by Merry Farmer
It dawned on her a moment too late that addressing him by his given name was a horrible breach of etiquette, but she couldn’t think of him as anything other than a dear friend. Perhaps more.
“I don’t know,” he said, laughing modestly. “I think I had a question when I sat down, but I can’t recall a single thing right now.” His eyes seemed fixed on hers, like he couldn’t have looked away to save his life.
“Let’s see what the cards have to say, then.” She smiled back at him, feeling herself blush like a schoolgirl.
Slowly, she turned over the cards. A surge of energy swirled through her, making it feel as though every fiber of her body were alive and in concert with him. It was a feeling that she rarely had. Her pulse sped up, and she felt as though the universe was attempting to speak through her.
“The World.” She announced the first card, staring at it for a moment as its full meaning sunk in, then glancing up at him. “You’ve been on a long journey.”
He grinned modestly. “I believe anyone who knows who the McGovern clan is and why they are here knows that.”
She smiled in return, not taking offense at what might have seemed like a dismissal. “There’s more to it than that,” she said. “Yours is a personal journey.” She turned over the next card and nodded. “Yes, the Six of Swords. You are in the midst of a transformation. You are leaving something behind, perhaps your old self.”
A flash of uncertainty crossed his face. It left Charlotte wondering who Trent McGovern thought he was and why he was wrong. She was certain that whatever he thought about himself, it wasn’t true. He didn’t look as though he would burst into the tale of his life story, though, so she went on.
“The King of Cups,” she said, her brow shooting up. A warm feeling filled her, and she smiled. “You must follow your heart. You have a strong heart and a good one. A heart that is ready for love.”
“I’m not so sure of that.” He glanced from the cards to her eyes and smiled.
She was utterly certain. It was as though someone had lit a match—no, a torch—and held it between them. Her heart beat so fast and so hard that she could barely draw breath as she turned the next card.
Immediately, her smile vanished. “The Ace of Swords, but it is inverted.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, his expression dropping to match hers.
“Chaos,” she said in a low voice. “Brutality. Danger.” She glanced up at him once more. “You and those around you are most certainly in danger.”
Instead of the usual reaction of mild alarm that her readings sometimes provoked, Trent looked shaken. “Do they say what kind of danger? Is there any way to circumvent it?”
The reading took on a new feeling. It wasn’t a parlor trick anymore. He needed answers. She only hoped that whatever small skill she had, whatever she hadn’t squandered by using her abilities to entertain bored aristocrats, would come to her now.
She turned over another card. “The Knight of Wands,” she said. “You must take action. It may lead to adventure, but it’s up to you.”
“What else?” He leaned forward. The closer he came to her, the more she buzzed from the inside out.
She turned over another card, the Devil. He gasped and pulled back.
“Don’t be alarmed,” she said, holding out a hand to him. “The Devil doesn’t mean what you might think it does, especially when it comes up inverted like this.”
“It doesn’t?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “One would think the Devil is a bad idea at any time.”
She shook her head. “It means freedom. It means claiming what is yours.” She hesitated, her face going pink over what she was about to say. “It is a card with great sexual power.”
His face went as pink as she felt hers was. “Really?” His glance flickered up to hers.
The magnetism between them was enough to leave Charlotte shivering inside. Her mind conjured up flashes of the two of them entwined in the throes of passion. Though whether that was a prediction or wishful thinking was beyond her.
“The important thing to consider here,” she went on, “is that you must take action to prevent the danger that might befall you and your family. You have the power to change everything, and when you do, you will find freedom and fulfillment of the sort you have wished and longed for.”
He lowered his eyes to stare at the spread of cards across the table, taking each image in. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, rubbing his chin. “Whatever is going on, it seems bigger than I am. And that’s saying something.”
She blinked, then settled into a frown, uncertain what he was talking about.
Before she could explore it further, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Trent poked her head into the room. “Ah. Trent. There you are. You must come quickly. I think I’ve just about convinced Lady Castlereagh to waltz with you.” She giggled as though she’d had a few too many glasses of wine.
Trent blew out a breath. His shoulders sagged. But he turned to the woman with an affectionate smile. “All right. I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Good,” the lady said, then disappeared into the hall once more.
Trent stood. Charlotte could feel the reluctance dripping off of him. “I’m sorry that we could not explore more together,” he said.
Charlotte felt those words like a lover’s caress. They sent so much energy through her—sensual energy—that she stood in order to dispel some of it. Only, instead of flying away, the throb of desire for the man she’d just met increased. “If I can be of help to you in any way, please ask,” she said.
He smiled at her, the aura of kindness around him increasing. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll remember that.”
He turned to walk away, following the woman who said Lady Castlereagh would dance with him. Charlotte had never been jealous of a noblewoman until that point. She would have loved to dance with Trent, to dance with him all night. As mad an idea as that was. When he reached the doorway and turned into the hall, he paused to wave at her.
