Yearnings: A Paranormal Romance Box Set (80 page)

If he began this journey, something within him said, he would not be able to turn back.

He didn’t know what sounded worse—a short leap of faith, or another mile stumbling blindly. Grant released a ragged breath.

Duchesse lay down a few yards away, blinking at the sun-patched view.

“
Fine, Beatrice. I’ll meet your witness.” He would give himself time to remember more, to lose the fog of last night. He would ready detailed questions for this so-called witness. “When? Where?”

Her relief showed in the gentle curve of her smile, and for a moment Grant felt freed. “Now,” she said.

~~~

Chapter Two

The cold breeze bit at Leigh Hamilton's cheeks as she peeked out the church's side door. Chewing her lower lip, she watched Beatrice Grayson speak with the infamous brother whom Beatrice insisted she meet, Grant Conner. Was that right? Conner? Conley? She needed to get his name right. She resisted shutting herself back inside the warmth of the church walls. Any moment now, Beatrice would come for her.

She wanted to be ready.

Beatrice squared her shoulders at her brother. Grant was definitely the right name. Leigh had a baby cousin named Grant on her dad’s side. Easy to remember that way. Not that this Grant had anything baby-like about him. Even at a few yards away, from his ill-fitting clothes to his unshaven, scraped-up face, Grant looked like he’d slept hugging rocks. Nothing like his well-coiffed, graceful sister.

Even the way they stood appeared at odds. His shoulders alone made a wall of intimidation. Of course, that could be because of the tight fit of his jacket. Interestingly, Beatrice’s quiet strength held, despite his glares and rough appearance. If Leigh hadn’t realized this man was Beatrice’s brother, she would be stepping out of the shadows to help. Or running for help.

Probably sensing her doubts, behind her and in typical mystical fashion, Jacob firmly impressed in Leigh’s mind.
Yes, this is Grant.

Figured.

Six weeks in Paris had turned out to be more than Leigh could ever have bargained for. She’d suffered enough heartache here to last two lifetimes. From the stink of the streets to the snippy little French accents, every inch of this city left a sour taste in Leigh’s mouth. To think, she'd crossed an ocean romanticizing the entire country. All those paper hearts and singing angels died begging for mercy when Henry had admitted, shamefaced, he’d changed his mind about marrying her.

Great. Just perfectly copacetic.

Now this.

An invisible hand nudged her shoulder. Jacob's energy. Leigh stiffened. Not that the specter spoke much, but communicating in pushes drove her batty. “I’ll go out there when Mrs. Grayson asks,” Leigh said, glancing behind her. Jacob’s slightly transparent visage gestured forward.
Go
, his energy pushed into her mind.
Take charge.

Ugh. She hated knowing he was right. Taking charge would assuage her growing fears. Timing and nerves be damned, if she wanted away from Madame Georgette Leplante’s house of scams and shams, and back home to her mom, she had to take control. On an exhale, Leigh stepped out into the cold air. Why had she imagined it would be warm in Paris come springtime? Oh, yes. That’s right. Because all of Henry’s letters talked about was the warm air laden with the scent of lilacs. Among all his other lies, why not lie about the weather, too? She held the door behind her so as to make as little noise as possible.

Leigh took two steps when a poodle scampering past stopped her short. The little ball of fluff dropped and rolled in the dirt path in front of her. Leigh couldn’t resist a low chuckle. A little splash of relief joined her laugh and the edge on her tension dulled.

Everything would be all right. If she could survive getting here, she could survive getting back home.

She’d make sure of it. Jacob would help make sure of it.

The poodle jaunted over to a tree to sniff and Leigh’s grin widened. Ah, to be so carefree. When Leigh looked back to Beatrice, her smile fell. Grant’s hard expression nearly pinned her to the ground. He stood, with those imposing shoulders, staring straight at Leigh. Well, if he thought one glare was enough to send her running, he had a lesson or two coming.

Leigh forced her smile back in place, though the joy the poodle lit within her certainly dimmed under such a dark look. Beatrice motioned for Leigh to join them. “Thank you for waiting, Leigh. I’d like you to meet, Grant Connel. My brother.”

