Page 43 of Unforeseen Affairs
“Theatrics?” Miss Sedley suggested dryly.
Mr. Bass chuckled. “Yes, a fine way to put it. I do apologize.”
“Oh, no need for that, Mr. Bass. I would not pin the blame for what happened there on you. As if the spirits could be compelled to follow your direction!” Miss Sedley fluttered her lashes. “What a notion!”
Mr. Bass smiled, albeit somewhat uncomfortably.
Christ, was she flirting with the vainglorious fool?Enough of this, Colin decided resolutely. They were sailing perilously close to the edge.
He placed a gentle hand upon Miss Sedley’s arm.
“Undine, dear, shall we take our places?”
Her head whipped about, her eyes wide as he laced his arm through hers. He had never before given much thought to such familiar gestures, whether it be a handshake, a clap on the shoulder, or Alice’s hand upon his. Not even Miss Sedley’s hand on his in the café a week ago. But this… this sent such a thrill through him that he nearly faltered.
Nearly, but not quite. After all, Sir Colin Gearing had not earned his reputation by being faint of heart.
He flashed a charming smile at her. They were supposed to be family friends, were they not?
She stared back at him, and he fain felt he could hear his heart hammering in his chest. Finally, she smiled as well—a wicked, devilish expression that stirred something else within him. Colin liked it. He liked it far too much. He wanted her to look at him like that again, and maybe…
No. Colin took a breath and tore his gaze away. Mr. Bass was watching them. They needed to act as though nothing were out of the ordinary.
“I thank you, Mr. Bass, for humoring the budding interest of a neophyte,” Colin said cheerfully.
“It is I who is obliged,” Mr. Bass said with another half-bow. “And if you should be so inclined as to pen a testimony for the papers, well…” He extended his arms graciously. “I would be even more so.”
Colin nodded. Before he could turn away to lead Miss Sedley to the table, Mr. Trenwith stepped forward and whispered something in Mr. Bass’s ear.
Colin’s heart began to race; he wondered if Mr. Trenwith knew who Miss Sedley was. He took a deep breath and tried not to worry. There was hardly time for it, anyhow; the other guests were taking their places, and it was time to focus. The campaign was underway.
Miss Sedley slid her hand about his arm, drawing them closer together. Filthy thoughts about the softness of her flesh burst into his mind, hot and insistent. He shoved them aside, irritated by his lack of self-control.
“So itisUndine, then?” she whispered as she leaned into him.
“What? You gave me leave, if you’ll recall,” he responded. He stared straight ahead, trying to think of the blandest, most rote work one could do at sea. Swabbing the deck. Scraping the irons. Hell, keeping watch.
She looked at him as if puzzling out what he was about.
He pulled out a chair for her.
“Anyway, it’s like you said.” He affected a charming, boyish air. “We grew up together, didn’t we,Undine?”
She regarded him suspiciously before sitting.
This time they positioned themselves as close to Mr. Bass as possible; Colin sat to his immediate left while Mrs. Kitson sat to the medium’s right. Miss Sedley sat at Colin’s left side. The same purple cloth lay upon the table. Miss Sedley had told Colin that Mr. Bass likely employed his feet underneath it in some manner, but the cloth served their purpose as well, as it concealed their own lower extremities, which they’d planned to use to signal each other.
Now, as Mr. Trenwith dimmed the lamps and Miss Sedley touched her fingertips to his, Colin felt a sudden foreboding. The assembled began singing off-key; Mrs. Kitson’s warble was a particularly rough and terribly pitched soprano. When Miss Sedley joined in, though, he was pleasantly surprised by the sound of her low, gentle alto. Colin realized he’d been waiting to hear her singing voice. He swallowed.
They really ought to have practiced.
Chapter Twelve
He’sdistracted,Charlottethoughtas she surreptitiously watched Sir Colin in the dim light, taking care not to turn her head too much. He’d barely moved since the spirit circle began, and even now, with the performance well underway, he sat rigidly, his hand cold and tense atop hers.
Mr. Bass was currently allowing some nameless spirit to speak through him; for this he affected a hollow, empty tone and a truly odious attempt at a French accent, much to the awe of the assembled party.
“When did you die?” Mrs. Kitson asked, practically vibrating with excitement.
