Second Sight

by Amanda Quick

  “But I did not feel civilized. That is what I am attempting to explain.”

  “Shall I tell you why it never crossed your mind to hurt Montrose or anyone else, for that matter, after the villain escaped?”

  He was off balance now, a little dazed. “Why?”

  “You are called to hunt because you are compelled to protect that which is in your charge. That is why you went into the house in the first place tonight. You can be extremely stubborn and quite arrogant at times, Gabriel, but I have never, for one moment, doubted that you would put your own life at risk to protect others.”

  He did not know what to say so he kept silent.

  “I knew that much about you from the moment we met,” she continued. “You proved it the night you sent your housekeeper and me out of harm’s way at Arcane House. You proved it again in your own blockheaded fashion by avoiding all contact with me because you did not want to draw me into danger. When you did deign to show up on my doorstep it was because you felt obliged to protect me. And you gave fresh evidence of that aspect of your nature tonight when you went to Mr. Montrose’s rescue and when you determined to send my family away to the country.”

  “Venetia—”

  “Your fears are groundless,” she said. “You are not a wild beast that succumbs to a savage bloodlust. You are a guardian at heart.” She smiled. “I will not go so far as to call you a guardian angel, even though you are named Gabriel, but you were most certainly born to shield and protect.”

  He caught her shoulders. “If that is true, why did I want to throw myself on you the moment I walked through the door of your house tonight? Why is it all I can do to not strip that dressing gown off you, put you down on the ground and lose myself in you right now?”

  Her hands did not leave his face. “You did not drag me off to bed earlier because it was not the right place or time. And we both know that you are not going to make love to me out here in the garden tonight. You are in control of all of your passions, sir.”

  “You cannot know that.”

  “Yes, I do.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth against his. “Good night, Gabriel. I will see you in the morning. Try to get some sleep.”

  She turned and walked toward the house.

  As always, his body responded to the challenge she had flung down.

  “One more thing,” he said softly.

  She paused at the door. “Yes?”

  “Out of curiosity, what is to prevent me from putting you down on the ground and making love to you tonight?”

  “Why, because it is ever so damp and chilly out here, of course. Not at all comfortable or healthful. We would both no doubt wake up with a severe case of rheumatism or a bad cold in the morning.”

  She opened the door and disappeared into the hall. Her soft laughter was like an exotic perfume. It lingered long after she was gone, warming him.

  Some time later he made his way up the stairs to the small room at the top of the house. Montrose stirred slightly in the shadows of the small bed.

  “That you, Jones?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.” He unfolded the blankets that Mrs. Trench had left on a chair and fashioned a bed on the floor.

  “No business of mine, of course,” Montrose said, “but I must admit I’m a trifle confused. Mind if I ask why you’re sleeping up here in the attic?”

  Gabriel started to unfasten his shirt. “It’s somewhat complicated, sir.”

  “Damnation, you’re a married man. And I must say, Mrs. Jones appears to be quite fit. Why aren’t you downstairs with her?”

  Gabriel slung his torn shirt over the back of the chair. “I believe I explained that Mrs. Jones and I were secretly married in a hurry and then immediately separated due to the events at Arcane House. We did not have the opportunity to become accustomed to each other as husband and wife.”

  “Huh.”

  “The shock of all the startling incidents lately has naturally had a profound effect on her delicate sensibilities.”

  “No offense, but she doesn’t look all that delicate to me. Seems quite sturdy.”

  “She needs time to adjust to the notion of being a wife.”

  “Still say the situation is extremely odd.” Montrose settled himself against the pillows. “But I suppose that’s the modern age for you. Things aren’t done the way they were in my day.”

  “I’ve heard that is true, sir,” Gabriel said.

  He settled himself into the hard, makeshift bed and folded his arms behind his head.

  All his adult life he had done his best to control and confine the psychical part of his nature out of a deep-seated fear that it meant he was something other than human, something that might someday prove dangerous.

  But tonight, with only a few words, Venetia had set him free.

  It was time to start using all of his abilities, he thought.

  33

  ROSALIND FLEMING LEANED forward and peered more closely into the gilded dressing-room mirror. Anxiety and rage flashed through her. There was no longer any doubt. Faint, fine lines were beginning to appear at the corners of her eyes.

  She stared at her image, forcing herself to confront what she knew was the reality of her own future. Powder and rouge would serve for a while—at best, another two or three years. Then her beauty would slowly, inevitably fade.

  She had always considered her looks to be one of her two great assets. When she had first arrived in London, she had naively believed that her beauty would prove to be the most useful and had designed her strategy accordingly.

  But she had soon discovered the flaw in her plan. Catching the eye of gentlemen who moved in elevated circles had proved vastly more difficult than she had assumed. Such men had their pick of beautiful women. On the one or two occasions when she had been lucky enough to draw the attention of a wealthy man, she had quickly learned that they were like small boys: easily bored with their playthings and readily attracted to newer, prettier, younger toys.

