The Wrong Girl (Freak House)

by C. J. Archer

  Clover did indeed meekly follow his horse, but that didn't stop me from clutching the reins so tightly that my fingers ached by the time we reached the lake.

  "Relax a little," Jack said, his voice clear in the breathless quiet. "You're doing well."

  "I must look awkward."

  "Not at all. You look elegant."

  I snorted. "Thanks to this riding habit. Sylvia has exquisite taste and seems to have been well versed in my size and coloring before my arrival. I believe I have you to thank for that."

  "I can assure you, it's not just the clothes. You've got a natural gift for riding. It's a shame Lord Wade never allowed you and Miss Smith to learn."

  "I suggested it to her once, but she was much too frightened by the idea so I never pursued the matter."

  "A shame. Could you not have gone without her? Your governess could have accompanied you instead."

  That may have indeed been possible if I were in fact the earl's daughter, but since I wasn't, I was subject to Vi's whims. The lowly companion simply would not be allowed to ride without her ladyship. And Vi was indeed terrified of horses.

  "I doubt Miss Levine would have cared for riding either," I said.

  "She was a stiff-looking woman." He slowed his horse to allow mine to catch up, and we rode side by side. "I'm sorry you had to endure such a grim childhood, Violet. Your life hasn't been fair. I hope...I hope you'll see that it doesn't have to be that way anymore. The thought of being cooped up forever...I don't know how you managed."

  "It wasn't so bad. I had a good friend in...Hannah." I swallowed, but the lie stuck in my throat. Perhaps I ought to tell him the truth. Perhaps his uncle really didn't wish Violet ill, and she would be all right at Frakingham, learning to control her talent.

  But I needed to be sure. By Christmas I would know for certain if they meant to harm her. If they proved to be trustworthy, then I would be honest with Jack and help him fetch the real Violet Jamieson.

  "I admit that I expected to find you a little mad," he said.

  "Oh?"

  "I know I would be if I'd been confined to a few rooms my entire life, unable to come or go as I pleased. Yet you're remarkably normal."

  I didn't want to venture into a conversation about my life at Windamere. It would be too easy to make a mistake and forget my lie. Particularly because Jack was so perceptive.

  "What about you?" I said instead. "What was your childhood like growing up with the ability to start fires?"

  He regarded me closely, as if he knew I was deliberately avoiding discussing myself. "It was...fine."

  "Your parents weren't alarmed when it first happened?"

  "I wouldn't know. I was too young to remember."

  "They never talked about it?"

  "I mean I was too young to remember them." He urged his horse into a trot, and Clover dutifully followed. The change of pace caught me by surprise, and I bounced uncomfortably along, holding onto the reins for dear life, until we finally came to a stop at the ruins I'd seen on my first day.

  All that was left of the abbey were some broken arches, crumbling walls and the lower halves of what must have been sturdy columns at the entrance. Moss had turned many of the stones green, and some structures appeared to only be held together by vines that crawled over everything, claiming the ruins as their own.

  "With whom did you live after your parents' deaths?" I asked. Perhaps I should have let the conversation drop, but curiosity was eating at me. I just had to know more about Jack Langley. "Sylvia said you didn't come to Frakingham until you were fourteen."

  "Don't, Violet." His voice came out choked. "Please." He dismounted and let his horse graze untethered. He patted Clover's nose and looked up at me from beneath hooded eyes. "A man needs to keep some secrets."

  My heart lurched inside my chest, and I suddenly wished to hold him and tell him he could trust me.

  But I hardly knew him, and I doubted he'd want a raggedy, freckly redhead throwing herself at him. Besides, I was lying to him, so it seemed only fair that he keep some things from me too.

  "I thought it was ladies who were supposed to be the secretive ones," I said.

  He looked relieved that the conversation was at an end. "Does this mean that the lovely Lady Violet isn't telling me everything? And here I thought you wore your heart on your sleeve."

  "And how do you know what's in my heart, Jack Langley?" I asked softly. I couldn't look away from his eyes, so filled with longing and—dare I even think it let alone hope—desire.

