Samantha James (11 page)

He lunged toward the gentleman, grasping his elbow. The gentleman thrust him away harshly. “Away from me, you lunatic!”

“To the hills!” the man screeched. “To the hills! They come! They come for us! Flee. Flee now!” An earth-shattering scream pierced the air. “I am fallen…fallen!” He fell to his knees and covered his head. “Mercy, Caesar. Mercy!” He began to weep uncontrollably.

Fionna passed the foursome just as a beak-nosed woman thrust her chin high. “Touched in the head, he is!”

“Why is this horrid creature here on the streets?” sniffed the first. “Why is he not in Bedlam with the rest of his kind, locked up where he belongs?”

Fionna walked more quickly, her throat clogged tight. She was desperate to be away. But inside she was screaming. How could they be so cruel? They would consign him to Bedlam. Were they aware of conditions there? Dr. Colson had gently made her aware of that wretched place. Those poor souls consigned there were treated like animals. Their care consisted of being put into restraints—manacled and chained to the floor or wall.

She shuddered. Guilt swelled. Her stomach twisted; she felt sick inside, sick to the depths of her soul. Fionna felt helpless, sad and angry at the poor man’s plight. Yet when she thought of her own dear mama, so very lucky. She hated that Mama must be confined to Dr. Colson’s in
stitution, yet if it were not for her ability to maintain finances, Mama might well have ended up in a place such as Bedlam.

The thought plagued her to no end. And so there was no help for it…

Fionna walked that night, for it seemed it had been forever since she had done so. It was not in defiance of Aidan. She felt…caged. Indeed, it was almost just as the Gypsy predicted…she felt as if
she
was the one who had been cursed, and this was the only thing that could free her. The air was dense, heavy with mist. But the darkness cradled her like the warmest of shrouds, melting into her, comforting her, calming her, cleansing her of the demons of the day.

Fionna whirled. Her head cocked to the side as her ears strained. Strained mightily.

She was mistaken. There was no one here. No one but her. Little wonder she was spooked, she told herself, when she wrote of beasts and monsters. It was simply her imagination running wild again.

She lifted her face to the gleaming disk of the moon, paused, then spun around in a little circle, her arms lifted high. Aidan needn’t worry, she decided.
She
needn’t worry. Her gaze encompassed all within sight. She was free at last. And certain that the night belonged to her alone—that
she
was alone.

She was not alone.

His form melted into the shadow of a tree, hiding him from view. He did not dare follow, for he’d not seen her for many a night. Granted, he was not always able to watch, or follow…but he had begun to wonder if she’d discovered his presence, a thought he disliked intensely. He did not want to frighten her.

He wanted only to watch her.

For now, at least. For now he was content to bide his time. Ah, but when she discovered the truth, he knew she would find his little game as delightful as he did. What had she thought when she discovered his little foray into her bookshop? What would she think of the little present he’d left her only tonight?

No doubt she’d be filled with as much amusement as he. After all, she did love a good mystery.

He laughed softly, recalling her mother’s confession when he visited.

She had beckoned him close.

“
My Fionna is famous
,
you know,
” she had said.

He’d merely smiled.

“
She is! She is a novelist!
”

”
A novelist?
” he’d said. “
Pray tell me
,
which novelist?
”

She had beckoned him still closer.

“
My Fionna is F.J. Sparrow. But it’s a secret. You will not tell
,
will you?
”

He hadn’t believed her, not at first. The woman had delusions, after all—he’d seen them for himself, many times. But there was the occasional period of complete sanity.

And somehow he couldn’t quite dismiss her insistence that day. He’d queried her, of course, probing gently. In the course of his work, he fancied himself quite good at discerning truth during his patients’ insane ravings.

He’d been rather shocked to learn it was true. The woman simply knew too many details for it
not
to be true.

The lovely Fionna Hawkes was indeed F.J. Sparrow.