  Fortunately she had been able to fall back on her second asset, a talent for mesmerism and blackmail. The skills had helped her earn a living as a practitioner of psychical powers, but until a few months ago they had not shown much promise in helping her obtain the fortune and the social status she hungered for.

  Just as London was filled with attractive women at every level of Society, it was also teeming with charlatans and frauds who claimed to possess paranormal powers. The competition was fierce in both quarters and even a genuinely gifted mesmerist could only achieve so much in the way of results. The problem was that one had to keep renewing and reinforcing the commands given to the subjects in order to make them do as one wished. It was painstaking work that all too often went awry.

  In the past few months she had begun to believe that her luck had turned at last. She seemed to have it all: access to financial resources beyond anything she had ever known and a position in Society.

  But her glittering, golden dream was on the verge of collapsing into a nightmare.

  She knew precisely who was to blame: Venetia Jones.

  34

  IN SPITE OF THE FACT that everyone had gone to bed quite late, breakfast was served early the following morning. Immediately after the meal was concluded, Beatrice rose from the table.

  “Time to pack,” she said. “Come along, Edward and Amelia. There is a great deal to accomplish before we leave for the train station.”

  There was a scraping of chairs as they all hurried out of the room.

  When they were gone, Montrose got to his feet. “I shall send word to my housekeeper. She will have arrived at my house to begin work for the day and will no doubt be wondering where I am. I’ll have her pack a trunk for me. I can collect it on the way to the train station.”

  Venetia put down her teacup. “You may use my study to write the message to her, sir.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jones,” he said.

  He disappeared into the hall.

  Venetia found herself alone with Gabriel. Sh
e regarded him warily, braced for another argument.

  Gabriel did not appear to be in the mood for another quarrel, however. He had a black eye and she had noticed that when he reached for the newspaper earlier, he had winced, but otherwise he appeared to be in remarkably good humor.

  “How do you feel?” she asked, pouring herself a second cup of tea.

  “As if I’ve been run over by a carriage.” He helped himself to the last slice of toast. “Otherwise, quite fit, thank you.”

  “Perhaps you should spend the day in bed.”

  “That sounds rather boring,” he said around a mouthful of toast. “Unless, of course, you intend to spend it there with me. I must warn you, the bed in the attic will not accommodate both of us, however. We would most likely be forced to use your bed.”

  “Really, sir, that is not the sort of remark one makes at the breakfast table.”

  “Should I have saved it for dinner?”

  She glowered. “You appear to be in excellent spirits for a man who only a few hours ago feared that he was on the verge of becoming a ravening beast.”

  He took another bite of the toast, looking thoughtful. “I don’t recall using the word ravening. But you are correct, Mrs. Jones, I do feel much better this morning.”

  “I’m glad of that much, at least. What do you propose to do today?”

  “Among other things, I intend to do some extensive research on Rosalind Fleming.”

  “How will you go about that?”

  “I would very much like to have a chat with one of her servants. Maids and footmen always know more about their employers than most people realize. If possible, I will try to find a way to get into her house, perhaps in the guise of a tradesman.”

  “You intend to use a disguise?”

  He smiled. “Unlike you, my dear, I do not object to using the servants’ entrance.”

  Venetia put the teapot down hard. “That would be extremely risky.”

  He shrugged. “I will be cautious.”

  She thought about his plan for a moment. “You said that the person you confronted in Mr.Montrose’s house was a man.”

  “Without a doubt. I’ve told you that I can tell the difference. But I am convinced that Rosalind Fleming is involved in this affair.”

  She frowned. “Given recent events, it baffles me why you are in such a jovial mood this morning. One would almost think that you have been nipping at Mrs. Trench’s gin.”

  He smiled his mysterious smile and drank some coffee.

  Venetia decided not to pursue the topic. There were, she reminded herself, more pressing matters.

  “You suggested the possibility that Mrs. Fleming may well have employed someone to do her killing for her. That villain must have been the person you encountered last night,” she said.

  Gabriel inclined his head. “With luck, he will make another attempt to conclude the business.”

  She straightened, thoroughly alarmed. “Gabriel, you mustn’t deliberately make a target of yourself. You said the villain may possess psychical talents similar to your own.”

  “Yes.” Gabriel’s humor faded. In its place was a cold anticipation. “And if he is, indeed, employing the same kind of psychical senses that I possess, I think I can make certain assumptions.”

  “Such as?”

  “He may or may not be in the pay of Rosalind Fleming but either way it is safe to say that he will have his own private objectives and his own strategy. I think it is unlikely that he will do someone else’s killing unless it serves his own purposes. It is equally unlikely that he will take orders from someone else unless it suits those same purposes.”

  She watched him intently. “You sound quite sure of those assumptions.”

  “I can also say with some assurance that he will not have taken last night’s defeat well. I suspect that he now views me not just as someone who must be removed because I happen to be making things difficult for him but rather as an opponent. A challenger or competitor, if you will. He and I are, to his thinking, two rival predators who have clashed. Only one can survive.”

  She felt the hair on the nape of her neck lift.

  “Do not talk like that,” she said softly, fiercely. “I told you last night, you are not a predator, Gabriel.”

