If He's Sinful (39 page)

“No, but at least once a year in some form, occasionally more than that. Little peeks at his life, fleeting visions mostly, some clearer than others. There were several rather unsettling ones, when he was in danger, but I was seeing what was or what had been. Occasional dreams, too. Even, well, feelings, as if we had suddenly touched in some way.”

“How can you be so sure that this vision was not also what happened or had already happened?”

“Because amongst the nauseating barrage of images was one of a newspaper dated a month from that day. And, of course, the fact that the man is still alive.” Alethea could tell by the look upon her uncle’s face that he would help her, but that he dearly wished he could think of another way than by introducing her to the man. “I even saw him on my wedding night,” she added softly.

Iago’s eyes widened. “Dare I ask what he was doing?”

“Staring into a fireplace, just as I was, although at least he had a drink in his hand. For a brief moment, I felt as if we were sharing a moment of contemplation, of loneliness, of disappointment, even a sadness. Not an inspiring vision, yet, odd as it was, I did feel somewhat comforted by it.” She shrugged away the thought. “I truly believe all that has gone before was leading up to this moment.”

“Fifteen years of preparation seems a bit excessive,” Iago drawled.

Alethea laughed but her humor was fleeting and she soon sighed. “It was all I could think of to explain why I have had such a long connection to this man, to a man I have never met. I just wish I knew why someone would wish to hold him captive and torture him before killing him. Why do these people want his secrets?”

“We-ell, there have been a few rumors that he might be working for the home office, or the military, against the French.”

“Of course! That makes much more sense than it being some fit of revenge by some cuckolded husband or jealous lover.”

“That also means that a great deal more than your virtue could be in danger.”

“True, but it also makes it far more important to rescue him.”

“Damn. I suppose it does.”

“So, will you help me?”

Iago nodded. “You do realize it will be difficult to explain things to him. People do not understand ones like us, do not believe in our gifts or are frightened by them. Imagine the reaction if, next time I was playing cards with some of my friends, I told one of them that his aunt, who had been dead for ten years, was peering over his shoulder?” He smiled when Alethea giggled.

Although his example was amusing, the hard, cold fact it illustrated was not. People did fear the gifts so many of her family had. She knew her dreams and visions would cause some people to think she had gone mad. It was one reason she shunned society. Sometimes, merely touching something could bring on a vision. Iago saw all too clearly those who had died and not yet traveled to their final destination. He could often tell when, or why, a person had died simply by touching something or being in the place where it had happened. The only thing she found unsettling about Iago’s gift was that, on occasion, he could tell when someone was soon to die. She suspected that, in many ways, he was as alone, as lonely, as she was.

“It does make life more difficult,” she murmured. “I occasionally comfort myself with the thought that it could be worse.”

“How?”

“We could have cousin Modred’s gift.” She nodded when Iago winced. “He has become a hermit, afraid to touch anyone, to even draw close to people for fear of what he will feel, hear, or see. To see so clearly into everyone’s mind and heart? I think that would soon drive me mad.”

“I often wonder if poor Modred is, at least just a little.”

“Have you seen him recently?”

“About a month ago. He has found a few more servants, ones he cannot read, with Aunt Dob’s help.” Iago frowned. “He thinks he might be gaining those shields he needs, but needs to gather the courage to test himself. But, then, how are we any better off than he? You hide at Coulthurst and I hide here.”

“True.” Alethea looked around the elegant dining room as she sipped her wine. “I am still surprised Aunt Leona left this place to me and not to you. She had to know you would be comfortable here.”

“She was angry that I would not marry her husband’s niece.”

“Oh dear.”

“Quite. I fear she changed her will when she was still angry and then died before the breach between us could be mended.”

“You should let me give it to you.”

“No. It suits me to rent it from you. I keep a watch out for another place and, if this arrangement ever becomes inconvenient, we can discuss the matter then. Now, let us plan how we can meet up with Lord Greville and make him understand the danger he is in without getting the both of us carted off to Bedlam.”

Two nights later, as she and Iago entered a crowded ballroom, Alethea still lacked a sound plan and her uncle had none to offer, either. Alethea clung to his arm as they strolled around the edges of the large room. Glancing around at all the elegant people, she felt a little like a small blackbird stuck in the midst of a flock of peacocks. There was such a vast array of beautiful, elegant women; she had to wonder why her uncle would ever think she had to worry about her virtue. A hardened rake like Lord Hartley Greville would never even consider her worth his time and effort when there was such a bounty to choose from.

“Are you nervous?” asked Iago.

“Terrified,” she replied. “Is it always like this?”

“Most of the time. Lady Barnelby’s affairs are always well attended.”

“And you think Lord Greville will be one of the crowd?”

Iago nodded. “She is his cousin, one of the few family members left to him. We must keep a sharp watch for him, however. He will come, but he will not stay long. Too many of the young women here are hunting a husband.”

“I am surprised that you would venture forth if it is that dangerous.”

“Ah, but I am only a lowly baron. Greville is a marquis.”

Alethea shook her head. “You make it all sound like some sordid marketplace.”

“In many ways, it is. Oh, good, I see Aldus and Gifford.”

“Friends of yours?” Iago started to lead her toward the far corner of the ballroom, but she was unable to see the men he spoke of around the crowd they weaved through.

“No, friends of the marquis. He will be sure to join them when he arrives.”

“Misery loves company?”

“Something like that. Oh damn.”