He’d been utterly beguiled even before he knew her other identity. Suddenly it all made such perfect sense, for she understood the ways in which a soul could turn dark and twisted and tormented. Why, she was just like
him.
She would understand him, he was sure of it. And now, his little games of cat and mouse were his way of paying homage to her. Oh, but what a pair they would make!

Ah, yes, it was destiny that called them together. They both loved the dark. It was part of their world—the night, the mystery, the shadows and the demons she created.

It was too soon to reveal himself, he decided. He liked this game. And soon enough they would be together. Soon.

The wind swirled, parting the mist, as if heed
ing his call. He watched her swirl…Beautiful. So beautiful, the merest hint of her form outlined in the glow of the gaslights.

For now, it was enough to see her like this from time to time.

For now, he could wait.

Very quietly Fionna walked toward the shop, straight to the rear entrance. Removing her hands from the warm, furry muff, she retrieved the key snuggled deep in the pocket of her cloak.

Stepping forward, she bent slightly to push the key into the lock. As she did, her foot kicked against something.

She glanced down. The gaslight on the corner cast out a feeble light, yet she was able to see a bow wrapped around a dozen stems. She made a sound of pleasure. She hadn’t been gone long, but while she was, Aidan had left her flowers! Hothouse, to be sure, but flowers nonetheless. Of course, she expected his censure for going out at night the next time she saw him.

But Fionna was touched beyond measure. No one had ever sent her flowers before. Happy, she scooped them up, opened the door, stepped into the tiny entrance hall and turned up the lamp that burned on the wall. Smiling, she started to lift them, to press her nose against them, expecting the aroma of sweet perfume and velvety soft petals.

In shock she dropped them to the floor; there
was a faint, scratchy sound. Stunned, she stared at the lifeless petals now scattered about her feet.

Dead. All of them. Wilted and shriveled and lifeless.

Her mouth went dry. It was as if she’d been plunged into a river of ice.

She practically dove for the door, fumbling for the lock, making sure it was latched tight. She did the same for the shop, then ran up the stairs, straight into her bedroom, where she slammed the door.

She was still shaking when she sank onto the bed.

This was no accident, she realized numbly. Someone had done this deliberately. Someone had left dead roses on her doorstep. On purpose.
On purpose.

Her gaze slid to the window next to the bed. Despite her fear, despite every instinct that warned against it, with nervous fingers she pushed aside the delicate lace and peered into the night.

Mist lay thick and heavy, obliterating all.

Her breathing rapid, she drew the curtains tight and fast, as if to close out the night.

There had been no footsteps tonight, either behind her or ahead of her. The other times she thought she’d been followed…she’d been plagued by an eerie certainty.

Not so tonight.

And somehow that terrified her more than
anything else.
Had
she been alone tonight? Had someone followed?
Watched
her? And why? Why would someone follow her? Why would someone watch
her
?

Was she being watched even now?

Everything inside her was churning. Had she been able to see something—
anything
—that she could confront…But to confront what she could not see…

She cringed at the thought that crept in, that she failed to keep at bay.

Was she losing her mind? Like poor Mama?

No.
No.
By God, she could not give in to such weakness. She would not give in to this—this interloper! She would not be cowed.

Yet for the second night in a row, she crawled into bed, aware of a bone-deep iciness. Bravado was a lonely companion. For the life of her, she could not warm herself. She huddled beneath the quilts, trembling and shivering.

And once again, when at last she slept, it was with the lamp burning low all through the night.

Fionna threw herself into preparations for the duke of Gleneden’s dinner party, for several reasons. One, it allowed her to put the incident with the dead roses from her mind—or at least, far from the forefront. Two, in all honesty, Fionna was filled with excitement about attending. She’d never been to such an affair—she’d never met a duke! And though Aidan said it was to be an informal evening, Fionna was determined to make a good impression.

She spent the week going from shop to shop, searching for just the right gown, precisely the right accessories, from her hat to silk stockings, from the velvet ribbon bracelet to the French three-button kid gloves.

She had Glynis in to help her into her gown that night and dress her hair, drawn back into a simple but elegant twist. With the aid of a little pomade that Glynis produced, even the tiny errant wisps of hair at her temples and nape were whisked into place.

