Emily French (15 page)
Authors: Illusion
The silence around them was broken only by the sound of Abigail’s quick breathing. A single teardrop slid slowly down her cheek. Then, as if the words were being jerked out of her, she spoke. “Charles is at the gambling tables, Seth.”
Seth’s shoulders rose in a shrug and he handed his glass to a passing waiter. When he answered, there was a suspicious lack of inflection to his voice. “I suppose he’s losing, as well.”
The shimmer in the green eyes became a small waterfall. A flush brightened Abigail’s dewy skin, and her chin wobbled dangerously. This time several petals fell, as if in empathy.
Seth rolled his eyes heavenward in a long-suffering manner and turned toward the staircase. Abigail moved to follow him, her tears cleared away, as if by magic.
Sophy was enjoying herself thoroughly. She could scarcely have been more pleased that two personable men such as James Pike and Samuel Clemens had taken her under their wing, introducing her to other guests. She had made several valuable future contacts.
Seth had rapidly been besieged by old friends, struggling through the crowd to shake hands and congratulate him upon his return to social functions, so she felt no guilt at deserting him.
Shortly before midnight, people began to drift toward the refreshment room where supper was being served. Sophy declined several offers of an escort, as she searched for Seth. He had been given enough time to think.
Complacency left her abruptly, as she snapped back to reality. He was standing clasping the hand of a beautiful fair-haired woman, the lamplight waking a rich golden sheen on the woman’s head.
There was the strongest impression that the urn above their heads moved. The flowers seemed to sway. Something clicked in the back of her brain, and a tiny part of her screamed danger.
For a moment, Sophy stood rooted to the spot, her breath stifled. Then, almost convulsively, she sprang across the room, pushing her way through the milling guests. But the bulking crowd moved in and stymied her. Her mind whirled and the room tilted as she hit the wall of solid flesh.
She staggered, then regained her balance. A shiver rippled down her spine as with a sense of inevitability she ran toward the couple. She struggled across the packed room toward Seth and Abigail Lethbridge. They seemed miles away, much too far for her to make in time.
Her breath caught in her chest. Could no one else sense the danger? Her rapid heartbeat matched the insistent pulse of the bass drum being played in the ballroom.
“Seth!” Was that her voice, so shrill and tight, filled with the agony of fear?
Seth lifted his head and looked her straight in the eye. His conditioned reflexes had him frozen in a crouch before he’d even identified the danger. An instant later he was flattened against the pillar, Abigail thrust protectively behind him.
The urn wavered and fell. There was a tremendous crash that seemed to splinter the very foundations of the Greeley house. The urn lay shattered on the floor, in the exact spot where, only seconds before, Seth had stood.
Its contents lay scattered on the white marbles, the red autumn leaves resembling great drops of blood on an altar stone.
Chapter Eight
S
ophy stirred and felt the warmth of the male body beside her. She could hear him breathing quietly. As she turned to look at Seth’s sleeping figure, the night’s memories came back, bringing a light flush to her cheeks. It was an unbelievable relief simply to lie there and know he was unharmed.
ophy stirred and felt the warmth of the male body beside her. She could hear him breathing quietly. As she turned to look at Seth’s sleeping figure, the night’s memories came back, bringing a light flush to her cheeks. It was an unbelievable relief simply to lie there and know he was unharmed.
It was so quiet. She cocked her head, listening. Nothing but her own heartbeat and the quiet, even sound of the man’s breathing. The peacefulness was unreal, even uncanny.
The excitement was over, the questions answered, and they were home safely, but Sophy couldn’t dismiss the faint feeling of unease. Various incidents replayed themselves in her mind and began to fit together like the pieces of a puzzle.
She stirred restlessly upon the bed. Something was not quite right about last night’s events. She was teased by an uneasy thought that she had forgotten something significant. Something she’d heard that could be a key to the puzzle.
As far as she could judge, four people had access to Seth’s affairs. She made a mental note of them.
Charles Lethbridge.
Richard Carlton.
George Dunwoody.
Matt Tyson.
All of them had been at the previous night’s function. Richard Carlton and George Dunwoody had left early, before supper, but had that particular timing been really coincidental? Or a deliberate decoy?
Something felt wrong. Things were not as they seemed. Somehow, she had missed a vital clue.
She was sure of it.
Careful not to touch the warm body next to hers, Sophy drew her knees up to her breast and hugged herself. Was she justified in wanting to believe Charles was the villain, and assuming therefore that all the others were innocent? But it was only guesswork. It didn’t amount to more than a theory.
Impressions weren’t evidence. impressions could get her off to a good start in her investigations, that was all. And Charles had been gambling last night. Badly dipped, too, according to a hysterical Abigail.
She absently dragged her fingers through her hair. The night air was damp and clammy. She got out of bed and padded to the window, where she stood with one hand on the soft damask drape, gazing idle down into the square.
