pulled at Thea’s heart.
What should she say? What could she say?
She drew a deep breath. Released it. “I’m fine. Your stepmother is a rather insightful person.” Her voice sounded more confident than she felt.
He looked over to the sedan chair that was being carried away. “She knows how to create a scene,” he answered.
“So you don’t believe the letter is truly from your father?” Thea asked hopefully. If the letter was false, then other things Cass had said could have been untrue as well.
“It was from him” was her husband’s blunt reply.
Thea nodded, feeling cold and hollow inside. Neal took her arm. “You don’t look well. Come inside. The boys have prepared refreshments for us.”
Her sons. Her poor sons. How would they take his death? He’d so quickly earned a place in their lives.
Neal led her toward the house, and she was happy to just follow.
The rest of the day was a blur to Thea. She seemed to go through the motions of living, understanding now that the happiness she had enjoyed might have been nothing more than an illusion.
She did not want Neal to die. Not on her account. She didn’t think she could live with herself if that was to happen.
Dinner was a quiet affair, with Jonathan and Christopher providing most of the chatter. Harry was not there, of course. Thea had seen Rowan pacing the upstairs hall. She knew Harry had slipped away, and the manservant feared what could happen to him. A pale, somber Margaret ate in silence and then disappeared to her room as quickly as possible. She didn’t even glance once in Thea’s direction. She knew.
And Thea felt guilty.
Only Neal seemed content to pretend all was normal, laughing with the boys and eating a robust meal.
That night, when her husband turned to her in bed, she held him tight. She never wanted to let him go. Her certainty that the curse was real had grown immeasurably, and she didn’t know what to do. Holding him, being with him was her only way of fending off the danger of their world.
Neal made love to her with a gentle passion that brought tears to her eyes. He stroked, caressed, and loved every inch of her body.
And when he entered her, Thea felt the two of them meld together. She never wanted to forget this feeling of having this man she loved so deep inside her.
Together, they moved toward the inevitable, the pinnacle, the release—only this time was different.
She felt her husband’s seed fill her, and she knew that it had taken. She could sense that spark of life, that spirit of a new being.
Afterward, as they lay nestled together in bed, she placed her hand upon her belly, knowing that in time it would grow . . . and the curse would live on.
Thea knew there was only one thing she could do. She had to save Neal. She had to protect him. She had to make him hate her.
Neal was scheduled to be in meetings at Whitehall all the next day. In the wee hours of the morning, while he’d been sleeping by her side, Thea had formed a plan. She knew what she had to do—she had to leave him. Desert him. Abandon him.
Then he would not love her. He might even hate her.
It was the only plan she could devise, and, yes, it was born out of fear and desperation. She did not believe she could even share her plans with Mirabel. Her friend had become a staunch supporter of Neal’s and would do all in her power to talk Thea out of this decision.
She had some money. Neal was very generous in her allowance. She knew he would not begrudge her taking the funds for herself and her sons. Her sons. The thought gave her pause. Her three sons.
She was pregnant. She had no doubt of it, and she knew this unborn child was a male. Perhaps, if Neal lived, then this child would be safe from the curse as well. She knew she was guessing, but what other hope did she have?
While her boys were with their tutor, Thea snuck into their room and packed a few things. She did not cry as she did this but moved with steely determination. Thea would not let Fenella win.
Back in her room, she began making the same preparations. She had to leave before Neal returned, and she had to do it in a secretive manner.
Unfortunately, she was caught.
A knock sounded on the door as she was folding the last of her clothes and putting them in the bag resting on the bed. “One moment,” Thea started to say, picking up the bag, thinking to hide it, but the door opened on its own.
She was surprised to see Harry standing there. He did not look well. His skin was pale and clammy, his eyes dark.
“I wanted to let you know I returned on my own this time,” he said, sauntering in, his hands in his breeches pockets. “Rowan is relieved. He scolded me. Can you believe that? All these years he’s put up with me, but now you are here, so I’m scolded—” He stopped, his foggy brain realizing she was holding a half-packed bag. He tilted his head. “What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving,” Thea said. Why hide it? Had he not wanted her gone?
