Despite the way she watched this medium for hints of fraud—he was a magician skilled in sleight of hand, after all—Maria found her pulse pounding. She’d grown up in a house inhabited by spirits, and she’d been a sitter at séances her brother conducted, yet this event felt fortuitous: it seemed as right a time as any for contacting Phillip Darington’s spirit or for attempting to reach Jason. She would protest if Polinsky employed any unusual or unseemly methods, aware that anything might happen if the spirits of her fiancé or his father actually responded to them.
“You shall sit here beside me, my dear lady, along with your son and daughter,” Yosef said as he pulled out the chair nearest the end he would occupy. “And you, Miss Palladino, shall take the seat on my left. Does anyone have questions before we begin? I must insist that everyone sit at this table of his own volition, believing in the power of the spirits we invoke. If you doubt this process or my abilities, speak now! Negativity produces chaos. Results of which are irreversible.”
“May I hold Willie?” Jemma asked in a bleating voice. “If I keep him in his cage—”
“Absolutely not!” Jude snapped.
“Jemma, dear, that’s a silly idea. Your ferret will distract—”
“Animals are far more sensitive to the presence of spirits than we are,” Polinsky intoned as he lit an oil lamp in the table’s center. “But I must concur with your brother and mother, Miss Jemma, for if you’re holding Willie you can’t join hands with the rest of us. The energy to summon spirits comes from the vibrations and continuous electrical impulses we pass around our circle.”
Jemma didn’t reply. Instead, she observed the seating arrangement as the others settled into their chairs: she would face Polinsky from the opposite end of the oval, while a space gaped between her and Maria. “How am I supposed to clasp hands with Jude and Maria, when I can’t reach? And shouldn’t we have another sitter to make the number even? Five is such a lopsided—”
“Ah, five! The number of conflict and tension and change.” Polinsky stood behind his chair, a teacher surveying his small class. His eyes lingered on Dora. She had removed her hat and veil, when the medium had hinted that spirits preferred to communicate with sitters who appeared open and inviting. “If you prefer, milady, you may invite a trusted servant to sit with us, or perhaps—”
The clatter of the brass doorknocker made them all jump, and then listen as the butler opened the front door. Had Polinsky contrived for a sitter of his own choosing to join them? Maria watched his expression, his striking male profile as he, too, awaited any message from this visitor before proceeding. The conversation at the door was muffled, yet Maria sensed an intense energy, the presence of someone—
“Rubio!” she blurted when his familiar tread passed the parlor. “Rubio, come in and—”
The door opened and her brother appraised the situation with one swift glance. While his black cape looked elegant enough for the funeral he’d just attended, its lining of red and purple paisley print made him appear more of a magician than Polinsky. “Well! It would seem I’m just in time to round out your séance table!” he quipped. “A stroke of good fortune, indeed.”
Maria felt a surge of relief when he pulled up a chair between her and Jemma. His foxlike grin hinted his appearance was anything but coincidental. “We were about to summon the late Lord Darington’s spirit,” she murmured. “To ask about Jason’s whereabouts—”
“So we can pursue him,” Dora insisted. “We must bring him home now, and hope a return to these familiar surroundings will restore his memory.”
“And because it’s pretty damn embarrassing that he’s plundering our ships,” Jude added wryly.
At the end of the table, Jemma beamed as she reached for Rubio’s hand. “And with the two of you mediums here, working together, how can we fail?”
As Maria watched the conversational ball bounce around the table, she held her protest in check. It had been her idea to go after Jason, when they’d received the telegram that provoked Phillip’s dramatic passing! Finally, with all the major players gathered at this table, Dora seemed eager to proceed—or at least eager for Yosef Polinsky to prove himself, now that Rubio had appeared.
“Let’s get started, then!” Rubio reached for Maria’s hand and then Jemma’s, while the others completed the ring around the table. Polinsky sat down, appearing darkly powerful in the shadowy parlor; a man who intended to lead them to the answers they sought, if only to outperform his competitor.