  He moved close and skimmed his hand over Clover's neck, toward my knee. He didn't look away, and I certainly couldn't. I was caught in his presence as securely as the ruins in the vines.

  His chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing. I waited for him to say something, but he did not. He looked dazed, not quite aware, as he lifted his arms to help me down. He put his hands to my waist, and a shock passed between us, quickly followed by a fierce heat, blasting through me. I felt like I was burning up from the inside.

  "Jack!" I screamed.

  His eyes widened, but he didn't let me go until my feet were firmly on the ground. Then he stalked off and slapped his hands against his thighs as if he were putting out flames.

  I was too busy trying to remove my jacket to check if he'd been burned. I desperately needed to cool down, and the jacket itself smoldered where his hands had been. I was rather glad it was woolen after all.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, returning. Worry scored deep lines into his forehead. He reached for me again, but quickly dropped his hands back to his sides. "Are you hurt?"

  "I don't think so. Still a little hot, but I'm beginning to cool. What about you? Your hands must be painful. You weren't wearing gloves, but I at least have some layers to protect me."

  "They're fine. Don't worry about me." He crossed his arms and tucked his hands away.

  "Let me see." I reached for him.

  He stepped back. "Don't touch me!"

  I blinked. "Right. Of course."

  He strode off and stopped near one of the arches that must have been a doorway once, but now had no walls on either side of it.

  I followed. "Jack, let me see your hands."

  He blew out a breath then turned around, palms out flat for me to inspect. They were unmarked. No burns, not even a slight reddening.

  "They're perfectly fine." I frowned. "But that must have hurt. Your skin was unprotected."

  "My skin doesn't burn. Neither does yours. You weren't aware?"

  I shook my head.

  He fingered the jacket slung over my arm. "It's ruined."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Whatever for? It's not your fault. It's not mine. It's this cursed talent."

  "It doesn't feel like a talent, does it?"

  "Not always," he muttered.

  We stood in silence until I could stand it no longer. I was bursting with questions. "You said you don't burn."

  "We don't burn. Not our skin anyway."

  "That doesn't make sense. Are you saying there's some part of you that does burn?"

  He pressed his lips together and for a moment I thought he'd refuse to answer. "You ought to know," he said. "Since it affects you too."

  "Jack, you're scaring me."

  He went to reach for me again, but stopped himself and let his hand fall. "Have you heard of spontaneous combustion?"

  "That's when someone burns, yet there's no evidence of how they caught alight, isn't it? I always thought it was a hoax or a way of covering up a murder."

  "Perhaps it is. Perhaps not."

  "Oh God." I felt the color drain from my face, and the lingering heat too. "Are you saying that you—we—can spontaneously combust?"

  "I don't know for sure since you and I are the only fire starters in existence and neither of us has suffered that fate, obviously. But when the sparks come I feel like I'm boiling inside. Ever since I heard of spontaneous combustion I've wondered if that's how those people died. If they were like me, burning up i
nside."

  "Oh," I whispered. "But you can control your fire, can't you?"

  He lifted his gaze to mine. "The sparks and heat come only when I'm very angry. Or so I thought."

  "You're not angry now."

  He turned away. "No."

  "Then...why? I don't understand."

  "It's not important."

  "It is important!"

  "Don't, Violet." He spun back round, and I was shocked by how pink his cheeks were. From the fire within him?

  I reeled back. "I'm sorry. Don't be angry with me."

  The color quickly vanished and his face turned ashen. "Violet, I'm not angry with you. I doubt I ever could be." Again he went to reach for me, and again he lowered his arms before we touched. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "I hate this."

  I sat on the base of what must have once been a column. I watched him as he too sat on a large stone and picked at the long grass licking up its sides. He seemed to be avoiding my gaze on purpose.

  "I've seen you hold Sylvia's hand before and that didn't happen," I said. "You patted Clover's nose and nothing. Indeed, when you kidnapped me, you touched me. Admittedly I passed out, but I'm sure I would have felt that heat beforehand if it had been there. So why now, Jack? What was different about this time?"

