Accursed (37 page)

“Stop! Thief!” a voice erupted behind him. He turned to see one of the peelers standing in the library doorway, pointing a wooden club at him.

The peeler was tall and probably outweighed him by a good two stone. But did the uniformed fellow know how to fight? Only one way to find out.

Confident in his ability with his fists, he moved toward the brawny policeman, but stopped when he saw his opponent’s partner standing quietly in the shadows of the darkened hallway, holding a dripping candle.

Damn,
the man thought. There was no way he could take on the two of them.

In the moment of his indecision, the peeler who had discovered him lunged and tackled him around the waist. The bag containing the idol slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor. The two men landed in a heap on the cold wood.

The peeler made a grab for his head, but the man was too quick for him, slipping easily out of his grasp. He grabbed the peeler’s head and slammed it hard into the floor, likely breaking his nose and knocking him unconscious.

He hurried to his feet even as the second peeler started for him, raising his wooden club as he attacked. This time the man didn’t hesitate. He knocked the club away and drove his fist into the peeler’s stomach.

The policeman staggered back, the wind knocked out of him. It took the thief only a moment to realize his mistake. The tallow candle had fallen from the second peeler’s grasp and rolled over to one of the long velveteen drapes that encased the library window.

Fire licked along the drapes and quickly leaped toward the ceiling.

“Damn!” the thief snarled, looking around wildly to see if there was any way to stave off the fire. But there was nothing he could do, save let it burn. He grabbed the sack containing the idol and made his way through the smoke to the library doorway.

“Get out while you can!” he yelled back to the peelers over the roar of the flames. Then he disappeared into the darkness of the hall, flickering shadows nipping at his heels.

He nearly leaped down the stairs. It was only as he reached the ground floor that he realized his protection spell had dissipated. He was no real sorcerer, and didn’t know how this had happened—possibly something to do with the fire, or the fighting. But he could feel the idol’s magic working on his exposed flesh, slowly burrowing into his skin.

Immediately he tried to reconjure the protection spell, but knew instinctively that it was too late. He was as good as dead. He had been in close proximity to the dark idol, unprotected, and now, rather than being its savior, he was its latest victim.

W
illiam Swift’s mind was racing as he led Sophia up the stairs to the second floor of Ludlow House. Several times he glanced down at her, to find her gazing at him with a weighty sense of expectation that was quite unlike her.

William raised the lantern he carried, dispelling the gloom at the top of the stairs, and reached back to take her by the hand. Sophia smiled wanly, eyes searching his. He turned away quickly, and wondered why he had done so. With her hand in his, he continued down the long second-floor corridor, and turned to the right into another hall that led into the eastern wing of Ludlow House. There was a library along this hall, as well as a music room that had gathered dust ever since his mother’s death, so very long ago. And there were several guest rooms that in recent times had housed only the ghosts.

The feel of her hand in his brought a warmth to his heart, a spark of light in the shadow that had fallen over his mind of late. Despite her contentious relationship with Tamara, William saw in Sophia a strength and confidence that he admired greatly. She was intelligent and straightforward, beautiful and graceful. It bewildered him that the two women in his life could not see how much they had in common, and he hoped that one day that realization would make them, if not friends, at least allies.

Yet he also required certain things of Sophia. First among them was that she understand that while he would give her all of his heart, he could not abandon his other responsibilities simply to assuage her fears. He would comfort her as best he could, but she must have courage as well.

They had walked in contemplative silence, then he released her hand so that he could open the door to the bedchamber. He turned the knob and pushed the door inward. Holding the lamp high, he preceded her into the room.

“Oh,” he said instantly, brow furrowing, “it’s a bit musty in here, isn’t it? Stuffy and warm.”

He set the lamp down on the dresser, and went immediately to open a window, sliding it up several inches. A cool breeze swept in. “If you get too cold, you can always close it, but it’ll do a world of good to get some fresh air into this room. You’ll forgive me, I hope. We haven’t been able to keep the house properly staffed since grandfather died. And we weren’t expecting company.”

As he said this last he turned to face Sophia and found her still standing just inside the room, hugging herself and studying him. The plea that had been in her eyes was gone, replaced by a quizzical expression.

“You don’t want me here,” she said. Her voice was flat.

William faltered. He felt the chilly air flow around him, and the vastness of the house seemed to represent a distance that separated him from his beloved.

“What do you mean?” He tried to sound reassuring, but it came out false, even to him. “That’s ridiculous. I always want you with me. Had I my own way, you would never leave my side.

“It’s only that—”

He took a deep breath, and found himself struggling to find the words to continue. How could he explain the things that weighed on him, without adding to her hurt? How best to make her understand?

“Oh, no, William,” Sophia said, showing such sadness that it pressed upon his spirit.

“What
is
it, my darling?”

She hugged herself more tightly. “I can read your face, Mr. Swift. I know you. You are trying to find a way to be diplomatic, to hide from me your true feelings, or to soften them in some way that will make them seem less harsh.”

He had nothing to say, for that was precisely what he had been doing.

Sophia waited a moment for his answer, then shuddered with a sigh. “If there is any hope for a future between us, you must dispense with such behaviors. There must be no secrets, no hidden agendas, no sweet lies that cause us to be dishonest with each other.”