Her gown…well, Fionna had never indulged in such a gown before. There had been no need before now. Her practical side scoffed at the purchase of something she neither needed nor would not use. She did not attend balls or parties, or anything of the like.

But this was different. Now, she wanted to look pretty. Not for herself, but for Aidan. She browsed many a shop for just the right gown. The dressmaker had started it for another woman, who had decided she did not want it after all. A few alterations were all it needed.

And it was exquisite, made of pale green silk that brought out tiny gold flecks in her eyes. The neckline was
à la grecque
, deep and off the shoulders, giving way to a deep vee that made her waist look unbelievably tiny.

Glynis shook her head when Fionna held up a teardrop necklace. “Oh, no jewelry, miss,” she objected. “You’ve no need of it, not with such
smooth, creamy skin. It would take away from it, I think.”

When at last they were finished, Fionna moved to the beveled full-length mirror in the corner. Glynis gave a dreamy sigh and clasped her hands. “Oh, miss, you’re lovely. Quite the loveliest lady I’ve ever seen.”

Fionna turned and gave her a hug. “That’s exactly how I feel,” she said with a laugh. “Thank you, Glynis.”

And that was certainly how she felt a short time later when she opened the door downstairs and Aidan stepped inside.

He stomped the snow from his boots and glanced over at her.

“
Good God!
”

Fionna half-raised an arm self-consciously. “What?” she queried. “What is it?” Anxious dismay shot through her. Had her coiffure come undone? Was she underdressed for the occasion?
Over
dressed? What? she wondered.
What?

“A moment,” was all he said. “Allow me a moment.”

His eyes wandered over her, at least twice over. His regard was long and undeniably appreciative. When at length those incredibly blue eyes fused with hers, Fionna’s heart gave a little leap, then began to beat with a frenzy she could not control at what she read there. Oh, bother! Whom did she fool? Why should she hide it? Ev
erything inside her glowed. Her heart sang, and she didn’t care a whit.

Lean fingers caught hers. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips, never breaking the hold of their eyes. “You’re truly stunning,” he said simply.

“Actually I feel—” Fionna broke off breathlessly.

Aidan raised both brows. “Yes?”

“I feel rather drafty,” she said with a laugh. Lightly, she touched the skin just below her throat.

It was there that Aidan’s gaze lingered. Finally he cleared his throat. “Let me just say that…it becomes you.”

Fionna laughed up at him.

“Don’t move,” he said suddenly.

Fionna blinked.

“The way you look right now. Your eyes…. they’re sparkling. You”—he seemed to be searching for the right thing to say—“
you
sparkle. I like seeing you like this. I like seeing you so carefree, in a way I’ve never seen you before.”

And she was.

Almost a week had passed since she’d seen him. Only a week, yet it seemed like forever. She couldn’t lie to herself. She’d missed him, she realized, missed him dreadfully. Perhaps more than she should admit.

He helped her into a long, black velvet mantle.
The inside was lined with the same silky green material as her gown, the hood trimmed with fur.

Strong hands remained settled on her shoulders. “Ready?” he murmured.

Fionna nodded, her pulse still racing from his expression when he’d first caught sight of her.

“Let us be off then.” He opened the door.

Fionna was just about to pass through when she suddenly remembered. “Oh, wait! I’ve left something!” Catching up her skirts and mantle in one hand, she raced up the stairs as fast as she was able. When she returned, she carried a small, tissue-wrapped package tied with a pretty little bow.

Aidan helped her into his carriage. Fionna eased back into the soft cushions. Aidan swung in next to her, then rapped on the window.

The carriage rolled forward.

Aidan eyed the little bundle in her lap.

“Is that for me, love?”

Fionna shook her head.

Both brows shot high. “No?”

“No,” she said firmly.

“Fionna!” he said with mock hurt. “You wound me to the quick.”

Several seconds passed, and then he asked, “Is it a gift?”

“It is.” A secret little smile curled her lips at his curiosity.

