The Lady Who Saw Too Much (20 page)

Landon restrained the urge to roll his eyes.

“I see we have a real charmer in our midst,” Aunt Clara said. She patted the sofa cushion beside her. “Come sit here, beside me, Mr. Richardson.”

The man obliged, resting his cane between his knees. “Please call me Kit,” he said with a smile.

Gia smiled cordially at Kit, avoiding further eye contact with Landen. Not that he blamed her. The tension between them was already so thick he felt certain the others had noticed. She’d been so late to join them in the parlor earlier he’d begun to imagine she’d escaped through a window.

But after what had seemed like an eternity of engaging in small talk with Alex and Sissy, Gia had finally made her grand entrance. She’d breezed into the room like a gust of fresh air, stirring everyone’s attention.

Even now, the sight of her, looking radiant in a blue gown, her dark hair piled high atop her head, still made Landen’s head spin in confusion.

He didn’t know what he’d expected after their confrontation upstairs, but he hadn’t expected she’d appear so well put together. She’d carried herself through introductions with Alex and Sissy with the grace of a swan. Not so much as a ruffled feather had marred her perfect appearance and stoic demeanor.

Until the moment Kit had arrived.

Even then, she’d recovered quickly. She chatted with the group as though she hadn’t a care in the world, as though she hadn’t dreamed of marriage to a man who walked with a cane. As though she weren’t hiding some secret lunacy beneath the pretty mask of normalcy she presented.

Her capacity for deceit angered him all over again, and he pulled his eyes from the sight of her to steady his temper.

Sissy cooed something to Alex, who cooed something in return. Landen had to admit—the pair seemed in love. To his surprise, the observation filled him with a feeling other than cynicism. He felt loss.

Would he never know what it felt like to be truly loved? He thought of Isobel, and the ridiculous feeling grew stronger. She’d claimed to love him enough to leave the man she’d been promised to, but she’d proved her true love was money. Being jilted on the eve of their wedding had shattered Landen’s ego.

What Gia had done to him hurt so much more.

Landen shook off his musings and tried to focus on getting through the evening. Ever the conversationalist, Aunt Clara led the small group from one lively discussion to another, while Landen did his utmost to feign interest in anything other than the clock in the corner.

“Alex tells me you’re newlyweds.” Kit leaned forward on his cane, blue eyes glancing from Landen to Gia. “How did you meet?”

Landen cringed.

Clara glanced from Landen to Gia, frowning at their awkward silence. “A whirlwind romance that took them both by storm,” she said with her usual resourcefulness.

“How sweetly romantic,” Kit said with a grin.

“So, tell me, Kit. Why isn’t a handsome young man like yourself married?”

Clara’s directness never ceased to amaze Landen, but Kit’s lighthearted laughter said he took no offense.

“I’m still waiting for the perfect woman.”

Clara waved him off. “Then you’ll be waiting forever,” she said. “Besides, perfection is dull. It’s the flaws that make people interesting.”

Landen choked back the sick taste that rose in his mouth. Flaws, indeed…

“My last sweetheart was a beauty but had one major flaw,” Kit said.

Clara’s brow arched as she tilted her head. “And what was that?”

“She didn’t love me.” He punctuated the somber statement with a smile that was as surprising as the disclosure itself. “I found that anything but interesting.”

Landen couldn’t imagine revealing such personal information to a roomful of strangers. Men didn’t bare their souls in public. Hell, most men were loath to bare their souls in private. Obviously, Kit Richardson was unlike most men. Despite Landen’s best effort, he couldn’t help admiring the man for his honesty.

Aunt Clara admired it too.

“There are plenty of fish in the sea.” Clara patted Kit’s knee.

“And some sharks,” Kit replied.

“Those you must learn to outswim.” Clara pointed her finger. “Lest you be eaten alive.”

Kit laughed. “I’ll not argue with that.”

“No one argues with Aunt Clara,” Alex chimed in.

“Then I shan’t be the first to do so,” Kit said with a playful bow of his head. “If only I’d had Clara’s wise guidance back then,” he said, playfully. “Nothing saps a man’s pride like being jilted a week before his wedding.”

Kit’s statement hit Landen like a fist to the gut. Even Clara fell silent.

Alex lifted his brandy toward Landen. “Expect, perhaps, being jilted the night before.”

