The Lady Who Saw Too Much (12 page)

She writhed against the strum of his fingers, wondering how he’d learned all that he knew. Sensations flooded her veins as she grew wetter and wetter.

With one firm thrust he slipped inside her. The sound of his pleasure rumbled through her ear, and she delighted in the proof of his bliss. He pushed deeper. His hand moved in circles between her legs and she arched toward the pressure, the friction of his shaft sliding in and out of her. The tension wound tighter and tighter. She cried out in in exquisite release, splintering in a dozen different directions as it all came undone.

With a ragged groan, Landen came quickly behind her, crushing her to his chest.

His tight grip on her slackened as they descended to earth. He released her completely, and the chill of his absence made the summer morning feel as cold as December.

He rose from the bed, and she closed her eyes, heard the rustle of his clothing as he dressed. Without a word, he crossed the room to the door, then closed it quietly behind him.

She lay there alone, her body still trembling.

So this was to be their marriage. All they would share.

A bed, wordless passion, nothing more.

She shook off her chagrin. As difficult as it might seem at the moment, she had to stay focused. So much had happened since arriving in Misty Lake, there’d been so many distractions. Her body still hummed from the latest, but she did her utmost to channel her thoughts to her task. She’d married Landen for one reason and one reason only. To save his life. Once she accomplished that feat, once he was safe, she’d try to fix things between them.

Her other visions had come to life shortly after experiencing them. The vision of Landen had depicted the season was late summer, but she had to be sure.

Rising from the bed, she glanced around the room for an item to touch. She strode to his dresser where all his private things sat. She touched the coins he’d emptied from his pockets, then concentrated on a pair of fine cufflinks. Nothing.

She walked to the washstand. A comb and a hair brush were arranged neatly next to the basin. She touched the comb and the soap dish with no results. Sighing, she reached for the porcelain cup that held his shaving brush and razor.

Grasping the cup in her hands, she closed her eyes. Her breath quickened with her pulse as the cool glass started to warm. She followed the sensation through her fingers, through the glass. The vision appeared, and she was in a clearing in the forest beneath an old gnarled tree. She shivered with a chill of foreboding and the sickening sound of pained grunts.

Landen lay on the ground, hands raised in defense against the booted feet kicking his ribs, his face. Blood oozed from his mouth and nose.

Gasping for air, she opened her eyes. Her knees trembled. She clutched at the washstand for support, heard the sound of glass shattering against wood.

“What happened?”

She started at the sound of Landen’s voice behind her, but she couldn’t move. He strode toward her, his reflection in the mirror looming closer.

The sound of glass crunched beneath his boots. “Gia?”

She turned slowly to face him, hoping she didn’t appear as frazzled as she felt. “I…”

“You’re bleeding.” His eyes widened in alarm. He yanked a towel from the rail on the side of the washstand, then pressed the towel into her palm. “Come sit down.” He took her gently by the arm. “Watch your step.”

She nodded, soothed by his genuine concern. She blinked, feeling foolish. Of course he’d display concern—one had no other option when there was blood involved.

He led her to a chair, then knelt beside her.

She couldn’t bring herself to look into his face for fear she’d blurt out some futile warning about what she’d seen in her mind. Her body trembled in her fears for him, and the urge to slump against his chest and sob into his shoulder overwhelmed her. She fought to pull herself together as she opened the towel to inspect the cut. “It’s not bad at all,” she said in as cheery a tone as she could muster. “See.”

He winced at the sight of the injury; his face turned stark white.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

He shot to his feet, swaying.

“Landen!”

His eyes fluttered briefly before rolling back in his head, and then he fainted dead away.

* * * *

Gia’s heart pounded. “Can you hear me?” she asked, kneeling over him.

He blinked hard several times, then sat upright. “Yes, I am fine.”

She helped him to his feet. “Are you sure?”

“I am fine.” He pulled from her hold and any further attempts to assist him.

She rushed to pour him some water, and he guzzled it down.

“Thank you,” he said, running a shaky hand through his hair.

She nodded, relieved the color had returned to his face.

“We should have Florence tend to your hand,” he said as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

She eyed him, amazed, as he toed the broken glass by the washstand.