“For whom?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Why do you wish to know?”

“Well, if it’s not for me, I cannot help but wonder who it could possibly be for?”

“You’re very full of yourself, my lord!” she protested. “Very well then. It’s a gift for your brother.”

“Alec?” He was stupefied.

“Mmmm. Why are you so surprised?”

“I am not so surprised as I am jealous, sweet.”

“Well,” she demurred, “I’ve not forgotten how you once told me that most women find the Black Scotsman devastatingly handsome.”

“Yes, I recall precisely what I said. I asked if you would swoon if you should ever chance to meet him.”

Fionna placed the back of her hand on her forehead, closed her eyes, and pretended to sway.

Aidan lowered his head. Her breath fluttered like a leaf in the wind when his lips touched her ear. “Dazzle me with a smile again, and I’ll say no more.”

She did, flashing one that made him feel as if he’d been kicked in the gut.

The carriage rounded a corner, rocking her against him. Aidan slipped an arm around her, pleased that she didn’t draw away.

He studied her unobtrusively. She was gazing through the window, her shoulder tucked beneath his. Faith, but she was beautiful, and she
didn’t even know it—which to him made her all the more so.

At times she appeared so sedate. But the lady was ever keen-eyed, often sharp-tongued…and vibrant.
Always.

And tonight there was a new element, one he took immense pleasure in observing. She was sensual. Ripe. Her eyes brimmed with emotion.
She
brimmed.

A stab of undisguised desire shot through him. He wanted her. He wanted her quite badly. Fionna was incredibly strong-willed, but so was he. For now, he told himself, he would not rush her. He would bide his time, though it cost him dearly, and play it her way. Trust, he had learned, was not something that came easily to Miss Fionna Hawkes.

But in time the lovely lady
would
be his—for a will of iron was a particular trait that the McBrides had long possessed. What they wanted, they would have. Obstinate and stubborn, some might have called them. “Determined” and “decisive” were terms he suspected all of the McBrides would prefer to be called.

Fionna leaned forward, peering toward a town house where several footmen stood. The house was ablaze with lights.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“A little perhaps,” she admitted. “When we lived in the country, we attended numerous par
ties with nearby country squires. But I’ve never before met a duke. Especially a devastatingly handsome duke,” she teased.

He lifted his eyes heavenward. “Who could have known she could be so cruel? She but drives the knife deeper!”

The carriage rolled to a halt. The door swung open and they alighted from the carriage. Aidan pulled her hand into the crook of his elbow.

A white-gloved butler swung the door wide. “Good evening, my lord…Miss.” The man inclined his head politely.

“Good evening, Carlton. Where is Alec?”

A footman had stepped up to take their wraps.

“His Grace is in the drawing room, my lord. You are the first guests to arrive.” He withdrew with a low bow.

Aidan captured her fingers once more and strode forward, covering her hand with his own. Yes, Fionna decided, she was definitely a trifle nervous.

As they entered the drawing room, a tall dark-haired man rose from a wing chair before a roaring fire.

Aidan lowered his head. “Remember,” he warned, his whisper for her ears alone, “if you dare to swoon, I swear I shall not catch you.”

Fionna bit her lip, smothering a laugh.

“Aidan! The two of you are the first to arrive.”

“Yes, so Carlton informed us,” he said, as Alec
stepped up. “Alec, I should like to present Miss Fionna Hawkes. Fionna, my brother, Alec McBride, Duke of Gleneden.”

“Miss Hawkes, welcome. I’m so very pleased you accepted my invitation. My brother speaks very highly of you.” His greeting was gracious.

The duke was also every bit as handsome as Aidan said, his hair the glossiest black she had ever seen. He was the taller of the pair, but Aidan was broader. Dressed entirely in black but for his snowy white shirt, the duke was, she decided, truly a Black Scotsman. Only his eyes were like pale blue crystal—warm and sparkling now, but Fionna suspected they could be icy indeed. She could well imagine that when he chose, he could be a formidable man.

