The Lady Who Saw Too Much. Thomasine Rappold
while out walking.
Whatever the cause, there had to be some way to stop the tragedy from happening. But how? Was it possible that another vision might help? She’d never before attempted to encourage a vision, but she’d never before attempted to stop a vision’s forecast from happening.
If she could manage to touch some of his personal belongings… She stood, heart racing. She could sneak to his room, poke about, and see what transpired. It was a long shot, but it beat sitting here doing nothing.
Abandoning the book, she tightened the cinch of her robe and made her way to the door. With each faltering step, with every painful memory of her failure to save Pru, Gia’s resolve grew stronger. All she had in this world were her visions and the promise she’d made to herself to follow them. She’d go wherever she had to, do whatever she must, to honor that vow—to lighten the burden of guilt she’d carry for the rest of her life.
Like a thief in the night, she crept down the hall to his room, her thoughts spinning. While she was rummaging around his room, she would search for the red scarf as well. Could the omission of just one minor detail change the course of the future? She didn’t know, but she had to try. His aunt and her friend would arrive tomorrow, and there’d be no better opportunity.
She eased open the door, then slipped inside his room, moving quickly. Enough moonlight spilled through the windows to guide her along. She picked up his cigar box from the tall bureau, then closed her eyes. Nothing. She grabbed the whiskey bottle next to it. Again, nothing happened. Frustrated, she opened the top drawer of the bureau and searched for the scarf. She moved to the next drawer, then the next. The blasted thing was probably packed away with his winter garments somewhere. He didn’t need a scarf in the summer after all.
The sound of heavy footsteps carried outside the room. Gia froze. His footsteps! The carpet absorbed the sound of most foot traffic, but not his. Her gaze darted wildly, searching for some place to hide. She dropped to the floor and slid under the bed, tugging her flowing robe with her.
The door opened, and she squeezed shut her eyes, as if that might help. Her nose twitched from the dust, and she plugged it to stifle a sneeze. Just her luck. She’d hidden in the one nook of the house the thorough team of housemaids had managed to overlook during their cleaning frenzy.
Alice had mentioned Landen was a private man. Even the help was not allowed in his study downstairs. Obviously, his desire for such privacy extended to this room as well. She was doomed.
She watched his large boots moving toward her. She shriveled amid the soft glow of the lamp he’d turned on. Coins clanked on the wood surface as he emptied the contents of his pockets onto the bureau.
She held her breath, her body stiff as a board. There’d be no explaining this caper, no reasonable excuse, and she wasn’t clear-headed enough at the moment to concoct one. She had no choice but to hold out until he fell asleep, then sneak out. Please, let him be a deep sleeper.
He paced the room for what seemed like forever before he began undressing. He tugged off his boots, then kicked them aside. She held her breath, listening as he loosened his necktie. It dropped to the floor, followed by his shirt, undershirt, and trousers. A moment later she was eyelevel with his discarded drawers.
She stared at the garment, trying with all her might not to think about what he might look like naked. Craning her neck, she tried for a peek. The sound of movement drew her back into the dusty shadows. The mattress slumped against his weight as he plopped to the bed. He gave a few sharp fluffs to the pillows, then settled in for the night. The silence was deafening. Why didn’t he turn off the lamp?
And then, just like that, he was up again. He strode to the table to pour himself a drink. Rolling her eyes, she screamed in her head, go to sleep!
As if hearing her desperate plea, he climbed back into bed, released a loud sigh, and finally turned off the lamp.
Closing her eyes, she exhaled in relief.
“Sweet dreams, Miss York.”
She flashed open her eyes, so startled by his voice she smacked her head on the bed slats. Her heart pounded.
“Since you’re obviously comfortable enough to remain under there, I’ll bid you good night.”
She cringed, her blood pumping through her veins.
“The next time you conceal yourself beneath a man’s bed, you might consider forgoing the perfume.”
She mouthed a vile curse. “Soap,” she muttered instead.
“Pardon me?”
“It’s soap. Not perfume.”
“Come out from under there,” he demanded.
“I can’t.”
“And why’s that?”
“You’re naked.”
“You might have considered that before you invaded my room. Where I sleep. Naked.”
She clenched her teeth at the unexpected humor in his voice.
“At least cover yourself up with a blanket,” she said.
She heard a rustle of covers.
“Done.”
She crawled out from beneath the bed. She brushed the dust balls from her hair, off her sleeves, anything to avoid looking at him. Her heart hammered. She forced herself to face him, then wished she hadn’t. He sat on the edge of the bed, a thin sheet wrapped around his waist. He was magnificent. Moonlight cast him in shadows and light. Her breath caught in her throat. Firm shoulders, muscular arms. A silken layer of dark hair graced his broad chest, trailing in a fine line to his taut stomach and beyond.
“Well?”
She could barely breathe, let alone speak. “I can explain.”
“I am listening.”
“I was…looking for something.”
He patted the space next to him on the bed and smiled. “You’ve found it.”
She gaped, shaking her head. “You misunderstand.”
Securing the sheet around his waist, he stood, moving toward her. “Enlighten me.”
The scent of his skin filled her senses, heating her blood and her flesh and her bones.
“Are you a thief?”
She took a step back. “No.”
He moved closer. His tousled hair pronounced a wildness about him, giving weight to the carnal look in his eyes. She couldn’t help wondering how many women had seen him this way, but she knew, without a doubt, she would never forget that she had.
He stopped, reaching toward her. She couldn’t move as his hand touched her hair. Twirling a lock around his finger, he grazed her temple, her ear. He leaned closer, and she closed her eyes, melting in the wisp of warm breath in her ear.
“A wanton?”
She shook her head slowly, her voice barely a whisper. “No.”
“What, then, are you doing in my room?” His lips skimmed her neck with each word. “Why are you here?”
To save your life, she wanted to say. But when she opened her eyes and gazed into his face, she discovered she wanted something else more.
So she kissed him instead.
Chapter 4
Landen didn’t know whether it was the effect of the whiskey he’d enjoyed earlier or some sudden, inexplicable bout of insanity that had him kissing the companion he’d hired for Alice. He knew only that it felt too damn good to stop.
He’d wanted to kiss her from the day she’d arrived. From the moment he’d looked into her dark eyes and been lured by something more potent than