He heard her unspoken declaration as clearly as if she’d shouted it from the rooftops. Not just someone she cared about. Someone she loved.
It was love, wasn’t it?
This soul-stirring attraction, underscored by unwavering admiration and respect. He felt it whenever they were together. And when they weren’t together, too. A desire to move mountains for her. To make her path smooth, no matter the cost. It was becoming as much a part of him as breathing.
The two of them were falling in love.
Or perhaps they’d already fallen.
“I wouldn’t let you give anything up,” he said. “Not for me.”
“There won’t be any need. I’m certain I can come up with a plan. A way to honor my responsibilities and to—”
“On no account. You’re not to risk anything for me. I mean it.”
“Then what is it you’re proposing we do?” she asked.
A leaden weight settled in his stomach. “The only thing we can. We must put this interlude behind us, difficult as that is. We must return to what we were before. Partners. Friends, I hope.”
“And nothing more?” She gave him a look of consternation. “Despite the fact that you claim to want me as much as I want you?”
“I do,” he said grimly, as the brougham rolled steadily back to Russell Square. “But I’m accustomed to not getting what I want.”
Twenty-Four
Evelyn had been waiting to talk to her uncle about Fenny for the better part of the day. After breakfast, she’d even attempted to beard him in his den. But Uncle Harris had already left the house. For where, Evelyn had no notion.
She didn’t see him again until later that afternoon, and then very much by chance. He was returning home, crossing the hall at the selfsame moment she was descending the stairs in her dark green riding costume.
“Taking that horse of yours for an airing?” he asked.
“I am.” Evelyn could muster little enough enthusiasm for it. After last night’s events, the prospect of displaying herself in Rotten Row was about as palatable as the thought of attending another society ball or dinner. There seemed no point anymore. She’d found the gentleman she wanted.
Never mind that he’d rejected her.
Her spirits sank to recall it. But she didn’t indulge the feeling. Hephaestus still needed exercising. And Ahmad’s designs still needed showing off.
It was that which had got her out of bed this morning when she’d awakened, heartsick and tempted to wallow in her own misery.
She continued down the steps, one gloved hand trailing lightly on the curving bannister. “Where have you been today?”
“In conference with Lady Arundell.” Uncle Harris removed his hat and coat and passed them to a waiting footman. “A few points have arisen about this boy medium in Birmingham. Indeed, you may be capable of rendering me some assistance.”
“In what regard?”
Her uncle didn’t answer, merely strode off down the hall.
She hesitated for an instant. She’d promised to meet Stella at the Hyde Park Corner end of Rotten Row at half past five on the dot. It wouldn’t do to be late.
Then again, Evelyn must take her opportunities where she found them.
She quickly caught up with her uncle, following him into his study. It was in the same state of outrageous disarray as on every other occasion she’d visited. The one room in the house the servants weren’t allowed to tidy.
Uncle Harris plopped down behind his cluttered desk. “A brief question or two on the subject of spiritual amplification.”
“Spiritual what?”
He waved his hand in a vague swirling gesture. “This energy you possess. Her ladyship claims it amplifies the spirits’ ability to make contact. Helps them to project a clear message.”
Evelyn frowned. “How can she possibly know?”
“Her familiar spirit conveyed it to her only this morning. Dmitri, he calls himself. Dashed contradictory fellow, if you ask me. But he confirms Zadkiel’s opinion about your gifts.”
“With respect, sir, Zadkiel was spouting nonsense. And as for Dmitri, I don’t believe—”
“Which brings me to my first question.” Her uncle leaned across his desk, his gaze narrowing over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. “What does this energy feel like?”
Evelyn sighed. “I don’t feel any particular energy. Certainly nothing of an otherworldly nature.”
He clucked his tongue. “No strange sensations? Vibrations in your limbs or midsection?”
Her cheeks warmed. Last night, she had felt strange vibrations in both her limbs and her midsection. They’d been inspired by Ahmad’s kisses.
But such feelings weren’t supernatural. They were all too human. Emotional. Physical.
Deliciously physical.
Were ladies supposed to enjoy such activities? Evelyn wondered.
“No, sir,” she said. “Nothing of the kind.”
“What about messages?” he asked.
“Messages from whom?”
“Words of import from beyond the veil. Instructions sent to guide us.”
A rogue thought occurred to her.
She took a step closer to her uncle’s desk, choosing her next words with care. “I sometimes experience a very strong sense of things. An impression of something I must say to someone. I suppose you might call it a message.”
Uncle Harris’s face lit with excitement. “From the spirit realm?”
“I daresay it could be.”
“Have you received any messages of this kind about me?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “Now you mention it.”
“Well?” he prompted with growing impatience.
She cleared her throat. “I have the distinct feeling that . . . it’s time you concerned yourself less with the dead and more with the living.”
Uncle Harris gaped at her.
She felt a flicker of guilt.
Botheration.
It wasn’t fair to mislead him. Not even in a good cause. Better to rely on the truth, however inconvenient.
“Fenny is in town, uncle,” she said abruptly.
“Fenny?”
“Fenella. My older sister. The one who ran off with Anthony Connaught. The two of them are stranded at a dockside inn. They’re in need of money to pay for their passage back to France.”