Landen gaped at his brother’s low blow. His clenched jaw trembled as he bridled his fury.

Gia shot to her feet. “Shall we head to the dining room?” she asked through the thunderous silence.

“By all means,” Clara said as she rose. “Come along, everyone.”

Gia held out her arm to Landen, cuing him to rise. Landen stood, glaring over Gia’s shoulder at Alex. The regret on his brother’s face was too little too late. The damage was done.

“Landen?” Gia took hold of his arm. With a gentle squeeze, she prodded him to move. Grateful for her assistance, he led her from the room. The weight of her touch on his arm calmed the anger boiling beneath his skin as they filed down the hall to the dining room.

The sound of laughter during the meal made Landen’s head ache. Even the roasted pheasant didn’t lift his spirit from the bog of his troubles with Gia and now Alex. And as unfair as Landen knew it was, he found Kit’s mere presence at the table annoying.

The man had Aunt Clara and Gia giggling like schoolgirls throughout the meal. Even Alice seemed comfortable around him. Observing Kit keenly, Landen understood why.

Kit chatted on as though he’d known them all for years. His manner was easy, and his stories amusing. Under different circumstances, Landen might have found himself enjoying the man’s company. Presently, he couldn’t wait for him to leave and for this evening to be over.

Alex and Sissy mooning over each other, Alice and Aunt Clara mooning over Kit, even his own mooning over Gia, all conspired to make Landen angrier.

When dinner was finally over, cake was served. Landen’s sour mood sweetened a tad as he settled back in his seat. Watching Gia devour dessert had become an evening ritual, and one he truly enjoyed. The wild abandon on her face as she savored every delectable bite, the lazy sweep of her tongue on her lips as she suckled every last taste, was erotic as hell.

Clara gave a sharp clap of her hands, snapping him back to his senses. “It’s time for Denny to open his gifts,” she announced.

The room quieted and all eyes settled on Landen. His misery intensified tenfold as Clara prepared to give a toast.

“Here’s to Landen. And many happy returns of the day,” Clara said, raising her glass.

Alice walked to the sideboard.

“Gianna’s gift first,” Clara advised.

Alice rolled her eyes. “Of course, Aunt Clara,” she said as she searched through the collection of gifts. “Where’s your gift, Gia?”

Gia blinked. “I…”

“She gave it to me last night,” Landen said, hoping against hope his aunt would leave it at that.

“Well?” Clara lifted her hands. “What did she give you?”

“A medal.” He downed the remainder of his brandy, craving another.

“A medal?”

“Saint Christopher.” He forced himself to look at Gia, regretting it immediately. The memory of her presenting the gift, still naked and flushed from their lovemaking, stirred heat through his veins. Every kiss, every touch, every damn detail of those hours wreaked havoc on him now. She’d given him the medal to protect him from her vision. But who would protect him from her?

“The patron saint of safe travels,” Clara said with a nod. “Splendid gift, Gianna.”

“That’s a fine wife you have, Denny.” Alex smiled. “You’re a lucky man.”

Alex’s admiration for Gia didn’t surprise Landen. She had that effect on people.

“Hear, hear,” Kit chimed in, raising his glass.

Kit smiled at Gia, his gaze lingering longer than a mile, and Landen seethed, wanting to snatch the cane from his hand and crack him over the head with it.

Instead, he opened his gift from Aunt Clara. A wooden shoe kit with his initials engraved in the lid. “Thank you, Aunt Clara.”

Alice handed him her gift next.

He admired the thick beveled glass of his new shaving set. “It’s very nice, thank you, Alice.”

“Florence told me you broke yours.” His sister’s smile warmed him inside as she leaned in with a peck to his cheek.

Alex stepped toward Landen, then held out a box.

“Arsenic?” Landen’s jab earned him a smile.

“Kit helped me procure a fine box of cigars,” Alex said. He placed a hand on Landen’s shoulder. Landen accepted the silent apology along with the cigars. “Thank you,” he said, feeling lighter.”

“Open my gift next,” Sissy said. Her blue eyes gleamed in anticipation as Landen unwrapped the box. “I hope you like it,” she said. “I made it myself.”

Hoping he could act sufficiently appreciative, he opened the lid and peered inside. He blinked hard, his heart pounding, as he lifted the item clenched in his hand.