Leigh nodded and extended her hand, glad she hadn’t interrupted too soon. “Pleased to meet you.”

His pale blue-gray eyes iced over, with what emotion exactly, Leigh couldn’t guess. Anger, more than likely. Why did he have to be so handsome? Her stomach fluttered just looking at the man. Beatrice had warned her he’d be a challenge. No wonder. It was a challenge just thinking straight.

Grant took her hand, holding it just a moment. “The pleasure is mine. But I don’t need to tell you that. Do I?”

His hand was rough skinned, and the knuckles scabbed. Leigh quirked one eyebrow at the hint of sarcasm in his tone. “I’m afraid you would have to tell me, actually.”

“
Oh?”

“
I read minds about as well as you do, Mr. Connel. I’m forced to take people at their word and whatever emotion they are willing to wear on their sleeves.” Her eyes drew down the length of his sleeve, catching a glimpse of bare chest when he folded both arms. Heat tickled over her shoulders at the sight of skin. Why wasn’t he wearing a shirt? “As for your pleasure in my acquaintance, pardon me if I doubt that.”

“
A spiritualist medium who can’t read minds,” Grant said, eyes narrowed, shadowing the pale blue depths. “Now this is a first.”

“
Grant,” Beatrice warned. “Leigh has kindly agreed to leave with us tomorrow.”

“
So soon?” he asked.

Leigh didn’t miss a drip of his sarcasm. “Beatrice felt the sooner, the better. As you might guess, I’ll need to see where the kidnapping happened. Or do you mind readers prefer great distance to work from?”

“
Beatrice indicated you’ve already seen where it happened.”

“
I’ve seen impressions of the location, yes.”

He widened his stance, facing those shoulders at her. More of his chest bared. Her eyes involuntarily went to the expanse of muscle and scars there. Faint scratch marks. A shiver ran under her skin, and for a moment, she could swear she heard a growl. Where was Jacob? He’d urged her forward, but she couldn’t feel him nearby now, as she was used to. How did she explain the difference between the images she got from Jacob here, versus at a location? Better yet, why should she? She’d never told anyone, not even her mom, and she certainly wouldn’t start now.

Grant grabbed a piece of paper Beatrice held. “Where did you see this?”

Leigh recognized the scrap she’d drawn on. She’d seen the image in her head, from the young man with the scar along his throat that Jacob had brought through. She didn’t speak the young man’s language, and this symbol was all that she could grasp. Leigh jutted her chin up. “I don’t know what it means, if that’s what you’re after.”

He shook his head. “It isn’t what I’m after. I’m interested in where you saw it. Originally.”

Most people doubted her gifts—even the ones desperate to believe in them questioned her. Mostly because what Leigh saw rarely amounted to what they needed to hear. “I don’t see where. The images just come through. Unless I have closer proximity to its origin, I won’t be able to tell you more.” Meaning, Jacob would have stronger access to the young man, to more than him.

“
You can draw my sister this symbol, but you can’t say where it came from? Rather convenient, wouldn’t you say?”

She just
had
said where it came from—an image. Leigh folded her arms. “No. I find it rather inconvenient.” Beatrice needed this man to believe in her. Leigh hadn’t pieced together all the reasons why yet, but the idea of letting the woman down hurt her stomach. She bit back opposing his questions. “What more do you want?”

Beatrice’s lips thinned. She shifted.

“
Proof,” Grant said.

Uh-oh. A demonstration. They all wanted a demonstration. Where was Jacob? “Proof of what?” Leigh asked, feeling for Jacob’s presence.

“
That you won’t waste my time.”

"Our time, Grant," Beatrice said. Then, she laid a quick hand on Leigh's arm. “Not that I fear you will waste even a moment of it, Leigh. I am fully convinced you are who I’ve been searching for.”

The way Beatrice said that threw her a little, but Grant’s arched eyebrows irritated her enough that she let it go. She’d like nothing better than to show him the verity of her gifts and put him in his place in this very moment, as it were. Leigh would blow his suspicions away. Except, Jacob had left her at the church door. She didn’t know why he’d left her after urging her so strongly out that door, but it wasn’t as if she could snap two fingers and make him appear. “I gave Beatrice what I saw.” That had to be enough.

