“What are you doing?” Josie asked, rephrasing his question.
“Burning sage. Spirits hate the smell.”
“It’s not that bad,” he said. “Actually rather pleasant.”
“I don’t think that’s...”
“Don’t you worry, my dear. I’m rather knowledgeable on these matters. I’ve read all the books. Studied them I have. Consulted with experts. I stay up all night every night keeping vigil, keeping myself and those around me safe.”
No wonder the woman fell asleep during the day.
Mrs. Binns dropped the last of the burning rush into the large bowl on the washstand.“I have the best protection money can buy,” she said, retuning to the bed. She pulled out a small cloth bundle tied with red string.“Here. Keep this on your person at all times.”
“What is it?”
“A charm to ward off evil spirits.”
Mrs. Binns put a second bundle tied with a green string under the pillow on Josie’s bed.“Guaranteed effective against demon incubi.” “Is she speaking about me? I am not the devil incarnate,” Deverell complained.
Then Mrs. Binns stood in the middle of the room, held her arms out at her sides, and, closing her eyes, turned slowly in a circle. When she stopped, she squinted and stared at a spot near Deverell’s head—not directly at him but near enough to be uncanny.
“I see this particular spirit is stubborn. I shall have to read up on this. Don’t worry. I’ll get rid of it.”
“We could just change rooms,” Josie suggested. It wouldn’t get rid of Deverell, but maybe Mrs. Binns would feel better.
“Nonsense, my dear. If you let a specter get the upper hand, it will chase you the width of England. Believe me, I know. Before I joined the Prevention of Interfering Phantoms Society, the ghost of my second husband nearly drove me to distraction. With the help of the other PIPS, I called on the spirit of my fourth husband, the most recently demised, to intercede on my behalf, and I’ve been nightmare-free ever since. Not that I’m taking any chances. I have my nightly ritual. And now I shall include you in my circle.
“Do you hear that, Mister Spirit?” she added loudly.“You are impotent here.”
“Thank you for that reminder,” Deverell answered dryly.
“You’re safe for now,” Mrs. Binns said to Josie as she latched her case. “I’ll not rest until I’ve rid this room of that presence. I promise.”
“A simple ‘please leave’ would suffice,” Deverell said.
“Thank you for your concern,” Josie said. “I’m sure it’s not...”
“Tut, tut. It’s my job to keep you and your virginity safe until you’re walking down that blessed aisle.”
“But, I’m not...”
“Don’t say it,” Deverell warned. “Your reputation must remain spotless in order for you to be my mother’s houseguest.”
“...in any hurry to get married,” Josie finished lamely.
“Well, you should be.You’re practically on the shelf.” Ah, yes.The Regency version of the “your body clock is ticking” speech. Josie had thought she was going to avoid that.
“You’ve still got your looks and all your teeth.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“And with your fortune you’ll be getting offers right and left.”
“What fortune?” She had exactly seven hundred and thirty-two dollars in her checking account, and that was before her car payment was automatically deducted.
“Your letter of introduction was quite clear, as it should be. My job is to find you the best match possible, and ten thousand pounds per annum makes any woman all that much more attractive. But even an heiress has to stop running if she wants to get caught. You’re not getting any younger. Think about that long and hard.”
Deverell had led Mrs. Binns to believe that Josie was an heiress looking for a husband?
With a final humph, Mrs. Binns left the room.
Josie turned to confront Deverell.
He had most conveniently disappeared.
“Damn, damn. Double damn,” Deverell muttered as he roamed the house looking for information Josie would find useful.
This was not working out at all the way he’d planned. He couldn’t fully materialize and take his rightful place—a greater disappointment than he would have thought.
What had he expected? That he could experience life once again if only for a few days? Embrace his mother one last time? Taste, feel, touch, and be touched? That Josie would...
What was it about that particular woman that caused him to bare his soul despite his best intentions to remain indifferent and aloof? Yes, he’d promised to answer her questions, but a man had his limits. A man should be in control.