  "Do you have to ask?" he muttered.

  "Yes, and you must answer. If you're going to let off sparks every time we touch now, I need to know."

  He scrubbed a hand across his chin and lower lip, all the while avoiding my gaze. "August warned me before I went to spy on you that if we developed feelings for one another, we may not be able to control the fire when we...uh...that is, at certain moments."

  Oh. Oh! He had feelings for me? Me? The little freckly redhead from the attic? I tried to think of something to say, but I knew I'd sound like a blathering fool, so I bit my tongue and concentrated on remaining unruffled. Unfortunately he wasn't looking at me and my efforts went unnoticed.

  He grunted a harsh, humorless laugh. "I don't know what bothers me more. That you know I have feelings for you, or that August was right. It didn't matter when he first told me." A beat passed before he added, "It does now."

  I pressed my hand to my chest. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a fist. "Do you mean that your feelings for me have grown so that now when we touch, we may combust?"

  He jerked a thumb at Clover, nibbling the grass contentedly beside her stable mate. "I only held you at your waist. Imagine if we...kissed."

  I touched my lips. "Yes. Imagine."

  His mouth gave a harsh twist. "Ironic that I finally find a girl I like, but a single kiss could kill her."

  "And you," I whispered. "It could kill you too."

  CHAPTER 7

  The mist rolled in while Jack and I sat in silence. It draped the ruins like a ghostly veil, and only the taller structures rose above it. The cooler, damper air doused the last remnants of heat inside me. It could not, however, dampen my raging thoughts. There were so many, and picking them apart proved impossible.

  "We'd better go back," Jack said, standing. "I'd offer my hand to assist you, but I don't think that's wise."

  I rose unassisted and put on my jacket. I would have to mount Clover without aid too.

  Jack must have been thinking the same thing because he led my horse to the column base I'd been sitting on. "Stand up there and put your left foot in the stirrup." He held the stirrup for me and I did as suggested, careful not to touch him.

  Once I was safely in the saddle, he mounted too. His horse shifted restlessly, as if he wanted to race off, but Jack soothed him with gentle words.

  Clover moved behind the other horse, and my gaze shifted to Jack's broad back and shoulders. They were strong, capable shoulders and looked magnificent straining the seams of his riding jacket.

  Now that the shock of discovering that he liked me had worn off, I was able to think about our situation more clearly. Or rather, my situation. I should have told him that he had the wrong girl. I should have told him about the real Violet Jamieson. She needed the training, not me. She needed to know there was someone else like her.

  The lie was beginning to eat me up inside, turning me cold where the heat of Jack's blast had warmed me only moments ago. Would he ignite like that if he touched Vi? Or had that only happened because he liked me, and it was something only I had the power to do?

  Despite my doubts, the notion that Langley would use Vi as a test case still gnawed at me. If it were just August Langley who'd kidnapped me, I would have been certain that he wanted Vi so he could study her, but it was Jack and Sylvia's involvement that threw water over that theory. They seemed quite harmless. What I needed was a test of my own to determine once and for all if I could trust Jack.

  "Are the police following up that information you gave them about the boot print?"

  He half turned in the saddle to look back at me. "Why do you ask?"

  "I'm simply curious. Don't you think it's unusual that a thief entered the house, stole some papers, then got out again without anyone seeing him?"

  He focused on the path ahead once more, but I saw the slight stiffening of his back. "Unusual, but not impossible. It's a big house."

  "Yes, but not one single servant heard or saw him."

  "What are you getting at, Violet?"

  "Just that I'm surprised none of them mentioned seeing or hearing an intruder to you." He made no comment, so I asked as boldly as I could. "They didn't, did they?"

  "No."

  My heart sank. It was an outright lie. He'd told Tommy that the maid named Maud had described the intruder to him. I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth.

  "When we go to London, will you be staying with Sylvia and me the entire time?"

  His hesitation was small, but it was there. "If you wish me to."

