in her face blazing, her chest heaving. “Might put you out flat for a while, and give me some peace!”
The stunned sensation of a missing key fitting into a lock clicked through him. He had no idea what his eyes showed, but he saw her face change from outrage to confusion. The hot color drained to her normal peaches-and-cream complexion. Concern flashed across her face, and she reached out a hand.
Before her hand could make contact, he flickered and was gone.
Chapter 6
H is eyes violently ripped open. But the pain of the candlelight two inches from his eyes and the tear of skin and lashes that hadn’t been opened for days dwarfed under the agony slashing through his body. Pain tore through him again as something crushed his smallest finger on his left hand. His back arched up and he tried to pull away.
“Awake and fighting,” a voice said. “Excellent. It does show some evidence. But can’t have you fouling my work yet. Can’t have that at all.”
His bleary eyes tried to focus on the speaker at his left. Something blocked the sun of the candle, hot liquid poured down his throat choking him, and he knew no more.
Chapter 7
A bigail strode up the stone walk and heavy steps of Grayton House.
“Miss Smart, stop fidgeting with your pelisse. You are the one who made me beg for this invitation. If Henny and I hadn’t debuted the same year, it hardly would have been possible. I expect you to be on your best behavior. I swear that if you…”
Mrs. Browning left the threat undefined as the door opened. The butler greeted them, relieved them of their wraps, and showed them to the tearoom. Abigail glanced around the hall, trying to locate her quarry. The insatiable servant spirits chased each other toward the ballroom, and she could hear the echoes of a bawdy ditty as well as see the frittering motions of an older woman dressed far too young for her age. Reliving her days as an ingénue.
But there was no stupidly handsome man with a cutting smile.
Mrs. Browning gave her a sharp pinch in the side as she passed by Abigail and entered the drawing room first.
Abigail knew she had taken a risk coming here. She now owed Mrs. Browning multiple unnamed favors that would undoubtedly be painfully repaid. But she’d been unsettled ever since Rainewood had disappeared.
He was gone. Truly gone. He had disappeared from her bedroom two days before. The whispers in the ton concerning his whereabouts and missed invitations had grown to a dull roar, but there wasn’t a peep of anything other than speculation and dismay. He was just…gone. That fact unsettled her in a way she hadn’t come to grips with upon seeing him as a ghost.
What if he…what if his spirit had moved on? She tried to convince herself that his passing would be a good thing. She stumbled over the words in her mind. He was out of her life for good. He had achieved peace. He had moved on.
He was out of her life .
Her ears strained more desperately. The house echoed with the sounds of activity, but none of them what she hoped to hear.
“Welcome,” the Duchess of Palmbury, their hostess, said as she motioned them into the room. The dowager duchess gave Mrs. Browning a firm embrace on the forearm before they sat. She wasn’t nearly as cordial to her mother. Bad luck that the two had met before Mrs. Gerald Smart had perfected some polish.
“It’s been nearly a week since I’ve seen you, Mrs. Browning. I’m so glad you could stop in.” The dowager gave Abigail a sidelong glance. “And Miss Smart, how pleasant to see you again.”
“Likewise, Your Grace. It is a most favorable occurrence to see you once more.”
They exchanged the lies with vapid smiles.
“Undoubtedly.” The dowager’s pinched lips formed a point. She was a hag of the worst sort.
The woman had disliked her from their first meeting—when she had caught her by the back of the dress running through the kitchens, giggling riotously, sticks in her hair and a muddied duke’s son
The stunned sensation of a missing key fitting into a lock clicked through him. He had no idea what his eyes showed, but he saw her face change from outrage to confusion. The hot color drained to her normal peaches-and-cream complexion. Concern flashed across her face, and she reached out a hand.
Before her hand could make contact, he flickered and was gone.
Chapter 6
H is eyes violently ripped open. But the pain of the candlelight two inches from his eyes and the tear of skin and lashes that hadn’t been opened for days dwarfed under the agony slashing through his body. Pain tore through him again as something crushed his smallest finger on his left hand. His back arched up and he tried to pull away.
“Awake and fighting,” a voice said. “Excellent. It does show some evidence. But can’t have you fouling my work yet. Can’t have that at all.”
His bleary eyes tried to focus on the speaker at his left. Something blocked the sun of the candle, hot liquid poured down his throat choking him, and he knew no more.
Chapter 7
A bigail strode up the stone walk and heavy steps of Grayton House.
“Miss Smart, stop fidgeting with your pelisse. You are the one who made me beg for this invitation. If Henny and I hadn’t debuted the same year, it hardly would have been possible. I expect you to be on your best behavior. I swear that if you…”
Mrs. Browning left the threat undefined as the door opened. The butler greeted them, relieved them of their wraps, and showed them to the tearoom. Abigail glanced around the hall, trying to locate her quarry. The insatiable servant spirits chased each other toward the ballroom, and she could hear the echoes of a bawdy ditty as well as see the frittering motions of an older woman dressed far too young for her age. Reliving her days as an ingénue.
But there was no stupidly handsome man with a cutting smile.
Mrs. Browning gave her a sharp pinch in the side as she passed by Abigail and entered the drawing room first.
Abigail knew she had taken a risk coming here. She now owed Mrs. Browning multiple unnamed favors that would undoubtedly be painfully repaid. But she’d been unsettled ever since Rainewood had disappeared.
He was gone. Truly gone. He had disappeared from her bedroom two days before. The whispers in the ton concerning his whereabouts and missed invitations had grown to a dull roar, but there wasn’t a peep of anything other than speculation and dismay. He was just…gone. That fact unsettled her in a way she hadn’t come to grips with upon seeing him as a ghost.
What if he…what if his spirit had moved on? She tried to convince herself that his passing would be a good thing. She stumbled over the words in her mind. He was out of her life for good. He had achieved peace. He had moved on.
He was out of her life .
Her ears strained more desperately. The house echoed with the sounds of activity, but none of them what she hoped to hear.
“Welcome,” the Duchess of Palmbury, their hostess, said as she motioned them into the room. The dowager duchess gave Mrs. Browning a firm embrace on the forearm before they sat. She wasn’t nearly as cordial to her mother. Bad luck that the two had met before Mrs. Gerald Smart had perfected some polish.
“It’s been nearly a week since I’ve seen you, Mrs. Browning. I’m so glad you could stop in.” The dowager gave Abigail a sidelong glance. “And Miss Smart, how pleasant to see you again.”
“Likewise, Your Grace. It is a most favorable occurrence to see you once more.”
They exchanged the lies with vapid smiles.
“Undoubtedly.” The dowager’s pinched lips formed a point. She was a hag of the worst sort.
The woman had disliked her from their first meeting—when she had caught her by the back of the dress running through the kitchens, giggling riotously, sticks in her hair and a muddied duke’s son
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