And he was not in control of...anything. Impotent. That was the word. And he didn’t like feeling impotent. Not one iota.
The only thing he did seem to be able to do was keep them in the past, although that was more of a strain than he’d anticipated. He was beginning to wonder if this had been such a good idea. Maybe he should just zap them back to the future and let the south wing be damned. Amelia would live out her life in relative comfort, and he would take his deserved punishment.
Redemption was bloody impossible, the unreachable bait with the barbed hook. He was tempted to throw in the towel. Call it quits.
Except now he’d involved Josie in the matter, and he must consider her welfare. She would take the failure personally.
Already she’d reacted as if she cared for him, just a little.As if she expected to see him again after all this was over. He should have foreseen this happening. She had a penchant for the underdog. Not a position he relished, but apt considering the circumstances.
He must see that she completed this job and as quickly as possible. Before she became more attached to him.
Or should he say before he became more attached to her?
“Get dressed. Get dressed,” Mrs. Binns said, rushing into the sitting room she shared with Josie. “Hurry, hurry.”
“I’m dressed,” Josie said. She sat curled in the large wingchair by the window. She closed the book in her lap to cover the list she was making of possible tests to disprove the seer’s abilities.
“You must dress for dinner. And quickly.”
“Aren’t we...”
“Change of plans. I’ve just learned Lord Waite is expected to return...”
“Not interested,” Josie lied. More like not ready to face him and the tsunami of sensations he’d caused again.
“...with several of his friends.”
Josie faked a yawn.
“You may well turn up your nose at a roomful of handsome, titled men, but I refuse to let that she-devil Estelle and her pet gypsy...”
Josie sat up.“Who?”
The maid rushed in and curtsied. “Yes, mistress?” she asked in a breathless voice.
“What took you so long?”
“Oh, mistress, everything below is at sixes and sevens. Guests arriving a day early. His lordship with his friends. Six extra for dinner. Cook and Mrs. Osman are frantic.”
“Exactly why we’re in such a hurry. I’ve a guinea for you if Miss Drummond is dressed before the assembly gong.”
The maid ran to the bedroom, and Josie heard doors and drawers bang open and shut.
“Come, come,” Mrs. Binns said, urging Josie along with sweeping hand motions. “I’ll talk while you dress.”
Josie stood like a mannequin while the maid stripped her down to her corset and chemise.
“Estelle La Foyn,”Mrs. Binns said, taking a seat on the bed.“Daughter of our gullible cousin Mabel who married an émigré French count without a penny to his name. After she died in childbirth, LaFoyn, who was not a count at all, but a bootmaker, dumped his infant daughter on Honoria’s stoop and hightailed it back to the hole he crawled out of.”
Josie turned this way and that way, raising her arm and lowering her arm as Dora dressed her from toes to head. She felt like a...a...what was the name of that doll? It
was on the tip of her tongue. How could she forget? Oh yes, Barbie. She felt like a giant Barbie doll.
“Honoria did her best by the girl,” Mrs. Binns continued,“but bad blood breeds bad blood, I always say. Estelle ran off with a cavalry lieutenant the day after she turned eighteen, taking the dowry Honoria had given her. Now seven years later she’s back. Claims she was married and widowed. But she’s using the Countess LaFoyn name again. Bah! Up to no good, she is. Mark my words. And Honoria is proving to be just as gullible as poor Mabel was.”
“And the gypsy,” Josie prompted. She sat at the dressing table and chose a simple ribbon for Dora to pin in her hair.
“I don’t know much about her. Calls herself Madame X.Allegedly she doesn’t use her real name at her royal father’s request. But if she’s with Estelle...Birds of a feather is all I have to say about that. In my day we wouldn’t have allowed a gypsy in the house, much less at the table.”
Josie was ready in record time. Mrs. Binns, who had previously dressed for dinner as a matter of form, handed Dora the gold coin just as the assembly gong sounded.
Picking up her reticule and fan, Josie was on her way to the parlor without remembering that she’d actually agreed to forgo dinner in her room.