She waved back, certain her life had just changed in a profound way. When Trent disappeared around the corner, it felt as though her heart had gone with him. But with the feeling came an uneasy sense of foreboding. She’d waited her entire life to meet a man who would make her feel the way Trent McGovern had, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was already in danger of losing him.
Chapter 2
Charlotte couldn’t get Lord Trent McGovern out of her head. She looked for him deep into the night, as the party at the palace ended and she packed up her things to go home, but he was nowhere to be found. She thought of him as she lay awake in bed in her tiny flat in Castello. She even dreamed of him once she finally did fall asleep, but her dreams were troubled by the certainty that he and his family were in danger.
She was still thinking of him when she awoke the next morning, washed and dressed in one of her finer, more modest gowns, and as she left her flat to make her way to San Marco, to the historically beautiful palace that was home to Lord Matthew Clarence, the Marquess of Beverly.
She surprised herself by wondering what Trent would think of her connection to Lord Beverly as she knocked on the door to his palace and waited. The connection was no secret, but Charlotte was well aware of the rumors that followed her every time she visited San Marco. Even as she waited for Lord Beverly’s butler to answer the door, she could feel the curious stares of a pair of women passing in the street, baskets slung over their arms as they went about errands, and the attention of workmen hurrying on to their jobs for the day. The streets of San Marco were teeming at the best of times, and Charlotte could only imagine the whispers that the sight of a lone, simply-dressed woman standing at the door would cause.
She was relieved when the door opened and Lord Beverly’s butler, Moriconi, greeted her with a smile. “Miss Charlotte. You are looking well this morning,” he said as he let her in.
“Thank you, Mr. Moriconi.” She stepped through the doorway, glad to be out
of sight of the prying eyes on the street. “Is he up?” she asked.
“He is,” Moriconi answered with a nod. “Right this way.”
As always when visiting Lord Beverly, Charlotte’s pulse sped up in happy expectation, and her feet practically danced across the polished marble of the palace’s halls. Moriconi led her to a small, unassuming parlor near the back of the house. It wasn’t half as grand as the public parlors where the marquess would usually receive guests, but Charlotte wasn’t a usual guest.
She only waited five minutes or so before the white-haired, stately figure of Lord Beverly strode into the room.
“Charlotte, my darling,” he said, holding his arms out as he approached her. “You look positively radiant today.”
“Hardly,” Charlotte said, lowering her head bashfully for a moment before stepping over to greet Lord Beverly with a fond hug. “I was out most of the night at a party, reading fortunes, and even after that, I could hardly sleep a wink last night.”
“You still look as radiant as the sun to me,” he said, clasping the sides of her face and tilting her head up to kiss her forehead. A wistful smile filled his eyes, and he sighed. “You look more and more like your mother every day.”
Charlotte warmed under the compliment. “You still miss her, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do,” he said, his smile both happy and sad at once. “You always miss the love of your life, especially when fate drove a wedge between the two of you right at the height of your love.” He kissed her forehead one more time before letting her go and taking a step back.
Perhaps it was odd of her, but Charlotte took immense pride in the fact that a powerful man like Lord Beverly felt so free to show his emotions around her. Then again, she was the only family he had, whether he was able to acknowledge her publicly or not.
“What is this about you not sleeping well last night?” he asked, then turned to Matthews—who stood in the doorway after showing Lord Beverly in. “Tea, please, Matthews.”
Matthews nodded, then turned to leave.
Charlotte’s expression dropped to a frown. “My reasons for not sleeping are why I’ve come to see you today, sir,” she said.
He fixed her with a scolding frown for a moment over her use of the word “sir” instead of “father”. But he knew as well as she did that there were things they could acknowledge and things they couldn’t. To everyone else in the world, she was the daughter of a Romani woman who had been cast out by her tribe, not the daughter of a powerful English lord.
“Come. Sit with me and tell me about it,” he said, moving to an ornately upholstered sofa and sitting, then patting the cushion for her to sit with him.
Charlotte perched uneasily on the sofa by his side, turning to face him. She bit her lip and thought for a moment before glancing up at him and saying, “What do you know of the McGovern family?”
Immediately, her father’s face fell. A fraction of a second later, he schooled his expression into neutrality, but it was too late. Charlotte had already seen his emotion at the mention of the McGoverns. Aside from that, she could feel a connection between him and the family that even the finest actor couldn’t have hidden.
“I know of them,” he said, only partially truthful. When Charlotte fixed him with a flat look that told him not to lie to her, he let out a breath and went on with, “They are an interesting lot with their fingers in several pots.”
“You do remember that it’s pointless to hide things from me,” she said with just enough fondness in her voice to make him smile again.
“Yes, I do.” He gave her a wary look that bordered on teasing. “You and your damnable gifts.” A moment later, he grew serious again. “I would avoid entanglement with that family, if I were you. But my darling, please don’t pry for the reasons why.”
He reached toward her. Charlotte took his wrinkled hand in hers. The connection between them felt good. Whether he could acknowledge her or not, her father was one of the people she resonated the most with.
