Shades of Midnight (19 page)

She finally sat up slowly, tugging at her wrinkled and disordered clothing, glad that she had not been wearing her corset too tightly. Mercy, all she wanted at the moment was to get out of the thing. It was amazing that she'd slept as well as she had.

She glanced at Lucien's peaceful face. Well, perhaps not so amazing, after all. Had she ever felt so protected? So undeniably safe? He sheltered her with his strong arms, with his very presence. Eve's fingers itched to reach out and touch him, to trace the lines of his handsome face, to touch the strands of dark hair that touched his collar. If only he loved her...

She hadn't made a noise, but perhaps Lucien sensed she had awakened. His eyes fluttered open. He smiled at her, still half lost in dreams. For a moment, Eve smiled back, then she came to her senses and turned her back on him to button her dress.

"You'd better hurry back to the boarding house, before Miss Gertrude realizes you were gone all night," she said quickly.

Behind her, Lucien yawned and stretched. "No," he said as he finished his yawn.

Properly buttoned up, Eve turned to face him. "No? I thought you were going to all this trouble to make sure my reputation wasn't harmed? Was that just a... a lie to impress me?"

"It wasn't a lie, but things have changed."

"Nothing has changed," she insisted as she stood. She must look a mess. Her dress was wrinkled and twisted, her hair fell in disarray around her face. And still, she maintained her dignity. At least, she
tried
. "How could things have changed while we slept?"

"I didn't exactly sleep the whole night," Lucien admitted as he raked his fingers through his hair.

Eve gasped. "How could you?"

His smile was brilliant, and whether he knew it or not, quite charming—darn his hide. "Never fear, darling, I didn't molest you in your sleep." That smile faded quickly. "I spoke to Alistair."

She knew that Alistair was much bolder than Lucien would ever be. Especially where women were concerned. "You channeled him while I slept?"

"No, I spoke to him." Lucien's eyes met hers. "Evie, I am not going to leave you alone in this house until he's gone."

"That's hardly your decision."

"I'm not quibbling with you about this."

"Good." She nodded, glad that he knew better than to argue with her. This was, after all,
her
house, and she'd had no trouble with Alistair thus far.

"I'm glad we're agreed," he said, closing his eyes and looking as if he intended to drift toward sleep again.

"So am I, but you'd better hurry." She tugged on his sleeve. "If you're too late coming downstairs, Miss Gertrude will probably insist on checking on you. If she finds you gone..."

"Evie," Lucien said tiredly, "I thought we agreed that I'd stay here."

"We did not!"

"Well, I'm not leaving."

He looked so blasted comfortable there, on her sofa. Warm and slightly tousled and very much at home. "Why do I have a feeling that it's not me you're afraid to leave behind, but your precious contraptions? Did Alistair threaten to
touch
them?"

Lucien's eyes, wide awake now, met hers. "No, but he did seem awfully interested in touching you."

She felt herself blush. "He did not."

"He was most intrigued by your strawberry corset. Seems Viola always wore white."

She pursed her lips. "You're making this up."

"I'm afraid not," Lucien said softly, and she saw the hurt in his eyes.

"I didn't mean..."

"Yes, you did," he interrupted. "After all, no one saw or heard him but me, and why on earth would you believe what I say?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm used to it." He stood slowly, stretching again. Why was it that he looked adorable in the morning? It made Eve long for all the mornings she would never know. "Get yourself straightened up. Change if you must. If we hurry, I might be able to sneak into town by way of a back alley, climb through the boarding house window, make a production of leaving the rented room I did not need or want, make Miss Gertrude think I slept thirteen hours or so, and in doing so save your precious spotless reputation."

"I am sorry," Eve said softly.

"Don't be, just... hurry." He looked her up and down. "As delicious as you look all mussed and wrinkled and blushing, I hardly think you want to face the people of Plummerville this way. Such an appearance would play hell with your hard-won standing as a virtuous lady, Miss Abernathy."

He was angry, and rightly so. Hadn't she told him just last night that she believed in him? Hadn't she defended him and silently cursed all those who had made his life difficult? She had. Only to awaken and accuse him of lying to her about a conversation with her ghost.

A shiver danced down her spine. Did he really think Alistair was a threat to her? And if that were true, what could Lucien do to protect her?

Chapter 12

Last night's conversation with Alistair played through Lucien's mind as he and Eve walked toward the main street of Plummerville. The man—the
spirit
of the man Alistair had once been—was definitely much too interested in Evie. No, he couldn't leave her alone in that house.

Most spirits were helpless. Powerless, sad, unable to touch the world in which they were trapped. Able to do no more than converse with a few of the living who had Lucien's gifts, or perhaps to visit a dream or rouse a cold wind, they weren't powerful enough to do anyone harm.

Usually. There were exceptions, and he would not risk Evie's life by leaving her in that house, unguarded.

He had slowed his step to accommodate her, and still they moved along at a fast pace.

"Miss Gertrude wasn't lying," he said.

"What?"

"About her and Alistair. He admitted to a relationship, when he appeared to me last night. I don't think there was ever an actual betrothal, but he did compromise her and... perhaps he allowed her to think whatever she wanted to think, in order to..." He couldn't say it. "He was not a nice man."