“What were you doing with my shave kit?” he asked.

His attempt to change the subject was dreadfully effective. “I was just moving it to tidy up a bit. I was clumsy. I’m sorry.” Her voice skittered on the lie. The memory of her vision. Landen fainting in a heap at her feet.

“It’s not your job to tidy up,” he said. “We have help for that.”

She nodded. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

He sighed at her prodding, looking more embarrassed than irked. “I don’t react well to the sight of blood.”

Moved by his humble admission, she smiled. “No, you don’t.”

To her relief, he smiled too. “I’ll send Florence up.”

He stepped from the room, leaving Gia alone with her poignant thoughts. The surprising discovery that this proud, virile man possessed such a frailty touched her deep down. The swell of warmth in her chest intensified, budging loose something burrowed inside her.

She cared for him now…

She had to warn him about her visions. She had to do something with what she knew. Landen wouldn’t end up in the creek as a result of some mishap. He wouldn’t fall or be tossed from a horse. The vision foretold what she’d suspected all along.

Someone was going to kill him.

They had just finished luncheon when Florence announced that Landen had a visitor awaiting him in the parlor. Clara paused her prattling long enough for Landen to excuse himself before resuming her oration on every tiresome detail regarding the upcoming weekend and the highlight of the season, the Westcott Ball.

Gia was more interested in who Landen’s visitor might be. In the two weeks since she’d experienced the horrible vision of Landen being beaten, she’d resigned herself to the disheartening fact that everyone he knew was now a suspect.

While she’d met several people at the garden party, reception, and a handful of other small affairs in town, the Westcott Ball would provide her with introductions to everyone.

As though reading her thoughts, Clara said, “Everyone will be there. The hotels are nearing full capacity already. Several eligible young men will be in attendance as well.” She directed a nod at Alice, who rolled her eyes in return.

Gia shook her head at the poor girl’s unenviable position. Now that Landen was finally married, it seemed Clara had set her sights on finding a husband for Alice.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, missy,” Clara scolded. “It’s high time you cease this wallflower nonsense. You’re a lovely young woman and must act before losing your bloom.”

“My bloom?”

Clara waved off her niece’s derision. “You know what I mean. And you’d do well to follow my guidance. I listened to my mother’s advice and was engaged during my very first season.” She puffed her ample bosom. “I don’t need to remind you that your Uncle Howard was the most handsome, sought-after bachelor in Albany when we met.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” Alice muttered.

Before Clara had a chance to respond, Landen returned to the room. His somber expression conveyed something was wrong.

“What’s the matter?” Gia asked.

“Tom Bidwell had some distressing news,” he said. “The Toomey boy is missing.”

“Missing?”

“He went fishing alone yesterday morning and never returned home. His family searched all night. They found his bait can and pole on the shore. His line was snagged on a log in the water, and they fear he may have drowned trying to retrieve it.”

“Dear Lord,” Clara uttered.

Gia gulped. She clutched her skirts to combat a surge of panic as she recalled her brothers’ drownings and the memory of being trapped beneath the ice, the water flooding her lungs.

“I’m going up to the Toomey house as soon as I load the boat in the wagon. The current is strong at the lake’s outlet, and as many boats as possible are needed for the search.”

Gia summoned her voice. “I’ll go with you.”

Landen shook his head. “There’s no time—”

“I am coming.” She stood, turning to Alice. “May I borrow your wrap?”

“Of course.” Alice handed Gia the wrap on the back of her chair.

“Gia, no,” Landen said, stopping her in her tracks. “I am going alone.”

“Your wife should be with you,” Clara said with a pointed stare. “As a show of support for the Toomeys.”

Landen sighed, turning to Gia. “All right. You can stay with Edna Toomey while we search. Tom told me the woman is beside herself.”

“Understandably so,” Clara said in a pitying tone.

“You’ll be all right here with Alice?” Landen asked Clara.

“Yes, yes,” she said, waving them toward the door. “Go.”

With the boat soundly secured in the back of the wagon, Gia and Landen departed for the Toomey house on the other side of Misty Lake. The silence between them seemed to lengthen the miles, as did Gia’s fears for the missing boy.

