Sexual Hunger. Melissa MacNeal
breathe a word about—”
“That’s not my purpose. But if I am to differentiate between your fiancé’s…emotional energy and another’s…Identical twins present a challenge for me, dear sister. I don’t encounter them often.” He opened his eyes, trying not to laugh at her while she was mired in such a dicey situation. “Why are you afraid to tell me what I already know?”
Playfully she slapped his face. “This is so unfair, damn it! Why don’t you tell me?”
Rubio glanced away, smiling. Ever the elusive younger brother, baiting his hook.
“All right, so Jude was in my room as well!” she confessed. “He came to admire this glorious pendant he made, and to spend time with me while Jason was cavorting with his friends last night.”
Her brother kept his eyes averted, as though he knew more.
Maria released his hands, exasperated. “You already know Jude loves me, too. And that this triangle has existed for quite some time—and that Jason favors its continuation. How does this intimate knowledge of my love life affect the fact that he hasn’t shown up today?”
Rubio flashed her a sympathetic grin as he thumbed a tear from her cheek. “Again, it helps me to differentiate between the brothers’ bonds with you. If I held that lovely pendant, I would run into the same situation because Jason’s energy is on it, as is Jude’s, because he created it. Even without my sixth sense, I know Jude is in love with you, Maria. Anyone with eyes can see it. Be very careful.”
Her throat constricted. Were she and Jude that obvious when they were together in public? “I—please don’t let on about this to—”
“Of course I won’t. Give me your hands again, Maria,” he murmured. “We’re nearing the town house and I want to ascertain whatever I can about Jason, now that I feel the differences between him and Jude.”
Cautiously she offered her hands, and as he clasped them his pulse surged. Maria felt a concentration, a funneling of his mind and soul that made her entire body shimmer with inner electricity. She watched his chestnut mane of hair shimmy around his collar as his eyebrows peaked and his nostrils flared. What was taking so long? Usually, he knew within moments what was happening.
“A vast body of water,” he murmured, so softly she had to lean forward to hear him. “Water all around…a rocking, and—” His hand flew to his head and he grimaced with pain. “Foul play. Raised voices! A loss of control over—” Rubio convulsed, even as his thoughts remained in the netherworld. His eyes flew open, fearful, and he released her hands as though they were scorching his. Fought for breath until he could settle himself.
“What’s happening? What do you mean, foul play?” Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely get the words out. Never had she seen her brother look so frightened while he was in trance, as though horrible, painful things were being done to him in that other plane. He’d explained astral travel and how his soul left his body during these psychical forays, yet Maria had never fully understood how it worked, how he could slip inside the soul and body he connected with.
Rubio stared at the opposite seat. This was the time he allowed his soul to reenter his body, so Maria sat still, pressing her lips together to keep from blurting out her questions. They were only a block from the town house. No doubt the Daringtons would arrive soon, after they’d dealt with the cancellations: the food and cake no one had eaten, the bills that must be paid as though she and Jason had actually married.
Maria hugged herself. She was in no mood to endure Mrs. Booth’s opinions or Lord Darington’s temper, let alone the weeping and wailing Lady Darington and Jemma would delight in. She detested being their whipping girl: they would construe Jason’s disappearance as a sign that he didn’t want to marry her.
And then it struck her, hard: what if his family insisted she move out of the town house? Where would she go?
Rubio’s hand closed around hers. His long, soft fingers bespoke an artiste or a philosopher, but they gave her comfort; provided something to cling to, now that serious doubts would arise about Jason’s motives and methods.
“Jason’s motives never changed, dear sister,” he murmured. “I sense he is injured. Most likely incoherent, so he has no idea he missed his wedding. His sole objective right now is to survive.”
Maria’s jaw dropped. What could possibly have happened that—who could’ve overwhelmed him, physically and mentally, to the point he might die? “Oh, Rubio,” she breathed. “We must find him! We must do something! But how do we reach him?”
Her brother stroked her hand between his. Never had she seen him look sadder as he gazed at her, as though she wore mourning rather than bridal white. “The pieces will fall into place, Maria—if we believe they will. You must keep your faith and hope strong and send them out to Jason in your prayers. Right now, it’s all he has to hang on to.”
“Please, Mrs. Booth! I assure you this plate of bread and cheese is all I want, along with a pot of tea,” Maria insisted. The nosy old cook and Quentin had been hovering since Rubio left an hour ago, and she was reaching her wit’s end. Why was it more work to live with servants than to do without such insistent assistance? “My concern is for Jason’s well-being. The fact that he didn’t show up at the church—nor has he come here—tells me something is gravely amiss.”
“We’re concerned for your well-being, as well, Miss Palladino,” Quentin remarked with a worried scowl. “The last thing we expected was to see you coming back here with your brother! You must be devastated, now that the biggest day of your life has turned into such a fiasco!”
“And what of Lord and Lady Darington?” Mrs. Booth queried in a rising voice. “One might suppose they would come here to discuss plans for your future—”
“Or for locating their son,” the butler cut in.
Maria gasped, exasperated. “I suspect the Daringtons are indeed discussing their plans, and they won’t inform me until they’ve made their decisions. I’m only the bride, after all!” The words tumbled out before she could catch them: while she’d been holding up rather well, this nattering with the help would be her undoing. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I wish to spend the rest of evening in my room, undisturbed. You’re dismissed. Thank you both.”
Was that how the lady of the house received time alone? Maria was too upset to care. She, too, had expected Phillip, Dora, Jude, and Jemma to roll up in their carriage at any moment—and the last thing she needed was their yammering in addition to what the servants had heaped upon her. No amount of concern would compensate for Jason’s absence, so she was damn tired of hearing about how she surely must feel or what Lord Darington and his family might decide. All the words in the world wouldn’t bring Jason back to her!
She climbed the stairs with her tray, sighing tiredly. Once behind her closed door, she gazed around the too-cheerful yellow and pink room, the chamber where she’d expected to be celebrating with Jason before they left for an extended holiday in Spain. Her wedding gown hung outside the armoire, a sad testament to this difficult day.
Maria gazed out her window, wrapping her dressing gown more tightly around her. Twilight always brought a sense of serenity to London, as the time between a bustling, busy day and the evening, when business was done and family matters held sway. Serene hardly described her mood, however: Rubio’s visions had scared her more than any decisions the Daringtons might make about her future…for if Jason was injured and incoherent, how would they find him? Help him? Sending out prayers seemed so trivial and ineffective….
Yet she was in a unique position to call out for help of a more tangible sort, wasn’t she?
Maria smiled, her pulse thrumming. She moved her vanity bench beside the window seat, set her tea tray on it, and then took up pen and paper. Ensconced in this little niche, overlooking the lamplit streets, she closed her eyes…assumed the persona of Miss Crimson, society columnist…smiled as a grand idea came to her, fully developed yet so simple. She would write as though she’d