Читать книгу The Lady Who Saw Too Much - Thomasine Rappold - Страница 9

Gia awoke groggy from another restless night spent tossing and turning in the turmoil of her vision of Landen Elmsworth and thoughts of Alice, the dependent young woman who also would be affected should Gia’s vision of his death become a reality. Not to mention his brother and his aunt and anyone else who might care for him.

Her head ached from the pressure of it all. Lack of sleep didn’t help. For the briefest of moments, she longed for the opiates and the temporary diversion from the enormous responsibility her prophetic vision had dumped in her lap. What have I gotten myself into?

She flung aside the covers and proceeded to dress for breakfast. After almost two weeks here, Gia barely saw the man, but each moment in his presence was torture. And in more ways than she’d imagined. Despite the man’s irritating arrogance, Gia felt drawn to him. The admission frightened her, and she did her best to shake free of her bizarre attraction to this total stranger.

She made her way downstairs, past a harried housemaid carrying a tall stack of linens. Rounding the corner, she walked down the wide hall toward the dining room. She nodded to two more housemaids who were busy polishing the woodwork and floors. Following the aroma of bacon, Gia entered the dining room to find Alice alone at the long table. She exhaled in relief that Landen was nowhere in sight.

“Good morning, Alice,” she said, taking a seat at one of the awaiting place settings.

Alice straightened, shoulders stiff. “Good morning.”

Gia poured a cup of coffee and helped herself to the large plate of bacon on the table. The unmistakable sound of Landen’s voice carried from outside the room. Gia froze in the midst of spreading jam on a biscuit.

His voice grew louder, and another housemaid scurried past the arched doorway.

“Aunt Clara arrives tomorrow,” Alice said to explain the commotion. “Denny is wasting his time. No matter how tidy the house or sparkling the crystal, she’ll find fault in it, anyway.”

“Your aunt?”

“She’s a domineering old shrew,” Alice said. “But Beatrice is worse.”

“Beatrice?”

“Her long-suffering friend.”

“Misery enjoys company, they say.”

With a nod, Alice retreated to her eggs, taking refuge, once again, inside a shelter of silence. Gia frowned. Alice’s timidity made Gia miss the spirited young girls at the female seminary. Luring this girl from her shell might prove as challenging a task for Gia as changing the outcome of her vision.

Turning her focus toward the direction in which she’d been hired, she said, “Your brother has finalized the guest list for the garden party.”

“How many?” Alice asked in a tone that said she dreaded the answer.

“Including your aunt and her friend, we’ll total twenty,” Gia said. “Shall we write the invitations and send them for delivery before Mrs. March arrives to fit our new gowns?”

Alice shrugged.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Gia wiped her mouth, then set down the napkin. “We can work outside on the patio.”

After breakfast, Alice followed Gia outside. Bright sunshine warmed the quiet spot, and the smell of dewy plants and shrubs filled the breeze.

“If we relocate those potted ferns, we can set up tables there,” Gia said, pointing.

Alice glanced up, then gave a quick nod. She stood, arms crossed, staring down at the ground. Her anxiety was unnerving. Irritating. After all the time they’d spent together, Gia’s patience was running thin.

“For goodness’ sake, Alice. It’s just us two and the daisies. You needn’t be so tense,” she snapped.

Alice gaped. “Easy for you to say,” she snapped back. “You have no idea what it’s like.”

Gia sighed. “What is it like?” she asked as she sat on the bench. She looked up at Alice’s pretty face, which was now marred in pain. “Help me understand.”

Alice lowered her gaze. “I hate parties. And people. They stare.”

“Stare?”

Alice hugged her arms tighter. “I feel their eyes on me, watching me. I hate it.”

“You’re a pretty girl, Alice. Even so, I think you exaggerate their interest.”

Alice shook her head.

“Unless the neckline of your gown is exposing your bosom or you’re dancing with one of your potted plants on your head, people probably aren’t focused on you any more than anyone else.”

Alice glanced up.

“It’s been my experience that people are too self-involved to squander time studying others so diligently. Especially when there’s food to be had and music to be enjoyed. And even assuming that what you believe is true, and people are watching you, what do you imagine is the worst that can happen?”