“Sam and Edna are good people,” Landen said suddenly. “The boy is their only child.”

He stared straight ahead as he spoke, his profile tense. His concern for his friends ached through her veins. Her fingers twitched with the urge to touch his hand. To acknowledge his worry and the compassion that dwelled in his heart.

“They will find him.”

He turned to face her, looking incredulous. “Are you always so blindly optimistic?”

The question stemmed from her positive affirmations during Clara’s illness, so she took no offense. How could she? From his perspective, her certainty that Clara would recover had probably seemed naïve at the time. But Landen had a tendency to expect the worst, and Gia couldn’t resist the opportunity to remind him of this.

“Are you always so pessimistic?”

He frowned. “Optimism leads to disappointment. Eventually.”

“And pessimism leads elsewhere?” She shook her head. “Without hope there is nothing.” She lifted her chin against any rebuttal.

Tilting his head, he studied her closely. “Well then, I
hope
you are correct regarding the Toomey boy.”

Gia hoped so, too, and she uttered a prayer to this end as they journeyed along.

They ascended the steep hill through the pines, and the small cottage overlooking the lake finally came into view. A throng of people overflowed from the porch and into the small clearing that served as a yard.

Gia gazed around as she waited for Landen to unload the boat. The crowd consisted of several familiar faces, many of whom Gia recognized from the garden party and wedding reception. But there were no cheerful greetings today, no smiles or sounds of laughter in the air.

“Go on into the house and see what you can do for Edna,” Landen told Gia. “I may be a while.” With a nod, he urged her toward the house, then joined with the men preparing for the search.

Gia made her way across the yard, past a large collection of lanterns and rakes. Her stomach turned as she imagined the little boy’s lifeless body being buoyed to the water’s surface on the end of one of those rakes.

Swallowing hard, she stepped onto the porch and through the open door. She shimmied through the crowd in the hall to the parlor. Edna Toomey sat on the sofa, barely visible inside the circle of woman attempting to console her.

Gia inched toward Edna, whom she’d met only once, then knelt in front of her. “Mrs. Toomey?”

“Oh, Mrs. Elmsworth.” Tears welled in her swollen eyes. “He’s only seven years old. Where on earth can he be?”

“They’ll find him.” Blinking back tears of her own, Gia patted Edna’s hand, hoping they’d find him alive.

“They think he drowned,” Edna said, as if reading Gia’s mind. “But my Georgie knew better than to go into the water alone.” She dabbed her tears with a handkerchief. “He’s a good boy.”

Gia’s heart wrenched at the woman’s inconsolable anguish. Gia staved back tears as the memory of her mother’s grief over the loss of Gia’s brothers pervaded her mind. Her head filled with the echo of the tormented sobs, the pointed silence—the unspoken accusations that plagued Gia the most.

“Such a good boy.” Edna sniffed.

“Let me get you some water,” Gia said, as if more water might help.

The woman nodded, and Gia left on her invented errand. On the way to the kitchen, she scanned the empty corridor that led to the rear of the house.

No one would notice if Gia disappeared for a few minutes. She summoned her nerve, then backed from the crush of bodies in the hall. Inching down the narrow corridor, she gazed into the first room, then the next until she found the boy’s bedroom.

She slipped inside the small room, closing the door quietly behind her. Stepping onto the worn rug, she meandered past the open toy chest, sidestepping a wooden horse and toy train. She sat on Georgie’s small bed, caressing the pillow upon which he rested his head each night.

When the pillow produced no results, she set it back in its place, then grabbed the stuffed bear next to it. Hugging the raggedy thing to her chest, she took a deep breath. The din at the front of the house began to fade.

Her ability had never felt more under her control, as though it were just below the surface, awaiting release. Closing her eyes, she emptied her mind, unleashing whatever might come.

Her ears buzzed as a vision materialized in the distance. The temperature dropped. Gooseflesh formed on her skin. She followed the sound through the darkness, steeling herself against the fear of what she might see. The musty smell of dirt clogged her throat. The sound of frightened whimpers filled the darkness around the small form huddled in the dirt.