When Yosef gripped her hand, Maria jerked: a jolt of awareness passed from Polinsky’s palm on her right, through her body like an electrical shock, to shoot out through her hand and into her brother’s. Rubio swiveled his head to gawk at her—and then at the other medium—before returning a similar surge of power.
“Gentlemen, please!” Maria gasped. “We must decide who will lead and who will follow, before I become your human sacrifice! Use your power to attract the spirit assistance we need, not to play childish games!”
The ring in Rubio’s nose twinkled like Gypsy fire. “Excellent point. Since this séance was your idea, Polinsky, I shall act as a conduit rather than a source. But should your efforts fail, I’m not above showing you how it’s done!”
Yosef sneered, his eyes a-glitter. “With all due respect to our hostess, we shall set aside our differences—our mutual animosity—to seek the spiritual guidance Pandora has requested. Shall we close our eyes to concentrate?”
The parlor rang with an anticipatory silence. The measured tick of the mantel clock marked the passing moments, until the man at the head of the table inhaled deeply. “We beseech you, spirit guides, to act on our behalf,” he began in a reverent voice. “We seek the former Lord Darington, known to us as Phillip and Father…and we ask that you, my guides, channel your information and encouragement through me.”
Polinsky’s words resonated in the quiet room. Through one slitted eyelid, Maria observed the others: Dora with her ethereal, uplifted face; Jude, who concentrated his thoughts despite the way Jemma fidgeted on his other side. Was it her imagination or did the room’s temperature plummet and then rise again? The flame in the oil lamp flickered once…twice, even though nothing stirred the air around them.
Jemma flinched. “Ouch! Who pinched me?” She looked accusingly around the table. “Mr. Polinsky, if that’s you, sending your rude thoughts my way, you can stop it right now!”
The magician’s smile looked wolfish and…domineering. “I didn’t do a thing, my dear. It’s all in your mind.”
Maria considered this. Would Yosef claim that everything that happened—or didn’t—was only in their minds? Or that the séance didn’t progress because they hadn’t properly harnessed their thoughts? When a current of air brushed her cheek, she looked to see if Rubio was playing tricks with the energy around them. He appeared, however, to be minding his own business…which, because his eyes were closed in apparent meditation, might mean he was conjuring up ghosts of his own. Would his guides compete with the spirits Yosef Polinsky had called upon?
“I feel something,” Dora murmured, awestruck. “A current, a pulsing of air around my shoulders, as if—”
“As if your dear, departed husband were wrapping his arms around you?” Polinksy smiled indulgently at the woman beside him.
She smirked. “Phillip rarely touched me. He wasn’t a demonstrative man—”
“Well, someone is touching me!” Jemma blurted. “As though a cat were twining between my legs under the table! Is that you, Willie?” The young woman reached with her feet and then broke the circle of hands to peer beneath the table, but her ferret wasn’t there.
“We are indeed in the presence of spirits. They’ve come to introduce you to the spiritual plane before we delve into deeper communication,” Rubio intoned. Still he sat with his eyes closed, his empty palm inviting Jemma to complete the circle again. “It requires great effort for a spirit to manifest its presence. We should be grateful that all who hover around us bring peace an
d the benefits of their influence.”
Dora chortled curtly. “Well, I would expect nothing different, since—”
“Never assume that all spirits are friendly, or that they have our best interests in mind,” Rubio cut in pointedly. “There are those who would mislead us. Those who would frighten us, so we would leave them be, in their otherworldly realms.”
“And what about Father? Which group is he in?” Jemma’s voice sounded high and childlike. Her blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “He—he was not an overtly affectionate man, as Mummy said, but he wasn’t mean or hateful, either. At least not to me.”
“And when I summon him, you will realize that his nature remains unchanged.” Polinsky glared at Rubio before looking to his left and his right, addressing Maria and then Dora. “Shall we continue?”
Across the table, Jude appeared doubtful about this whole scenario. But he closed his eyes and held the hands of his mother and sister again.