“Slowly,” Mrs. Binns said. “You don’t want to appear eager.”
Josie hadn’t realized that she’d been rushing to get to the stairs. She couldn’t possibly be impatient to see...the gypsy. She matched her steps to Mrs. Binns’s tortoise pace, and it seemed to take forever to navigate the long hall, including three stops for Josie to hear about paintings of absolutely no interest to her.
At the top of the stairs, she spied Lord Waite chatting with three other young men in the wide foyer. The event had been called a simple evening of casual entertainment, yet each man wore a high starched collar and elaborately tied cravat.Although more subdued than the others, Dev’s charcoal coat covered a colorfully embroidered vest. He looked up at her. Déjà vu. She felt the same thrill at his admiring expression, but this time she took a firm grip on the banister before starting down the stairs.
“Good evening,Mrs.Binns.Miss Drummond,”Dev said, bowing over first one hand and then the other.
A very formal salute. No actual hand kissing, much to Josie’s relief. Even through both gloves, his and hers, the warmth of his hand was enough to set up the vibrations within her.
A tall thin blond man moved forward and said, “So this is the American heiress we’ve heard about.”
“Not from me,” Dev muttered.
The young bucks shouldered one another aside in their attempt to present themselves in front of each other.
“You never said she was a beauty,Waite, old sod.”
“You’ve been holding out.Thought we was pals.”
“Introduce us, Waite. You can’t keep her all to yourself.”
“All in good time, gentlemen,” Mrs. Binns said.
“All in good time.”Taking Josie’s arm, she led her charge into the parlor. “An excellent beginning,” she whispered, obviously pleased.
Josie glanced back over her shoulder.
The men lost their stunned expressions and scrambled after her like puppies tumbling over each other to get to a saucer of cream. Dev followed with a bemused smile.
In the parlor everything was pleasantly formal. However, Josie detected undercurrents as Honoria introduced her to the other guests.
Barstow, curate at the local vicarage, stammered and blushed his way through Honoria’s attention and then scooped candied almonds into his pockets when he thought no one was watching.
Hargrave was as solemn as Deverell had warned, and Caster went into a long tirade regarding horse breeding. It would have gone on even longer if Honoria had not gently cut him short and moved the conversation on.
Lady Wingate’s trilling laugh followed from one conversation group to another. When she was finally introduced to Josie, the vivacious woman said, “How very nice you could join us. Had you remained upstairs, the Countess and I would have been simply swamped with eligible men. Like handsome Galway, here,” Lady Wingate said, turning to the tall blond man in such a way that her breast grazed his arm, which sent her off into another eruption of giggles.
Josie understood why her husband sulked in the corner,nursing a drink and glaring at the other men.
Estelle had latched onto Dev as soon as he entered, and she hadn’t let him out of arm’s reach since. Madame X flanked his other side.The gypsy, a head taller than Josie and twice as wide, was dressed in voluminous layers of heavy fabrics woven with mysterious designs.A golden Egyptian circlet with a rearing cobra topped a large headpiece that covered her forehead, hair, and shoulders, and her scowl warned off all comers. Mrs. Binns was not deterred.
“I hope you are enjoying the evening,” Dev said to her as she approached, Josie in tow.
“Yes, thank you.” Mrs. Binns performed the necessary introductions.
Estelle looked at Josie as though she was something disgusting stuck to the bottom of her shoe. “How fortunate that you could come all this way to get some social polish. Sometime you really must tell us about growing up in the wilds of the colonies,” she said, her tone indicating that the twelfth of never would be too soon.“Just now Dev and I were reliving some memories. I’m sure such tales would be of no interest to anyone who didn’t grow up here.” She turned her body toward Dev, effectively cutting off Mrs. Binns and signaling her to move on.
Mrs. Binns sidestepped Estelle’s machinations. “Oh, la.Young people shouldn’t be looking backward. That’s for us old folks on a cold winter’s night.”
“It is rather chilly in here,” Estelle said. “Don’t you think so, Mrs. Binns?”