The lamplight flickered across the canopied bed, and the mirror above the dresser gleamed with its illumination. The shadows in the corners seemed to thirst for that light. Outside the open door, the corridor was dark, but the gloom did not trouble William. This had been his home for his entire life. He knew every creak and corner. They were safe here.

And suddenly he understood why Sophia did not want to be at her home. When she had heard the rumors of the spread of the plague, she had become frightened indeed, and she knew as well as William himself that there was true evil in the world. It was only logical that if something evil had come to London, she would want to be here, with the very people meant to protect all of England from that evil.

But there was more to it than that, William realized. Something more profound. At the Winchell estate, there were only servants. Sophia had no family at home. William was the closest thing to family that she had.

No secrets,
she had said.

“Of course, my darling—”

“And,” she interrupted, “I hope we never again stand alone in a bedchamber with such a gulf separating us.”

A soft smile came to his lips, and he felt a kind of relief washing through him, as though a dam had broken. He nodded as he strode toward her.

“I share that hope with all my heart.”

Sophia gnawed her lower lip in a way that was both charming and alluring, but also silently heartbreaking. She wasn’t as strong as she liked the world to believe. When William reached for her hands, she threw her arms around him and embraced him with such vigor that all the breath was squeezed from his lungs.

Softly he touched her hair, and then bent to kiss her forehead.

“I am glad that you came. Even with your servants there, you are alone in your house. There is no family there, no one to hold you or tell you that all will be well.”

He clasped her forearms and gently moved her back a pace, so that he could look directly into her eyes . . . so that she could see how serious he was.

“One day soon, I hope that you will join me here at Ludlow House, as my bride. And yet I confess that even that joy fills me with a certain trepidation. You know the duties Tamara and I have inherited. They place us—and all of those around us—in constant peril. Even within our own walls there are—”

“I can take care of myself, William. I am perfectly capable,” she said crisply. The Sophia he knew and loved was coming again to the fore.

“Yes,” he said, tightening his grip upon her wrists. “You
are
a formidable woman. But you must understand me. Though you may
feel
safer in this house, here in my presence, that may be only an illusion. Much of the world is illusion, Sophia, and willingly surrendering to such a pleasant mirage can be dangerous.”

She pulled one hand loose and reached up to caress his face, running her fingers lightly across his cheek and touching his lips to silence him.

“You fear for me,” Sophia said, her eyes crinkling now with affection. She paused a moment, and nodded as though to herself. “You worry that with all the troubles clamoring for your attention, both natural and supernatural, you will not be able to protect me.”

William nodded.

Sophia let her hand drop to his shoulder, and pulled the other one free, then moved closer, pushing her body against his, cleaving to him, molding herself to him in a way that was unspeakably delicious. She gazed up at him, yet there was none of the playfulness that had accompanied earlier attempts to tease or seduce him.

She wore a mask of propriety in public, and beneath that William had seen a more playful persona, of the temptress. This was an entirely new face, and he felt as if it was the most truthful.

“You will do all that you can, William,” she said, her voice low, a grave sincerity there and in her eyes. “As you have done thus far. My life has been in your hands before, and I have survived. From the time I discovered the life that you and your sister lead, I knew that there was danger involved—that I would find myself in the presence of evil. Something of that, I confess, is enticing. You and Tamara are involved in a grand conflict, and the nobility of it would have captured my heart, even if the boy who gave me my first dance had not already done so years ago.”

William was taken aback by this confession. A smile came unbidden to him, and he even uttered a small chuckle.

“So long ago? Sophia, we barely knew each other then. It’s only little more than a year since that party at the Hartwells’, when we bumped into each other—”

She glanced down shyly. “Are you really that blind, sir? Well, I suppose men often are. Let me confess that our renewed acquaintance was hardly that casual. You might even say I arranged the entire thing, and had been wanting to do so ever since that first dance.

“I have acted the coquette, William, and invited the advances of other men who wished to court me. I have said cruel things to you, but it has all been to protect myself, to hide from you just how many of my hopes I have wagered on you. You have held my heart and my dreams in your hands for years, William Swift, though you never knew.”

“We were just children,” William said, amazed.

“Yes, but we’re not children anymore.”

Sophia reached up and undid the simple knot that kept her hair pinned. She let it cascade across her neck and shoulders. She shook it out, even as she touched William’s face again.

“So, you see, I have only two choices. I can live a mundane life of shallow society parties, inventing new ways to spend my inheritance. Then, certainly, I would be safe. Or I can pursue the dream born of that little girl whose toes you once stepped on while trying to dance, and cherish every day of our courtship. Then become your bride, despite whatever dangers I may face at your side.”

She laid her cheek upon his shoulder.

“I think I’ll risk it,” she murmured, “and thank God for the chance.”

Sophia tilted her head back to meet his eyes again. “So now I have exposed myself to you fully, William. I have put my heart at your mercy.”

He gazed down at her, and for a moment he could neither speak nor breathe. It wasn’t the elegance of her features that so paralyzed him, however, but the openness and vulnerability of the light that shone in her eyes.

And it terrified him. William wanted Sophia beside him forever, wanted her to marry him and for them to fill Ludlow House with the laughter of family, of children, in a way it had not been for so very long. But now that she had revealed the depth of her love for him, he feared for her more than ever. Sophia had said this had always been her dream, and it was his as well. Yet it would not be a simple dream to fulfill.

“Your courage astounds me,” he whispered.