“I’m afraid it may be too late for that,” she confessed, lowering her eyes. “It was their party where I read fortunes last night.” She peeked up at him. “Danger hangs over that family.”
Her father huffed a laugh. “I should say so.”
“But I felt it particularly keenly when I read the fortune of Lord Trent McGovern,” she went on, barely able to hold her father’s gaze. She knew he would see in her eyes how strongly she had connected with Trent.
He reacted just as she thought he would, with a slow nod and a gentle smile. “It sounds as though you were taken with Lord Trent,” he said.
“I felt a connection there like few I’ve ever felt before,” she confessed. Her face heated as she went on with, “The cards were quite explicit on that score.”
“You don’t say.” Her father’s smile widened, and he tilted his head to the side. “I don’t know much about Trent McGovern or his branch of the family, but I’ve never heard anything bad about him.”
“He’s a good and noble man,” Charlotte insisted. “I don’t think anyone would need the gift to see that.”
“Perhaps.” Her father nodded circumspectly, but his mild look fell into a frown once more. “I’m not sure I want you getting mixed up with that lot, though, my dear. If anything happened to you—”
He was interrupted by Moriconi reappearing in the doorway and clearing his throat. “My lord, you have an urgent guest waiting in the peacock parlor.”
Lord Beverly’s expression hardened at once and he drew in a quick breath. Charlotte knew enough about her father and his world to know Moriconi had told him far more than his words implied. He rose quickly, marching for the door.
“This may not take long,” he called back to her over his shoulder. “Please stay and enjoy your tea when it comes. I’ll be back to continue our visit as soon as I can.”
“All right.” Charlotte smiled at him, making herself more comfortable on the sofa.
A few minutes later, one of the maids arrived with a tray that contained far more than simply tea. Her father was well aware that her financial situation was modest. He subsidized her income as much as she would let him, but the thought of living on charity had never sat well with Charlotte. So her father compensated in other ways, such as feeding her like a queen and sending her home with a mountain of leftovers every time she visited.
Her breakfast feast could only take up so much time, though, and by the time she was stuffed and content, her father still wasn’t back. Charlotte stood and took a turn around the room, examining the art—most of which was of a quality that any museum would envy—and paging through one of the books that had been left out on a side table. But an hour passed, and her father still hadn’t returned.
He wouldn’t have forgotten about her, which meant the business he had to attend to was more important than he’d anticipated. And since that was the case, she didn’t feel comfortable staying around. She headed for the door, intent on showing herself out, but hoping to run into Moriconi along the way so that he could pass along the message that she was going to her father.
She stopped cold halfway down the hall at the sound of raised voices. Her father wasn’t arguing with his guest, but there was emotion in their exchange. Beyond that, even the sound of the conversation sent prickles of energy down Charlotte’s spine. The part of her that sensed things that couldn’t be seen suddenly flared to life, pulsing with danger. She continued forward carefully, her heart beating as though she were stalking a ghost.
“…must act at once,” a deep—and strangely familiar—voice said.
“You are wrong,” her father replied. “Caution and forbearance are important now. The Jackal is the cleverest of men. He will outsmart you if you do not weigh every move you make carefully.”
“How can you be so certain he’s clever when we don’t even know who he is?” the other man asked. “You underestimate my own intelligence.”
“I have never underestimated you, Asher,” her father s
aid in a calming voice. “That is the primary reason I requested you be assigned to this case.”
Charlotte gasped, pressing a hand to her gut. Asher could only be Asher McGovern, Trent’s cousin. The sense of danger that had filled the air at the party and seemed so potent around Trent himself surrounded her so keenly that it felt as though she were being smothered. It was so strong she couldn’t breathe.
She bolted down the hall, desperate for fresh air. Without waiting for Moriconi, she yanked open the heavy front door and leapt out into the Venetian sunshine.
Within a few paces, she slammed headlong into a solid male figure. She would have tumbled to the pavement if he hadn’t caught her in thick, strong arms.
“Careful,” he said, setting her on her feet. “You wouldn’t want to—”
Their eyes met. She had run straight into the arms of Trent McGovern.
“You,” he said, charmingly breathless, his eyes glittering with joy and surprise.
“Yes,” she replied, feeling as though the single word were the answer to a question that the universe had asked.
A moment later, the sense of danger that had chased her out of the palace slammed back into her. She gripped Trent’s arms, pulling him to the side.
“We have to hide,” she whispered.
He moved without resistance, dashing to the side with her. They ducked behind a pillar at the far end of the front of the house just as Asher and her father stepped outside.
“…swear I saw someone,” Asher said, just loud enough for Charlotte and Trent to hear.
Trent tensed at Charlotte’s side. His body sheltered hers as they both pressed up against the pillar, peeking around as best they could to see without being seen. A whole different sort of tingling filled Charlotte at Trent’s proximity and how right it felt to be surrounded by him.
“It was likely one of the servants,” Lord Beverly said casually. Charlotte could see the hint of alarm on his face, though. He turned this way and that, searching for her no doubt. “You have nothing to fear.”
