Crystal Gardens by Amanda Quick
Lucas winced. “I was afraid of that.”
“Is that why you happened to be outside the night before last when I arrived in the gardens at two in the morning? You were conducting your investigations?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Well, that explains it then.”
He frowned. “Explains what?”
“Clarissa and Beatrice asked me why you happened to be so conveniently at hand when I needed help. I was forced to tell them that I was so rattled at the time that I had neglected to inquire why you and Stone had more or less magically appeared, fully dressed in the gardens, at such a late hour.”
“There is no great mystery involved. As I told you, we were outside already and heard you enter the grounds.”
“Speaking of Stone, have you had any word from him yet?”
“He sent a telegram saying that he will be arriving on the same train as Aunt Florence. He indicated he had some news to report.”
Excitement flashed across Evangeline’s expressive face. “That sounds hopeful.”
“We shall see.”
Evangeline looked toward the vine-covered window and then turned back to him. “Please understand that I am grateful for your offer of protection, sir, but I cannot help but feel that I should be in London with my friends.”
“No,” he said.
“I do not like the idea of them conducting inquiries into this matter without me. After all, I am at the heart of this problem. I should at least be working on my own behalf. I feel utterly useless loitering about here in Little Dixby while the others are investigating.”
“You are hardly loitering about. You have been working like a demented housekeeper all morning.”
She exhaled a wistful little sigh. “Trying to keep busy, I suppose. The activity takes my mind off what may be happening in London.”
He came up off the corner of the desk and walked toward her. “If it makes you feel any more useful, I can assure you that we are far more likely to obtain results with you here in the country.”
“Why do you say that?” Her expression cleared. “Oh, I see. You think that the person who hired Hobson will make another attempt and that it will be easier to catch the villain if that attempt is made here in the country. Yes, I understand your logic. But what if you are wrong? What if the killer decides to simply wait me out? Sooner or later I will have to return to London. I cannot remain here forever. He must know that.”
Lucas stopped in front of her. “I feel certain that we are dealing with a desperate individual, Evangeline. Desperate people are not good at waiting.”
Take me, for example, he thought. How much longer can I wait for you?
He was growing more desperate for her by the hour. Something deep inside him had stirred and was now fully awake and hungry. The need would not be satiated until he had claimed Evangeline.
The realization that he wanted her so intensely should have alarmed him more than it did. Under most circumstances he was very good at waiting. He had long ago mastered the art of self-control. He had been forced to do so, not because of any outward compulsion but because of his need to control his talent.
He had comprehended early in life that if he did not master the psychical side of his nature, it would overwhelm him, just as it had the handful of others on the family tree who had been cursed with his kind of talent. He had vowed that he would be the one to break the cycle—had even dared to convince himself that he had achieved his goal.
Now Evangeline was making him question his self-assured assumptions. Her very energy was a potent drug to his senses. When he was around her he felt reckless in ways that he knew were dangerous, but he could not bring himself to keep his distance.
She looked at him, sharp interest in her eyes. “You do seem to know a great deal about how villains think. I know you said that you had studied the criminal mind, but how, exactly, did you go about that task?”
“It’s a long, dull and rather complicated tale.”
“In other words you are not going to tell me.”
He smiled. “Perhaps someday.”
She straightened her shoulders. “Very well, sir, you are entitled to your secrets. Can you at least tell me how you go about your consulting work for Scotland Yard?”
I’m doomed, he thought. In that moment he did not give a solitary damn. He embraced his fate. More specifically, he wanted to embrace Evangeline. He ached to pull her into his arms and drag her down onto the cushions of the old sofa. He wanted to feel the gentle swell of her breasts against his bare chest and grip her thighs in his hands. He wanted to drown his senses in her intoxicating energy and lose himself in her.
You’re a fool, Sebastian, and sooner or later you will pay the price.
“I mentioned an acquaintance at the Yard,” he said, selecting his words with great care.
“A detective inspector, yes.”
“Donovan has some talent himself. He understands that psychical energy is real and that there are often traces of it at the scene of a crime. Criminals who possess a powerful talent are often difficult to catch.”
“Yes, I can well imagine,” Evangeline said.
“When Donovan concludes that he may be chasing one who possesses paranormal abilities, he sometimes asks me to give my opinion.”
“I see.” Her brow furrowed a little as she considered that information. “What can you tell about the criminal from the energy left at the scene?”
He had come this far, he might as well tell her a bit more—not the whole of it, but some of it. With her own strong talent she might at least comprehend the compulsion he felt to employ his other senses.
“Mostly I am called to investigate murder, Evangeline.” He watched her steadily, steeling himself for the first hint of shock and revulsion. “That is usually the crime that lays down the most intense emotions.”
“You sense the killer’s emotions?”
