“With a little help, I don’t see why not.”
A rush of relief swept over Arabella. “Thank you! Shall we go right now?” She was on her feet.
Trey waved a hand in a sit-down gesture. “Not so fast, Arabella. It’s not late enough—your family and servants will still be awake. We’ll leave after midnight.”
“Why the secrecy?” demanded Arabella. “My aunt and uncle will not eschew your help. I know they must be anxious and concerned.”
“We’ll keep this secret because I’m not supposed to be doing this.” Trey’s face lacked expression, and she saw, for the first time, the tired lines etched into it. “By the laws of the land and the rules of the Phantasm Bureau, I should’ve sent you on your way to the afterlife already.”
“But I’m still alive!” cried Arabella, appalled.
“Only because your aunt and uncle hired a sorcerer to put your barely-breathing self into stasis. That, by the way, comes very close to flirting with necromancy. Some would say that it crosses the line.” Trey paused. “Like, for instance, my supervisor.”
It all felt like a bad dream. “Will they get into trouble?” Arabella whispered.
“Only if they’re caught. Right now, all they’ve put out is that you’re unconscious after a bad accident. There’s precious few people who can tell your spirit’s gone wandering. And as long as any of them besides me don’t peek into your bedchamber, you’re safe.”
Arabella stiffened. “Are you saying, sir, that you were in my bedchamber?”
“Of course. I had to see for myself if your body was worth returning to. And your nightclothes are very fetching, as well.”
She eyed him, suspecting he was laughing at her again. Yes, that crook of his mouth and those lines around his eyes all indicated mirth. “I cannot believe that my aunt allowed you into my bedchamber.”
“Of course not. Charlie Blake distracted her while I went up to check.”
“Charlie Blake? Do you mean Charlotte?”
“She’s going by her Christian name now, eh?” He shook his head. “Well, I’ve known her as Charlie for years. Her older brother was up at Holyrood with me and I spent some of my holidays at the Blakes’.”
Holyrood University was where people with magical gifts were educated. “I have met Mr. Blake on occasion,” Arabella owned. “He’s a pyromentalist, isn’t he? I’ve never seen his salamander, though.”
“He works two stories below me now,” said Trey.
“Did you tell Charlotte about this?” Arabella made an eloquent gesture toward herself.
Trey shook his head. “No. The fewer people who know, the better. All I told Charlie was that I sensed something wrong and tracked it to your house. She didn’t ask any questions, just demanded I do my utmost to help.”
Arabella gave a laugh that was almost a sob. “That’s Charlotte all over.”
A frown deepened between Trey’s brows as he looked at her. “Jonathan Blake’s a reliable chap, and I gave him the details about you. If anything happens and I’m not there, go to the Blakes’ house. He won’t be able to see you, but his salamander will. Ember’s clever; she’ll help you out.”
“What awful things do you expect will happen?” said Arabella. The sinking feeling was back.
“None at all,” said Trey promptly. “It’s just a precaution. Chin up, Arabella. By tomorrow morning you’ll be waking up with a bad headache. You’ll be back to extorting money for Lady Holmstead’s orphans in no time.”
His matter-of-fact tone was surprisingly bracing. Arabella lifted her chin. “I won’t forget those hundred pounds, my lord.”
Trey cracked a smile. “Good girl.” He stood up, stretched his arms above his head, and yawned. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in need of a few hours of rest.”
“What about me?” squeaked Arabella.
“This house is well-warded. No phantasmists will be able to sniff you out nor any necromancers summon you.” She knew he was pretending to misunderstand. “Just stay here.” He added kindly, “I’ll leave the lights on for you.”
And before Arabella could object to remaining confined in the pentagram, he was gone.
At least he’d left her the chair.
Chapter Three
At a quarter to one in the morning, Trey stamped his feet into his boots and summoned Miss Trent.
There was the merest flicker in the air, and Arabella appeared in his front hallway. By the light of a rune-embedded magical lantern, she glimmered a faint green and floated three inches from the floor boards.
She looked first astonished, then reproachful. “You could’ve come down to fetch me.”
Trey shrugged into his top coat. “This was faster.”
Arabella looked around with interest at the wooden paneling and floral wall paper. Trey wondered why she bothered; the hallway was narrow and low-ceilinged, and both paneling and wall paper showed signs of wear. It was good enough for a bachelor’s lodgings, but dingy compared to what she was used to.
“Don’t you have a valet?” asked Arabella, her gaze returning to him. She came gently back to the ground.
It wasn’t fashionable for gentlemen to own clothing they could get into without help. Trey, on the other hand, rated practicality higher than fashion. His relatives didn’t agree; thanks to a well-meaning but meddling cousin he did actually own coats that clung to his shoulders and boots that made assistance necessary. “I have a Nat,” he said. “My manservant. He’s away for his grandmother’s funeral in Grenwoodshire right now.” He paused, counting. “Man’s an oddity. This is the fifth grandmother he’s buried in five years.”
Arabella gurgled. “What an interesting character! I should like to meet him.”
“Well, you won’t get to,” said Trey dampeningly. He tugged on worn leather gloves and surveyed the debutante, who looked just as charming and ghostly as she had this morning. His brows drew together.
Darn those dimples. And was it really fair for a spirit to have such long, curling eyelashes?
“Pay attention,” he said tersely. “Before, it was daytime and you were protected by your obliviousness. It’s altogether different at night and you’ve been out of your body for longer. So—Arabella, are you listening?”
His guest had plunged one incorporeal arm through his wall. She