  I urged Clover to speed up and she trotted alongside Jack's horse. He glanced at me then away. "You won't be going to visit people you used to know there?" I asked.

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Your accent sounds cultured now, but when you grew angry in your uncle's rooms, it changed."

  "A person's manner of speaking can do that when they're ruled by their emotions."

  "Yes, but they don't switch to London slum accents. I wondered if you would visit your old friends upon your return, and if you'll take Sylvia and me with you."

  He turned to me again. His jaw was set as hard as stone, his eyes even harder. "How do you know what a London slum accent sounds like, Violet? Heard many while locked away in the attic of a grand house?" He squeezed his horse's flanks and the big animal set off at a gallop.

  By the time Clover reached the stables, my rear was sore and my heart sorer. Jack was nowhere to be seen.

  ***

  "You got back all right?" Jack asked me the next day as we waited in the entrance hall for the carriage to be brought around.

  "No thanks to you." I'd spent half the night wondering if I'd lost a potential friend and the other half considering what I ought to do. By the time I finally fell asleep, I'd decided I needed more time before I admitted that I was not Violet Jamieson. Jack was keeping too many secrets, and until I found out if they would endanger Vi, I would pretend to be her. I was utterly convinced that August Langley's reasons for kidnapping me weren't purely charitable, and I suspected Jack's lies were somehow tied in with his uncle's. All I needed to do was unravel them so that I could make a clear decision.

  "It was unforgiveable of me to leave you like that," he said. "And for speaking harshly. I'm sorry."

  I had still not come to terms with the fact he'd lied to me, and after he said he liked me too! Jack Langley was more of a mystery than ever. I wasn't about to make life easy for him. "It was unforgiveable."

  He sucked in a breath. "I suppose I deserved that. I'll have you know that I didn't neglect you altogether. I checked not half an hour later, and Olson said you made it back in one piece shortly after me."

  "I could have been lyin
g dead in a ditch by then, and no one would have known."

  Tommy approached and handed Jack his coat and gloves. Jack slung the coat over his arm and clutched the gloves. "Olson would have alerted me immediately if Clover had turned up riderless."

  "That may have cost valuable time."

  "If you'd been dead, there wouldn't have been any hurry, would there?"

  I gave him a withering look, and he gave me a triumphant smile. Tommy smirked in the background, but sobered when I switched my glare to him.

  "I notice you've been avoiding me ever since," I said to Jack. "Any reason for that?"

  "None in particular."

  The carriage pulled up in front of the house, laden with our luggage. Sylvia descended the stairs wrapped in fur from head to toe. "Are you two arguing?" she said. "It's going to be a long journey if you are."

  Jack walked outside, ignoring her.

  "Everything's fine." I caught up to Jack. "You can't avoid me now," I said. "You'll have to endure my company all the way to London."

  He held the door open and Tommy helped me inside, then he did the same for Sylvia. She sat opposite me as Jack shut the door without getting in. I pushed the window down and poked my head out. He doffed his hat, gave me another one of those irritatingly smug smiles, then sprang up onto the driver's seat alongside Olson.

  I sat back heavily and clicked my tongue. "Your cousin is..." I couldn't think of what to call him. The truth was, I liked Jack and he liked me. I just wished he hadn't lied to me.

  "Infuriating?" Sylvia offered. "Stubborn? Secretive? Volatile?"

  "Secretive, yes! Tell me about his past. He said his parents died when he was young, yet he didn't come to live here with your uncle until he was fourteen. What did he do in between? Where did he live?"

  She stroked the fur collar of her coat near her chin to flatten it. "It's not my place to tell you. Besides, I'm not really sure of the entire story myself. Be patient. He'll tell you in time."

  Time. How much did I have?

  ***

  London was nothing like I expected. I thought it would be all gleaming glass windows and vibrant color, but the reality was quite different. It was gray. Gray buildings, gray muddy roads and gray air. Even the people were dressed in gray, their faces merely a paler shade of the same color. The smells of horse dung and factory fumes clung to the city, and I insisted Sylvia keep the carriage window closed.