It was completely empty and completely gray, as though the November night had drained all color from the world. Gray avenue, gray sidewalk, gray tree trunks, blank gray sky.
She shivered. Torn, tattered fragments of smoke streamed from chimney tops, shredding in the wind, like the gray phantoms of terrible things come to seek revenge for the wicked wrongs that had been practiced.
Sophy pulled herself up sharply. She was being ridiculously fanciful. It was an illusory terror. No shapes of doom, no torture, no punishment, came from the darkness.
The darkness. It was her nemesis. A child’s fear. Like the fear of a devil or hobgoblin. Her father thought her fear was something to do with a fertile mind, her mother dying and the war happening, both at a time when she was at an impressionable stage. Whatever it was, she had to overcome it, rout these stupid fears from her mind.
Seth came fully awake within the space of a heartbeat. In the faint yellow glow of the fire, he could make out the quiet, almost regal little figure standing by the window.
All the incipient doubts about allowing Sophy to become involved in the investigation came racing to the foreground. He already had two incidents on his mind that might have been fatal. He could not countenance another.
Ice water spread through his belly. He would have to renege on his promise to Sophy. It was getting harder all the time to thwart her. Come to think of it, having Sophy angry at him might keep her busy scrubbing and polishing, or whatever else she did when she was mad.
What he had to do was keep her busy, out of harm’s way. Keep her safe. Give him time to put the puzzle together.
“Sophy!?”
She came back to the bed, shivering a little. Seth put his arms around her, drawing her close. His arm brushed against her breast. He forgot what he had intended to say. He couldn’t think of the words.
Her cold little toes curled against his calves as she tucked herself against him. A warm feeling rushed over him. Before he could analyze it, she gave a delicious wriggle and all coherent thought left him.
He only wanted to hold her, touch her, kiss her, become drenched in her beauty, lose himself in her softness and scent.
The next time he awoke, it was morning, and he was alone.
Sophy came into the dressing room with less than her usual bounce. She had awoken in a somewhat subdued mood, and the sight of Seth did nothing to elevate her spirits.
It was as if she had gone to bed with one man and woken up with another. He was frowning a little, in obvious agitation.
“Why so serious?” she asked gently.
Seth hesitated. He seemed suddenly even taller, his chest expanding as he drew a deep breath.
“Do you believe in premonitions, Sophy? I do, and I think it would be best if you keep close to the house for a time.”
Seth watched her through the corner of his eye. She was wearing a pale lavender silk dress, a delicate thing that didn’t hide the willowy shape of her body.
“I believe in what I feel and what happens. I believe in right now, not yesterday. Right now you have windmills in your mind, distorting your thinking. Don’t let these stupid suspicions jeopardize both your business and our happiness!” Sophy couldn’t keep the shock, and the passionate appeal, from her voice.
What could he say? He wished things could be different. He wished he could give her what she wanted. He whirled to face her, his fist tight on his waistband.
“I’ve got mysteries and you want miracles!”
“You’re going to renege on our bargain, because of a couple of unrelated incidents?” she protested, angered now.
“Sophy, this is a security issue, not a deliberate attempt to back out of our bargain.”
A tense, strained silence fell. Seth clenched his right fist, squeezing his fingers tight into his palms. A blue vein was visible in his temple.
“Rubbish!” Sophy snapped. “I will not be fobbed off with fairy tales.”
If Sophy continued with her protests, he’d soon resort to lies, and more lies. That, or else be abrupt with her. He shifted a little, and shrugged into a gray gabardine coat.
“I thought I was being practical.” She made a wordless noise of disgust, and he went on. “It’s hard enough to tackle facts without flying away after theories and fancies. The facts are that there have been two unexplained
incidents
since you became involved in the investigation.”
incidents
since you became involved in the investigation.”
Seth’s words sent a chill down Sophy’s back. “You’re letting your imagination go too far.”
“Under the circumstances, it’s a natural reaction. The less you know, the safer you are.”
There was a pause. “Last night was a misfortunate mishap, that’s all. I wasn’t even nearby.” Somehow the words did not seem convincing even to her own ears.
“You don’t know a damned thing about men, and how they react when cornered. A hunted man doesn’t go to ground like a fox. He lashes out in self-defense. Sometimes uses scare tactics.”
“I know a lot about money. How to make it. How to keep it. How to lose it. I know men who own big companies who can’t keep a straight set of books. I can pick an error in the records like a hound picks up the scent of the fox!”
“I’d rather not have to worry about you.”
“And so, out of a misguided sense of protectiveness, you want me confined to the house?”
Her arms were folded, which was not a hopeful sign. His leg hurt. He eased his weight against the dresser. Her eyes shifted around in agitation.
“What would you do if faced with a similar situation?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t make any difference....” She stopped, put off by the echo in her own mind. A Sunday-morning preacher warning about the wicked paths, the evil in the world and the redeeming power of love.
