Page 61 of Beyond the Grave
"This is not a mistake, Lincoln," I murmured. "You don't feel—"
He wrenched himself away. "Don't pretend to know what I feel."
Hot tears stung my eyes as he turned his back to me. "I know you better than you think," I whispered. "I felt your body respond to me. I saw the heat in your eyes."
He dashed a hand through his hair. "It doesn't matter what I feel," he growled. "Don't you see that?"
"No."
"We cannot be together."
I crossed my arms, wishing that could somehow keep the pieces of myself from fracturing. I didn't want to shatter in front of him. If I did, and he walked out, I couldn't bear it. "But you want to be with me," I said, without conviction. I wasn't entirely sure of his feelings, despite saying so. A few small signs might prove he desired me, but he was a man and I was a woman and we were alone. Of course his body would respond to my attentions. It was only natural. But anything more…I didn't know.
"Yes." His voice cracked.
My heart soared. Giddiness swamped me. "Then be with me, Lincoln. Lie with me."
He spun round. There was no heat in his eyes, no sign that he cared for me or wanted me. Only anger, cold and fierce and raw. "No. It would mean the end of our friendship, of working together. Of this."
I rubbed my arms. "It doesn't have to be."
"It will, whether we want that or not. This will pass, Charlie, this…need. I'll see to it."
I spluttered a harsh laugh. "You'llseeto it? There is no switch to turn feelings off and on, Lincoln. That is absurd."
His back straightened. His nostrils flared. Had I offended him? Angered him further? It was difficult to tell. "Don't suggest we act upon these feelings again. There is a line between us. Do not cross it if you want to continue to help me investigate Buchanan's disappearance."
I watched as his face slowly lost its hardness and his fists unclenched. My own temper also dampened, making way for confusion. I wasn't even sure my feelings were hurt. He did, after all, admit that he desired me. That was something, a base, of sorts. But I was no longer certain how to act on that desire. It seemed that forcing him to do so was a sure way of awakening his temper.
"Raise him," he said shortly. "Then we'll part for the evening and return to London tomorrow."
I nodded and sat by the fire. "Afterward…" I swallowed. "After I raise Buchanan's spirit, will you continue to want me to work with you? Or have I destroyed all chance of that now?"
He rested his elbow on the mantelpiece and stared down into the glowing coals. "Your necromancy comes in handy, from time to time, and I admit that your questioning of Edgecombe today was inspired. You think and act quickly, and you're good with people, whereas I'm not. We work well together." His fingers twisted around one another and he glanced at me before once more staring at the fire. "I'd be a fool to shut you out of the investigation now, and any future ones."
"Thank you," I said, smiling, despite myself. "I appreciate it."
"Buchanan's middle name is Myron. Let's begin."
I blew out a breath and dragged my thoughts away from Lincoln to the task at hand. "Andrew Myron Buchanan, do you hear me?"
No white mist rushed out to me. The air in the room didn't shift and the only sounds came from a dog barking in the distance. I set my glass down on the table and tried again.
"This is a message for the spirit of Andrew Myron Buchanan. Please come to me here in this room and talk to me. I need to ask you some questions." Still nothing. I shrugged at Lincoln.
"Try again," he said.
"I wish to speak to the spirit of Andrew Myron Buchanan. Can you hear me? There is nothing to fear. I just want to talk." I waited then shook my head. "He's not here."
"Then he's not dead."
Chapter 11
The train left earlythe following morning. We had the compartment to ourselves. I thought Lincoln might demand we find one that had other passengers in it, to insure we weren't alone, but he didn't. He sat with his newspaper raised so I couldn't see his face.
I tried to concentrate on my book but ended up looking out the window while we sped through the countryside. I liked it immensely and didn't particularly want to return to London yet. While the city would always be my home, I wouldn't mind visiting Oxfordshire again. Or perhaps going to the seaside next time. Lincoln had even said he'd take me. I wondered if he now wished he'd kept his mouth shut, or if he even remembered making such a promise. He certainly wouldn't keep it. After our discussion the night before, such a journey would be too inappropriate.
"Lincoln," I said and waited until he lowered the paper. "You may regret bringing me along, but I want you to know that I'm glad I came."