As could Aidan,
advised a little voice in her head. She simply had yet to see that side of him. It would not be wise, she suspected, to cross either of them.

She studied them covertly. Yes, the duke was most attractive indeed. The resemblance between them was strong; there was no mistaking them as brothers. But in her eyes, the duke wasn’t nearly so attractive as Aidan. In formal attire, the points of his collar so very white against the bronze of his skin, Aidan was…well, quite the most breathtaking man she’d ever seen.

“Come,” the duke invited. “Sit and be comfortable.”

The duke indicated a sofa angled directly next
to his wing chair. Both men waited until Fionna had lowered herself to the sofa before seating themselves. Aidan placed himself directly next to her.

“Fionna has a gift for you, Alec,” he said easily. “Though I pleaded mightily, she insisted it must go to you.”

“A gift! For me?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Fionna extended the tissue-wrapped bundle. “A measure of my thanks for your invitation.”

The duke pushed aside the layers of paper to reveal a leather-bound book.

“
The Devil’s Way!
” He flipped open the cover to the first pages. His eyes widened. “A first edition!” he marveled. “And signed by F.J. Sparrow!” He laughed delightedly. “Thank you, Miss Hawkes. Words can hardly convey my gratitude.”

Fionna smiled. “You just have, Your Grace.”

“Aidan must have told you how much I coveted this novel, didn’t he?” Fionna had no chance to respond. “And a first edition, almost impossible to find now. My word, how on earth did you manage to procure it? And signed by F.J. Sparrow—why, I still cannot believe it!”

“Secrets of the trade,” Fionna murmured. “After all, books are my livelihood.”

The duke looked at Aidan. “You failed to tell me the lovely Miss Hawkes was a magician!”

Aidan snared a glass of champagne from a footman. He passed it to Fionna, then took an
other for himself. “I’ve discovered the lovely Miss Hawkes is a woman of many surprises.” He cast Fionna a sidelong glance. “I cannot help but wonder what other secrets she holds.”

Fionna looked down, somehow managing to maintain her smile. Her chest ached. Her fingers clutched hard on the stem of the champagne glass. Oh, if he only knew!

There was a sudden clatter at the front door. “Hellooo!” called a bubbly female voice.

“Ah,” said the duke, “I believe Caro and John have arrived.”

Caro, Fionna discovered, was cousin to Aidan, Alec, and Anne, their sister. John was Caro’s husband. In very short order, she met Anne—or Annie as her family called her—and her husband Simon, visiting from Yorkshire for the month. Both couples clearly doted on each other. It was there in every look they exchanged, though they touched but rarely; wordless endearments Fionna couldn’t help but envy.

Firmly she reprimanded herself. Her duty was to her mother, for anything less was nothing but a betrayal—a betrayal she could not live with.

She would never desert her mother.

Vivian McBride was the next to arrive. All three of her children had inherited her vivid blue eyes, though all in varying shades. Fionna was stunned that such a tiny woman had produced such towering sons as Aidan and Alec. Also present was Simon’s aunt, Leticia Gardner, Dowager
Countess of Hopewell. A dozen other guests as well had been invited.

Fionna’s head was spinning by the time they sat down to dinner, but she managed to remember every one of their names.

Somehow the conversation turned to ancient Scottish curses and hidden treasures. Vivian McBride ran a fingertip around the rim of her wine goblet. “I believe Gleneden has one,” she announced. “Something to do with a family pirate.”

“What?” Alec laid down his fork. “Mother! A curse? A treasure? A pirate? Why have I not heard of it before now?”

“Well, I expect because it’s been so long I barely remember it! Indeed, your father used to tell you and Aidan tales of pirates and an ancient curse. He frightened the two of you so, I insisted he stop. As for treasure, why, it was all nonsense. Everyone knew it. Why, I scarcely remember what it was about!”

Aidan and Alec looked at each other. “Well,” said Alec, “all children look for hidden treasure.”

Aidan tipped his head to the side. “Wait,” he said slowly. “I seem to remember something about a curse—”