Page 23 of A Widow for the Earl
Low murmurs and strange moans thrummed from within, an anguished cry prompting him to burst through the door, into the room.
At a circular reading table, filled with flickering candles, sat Beatrice. Her eyes were closed, her mouth moving, speaking a language he did not recognize. Opposite her was her maid, Margaret, reflecting the posture of her mistress, her eyes also closed, her palms face-up on the table.
Eerie whispers rippled around the library, growing louder at Vincent’s entrance, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The whispers were not coming from Beatrice or Margaret, and it was not the wind outside.
He was about to ask what on earth was going on, when the curtains on the far side of the room suddenly billowed, blowing outward as if they had caught a strong gust. A moment later, two books flew out of one of the bookcases, landing on the floor with a dull thud.
“The spirits are displeased,” Beatrice gasped, trembling in her chair.
Vincent stared at her, unimpressed. Was this supposed to unnerve him? Was she trying to reveal to him that she was, in fact, some manner of witch? A sorceress who communed with the dead? He moved closer, until he could see the titles of the books that had landed on the floor:Marriage: A Compendium,and a thick, dusty tome that had no title, but bore a strange, dark symbol on the front of the maroon leather.
“A grim creature has entered our circle,” Beatrice continued, unable to hide the hint of a smirk. “A vampire, come to suck the joy from life. A ghoul with the scent of… boiled cabbage. The scent of wickedness.”
Bristling with simmering fury that he had been torn from his bed for these foolish games, Vincent marched to the curtains and pulled them back, revealing the scheme. Two maids hid behind the drapes, responsible for the billowing. And he soon found another maid behind the bookcases, who had evidently pushed the books out at the right moment.
“Get out before I decide to cease your employment for this silly trick,” Vincent growled.
The maids did not need to be told twice, scurrying out of the library as if they feared he might chase them. The lady’s maid, Margaret, was the only one who stayed where she was, loyal to her mistress.
“Did you fail to hear me?” Vincent snapped at the woman.
From across the table, Beatrice smiled at the maid. “Go on, Margie. I will be quite all right. I have the spirits to protect me.”
The maid hesitated a moment longer, before scraping back her chair in a rather pointed fashion and departing the library at a slower pace. Unafraid of the threat from Vincent, or so it seemed.
When she has their loyalty, she really has their loyalty.It continued to puzzle Vincent, how Beatrice could be the way she was, and still gain the love and admiration of those around her.
“Is this amusing to you?” he said coolly, averting his gaze as he noticed her attire for the first time.
Not only had she lured him to the library with those chilling screams, playing stupid games, she had also neglected to dress appropriately. She wore her nightdress, her housecoat open and slipping down her shoulders, not covering her flimsy attire at all.
And her hair…It hung loose in silky, wavy tendrils, the color of rich mahogany. He imagined he caught the scent of lavender from those glossy locks, his fingertips suddenly itching with the desire to touch, to see if her hair was as soft as it appeared.
This charade might be false, but her sorcery is not.She was trying to bewitch him, even now.Well, it will not work on me.
“I was curious about something I read,” she said innocently. “I am not amused, I am learning.”
“I thought I was clear about your games coming to an end, Miss Johnson,” he said gruffly. “Whatever this is, it will not alter your fate. Youwillleave this house; the only question is whether that will be sooner or later. These tricks and performances will have no effect.”
Beatrice leaned forward, blowing out some of the candles. “Have you forgotten your beloved propriety, Wilds?”
“Pardon?”
She smiled, her honeyed eyes alight in the glow of the last candles. “Is it appropriate to burst into a room where you know a lady is present in naught but your nightclothes?”
“I—” He glanced down, his throat tightening as he remembered.
“You what?” she prompted, biting her lip, making him lose all sense of why he was there for a moment.
He shook his head. “I thought someone was being attacked, Miss Johnson.Myintentions were good.Yousimply wished to be troublesome.” He puffed out a breath, hoping she could not see the warmth flooding into his cheeks. “It ends now. I mean it, Miss Johnson.”
“Very well,” she replied, though he did not believe a word.
“Tomorrow, I will refresh my efforts to get you married as quickly as possible,” he said. “Then, I will return to where I belong, for my sister is also in need of a husband. She has shown she cannot be trusted, coming here without my permission. The sooner she is also in the care of a husband, the better.”
Beatrice got to her feet, her eyes fierce in the amber glow of the candles, her expression darker than he had ever seen it. “NeitherI nor dearest Prudence are objects to be given away. We are not possessions. If you push her, you will lose her.” She took a slow breath. “If you pushme,you will regret it.”
“We shall see about that,” he replied, as he turned on his heel and left. Not because he did not have any quarrel left in him, but because he could not trust his gaze not to stray if he stayed in that room with her a moment longer. He wouldnotbe one of her bewitched souls, enchanted against his will.
