Page 1 of Beyond the Grave
Chapter 1
London, autumn 1889
Lincoln Fitzroy was an excellent kisser. Not that I had experience kissing anyone else, but considering I was re-living it in my head three days later, it went a long way to proving his prowess. When I closed my eyes, I could still feel his warm lips on mine, the press of his hand at my lower back, the tingles rushing down my spine. I'd always thought kisses would be messy affairs, but now I knew the appeal and why first kisses usually led to seconds…and more.
Unfortunately, I was yet to experience a second. All I had was the memory of our first. Lincoln had avoided me for three days. After a full minute of enjoying one another's company in his rooms, we'd sprung apart upon hearing footsteps approaching. It was only Gus, sent by Cook to ask when Lincoln wanted dinner to be served, but it had ended the most thrilling moment of my life to that point. Lincoln had picked up my crutches from the floor, where I'd discarded them, and handed them to me. He then turned his back and strode to his desk. His brisk order of, "Serve my dinner in here, alone," seemed to be for my benefit as much as Gus's. It was a signal that our kiss was over and that there would be no more.
I'd hobbled out of his private sitting room on my crutches and shut myself in my bedroom. It turned out to be one tumultuous evening, as I seesawed between triumph at having cracked Lincoln's hard shell of a façade, girlish silliness over my first kiss, and self-pity at his rejection. It didn't help that my sleep was troubled by nightmares. As proud as I was of myself for escaping from Captain Jasper, the kidnapping had left its mark.
During the days, however, the autumn sunshine managed to banish the nightmares and doubts, but not all of my self-pity or the triumph. The kiss still occupied my thoughts while I completed mending tasks in the library, my sore foot propped up on a footstool.
"Charlie. Charlie, wake up." The clap of hands beside my ear had me jumping out of my skin.
"Bloody hell, Seth, what was that for?" I gathered up the shirt that had slipped off my lap and checked the needle was still stuck in it.
Seth grinned, giving me the full effect of his dimples. It was impossible to stay mad at him when he smiled like that, and I suspected he knew it. It was no wonder he got away with so much mischief, particularly with ladies. "You were asleep."
"I was not. And if I were, was there any need to wake me so rudely?"
"You have to vacate the library. It's time." He nodded at the clock on the mantel.
"Already!"
"Not asleep, eh? Time must fly when one's alone in the library, sewing." He picked up the shirt I'd been mending. It was his, as it happened. A thorn had rent a small hole in the sleeve the night before. Apparently his latest paramour kept rose bushes beneath her window. I'd heard from Gus that Seth had acquired the hole after leaving in a hurry when the husband returned home early from his club. "Oh, look, you've done all of seven stitches."
I snatched the shirt off him and stuffed it into my sewing basket. "Did Fitzroy send you in here to torment me?"
"No." He passed me the crutches and, with a hand on my elbow, helped me to stand.
"Has he returned from wherever he went this morning?"
"Yes."
My heart skipped a merry tune whenever I knew Lincoln was in the house. Being under the same roof meant we might bump into one another. Unfortunately, he'd managed to avoid me so completely these last three days that the only time I'd seen him, we'd been in the company of Cook, Gus and Seth. There'd been no opportunity for private discussion. I could have sought him out, but in truth, I wasn't sure what to say. It seemed somewhat childish and pathetic to bluntly ask him why he'd been avoiding me.
"I suppose he returned for the meeting." I glanced at the clock again. The committee members would be arriving soon.
Seth picked up my sewing basket. "I'm sure."
"Do you know where he went?"
"No."
"You're full of witty conversation this afternoon," I said as I hobbled out of the library.
"Forgive me, Charlie." His serious turn had me eyeing him sideways. He gave me a flat-lipped smile that was much too pitying for my liking.
"Stop feeling sorry for me," I snapped, trying my best to streak ahead. "There's no need. I'm perfectly fine."
He caught up to me. That was the problem with crutches and only having one good foot. Storming off became much less effective. "If you'll permit me to say, you don't seem fine."
"I'm just frustrated with the slow pace of my recovery. The doctor said I should stay off my foot for another week. A week! He ought to spend a week using these contraptions and see if he likes the way it rubs the skin under his arms raw. Not to mention how dull it is to do nothing but sew all day. While it's nice to be able to read without guilt, I do miss my work, not to mention my training." I sighed. I definitely missed my regular afternoon combat training sessions with Lincoln. Even though he shut down his emotions for the duration, I at least got to touch him.
"He's a turd," Seth said as he entered the kitchen behind me.
"Dr. MacDonnell?"
Gus looked up from the central table where he was arranging cups and saucers on a tray. "He ain't so bad, for a medical man. Bit unfair to call him names just because other doctors have been causing problems lately."