  “I will not get into another debate on the subject of whether or not I am a ravening beast of prey,” he said. “But of one thing I am absolutely certain.”

  “What is that?”

  “I can think like one.”

  35

  GABRIEL WAS STILL WATCHING Venetia’s face, waiting for her reaction to his words, when he heard the carriage halt in the street. The muffled sound of the front door knocker being banged in a forceful manner came a moment later.

  Mrs. Trench’s heavy footsteps thudded in the hall.

  “I wonder who that can be at this hour?” Venetia said.

  He heard the door open. A loud male voice boomed down the hallway.

  “Where in blazes is our new daughter-in-law?”

  Venetia froze.

  Gabriel looked toward the doorway of the breakfast room, resigned to the inevitable.

  “My life used to be so simple and well ordered,” he said to Venetia. “Why, there was a time when I could look forward to spending an entire morning alone with my books.”

  “Is that your father out there in the hall?” Venetia gasped.

  “I’m afraid so. Mother will no doubt be with him. They are inseparable.”

  “What are your parents doing here?”

  “I expect some well-meaning individual sent them a telegram.”

  Mrs. Trench appeared in the doorway looking bewildered.

  “A Mr. and Mrs. Jones to see you, ma’am,” she began.

  “No need to stand on formality,” Hippolyte Jones roared behind her. “We’re all family here.”

  Mrs. Trench fell back out of sight. Gabriel got to his feet. His mother came through the doorway first. Attractive and petite, Marjorie Jones was fashionably dressed in a blue gown that accented her black-and-silver hair.

  Hippolyte loomed behind her. With his craggy features, brilliant green eyes and shoulder-length, snow-white mane he never failed to make a formidable impression.

  Out of the corner of his eye Gabriel watched Venetia’s expression as she took in the sight of his parents filling the doorway. She looked as if she had seen a pair of ghosts.

  “Good day to you, Mother,” Gabriel said. He nodded at his father. “Sir.”

  “What on earth happened to you?” Marjorie asked, catching sight of his face. “You look as though you have been in a brawl.”

  “Walked into a door,” Gabriel said. “In the dark.”

  “But you can see very well in the dark,” Marjorie said.

  “I’ll explain later, Mother.” He made the introductions swiftly, giving Venetia no time to say anything. Then he turned back to his parents.

  “This is a surprise,” he said evenly. “We weren’t expecting you.”

  Marjorie looked at him with a hint of reproof. “What did you expect us to do after we got the telegram from your aunt Elizabeth informing us that you had eloped? I know you were occupied with that affair of the missing formula, but surely you could have found time to send your parents a note or a telegram at the very least.”

  “What made Aunt Elizabeth think that I had eloped?” Gabriel asked.

  “Your cousin Caleb mentioned something to her about your plan to marry the photographer who went to Arcane House to record the antiquities,” Hippolyte said with a suspiciously smug smile. “Seemed to be some confusion about the actual timing of the wedding. We decided to come straight to London to see what was going on for ourselves.”

  “Imagine our surprise when we discovered that you and your lovely bride had already settled down into married life,” Marjorie said happily.

  “Caleb,” Gabriel said. “Yes, of course. I should have known. Mother, I fear there has been some confusion regarding the elopement—”

&nb
sp; Marjorie smiled warmly at Venetia. “Welcome to the family, my dear. You cannot know how I have longed for Gabe to find the right woman. We had almost given up hope. Isn’t that right, Hippolyte?”

  Hippolyte chuckled and rocked on his heels. “Told you Miss Milton was the right one for him.”

  “Yes, you did, dear,” Marjorie said.

  “Hah. And you said that I shouldn’t dabble in our son’s personal affairs. Where the deuce do you think we’d be now if I hadn’t done just that?”

  Venetia appeared to be locked in a trance of some sort. She was on her feet but gripping the edge of the table as though she feared her knees would give way.

  “You were absolutely right, Hippolyte,” Marjorie said. She turned back to Gabriel. “But I really must protest this runaway marriage. I had intended a proper wedding for you. Now that you have deprived me of that, you must allow me to stage a decent reception. We can’t have people thinking that we aren’t delighted with our new daughter-in-law.”

  Venetia made an odd little noise. Gabriel saw that she was staring very hard at Hippolyte.

  “I know you, sir,” she said, sounding dazed. “You bought some photographs from me in Bath.”

  “I certainly did,” he agreed. “Wonderful pictures they were, too. Knew the minute I met you and saw your work that you were the one for Gabe. Took a bit of maneuvering to arrange for you to photograph the collection, mind you. The Council can be quite old-fashioned when it comes to employing modern inventions, but I am the Master, after all.”

  “The staff is opening up the town house as we speak,” Marjorie announced. “We haven’t used it in years but it shouldn’t take too long to make it comfortable.”

  “Your mother brought a small army of servants with us on the train this morning,” Hippolyte explained.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs and in the hall. Edward arrived first, eager to see what was happening. Amelia appeared behind him, her face bright with curiosity. Beatrice brought up the rear, looking troubled.