Page 60 of Beyond the Grave
He set the glass down. "I'm not sure it was a good idea to collaborate on this investigation." He held up a hand as I began to protest. "But we are, and there's no going back. Let's not discuss us working together, but rather what we know."
I sighed. "You're so stubborn, Lincoln."
"You say that as if you're not."
I lifted the platter lid to reveal a selection of cheeses, nuts and fruit. "In what way?"
"For one thing, you've continued to call me by my first name even though I forbade it."
"You call me by my first name."
"That's different. You work for me, not the other way around."
"I think people who kiss one another ought to be on first name basis, don't you?"
He had no response and we ate without speaking for several minutes. Even though I'd won a point, I felt as if it hadn't been worth it. I preferred to talk to him instead of sit in silence.
"I think we ought to summon Buchanan's spirit," I finally said. "We need to know for certain if he left Emberly Park alive."
"Agreed."
"Really?"
"I see no other option, now. You can summon him after supper." He pointed at the bowl of nuts. "Eat."
I picked up an almond, somewhat stunned that he'd changed his mind about calling Buchanan's spirit. He'd been so against it before. "I think he's the baby's father. The rumors Seth heard were probably true, and Marguerite was the woman Buchanan put ‘in the pudding club,’ as Seth called it. There's that, and now the scuffle at the baby's mausoleum…it's too much of a coincidence."
He didn't seem surprised, so it must have occurred to him too.
"Marguerite also seems to be fond of him," I added. "Too fond for a sister-in-law, if you ask me."
"I hadn't noticed." He nodded slowly, however, as if he thought the idea had merit.
"Buchanan must have recently learned that the baby was full-term. He then came here to find out for certain, and confronted his brother about it. Why not Marguerite, I wonder?"
"We don't know that he didn't. They may have spoken prior to the argument."
"What a tangled family," I said. "Marguerite was, and probably still is, in love with Andrew, yet Andrew was in love with Julia. And Julia is in love with you."
He flinched. I picked up my glass and sipped, watching him over the rim. He met my gaze. "Charlie…Julia's feelings are irrelevant."
"Not to her."
He spread his fingers out on the tablecloth. "That's not what I meant."
For a self-assured and articulate man, he had a lot of difficulty expressing himself when it came to matters of the heart, both his and others'.
"Julia and I are no longer, and never will be, together. She was a mistake I will not repeat."
I snatched up my glass and stood. "Ah, yes, mistakes," I bit off. "You said that kissing me was a mistake. At least I am in illustrious company with the lovely dowager." I spun away and marched to the hearth. Damn him for making me feel this way, like a pathetic, silly girl with an inappropriate infatuation. I hated him for it, yet I hated myself more for allowing him to affect me so.
I lifted the glass to throw it into the fireplace, but found my hand enclosed in Lincoln's. He stood close behind me. His breathing sounded ragged, like my own.
My heart stopped beating.
"Different mistakes," he murmured. "Very different."
I angled my face to look up at him. His stubbled jaw was very close to my eye. It was hard as rock. I kissed his throat above his collar and felt the throb of his blood against my lips, the tiny shudder ripple across his skin.