“
This is my fault,” Beatrice said. “I should have brought him to the séance.”

“
Enough time and diligent research could have dug up this symbol and whatever other facts you gave my sister.”

“
Are you calling me a liar?”

“
Not yet,” he said.

“
Enough, Grant. Leigh, you have to understand. He’s just being protective.” Beatrice smacked her brother in the arm. “Isn’t that right?”

The urge to spin on one heel and forget the entire bargain welled up her chest. Leigh had to force her legs to stay put. No. She would not let him intimidate her. She would leave the god-awful place and help Beatrice, returning home to her poor mom before she ended up in the streets. As if she would take years to glean just the right information to con Grant Connel and his sister, only to spring her plot now, a continent away. Ridiculous.

She never should have left.

She should have asked Henry to come to her instead. Falling for all his claims of love, all his sweet, passionate words would haunt her forever. What would her mom say? Probably something wise and simple that would erase all the miserable pain weighing down her heart.

“
I can’t exactly hold a séance here," Leigh said at last, sweeping her arm. “In broad daylight, in the middle of a churchyard, only three among us.” She didn’t need seven. She didn’t need anyone at all except Jacob. But Grant Connel didn’t know that.

“
Why not?” Grant asked, intent.

Was the heat in his gaze anger, or had she managed to inspire something beyond irritation in the man? Beatrice twisted her short strand of pearls, her gaze moving from Leigh to Grant.

A yip from the poodle interrupted whatever rebuttal might have formed in Leigh’s mind. It leapt up. Grant broke his stare in time to catch the dog. He adjusted the animal in the crook of his arm, and when his gaze returned, full glare, Leigh couldn’t help herself. She laughed.

Beatrice did as well, covering her mouth with a delicate hand. “You’ve made a new friend, Grant.”

Grant crooked one side of his mouth. “Off with you, girl,” he said to the dog, setting her down. The dog obeyed. His stubbly jaw flexed. “I don’t believe a full séance will be necessary, Miss Hamilton. But I will need more than a simple drawing.”

Leigh closed her eyes a moment, wishing hard for Jacob to hear her, to come to her. Why would he leave, in this moment of all possible moments? He’d insisted that Leigh speak with Beatrice, and told her to give her the drawing. He impressed on her to keep the conversation private and not to tell Georgette LePlante, despite the woman taking her in, penniless and heartbroken. Not that she minded keeping a secret from Georgette. The woman parlayed in secrets.

She listened for Jacob. Nothing sounded but the chilly air and the leaves in the trees.

Opening her eyes, Leigh nodded. She saw no other choice. “I can try. But not here.” The dog, the puffy clouds, even the smattering of people spotting the hillside, made Leigh nervy. Please, let Jacob be darkening some corner inside the cathedral. If Grant Connel needed proof, she had to get him something, anything. If it meant boarding a ship home tomorrow, one last blessed day before going home, Leigh might even lie.

“
Inside, then?” Beatrice asked, smoothing her skirt.

The church interior hardly took her chill away. Either that, or dread prickled Leigh's skin. Rubbing her arms, she took the first pew and focused on the colors casting through the stained glass. She didn’t need to look. She could feel Jacob. He’d come back.

Oh, thank the stars! No matter how many times Georgette LePlante had instructed her on techniques for reading patrons, Leigh never could stomach faking a reading. Leigh wouldn’t lie, but she also refused to reach into the terrifying darkness of the other side alone.

Beatrice joined her, glancing around the mostly empty room, and took Leigh’s hand. The woman’s warm skin soothed Leigh. As did Jacob’s presence. The specter wore a scowl and, stopping at Grant’s side, stared glass shards at him. The idea that Grant might look over and see Jacob struck Leigh’s protective instincts. Her heart quickened with worry. Silly, really. No one could see Jacob. Not even her mom, and she’d known of him most of Leigh’s life.