The parlor echoed with their silence…the different sounds of their breathing as they waited…for what? Again Maria sensed an unseen hand that stroked her shoulder, but she remained quiet. Was it Phillip Darington, resuming the suggestive patter they’d engaged in before the courier’s telegram made him ill?
“I ask you now, my guides, to invite Lord Darington into our midst. And through him, we might resolve this conflict with Jason, to bring him home.”
Again they waited, until Dora let out a long sigh. “Yes, I feel his presence—or at least the presence of someone very much like Lord Darington,” she breathed. Again she turned her face upward, entreating the mystical presence. “How shall we bring Jason home? How will we capture him when the port authorities have been unable to find him?”
Maria wanted to blurt out her opinion as though she’d heard it from above, to move these proceedings along. But she refrained. It was best to align herself with Rubio, to cooperate with Polinsky’s spirit guides.
Across from her, Jude sat bolt upright. “Yes! Yes, Father, I agree! We must sail to America at once—to work with the port authorities and capture Johnny Conn before he does anything truly detrimental. Or gets himself shot.”
Dora and Jemma sucked in their breath. Jude’s voice sounded eerily detached, as though he were merely the mouthpiece for whichever spirit had spoken.
“And what do you think, Maria?” Rubio queried softly. “Jason is your fiancé, after all.”
She opened her eyes, slightly dazed from her prolonged concentration. Her brother’s earnest expression urged her to speak up, but it was Jude’s changing face that sent a surge of sexual heat through her body: he opened his eyes to stare at her as though he had assumed the persona of his brother. Or was it Johnny Conn the pirate who now undressed her with his lustful gaze? The change of atmosphere felt so sudden—so direct—she squirmed in her chair. “I—my God, it’s as though Lord Darington’s here with us! He’s entered Jude’s body to address us himself!”
“Phillip?” Dora asked doubtfully.
“No, it’s Jason—the new Lord Darington! Coming through as Johnny Conn! Jude’s eyes—the sensations I feel—tell me this is exactly what’s happened!” Maria focused on Jude then, daring him to concur with her assessment…or to play along, as if he was initiating a game so things would go his way.
“I’ve heard yer cry in the night, sweet Maria, and I’ve come for ye.” Jude’s lips moved in an exaggerated way, as though he himself were not forming the words, while the voice sounded far more imperious than his own. “Ye say ye’re intent on bringin’ me back, yet here ye all sit on yer arses, mournin’ a man ye scarcely paid any heed while he was alive!”
Dora sniffed indignantly. “I beg your pardon! Phillip was the center of his family—”
“A fine thing ta say, milady. Another matter entirely, now that ye’re entertainin’ the likes of that huckster beside ye!”
Jemma giggled nervously. Maria gazed from one medium to the other: was it possible for Rubio to create this little diversion, speaking through Jude to discredit Polinsky?
“I’ll thank you to remember whose home you’re in!” Dora spouted, although she clutched Yosef’s hand more securely. “Whoever you are, be gone if you can’t speak politely of Jude and Jemma’s—and Jason’s—father!”
“Says you!” the voice replied in a swaggering tone. “Every one of ya at this table is keepin’ secrets—”
“And what’s your secret, Conn?” Rubio demanded. His voice was low and calm, as though he were accustomed to conversing with unseen entities. “Why are you attacking Darington ships? Where are you hiding your booty?”
“Maybe ye should find out fer yerself—if ye’ve the balls to make the trip!” he challenged. Jude’s face shifted into a leer that looked out of place, yet deadly serious, as he eyed each of them. “I want no part of yer whinin’ to the port authorities—crooked in their own right—if ye get to America and I don’t leap out at ye with all the answers! Take a chance!” he exclaimed with a nasty laugh. “Send Maria after me, and maybe I’ll take yer bait! Maybe…she’ll not return to ye.”
Jude shuddered and then shook his head to clear it. He gazed around the table as though he were disoriented, perhaps wondering why they were all here, holding hands. “What happened? Did I doze off, or—I’ve gotten so little sleep these past few nights, I—”
“We’re sailing as soon as possible.” Maria stood up, releasing their hands. The challenge pronounced by an unseen pirate had stirred hope within her, along with desires too long dormant. “You heard him yourselves, and you know it wasn’t Jude talking,” she insisted. “I for one know better than to let any more time pass before we take action.”