“You can’t do that.”
His objection surprised her. “Is that not what you wanted?”
He shook his head as if trying to clear his brain. The air around him reeked of spirits. “I can’t think. Where’s Margaret?”
“Harry, don’t say anything to her—”
“Margaret,” he hollered, going out into the hall. “Margaret.”
With an exasperated sound, Thea set the bag back on the bed. “Harry, please,” she said, going after him, but Margaret had already heard his shouts.
She came out of her room. “What is it?” she asked, taking one look at her brother and making a frustrated sound. “So you are back, are you? And looking the worse for wear!”
“Enough about me,” Harry said, waving away her chastisements. “Thea’s leaving.”
Margaret’s whole mood changed. She came charging toward Thea’s room. From the doorway, Thea turned and went inside. She wanted any arguments between them contained in this room.
“Tell her she can’t go,” Harry said, following his sister into the bedroom.
“Will you shut the door?” Thea ordered him in a furious whisper.
He mugged a face at her sharp tone but did as bid. Once the door was closed, he poked Margaret’s arm. “Tell her she can’t go.”
Thea turned to her sister-in-marriage. “I must leave,” she said. “The curse is real.”
“Of course the curse is real,” Harry responded, throwing his arms wide. “We know that.”
“Oh, Harry, I wish you were sober,” Thea said. “Then you would understand what I’m saying.”
“I understand,” he snipped back.
Margaret held up a hand to warn her brother back. “What is the real reason you are leaving us?” she asked.
Leaving us. Margaret had said that . . . Margaret, who had disliked almost everything Thea had done, even when she’d been very careful about Margaret’s feelings. Margaret, who barely spoke to her.
“I don’t want to,” Thea replied. “But I must. I am carrying Neal’s child.”
The air in the room changed. Harry collapsed on the bench at the foot of the bed. Margaret raised a hand to her head. They knew what this meant.
And then Margaret said, “But how is your leaving going to do anything but tear Neal’s heart out?”
So, they had noticed he loved her. “He’ll be angry if I leave, and then he’ll hate me,” Thea said, her eyes stinging. “I don’t want him to love me. He’s never said the words to me. There may be time to help him. I’ve had the dream,” she said to Margaret.
“The dream?” Margaret asked.
“You don’t know about
it?” Thea shook her head. “Perhaps only those who are being chosen have it. I’ve had dreams where I’m burning and everything is being destroyed. There is terrible laughter in the background. A woman’s laughter. I can’t describe it except to say it is the most evil sound I’ve ever heard. I started having it after I married Neal. Cass Sweetling had dreams as well, much like mine. She asked me about them. Now I know the curse is real.”
Thea closed the top of the bag. “I love him. I don’t want anything to happen to him. I want Neal safe. I want our son safe. Our son will be safe. This is the only action I can think of taking.”
“But you and your sons have become a part of our lives,” Harry said. “We don’t want you to go.”
His candid admission touched Thea. “And I would not go if there was any other way out of this.”
“Where is Neal now?” Margaret asked.
“He has the day at Whitehall, and then he will be dining with Lord Blayne and a few others,” Thea said. “He warned me it would be a late night. That gives me time to leave London.”
“And then after that?” Margaret wondered.
“I’d best leave the country,” Thea answered, not willing to divulge her plans to either of them.
Margaret nodded.
“This is all rot,” Harry said, jumping to his feet. He gestured wildly. “I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want your sons to leave. You are family now. You belong here.”
“Even if it means your brother’s life?” Thea asked gently.
He let his arms drop in defeat. “I can’t take this,” he said. “I can’t stay here. I don’t want to think of this.” He lurched for the door.
Margaret called after him. “Going for the bottle, Harry, or more opium?”
He paused, looked back at her. “You are cruel, Margaret.”
“No, your excesses are cruel, my brother. Go. Lose yourself.”
“I don’t want her to go,” Harry said sadly. “I don’t want her boys to go.”
“Sometimes we must make hard decisions,” Thea said.
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