“I could make a fool of myself.”

“How exactly?”

“I could do something stupid. Say something stupid.”

Gia nodded. “And the guests would then toss you, kicking and screaming, into the lake?”

Alice frowned. “Of course not.”

“What, then, would ensue if you said something stupid?”

“I don’t know, Miss York, and I don’t intend to find out.”

“Please call me Gia,” she reminded the girl for twentieth time.

Alice huffed. “I don’t intend to find out. Gia.”

“And why don’t you intend to find out?”

“Because,” Alice fired back.

“Because anything you have to say is stupid?” Gia asked. “Or because you are stupid?”

Alice’s eyes flashed wide. “I am not stupid!”

“I know that.” Gia smiled. “And I’m glad to hear that you know it too.”

Alice shook her head in defeat. “When I’m among people, my heart pounds and my palms sweat. Oftentimes I feel as though I might faint.”

Gia sighed. “Have you? Fainted, I mean?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s something to keep in mind. You’ve survived crowds before. No matter how nervous you are, you must remember that soggy gloves will not cause you to faint.”

Alice considered this. “It’s still dreadful.”

“Well, I promise to do my best to make it less dreadful for you.” She smiled. “I’ve a feeling the two of us will have a fine time together.”

Alice shook her head. “Please don’t relay that prediction to my brother. A companion was his idea, and I simply couldn’t bear it if he were right.”

Gia laughed. “Very well then,” she said. “Let’s start on the invitations.”

* * * *

After a productive day of party planning and dress fittings, Alice and Gia shared another quiet dinner that evening. According to Alice, Landen was having dinner in town with the Widow Filkins. Again. Gia was curious about his relationship with the widow, but refrained from inquiring about her. It wasn’t Gia’s business, and it definitely wasn’t her place. Even so, Gia looked forward to the garden party and meeting the woman with whom Landen spent so much of his time. He’d listed Charlotte Filkins’ name at the top of the guest list, which confirmed her significance.

After dinner, Alice retired to her room to read. Gia sat in her own room, attempting to do the same, but failing miserably.

Her thoughts kept returning to her vision. Possibilities of what might lead to Landen’s death played through her mind, yet none of her imagined scenarios seemed plausible. From what little time she’d spent with him, she knew he was smart, physically fit, and seemed too in control to succumb to overindulgence or addictions to gambling, alcohol, or other dangerous behaviors that might land him at the bottom of a creek. Perhaps he’d be tossed from a horse or slip while out walking.

Whatever the cause, there had to be some way to stop the tragedy from happening. But how? Was it possible that another vision might help? She’d never before attempted to encourage a vision, but she’d never before attempted to stop a vision’s forecast from happening.

If she could manage to touch some of his personal belongings… She stood, heart racing. She could sneak to his room, poke about, and see what transpired. It was a long shot, but it beat sitting here doing nothing.

Abandoning the book, she tightened the cinch of her robe and made her way to the door. With each faltering step, with every painful memory of her failure to save Pru, Gia’s resolve grew stronger. All she had in this world were her visions and the promise she’d made to herself to follow them. She’d go wherever she had to, do whatever she must, to honor that vow—to lighten the burden of guilt she’d carry for the rest of her life.

Like a thief in the night, she crept down the hall to his room, her thoughts spinning. While she was rummaging around his room, she would search for the red scarf as well. Could the omission of just one minor detail change the course of the future? She didn’t know, but she had to try. His aunt and her friend would arrive tomorrow, and there’d be no better opportunity.

She eased open the door, then slipped inside his room, moving quickly. Enough moonlight spilled through the windows to guide her along. She picked up his cigar box from the tall bureau, then closed her eyes. Nothing. She grabbed the whiskey bottle next to it. Again, nothing happened. Frustrated, she opened the top drawer of the bureau and searched for the scarf. She moved to the next drawer, then the next. The blasted thing was probably packed away with his winter garments somewhere. He didn’t need a scarf in the summer after all.

The sound of heavy footsteps carried outside the room. Gia froze. His footsteps! The carpet absorbed the sound of most foot traffic, but not his. Her gaze darted wildly, searching for some place to hide. She dropped to the floor and slid under the bed, tugging her flowing robe with her.