A red scarf.

Gia stared at the scarf clenched in Landen’s hands, feeling faint. Her heart pounded so wildly she could barely catch her breath. She shot to her feet. “Excuse me, please, I’m not feeling well.”

She swept past Clara, disregarding the alarmed concern on her face, as she hurried from the room. Tears blurred her vision as she climbed the stairs. Her legs felt heavy as lead, each step a struggle, each moment an eternity. Landen’s fate was looming closer. And he didn’t believe her.

She stumbled into her room, closed the door behind her, then sagged against it. The door opened against her back, forcing her to move to allow Landen access.

He stomped into the room, slamming the door behind him. “Is this some sort of joke?” he asked, raising the scarf.

She sighed. Even now, with the proof dangling from his hand, he refused to believe what she’d told him.

“It’s no joke, Landen,” she said. The sight of the scarf sent her mind reeling. Panic erupted inside her, spewing chaotic thoughts she couldn’t control. “We must destroy it at once.” She glanced to the empty fireplace. “Yes, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll destroy it.” She spun toward the scarf, then the fireplace, trying to focus. “We must start a fire and burn it to ashes.” She started toward the task, but he pulled her back.

“Calm yourself,” he said, with a squeeze to her arm. “We still have company downstairs.”

She sighed at the reminder, knowing he was right. She had to calm down. She had to think. “Promise me, Landen, you will burn it as soon as they leave. You will—”

“Yes. Yes, I will burn it,” he assured her in a soothing tone.

She nodded, relieved. “It’s happening,” she uttered. “It’s all happening.”

Exhaling a long breath, he tossed the scarf aside. “What precisely is happening?”

“I told you,” she said, unable to hide her frustration. “And now you own a red scarf.”

“It’s one hell of a coincidence, I’ll admit,” he said, sinking into a chair. “But it’s just a coincidence, nothing more.”

His words lacked true conviction, though, as if he’d spoken them as much for himself as for her. She had to strike now while his defenses were low. She had to convince him that her ability was real, that her visions weren’t born of her madness.

“My vision is coming true, Landen. There is no coincidence. You’re in danger. I saw it. As clearly as I saw Clara’s illness.”

His eyes widened.

“As clearly as I saw her recovery and Georgie Toomey in the root cellar. As clearly as I saw Alice dancing at the ball.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. He struggled, fighting against the absurdity of what he was hearing, fighting against believing it. He gazed up at her, conveying the same alarm she’d seen on her parents’ faces. The same bewildered revulsion.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She paced the room, unsure where to start. He was listening and she had to tell him everything. “It all began after the accident,” she said. “I told you about Mark and Miles, and how I was pulled from the water.”

He nodded.

“At first they all thought I was dead too,” she said. “I was unconscious and remained in that state for eighteen hours before I woke up.”

“Christ,” he muttered.

“As I recovered, something strange began happening.”

“What do you mean?

“I started seeing things. Pictures in my mind. At first I thought they were dreams. I was still very weak and in and out of it most of the time. I thought the episodes were my mind’s way of escaping the grief of losing my brothers and the endless hours of loneliness.”

“Loneliness? Where were your parents?”

“Downstairs,” she said, her heart aching at the memory. “They were grieving.” She brushed a stray tear from her cheek. “They had no wish to see me then—as they’ve no wish to see me now.”

“Why?”

“Because my brothers were dead.” She shrugged. “And it should have been me.”

He swallowed hard, and she averted her eyes.

Shaking off his pity, she cleared her throat. “Anyway, the visions kept occurring. Small things at first, the maid burning her hand, the prediction of the evening’s dessert. Things like that. Then one day I had a vision of my father’s friend, Mr. Delemere, winning a large sum of money at the horse track. Two days later he visited the house, informing us of his windfall. My parents called it coincidence at first, but then even they began to realize something odd was happening.” She lowered her head. “Everything changed after my vision of Prudence.”

“Who’s Prudence?”

“Prudence Alber. Our neighbor. I had a vision of Prudence lying dead in a field. I pleaded with my parents to warn the Albers, but they refused to listen to me.” She lifted her trembling chin. “A week later, Prudence was dead.”

Landen blinked.

“She was thrown from her horse and broke her neck.”