“Yes. They can often tell me something of his or her personality and supply clues to the motive. Those are the kinds of facts that Donovan can use to conduct his investigations.”
The brilliant energy in her eyes did alter, but not as he had anticipated. There was shock but no revulsion or horror. What he saw and sensed was comprehension—true recognition—of what he went through at the scene of a crime.
“You catch a glimpse of the killer’s mind,” Evangeline said softly.
“In a way, yes.”
“I see.” She shivered. “I hadn’t realized.”
Finish it, Sebastian.
“Murder is always a disturbingly intimate act, involving the darkest emotions,” he said evenly.
“Your investigations must be dreadful experiences for you.”
“I would like to tell you that is true,” he said, “because it would at least make me appear decent in your eyes. But the reality is that I find the hunt a thrilling challenge. I find it satisfying, even gratifying in ways that no decent gentleman ought to acknowledge.”
“I understand what you are saying,” she whispered.
“Do you?”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “The fact that you find the hunt for a killer deeply satisfying does not mean that you are not a decent, honorable man. It simply means that you are doing what you were born to do—find justice for the victims.”
He smiled humorlessly. “You really were born to write romantic fiction, weren’t you?”
Anger heated her eyes. “Do not mock me, sir. You hunt killers. That is noble work.”
He shook his head. “You are very naive, Evangeline.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It is not a wholesome thing, this business of hunting killers.” He looked out into the dark gardens. “And those who kill by paranormal means are the worst of their kind.”
“I do not doubt it.”
“The intimacy of the experience is impossible to describe.” Now that he had started he could not find the will to stop. He wanted her to know what it was like for him. He needed her to
She clenched her fingers in her apron. “Yes.”
He turned back to the vine-draped window. “It takes a great deal of energy to stop the heart of another person. That is why there are invariably traces of psychical residue left at the scene.”
“And that is what you sense,” she said quietly. “It must feel as if you are actually in the killer’s mind at the moment when she inflicts death. How terrible that must be for you.”
… When she inflicts death. An odd turn of phrase, he thought. Most people would have used the masculine pronoun when speaking generically of such matters.
“Fortunately, I am not summoned often to such murder scenes,” he said. “Murder by paranormal means is rare for the simple reason that there are very few killers around endowed with enough talent to commit the act.”
“I can only hope you are correct, but I fear there may be another reason why you are not summoned to such scenes very often.” Evangeline sounded very thoughtful. “I suspect that in many cases the crimes go unnoticed. Death by paranormal means would be like the perfect poison, impossible to detect.”
He turned around to face her. “That, Evangeline, is an excellent observation. You are correct.”
She looked him in the eye. “You are summoned to a hard but honorable and, yes, decent calling, Lucas.”
“Stop it.” He took two strides toward her and clamped his hands around her shoulders. “Do not make me out a hero, Evangeline.”
She stunned him with a knowing smile.
“You are too late, sir. I have already recast John Reynolds.”
“Who the hell is John Reynolds?”
“He was supposed to be the villain of my story, but fortunately I realized in the nick of time that he is actually the hero. I am modeling him on you.”
“Damn it, Evangeline—”
She put her fingertips on his lips to shush him. “To return to the business at hand—”
“You are the business at hand.”
“I was referring to your deductions concerning the mental and emotional state of the person who hired Sharpy Hobson to murder me,” she said. “He was nowhere on the scene last night. How can you conclude that he is desperate?”
Lucas called on his patience.
“It doesn’t always require psychical talent to analyze a criminal’s mind,” he said evenly. “Common sense and logic work just as well, if not better. I can assure you that no one commissions a murder and sends the hired killer all the way to Little Dixby unless he is exceedingly determined. Failure combined with Hobson’s disappearance will only make whoever is behind this more frantic. I sincerely hope that having lost his paid killer, the person who wants you dead will come after you himself. Then we will have him.”
“I see. Yes, that makes sense.” Evangeline raised her brow. “Not exactly a cheery thought, though. Nevertheless, I can’t help wishing I could take a more active part in the investigation.”
“You look like a child who has been told that her friends are going to the fair without her. I can see that you would rather be investigating, but it is for your own good that I insist you remain here in the country.”
“‘For your own good’ are the four most irritating words in the English language.”
A flicker of amusement whispered through him. “Yes, I have been told that on a number of occasions.”
“By whom?”
“Beth and Tony, my brother and sister. As it happens, I’m inclined to agree. But do not think that you are being denied a useful role in this affair.”
“Making certain that the furniture is dusted and the floors are mopped here at Crystal Gardens is a useful role?”
“I thought I made it clear,” he said. “I do not like it but you are the bait we will use to draw the killer out into the open.”
“Of course.” Evangeline perked up immediately. “I hadn’t thought of things in those terms. So I’m the bait, am I? That does sound at least somewhat useful.”