The door opened, and she squeezed shut her eyes, as if that might help. Her nose twitched from the dust, and she plugged it to stifle a sneeze. Just her luck. She’d hidden in the one nook of the house the thorough team of housemaids had managed to overlook during their cleaning frenzy.

Alice had mentioned Landen was a private man. Even the help was not allowed in his study downstairs. Obviously, his desire for such privacy extended to this room as well. She was doomed.

She watched his large boots moving toward her. She shriveled amid the soft glow of the lamp he’d turned on. Coins clanked on the wood surface as he emptied the contents of his pockets onto the bureau.

She held her breath, her body stiff as a board. There’d be no explaining this caper, no reasonable excuse, and she wasn’t clear-headed enough at the moment to concoct one. She had no choice but to hold out until he fell asleep, then sneak out. Please, let him be a deep sleeper.

He paced the room for what seemed like forever before he began undressing. He tugged off his boots, then kicked them aside. She held her breath, listening as he loosened his necktie. It dropped to the floor, followed by his shirt, undershirt, and trousers. A moment later she was eyelevel with his discarded drawers.

She stared at the garment, trying with all her might not to think about what he might look like naked. Craning her neck, she tried for a peek. The sound of movement drew her back into the dusty shadows. The mattress slumped against his weight as he plopped to the bed. He gave a few sharp fluffs to the pillows, then settled in for the night. The silence was deafening. Why didn’t he turn off the lamp?

And then, just like that, he was up again. He strode to the table to pour himself a drink. Rolling her eyes, she screamed in her head, go to sleep!

As if hearing her desperate plea, he climbed back into bed, released a loud sigh, and finally turned off the lamp.

Closing her eyes, she exhaled in relief.

“Sweet dreams, Miss York.”

She flashed open her eyes, so startled by his voice she smacked her head on the bed slats. Her heart pounded.

“Since you’re obviously comfortable enough to remain under there, I’ll bid you good night.”

She cringed, her blood pumping through her veins.

“The next time you conceal yourself beneath a man’s bed, you might consider forgoing the perfume.”

She mouthed a vile curse. “Soap,” she muttered instead.

“Pardon me?”

“It’s soap. Not perfume.”

“Come out from under there,” he demanded.

“I can’t.”

“And why’s that?”

“You’re naked.”

“You might have considered that before you invaded my room. Where I sleep. Naked.”

She clenched her teeth at the unexpected humor in his voice.

“At least cover yourself up with a blanket,” she said.

She heard a rustle of covers.

“Done.”

She crawled out from beneath the bed. She brushed the dust balls from her hair, off her sleeves, anything to avoid looking at him. Her heart hammered. She forced herself to face him, then wished she hadn’t. He sat on the edge of the bed, a thin sheet wrapped around his waist. He was magnificent. Moonlight cast him in shadows and light. Her breath caught in her throat. Firm shoulders, muscular arms. A silken layer of dark hair graced his broad chest, trailing in a fine line to his taut stomach and beyond.

“Well?”

She could barely breathe, let alone speak. “I can explain.”

“I am listening.”

“I was…looking for something.”

He patted the space next to him on the bed and smiled. “You’ve found it.”

She gaped, shaking her head. “You misunderstand.”

Securing the sheet around his waist, he stood, moving toward her. “Enlighten me.”

The scent of his skin filled her senses, heating her blood and her flesh and her bones.

“Are you a thief?”

She took a step back. “No.”

He moved closer. His tousled hair pronounced a wildness about him, giving weight to the carnal look in his eyes. She couldn’t help wondering how many women had seen him this way, but she knew, without a doubt, she would never forget that she had.

He stopped, reaching toward her. She couldn’t move as his hand touched her hair. Twirling a lock around his finger, he grazed her temple, her ear. He leaned closer, and she closed her eyes, melting in the wisp of warm breath in her ear.

“A wanton?”

She shook her head slowly, her voice barely a whisper. “No.”

“What, then, are you doing in my room?” His lips skimmed her neck with each word. “Why are you here?”

To save your life, she wanted to say. But when she opened her eyes and gazed into his face, she discovered she wanted something else more.

So she kissed him instead.