"No one claims he was."

At least she no longer accused him of fabricating the early morning visit.

She sighed, as if she were disgusted. "If he treated Miss Gertrude that way, there were surely others. And if that's true, there might be any number of women in town who would want Alistair and Viola both dead, women we will never know about."

"I imagine that's true."

"So how will we ever know what happened?"

"We might not."

Eve took a deep breath of cool morning air. "I don't accept that."

"You may have no choice."

Not sending Alistair and Viola on would be a good excuse to pick Eve up and carry her out of that house. He could declare that she was not safe there, and never would be, and drag her with him to another house, another job. Sooner or later she'd realize that they belonged together and she'd stop fighting him.

The only problem with that was, he could not and would not purposely leave two spirits trapped, as Viola and Alistair were. He couldn't live with himself if he allowed them to continue in this nightmare. It didn't matter that they had both made horrible mistakes, that Alistair was not a nice person and Viola had broken her marriage vows. He couldn't turn his back on them.

Not even for Evie.

* * *

It would be difficult to explain away a third trip to the general store this week, so Eve gravitated toward the sole dress shop in town. She had admired the creations in the window, on occasion, but she hadn't made a purchase from Laverne's Dress Shop. She didn't need anything. She had more dresses than she needed, truth be told. The inheritance from her father, well invested, kept her from worrying about matters like where her next dress—or corset—was coming from.

Her fancy corsets were all ordered from a mail-order catalog. They were her only frivolous purchases, her only weakness. Other than that, she cared little about her clothes. Her dresses should be comfortable and sturdy. Eve Abernathy didn't want to call attention to herself by decking herself out in frills and laces.

But she did admire the brightly colored silks and the fancy hats that might suit a more frivolous woman. Daisy bought all her dresses here, and Daisy had a fabulous wardrobe of beautiful clothes she adored.

"Can I help you find anything?" Laverne Taggert asked as Eve ran her fingers along a display of particularly bright ribbons.

"No, I'm just browsing."

Laverne was a young widow, not yet forty and still handsome, in a plumpish kind of way. She was a quiet woman, downright shy, but Eve had seen her in church and heard Daisy sing her praises as a seamstress.

"If you need anything..." Mrs. Taggert looked over Eve's rust-colored day dress without comment, unless one counted the disapproving lift of an eyebrow. "Just let me know."

"Thank you." Eve looked over the ribbons, and then moved on to a mountain of fabrics, bolts stacked high. There wasn't a drab brown or green or rust in the bunch.

Eve's fingers barely touched the sides of the tightly wrapped bolts as she studied each one. Daisy would love some of these colors, so bright and beautiful. This one looked like spring, this one... summer. Her fingers stopped on a muted gold. If she did decide to have a new dress made for herself, perhaps...

"No!" Mrs. Taggert said, appearing at Eve's side with a concerned expression on her face.

Eve's hand snapped back away from the fabric, as if she'd been scolded. "I'm sorry. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to touch."

"You can touch all you want. It's just that the gold isn't a good color for you," the dressmaker added.

"Oh," Eve replied simply, suddenly feeling inadequate as a woman since she had no idea what she should wear. She always chose fabrics and colors that were tame. Unobtrusive. Invisible. Clothes that would help her to fade into the background.

"Maybe... if I were to have a new dress made..." She lifted her hand and her fingers trailed below the gold, to a nice emerald green. "Green to match my eyes?"

Eve glanced to the side to see Mrs. Taggert shake her head. "No." The widow barely touched an elegant blue silk. "Blue, so the green of your eyes stands out nicely. Perhaps this paler green linen, for spring. It will compliment your eyes without fighting with them. Oh, and this crushed strawberry silk..."

Eve almost jumped out of her skin. Her heart definitely skipped a beat. "Strawberry?"

"A new color that would be wonderful with your complexion."

Eve stiffened her spine. "They're all lovely fabrics, but I really have no need for anything so..." Frivolous. Extravagant. Unnecessary. "Beautiful," she finished with a sigh.

"Before we continue, you must call me Laverne," the seamstress said seriously. "We should be friends."

"Of course. And I'm Eve." Yet another friend in Plummerville. It really was becoming home.

"I started to introduce myself to you several times," the dressmaker said, "but something always interfered. My own bashfulness, on occasion," she confided. "I know a businesswoman should be more forceful when it comes to making the acquaintance of newcomers, but I'm just not very good at pushing myself at people."

Eve smiled. "Neither am I, to be honest. But it is so nice to get acquainted with you now. I should have dropped by your shop sooner, but I'm afraid I don't need new clothes. Everything I have is perfectly serviceable."

"Serviceable," Laverne said, a hint of despair in her voice.

"I've never been one to get carried away by frills and ruffles," Eve explained.
Not on the outside, anyway
. Anything overly fussy made her feel terribly self-conscious.

"No matter what styles you prefer to wear, we will still be friends."

"Of course."

"And as your friend," Laverne continued, "I must tell you, at least half of your dresses should be burned."

"Burned!" She felt herself blush, her face growing warm. "That seems rather... drastic."

Laverne waved a dismissive hand. "All right. Donated to the church so they can be distributed to the poor."