“Not at all. I’m quite comfortable.Thank you.”
After a moment of silence, Dev picked up the conversational lag. “Did you get to see much of London, Miss Drummond?”
Josie felt the force of his attention. A hot blush spread from her stomach upward to her ears and downward to the tips of her toes. “No...I...uh...came directly here,” she stammered. She couldn’t have felt more conspicuous if she’d been standing there naked.
Mrs. Binns came to her rescue.“I was just telling Miss Drummond about your grandfather’s portrait. Miss Drummond has quite an interest in artwork, and I’m sure she would enjoy viewing the Gains-borough. I was hoping you would take a moment and show it to her.”
Josie blinked at the spate of lies rolling off her chaperone’s tongue with sincere ease.
“We’ll be going in momentarily,” Estelle said, laying her hand on Dev’s arm, staking her claim as the highest-ranking female to the host’s escort.
Not that Josie had any big-time craving to see the painting, but she hated to see some upshot fake countess consistently put down dear Mrs. Binns.
Josie glanced up at the clock on the mantel, just beyond Dev’s shoulder. “Oh no,” she said, pasting on an innocent expression. “Dinner won’t be announced for at least another twenty minutes.”
“Crown me if the chit ain’t right,” Galway said from behind Josie.
Did he just call her a chit? What the hell was a chit?
“Aren’t you going to do your duty as host and show her your paintings?” Galway asked.
Dev turned to look at the clock, thus breaking Estelle’s possessive hold. “I suppose...”
“And while you’re gone, I’ll entertain the delectable Estelle with my latest ode to her beauty.” Galway insinuated his tall lanky body into Dev’s former spot.
Mrs. Binns placed her hand on Dev’s arm, flashing a triumphant grin.“Come along, Miss Drummond. Lord Waite is taking us into his private study.”
Of course, Josie wouldn’t be allowed to be alone with him. She breathed a sigh. Not only did she not trust him. She didn’t trust herself even more. She’d met handsome men before, met men who turned her on in bed, but she’d never had such a potent reaction to simply being in a man’s presence. Thank goodness she could depend on her chape
rone to keep her safe.
When Mrs. Binns gave her a wink, Josie realized her relief may have been premature.
Seven
As she trailed Dev and Mrs. Binns down the hall, Josie tried to bring her riotous libido under control. A modern, educated woman of her age should not react like a...like a horny college student. The man had done little more than look at her and touch her hand.
Once in Dev’s private study, Mrs. Binns collapsed on a sofa and plied her fan vigorously.“My, my. I’ll sit here for a bit. Go on, go on,” she said, motioning Josie forward with her free hand. “There it is. Dev will tell you about it.”
Josie took a spot next to him, carefully maintaining two feet of space between them. She clasped her hands behind her back and gazed up at the painting over the fireplace.
“Tradition dictates that each earl or heir to the earldom have his portrait painted on his thirtieth birthday.As you can see, this is not a typically posed portrait. Great-grandfather requested that he be painted in what he considered his element.”
The large painting, a full eight feet in length and reaching far up into the fourteen-foot ceiling, depicted an autumn landscape with the castle on a far hill. In the left foreground a man resembling Dev except for the lighter color of his hair sat on a bench under a spreading oak in a casual pose, coat off, hat carelessly held between his fingers.
While Dev explained the details—a monogrammed handkerchief, a skin flask, a half-eaten loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese—Josie tried to stay focused. His whiskey-smooth voice and nearness intoxicated her, raising her body temperature.
The picture before her faded, replaced by one of a tropical beach. Sun-warmed sand and exotic flowers. A man, looking suspiciously like Dev only nearly naked and smiling, lounged beside a stand of palm trees. The large screen of her imagination played and he rose and beckoned her closer. Her breath came in little gasps.
For the first time in years, Dev struggled to maintain control of his traitorous body. He had acceded to the transparent request to view the painting as a convenient escape from Estelle, who had become blatantly possessive. A hasty decision he was beginning to question.
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