“But we buried Phillip—your father!—just this afternoon,” Dora reminded them in a wavering voice. “It will be seen as disrespect for his memory if we so hastily—”
“How long do you intend to wait, Mum?” Jude rose as well, a new purpose ringing in his words. “And who says you’ll be going along? Mourn if you must, but I’m sailing to America to bring my brother—now Lord Darington himself—home.”
22
As she sat facing Rubio and Jude in the carriage, Maria felt alive and purposeful again. “Rubio, be honest! Were you playing games with Polinsky? Creating the transformation we saw in Jude with your own power?”
Her brother swept his long hair back from his face, smiling. In his dashing black cape with its purple and red lining, he could have been a stage magician coming away from a very successful performance. “Does it matter?” he teased. “Did you not feel the presence of spirits in that room?”
“Well, to be honest…I’ve never been as attuned to such things as you are—not until I watched Jude’s face and voice change so dramatically, anyway.” Maria thought back to what she’d witnessed at the séance table. “I’m not sure Dora really felt anything, either.”
“I believe she was trying to feel an invisible presence, if only to please Polinsky,” Rubio agreed. “Nevertheless, we heard Johnny Conn’s challenge and you did the right thing, insisting we sail as soon as possible. Conn’s not the type to wait for us. He has bigger fish to fry.”
“Other ships to plunder,” Maria mused. “And other adventures to launch when he tires of this one.” She smiled at Jude, whose suggestive expression teased at her. “Did you feel the changes that came over you? It happened so quickly—”
“I have no idea what I did or said. It was as though I’d dozed off, yet when I came to myself again, I knew decisions had been made—and that everyone at the table had witnessed something astonishing.” He focused on her as though he was still getting his bearings. “I shall go to Father’s headquarters on the harbor and have a ship outfitted for the voyage. But if you and I sail to America, that leaves Mum and Jemma without a man to watch over them—”
Rubio snickered. “Oh, I doubt your mother shall be alone.”
“—yet I can’t insist that she go along. I don’t know that she’s ever left dry land,” he mused aloud. “And if Mum
comes, my sister would. Do we want them both retching for the entire voyage? Or should they remain here to tend to the social details of Father’s passing?”
Maria nodded, following him with one part of her mind while her thoughts raced. She’d never left dry land, either, but of course she was going to find Johnny Conn! What woman could resist that lilting voice and the pirate behind it? It was all the proof she needed, hearing him speak through Jude: how else would that spirit know to name her specifically?
But what would happen to Miss Crimson’s column while she was away? Would anyone connect her absence in the Inquirer with Miss Palladino’s voyage to bring the new Lord Darington home? Maria gazed out the window, unseeing…careful not to betray her concerns to the men seated across from her. Should she hint of a holiday abroad in her next column? Inform the editor she might be away for several weeks?
“Are you getting out, dear sister? Or shall we remain in the carriage the rest of the day?”
Rubio’s voice startled her out of her woolgathering. And here came Quentin to open the carriage door…Quentin, the butler who knew the secrets she must now keep more zealously than ever.
“And how is everyone, now that Lord Darington has been laid to rest?” he inquired graciously. “My condolences to you, sir, as you mourn the passing of your father and wonder about the whereabouts of your twin—”
“Thank you, Quentin, but we have no time for tears. Jason’s spirit has instructed us to sail to America! Immediately!”
“And I’ll be going along, because he—alias Johnny Conn, the pirate—asked specifically that I come as bait.” As Jude helped her from the carriage, a bold new sensation made Maria look more closely at him. Was he himself again or still under the influence of that boastful buccaneer he’d channeled at the séance?
The butler chuckled slyly. “What man could resist such temptation? Doesn’t surprise me that milord stated his case that way, Miss Palladino, after the things he told me before you were to be married—all of them respectful and glowing with praise, of course,” he added quickly.
Sexual Hunger Page 18