A great love cannot come into fulfillment and peace before it has passed through the height and the depths of proof, and indeed endured the acid test. It is the little loves which go by merrily, and smoothly.
At the time, the words did not make sense. Now they did. What
was
the best way to help Seth?
was
the best way to help Seth?
“Don’t you want to hear what I want, Seth?” His name was a whispered plea.
“I want to hear, but I don’t want to pay the price for it...my peace of mind.” He took his weight off the dresser, sighing. “I’m not going to let you goad me into changing my mind, Sophy. Not even negotiate a compromise!”
“Well...” She paused, wondering where to begin. Unspoken, unutterable thoughts raced through her mind.
I know you mean it for the best, and I would gladly obey your orders, if you...
If you love me. Her lips silently formed the words. No. She could never, ever ask him outright. Her back straightened. “You promised me the days.” Her voice had lost none of its strength, but there was a hollow inside it, a vulnerability.
He closed the distance between them in a single step, touching her arm gently. “So I did. Tell you what. I’ll wait around until the mail arrives. We can check if any fish took the bait from the missives we sent. That way you’re still involved.”
A soft chuckle issued from her throat,. “That’s a real relief.”
Her voice cracked the shell of his fear. Seth forced a smile, holding the door open, catching the scent of lavender as she stepped into the hallway.
Panache.
The single word thrust like a picture plane into his mind. The last place in the world he wanted Sophy snooping on her own was at the factory, where accidents were commonplace at the best of times. He wanted to know where she was. Home. Safe.
The single word thrust like a picture plane into his mind. The last place in the world he wanted Sophy snooping on her own was at the factory, where accidents were commonplace at the best of times. He wanted to know where she was. Home. Safe.
An hour or so later, Sophy paced the floor of the library, devising and rejecting options that might crack the armor around Seth’s heart. She was going to need a lot of incitement to banish the memory of one or two unfortunate mishaps, to make him laugh again.
Having been up against Seth’s implacability before, she decided not to let him provoke her without some return fire. This would vex him, but sometimes a woman had to put her back to the wall and stand up for what she believed.
This wasn’t one of those times, though. She was sure he was mistaken. Seth was becoming obsessed with her safety. He had connected two unrelated events and given each a sinister motive.
Accidents don’t mean death....
But they do if they were intended.
Sophy blanched, and a bubble of apprehension lodged in her throat. What about the half-forgotten incident at the tram stop? Had that been a near miss, or a deliberate attempt to push her into the path of the moving vehicle?
This was no charade they were playing. It was reality, and one that could prove to be frightening, and even dangerous at that.
Seth needed her help. She had to get him to change his mind, no matter what subterfuge she used. That forgotten factor still teased her.
Sophy stopped pacing, and cast a speculative look around the room. Planned by William Strickland, the architect who had designed the Merchants’ Exchange in Philadelphia, the library was a clever example of Greek Revival style.
Lofty stacks of books, crowned with busts of classic literary figures, rose from the floor to the ceiling, which was arched and painted with a magnificent panorama of biblical figures. A carved, almost life-size likeness of Daniel nestled in one corner, while a desk and globe held court in the center of the room.
Long windows were set with patterns of stained glass, which let in the sunshine and threw a kaleidoscope of color upon the floor. A gallery running around half the room was served by a small, curving staircase, and everywhere there were books.
Books exquisitely bound in tooled leather in soft, warm colors that, blending one into another, seemed to make a pattern for the walls more beautiful than anything that could have been devised by a painter.
Sophy went quickly to one of the tiny alcoves tucked between the rows of books, and dragged out a small wooden ladder. There was not much time.
At the edge of her mind nibbled the sly demons of unease. Undaunted, she ignored them. She was not about to abort her plans because of some idiotic concern about Seth’s male outrage at being bested by a woman. He needed a caretaker and she was elected!
Shutting out the vague disquiet, she wrinkled her nose in dismay. She was not very tall, and the top of the ladder looked a long way up.
She heard a quick, uneven tread in the hall and closed her eyes, drawing a deep steadying breath. He was coming! The matter of timing her moves now loomed all-important.
Common sense warned her that even the best-laid plans seldom went exactly right. She pushed aside that unsettling thought and, clenching her teeth, climbed up the small wooden ladder. Even at the top of the ladder she couldn’t quite reach the top shelf, so she put one foot up on the spooled railing beside her and stepped onto it.
Other books
A Little Combustible Chemistry by Violet Duke
Proposition by Wegner, Ola
Suck It Up by Hillman, Emma
The Bridal Swap by Karen Kirst
Glass by Ellen Hopkins
Target by Robert K. Wilcox
The Fran Lebowitz Reader by Fran Lebowitz
Jackie's Wild Seattle by Will Hobbs
The Wild One by Melinda Metz
Now You See Me-Gifted 5 by Marilyn Kaye