He shook his head. “A very odd statement from a lady who in the past two weeks has confronted two killers, one of whom attacked her in her own bed.”
She wrinkled her brow. “As I keep reminding everyone, I was not in the bed when the villain got to the bedroom.”
“Yes, I know.” He captured her chin on the edge of his hand. “You were already out of the window and running for the safety of a very dangerous garden. You are a remarkable woman, Evangeline Ames. I believe I have said something to that effect before.”
She blushed and gave him a tremulous smile. “I find you equally remarkable, sir. Unique. You are in fact the ideal model for John—”
He clamped a hand across her mouth. “Do not, I beg you, mention your character’s name again.”
“Very well,” she said.
His palm muffled the words. Cautiously he took his hand away from her lips. She watched him with her fascinating eyes and her mouth twitched a little as if she was suppressing a smile. But she did not say another word.
Energy shivered in the atmosphere between them, heating his blood. It would probably be a mistake to kiss her, he thought.
He kissed her.
It was meant to be a fleeting brush of his mouth against hers. He told himself that he would take only a small taste. But the flash of hot elation that slammed through him when his mouth closed over hers stunned his senses.
Evangeline went very still. He realized that for all her self-possessed ways, she was shocked by the kiss. Fair enough. So was he.
Evangeline made a soft, husky little sound and dropped the duster. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. Her mouth opened a little beneath his. He locked her close against him and abandoned himself to the kiss.
Energy sang in the atmosphere, igniting all of his senses in ways he had never known. Delight, need and hunger swept through him. The kiss was not merely seductive and arousing, but shatteringly, breathtakingly intimate. He was a man of the world. He had been with other women but he had never experienced this sense of psychical and physical passion. It dazzled his senses.
He fitted his hands to Evangeline’s waist. Mercifully she was not wearing a corset under the plain gown. He could feel the sleek, sensual shape of her waist and the curve of her hips through the heavy fabric. Her fingertips touched the back of his neck. Her scent clouded his mind.
The thud of a bucket hitting the floor on the other side of the door and the sound of voices in the hall shattered the spell. He raised his head and looked into Evangeline’s slightly dazed eyes. She did not look outraged or fearful, he concluded. Astonished, perhaps. She was not the only one.
“Evangeline,” he said. Very gently he scraped his knuckles across her flushed cheek. He stopped because he had no idea what to say next.
“You must excuse me, I want to see how things are getting on in the kitchen.” She was as breathless as if she had just dashed up a flight of stairs. “Your aunt and Mr. Stone will be arriving soon.”
“Have I offended you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, sir—Lucas. It is hardly the first time that I have been kissed.”
“I see.” He tucked a strand of her amber hair beneath the little cap. “I hope this kiss stood up to comparison.”
“Yes, absolutely. It was quite thrilling. Indeed, I’m not sure that I will be able to find the words to describe it.”
A chill crackled through him. He set his jaw. “If a description of what just happened between us shows up in your nove
She blinked and then, to his chagrin, she gave him a teasing smile.
“As you do not read novels, sir, you will never know how I describe the kiss between my hero and heroine, will you?”
“Damn it, Evangeline—”
“You must excuse me. There is work to be done if I am to make certain that Molly and her relatives are out of here by sundown.”
Evangeline bent down, seized the duster, yanked open the door before he could open it for her and whisked herself out into the hall, skirts flying behind her.
He stood in the doorway, watching until she disappeared around the corner. When she was gone he closed the door.
He crossed the room to the window and stood looking out into the gardens through a narrow crack created by the thick vines. It was, he thought, like peering through the bars of a monk’s cell.
He was no monk but he knew then that, thanks to his talent, he had been living in a psychical version of a cell most of his life.
He was very certain that he had met the woman who held the key.
Twelve
Evangeline was with Molly, making up the bed in the room that was intended for Lucas’s aunt, when she heard the rumble and clatter of carriage wheels. The windows on the side of the house where she and Molly were working faced the drive. She looked out and saw the village cab. Mayhew, the owner of the vehicle, was on the box. Stone sat beside him, his shaved head covered with a low-crowned cap.
“I believe Mrs. Hampton has arrived,” Evangeline said.
“Good timing, if you ask me.” Molly joined her at the window. “We are finished with her room.”
They watched Stone vault easily down from the box to open the door of the carriage. He swept his hat off his head in a respectful manner. The sunlight danced on his hairless skull.
“Oh, my,” Molly whispered. “Is that Mr. Sebastian’s man?”
“Yes,” Evangeline said. “His name is Stone.”
“Oh, my,” Molly said again. “Someone said that he was a big man. And he is, isn’t he? Strong as an ox, I’ll wager. But a good deal more handsome.”
The feminine approval in her voice made Evangeline smile. She glanced to the side and saw that Molly was gazing down at Stone with rapt attention.