Before Alethea could ask what had caused her uncle to grow so tense, a lovely, fulsome redhead appeared at his side. If she judged her uncle’s expression correctly, he was not pleased to see this woman and that piqued Alethea’s interest. Looking more closely at the woman’s classically beautiful face, Alethea saw the hint of lines about the eyes and mouth and suspected the woman was older than Iago. The look the woman gave her was a hard and assessing one. A moment later something about the woman’s demeanor told Alethea that she had not measured up well in the woman’s eyes, that she had just been judged as inconsequential.

“Where have you been, Iago, darling?” the woman asked. “I have not seen you for a fortnight.”

“I have been very busy, Margarite,” Iago replied in a cool, distant tone.

“You work too hard, my dear. And who is your little companion?”

“This is my niece, Lady Alethea Channing,” Iago said, his reluctance to make the introduction a little too clear in his tone. “Alethea, this is Mrs. Margarite Dellingforth.”

Alethea curtsied slightly. The one Mrs. Dellingforth gave her in return was so faint she doubted the woman even bent her knees at all. She was glad Iago had glanced away at that precise moment so that he did not see the insult to his kinswoman. The tension roused by this increasingly awkward confrontation began to wear upon Alethea’s already taut nerves. Any other time she knew she would have been fascinated by the subtle, and not so subtle, nuances of the conversation between her uncle and Mrs. Dellingforth, but now she just wanted the cold-eyed woman to leave. She leaned against Iago and began to fan her face.

“Uncle, I am feeling uncomfortably warm,” she said in what she hoped was an appropriately weak, sickly tone of voice.

“Would you like to sit down, m’dear?” he asked.

“You should not have brought her here if she is ill,” said Mrs. Dellingforth.

“Oh, I am not ill,” said Alethea. “Simply a little overwhelmed.”

“If you will excuse us, Margarite, I must tend to my niece,” said Iago even as he began to lead Alethea toward some chairs set against the wall.

“Not a very subtle retreat, Uncle,” murmured Alethea, quickening her step to keep pace with his long strides.

“I do not particularly care.”

“The romance has died, has it?”

“Thoroughly, but she refuses to leave it decently buried.”

“She is quite beautiful.” Alethea sat down in the chair he led her to and smoothed down her skirts.

“I know, that is how I became ensnared to begin with.” He collected two glasses of wine from the tray a footman paused to offer them, and handed Alethea one. “It was an extremely short affair. To be blunt, my lust was quickly satisfied and, once it eased, I found something almost repellent about the woman.”

Seeing how troubled thoughts had darkened his hazel green eyes, Alethea lightly patted his hand. “If it is any consolation, I, too, felt uneasy around her. I think there is a coldness inside her.”

“Exactly what I felt.” He frowned and sipped his drink. “I felt some of the same things I do when I am near someone who will soon die, yet I know that is not true of her.”

“What sort of feelings?”

He grimaced. “It is hard to explain, but it is as if some piece of them is missing, has clearly left or been taken.”

“The soul?”

“A bit fanciful, but, perhaps, as good an explanation as any other. Once my blind lust faded, I could not abide to even touch her for I could sense that chilling emptiness. I muttered some pathetic excuse and fled her side. She appears unable to believe that I want no more to do with her. I think she is accustomed to being adored.”

“How nice for her.” Alethea sipped her drink as she watched Mrs. Dellingforth talk to a beautiful fair-haired woman. “Who is that with her now?”

“Her sister Madame Claudette desRouches.”

“They are French?”

“Émigrés. Claudette’s husband was killed for being on the wrong side in yet another struggle for power and Margarite married an Englishman shortly after arriving.”

“For shame, you rogue. A married lady? Tsk, tsk.”

“A widow, you brat. Her husband died six months after the wedding.”

“How convenient. Ah, well, at least Margarite did not stink of roses. If she had, I might have been forced to deal with her again.”

Iago scratched his cheek as he frowned in thought. “No, Margarite does not use a rose scent. Claudette does.”

Alethea stared at the two women and briefly wished she had a little of her cousin Modred’s gift. It would make solving this trouble she had been plunged into so much easier if she could just pluck the truth from the minds of the enemy. She suspected she would quickly be anxious to be rid of such a gift, however. If she and Iago both got unsettling feelings from the two women, she hated to think what poor Modred would suffer with his acute sensitivity. Although she would prefer to avoid both women, she knew she would have to at least approach the sister who favored roses at some point. There was a chance she could gain some insight, perhaps even have a vision. Since a man’s life was at stake, she could not allow fear over what unsavory truths she might uncover hold her back.

“I believe we should investigate them a little,” she said.

“Because they are French and Claudette smells of roses?”

“As good a reason as any. It is also one way to help solve this problem without revealing ourselves too much.”

Iago nodded. “Very true. Simple investigation. I even know a few people who can help me do it.” His eyes widened slightly. “Considering some of the lovers those two women have had, I am surprised they have not already been investigated. Now that I think on it, they seem overly fond of men who would know things useful to the enemy.”

“And no one has seen them as a threat because they are beautiful women.”

“It galls me to say so, but you may be right about that. Of course, this is still all mere speculation. Nevertheless, they should be investigated and kept a watch on simply because they are French and have known, intimately, a number of important men.”

Alethea suddenly tensed, but, for a moment, she was not sure why she was so abruptly and fiercely alert. Sipping her champagne, she forced herself to be calm and concentrate on exactly what she was feeling. To her astonishment, she realized she was feeling
him
. He was irritated, yet there was a small flicker of pleasure. She suspected that hint of pleasure came from seeing his cousin.

“Allie!”

She blinked slowly, fixing her gaze on her uncle. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“I was just wondering if you had a vision,” he replied in a soft voice. “You were miles away.”

“Ah, no. No vision. Just a feeling.”

“A feeling?”

“Yes. He is here.”

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