He nodded. “Perhaps. At the time of my birth, this place was quiet, remote. Mr. Cazalet mentioned my mother was accompanied by some old governess of hers. She must have been a confidante, if she went with my mother to have her brooch repaired. Perhaps this governess came from nearby, knew of Elijah’s kindness, and decided to leave the baby—me—on his doorstep, knowing I’d be well cared for.”
From the flow of his words she knew he’d already mulled over this possibility many times, and her heart went out to him. She didn’t quite understand the need that drove him, but she could see how the uncertainty gnawed at him, and that only increased her ire towards Sir Thaddeus a thousand-fold.
She placed her palm over his heart, wishing to feel his heartbeat. “And what will you do next?” she asked.
“I intend focussing my enquiries on this old governess. If I can identify her, she may be able to tell me more.”
“About what?”
“About the circumstances of my birth. I’m convinced that Ophelia Ormond was my mother, but I know nothing about her or how she came to be in such a dire situation.” He paused a while, his jaw flexing. “I wish to know who my father was, and why he abandoned my mother to such a cruel fate. Perhaps he was unaware of her condition or was forced out of her life…or perhaps he was simply an opportunistic rake with the morals of an alley cat.”
Beneath her hand, his heart beat faster. She smoothed his skin, longing to soothe the tumult festering within him. “Do you really want to discover that?”
“Like you, I want to discover the truth, however unpalatable.”
But Sir Thaddeus would thwart his every attempt. She knew without him having to state the obvious. How awful if Julian never achieved his goal. How terrible if he spent the rest of his life pursuing the unattainable.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, suddenly overcome with emotion.
“Sweetheart…” Perplexed, he reached for her. “Whatever for?”
Leaning over him, she cupped his face with her hands. The stubble on his jaw prickled pleasurably against her palms. “For being such a burden on you, for compelling you to pursue my aims to the detriment of yours.”
“You’re no burden. Far from it.” He ran a finger over her bottom lip. “Nothing as sweet as this could be a burden…”
The tenderness of his touch ambushed her heart, filled her with goldenness. She had come to his bed seeking physical release and comfort, yet she’d received something far more, something precious and terrifying at the same time. She wrapped her arms fiercely around him, desperate to savour every moment they had left of the night. Soon sleep would come, the sun would rise and the world would intrude, but for now they were simply a man and a woman in thrall with one another, and that was all she wanted.
Chapter Ten
“Well? How do I look?” Holding out both arms, Nellie spun around in front of Julian, causing the layers of multicoloured shawls and skirts to swirl about her.
“Suitably gaudy,” Julian said. “But you shouldn’t dance about so. Remember, you’re playing an eerie and mysterious woman.”
“Ah, you’re right.” Nellie adopted an ominous expression and paraded around Julian’s workroom with a ponderous gait, the stiff skirts rustling against her legs. “Is this sufficiently spine-chilling?”
He chuckled. “Madame Dariya, the resemblance to your cousin Madame Olga is quite uncanny.”
Her grin faded as she contemplated herself in the full-length mirror. Easy enough dressing up for a lark, but could she convince Pip that she was a genuine replacement for his spiritual medium? Would he be satisfied that she hide her face behind a thick veil? Or would he recognise her voice beneath the fake accent she would assume? And, more importantly, could she convince him that she was in touch with the spirit of his dead wife? The evening could end in disaster and humiliation if he was not taken in by her disguise.
“You appear worried,” Julian interrupted her milling thoughts. “You think my plan is too bizarre and desperate to succeed. Well, it’s not too late to change your mind.”
But if she did, she might never uncover the truth, and she would be condemning herself to a life in the shadows. She didn’t want to cower forever. She wanted a new start, a new life. And there was Julian to consider. Her eyes sought him out unerringly as he leaned against a workbench. Dressed in black, he was lithe and muscular and dangerously alluring. Vitality emanated from every inch of him. She curled her hands into fists, fighting the temptation to reach out and touch him.
True to her word, their night of passion had not been repeated. Not because her attraction for him had waned—far from it, her hunger for him grew stronger every hour until she could barely stand it—but that one night was the only respite she could afford until she had resolved matters with Pip once and for all. Only after she’d settled her lingering doubts and fears would she be able to consider her future, a future which might conjoin with Julian’s, although she couldn’t be sure. It was no easy task ignoring the heat between them. Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—Julian had concurred with her decision, for if he’d decided to press her for another night, she doubted she had the necessary firmness of purpose to deny him.
“No, I cannot change my mind,” she said. “Whatever the outcome, this needs to be settled. And besides, you’ve already paid Madame Olga for the use of her rooms tonight. We can’t let that go to waste.”
He nodded, a gleam of approval shooting through his coal-black eyes. “Very well, then. We’d best be off.”
They mounted their horses and set off in the direction of the city. After a few days of clear weather, the road was almost dry, but winter lingered in the razor-sharp night wind that gusted over them. Nellie drew her cloak closer. The chill enveloping her was due only in part to the weather.
Four days had passed since she had first rushed so impetuously into Madame Olga’s rooms. Since then, she’d returned once with Julian, after he had persuaded the woman by means of a large purse of coins to give them the use of her rooms when Pip made his next appointment. At first Madame Olga had been suspicious, but the lure of easy money was too much, and eventually she’d agreed and consented to give Nellie a few instructions on how to conduct a spiritual session. By now the outright chicanery of her spiritualism was tacitly agreed on by all—it was a purely business transaction between them. Pip had sent word to Madame Olga that he would stop by at eight that night, and Madame Olga had passed on the message to Julian and assured him she and her brawny bodyguard would not be seen near her apartment all night.
The journey to Madame Olga’s was some miles, but for Nellie it was over far too quickly. They tethered their horses in the courtyard behind the spiritualist’s house and found the key beneath the broken flowerpot near the back door as Madame Olga had instructed.
As they entered the apartment, stale air greeted them, musty with the odour of cheap incense and boiled cabbage. Nellie resisted the urge to fling open the windows. The authenticity of the atmosphere had to be preserved. She lit the single candle on the table, arranged the bread on the plate, settled the heavy veil over her head, and sat down.
“Vell, meester,” she addressed Julian in her best foreign accent. “Iz zis goot?”
He leaned towards her. “Hmm. Let me see… The shadows hide your face well, but as an extra precaution we need less light.” He dimmed the lamp shining in the corner. “Yes, that’s much better. And keep the accent lighter. It will be easier to maintain it as the seance progresses.”
She nodded, her fingers plucking nervously at her skirts as their starchy discomfort intensified her tension. “I never realised Pip believed so strongly in spiritualism. I find it quite dismaying.”
“He needs a crutch, and the kind of spiritualism Madame Olga dispenses gives him that crutch.”
And once, she had been Pip’s crutch. That was what had made her so important to him, the promise of undying support, that was what he’d sought from her.
“Yes, people like Madame Olga feed upon people’s insecurities, but wouldn’t it be a marvel if we could indeed communicate with the dead?”
Julian gave her a sharp look. “Surely you’re not serious?”
