Shades of Midnight (15 page)

"We won't be out late. Daisy always eats early."

"Just explain to her what we're doing, and..."

"No!" Eve turned about sharply, and before his eyes bright pink spots formed on her lovely cheeks. "I don't think that... we really shouldn't..."

"I thought you said this woman was your best friend."

"She is."

"And yet she doesn't know that your house is haunted."

"No."

Eve's insistence that she wanted to be ordinary echoed in his mind. "She doesn't even know what you've done, does she? The articles, the book..."

"A book no one read," she muttered.

"I read it," he said. "It was quite brilliant."

She pursed her lips in disbelief, then reached for one of the peppermint sticks he had bought her and stuck it in her mouth.

The articles and single book had been written under the pseudonym E. J. Hart, and while the book had not been a commercial success, it had been brilliant. Perhaps because in reading it he saw so much of Eve. In the words, the observations, the flow of the sentences. He had read that book a dozen times or more, in the past two years.

"Does she even know you're a writer?"

"Yes." Eve lifted her chin and wagged her peppermint stick. "I have written several articles on gardening, since coming to Plummerville."

He couldn't stop himself; he burst out laughing. "Gardening?" He almost choked on a piece of licorice.

"Articles about gardening are very popular. I might even write a book on the subject, next year."

"Oh, Evie," he said, his laughter dying. "Weeds and bugs and dirt can't be as exciting as..."

"I don't need exciting," she interrupted. "I've had enough excitement to last me a lifetime!"

Evie tried to walk past him, on her way out of the kitchen with her head high, spine rigid, chin uplifted. She looked fearsome, as if the peppermint stick she wielded was a mighty sword. As she came near, Lucien reached out and snagged her wrist. With a gentle tug, he pulled her onto his knee. She tried to get up, but when he tugged her back down once more, she stayed.

"We'll have dinner with your friend, if you like," he said calmly. "And I will refrain from mentioning your ghosts or any others, if that will make you happy. But, Evie... it is a mistake to deny who you are. Trust me on this one, I know from experience."

"I can be whoever I want to be," she insisted, her gaze turned to the fascinating sight of the kitchen window, lace curtains, and gleaming panes of glass. She perched on his knee and sucked on the candy, almost absently.

"You're very lucky, then," he said softly. "I am who I am, and there's no changing that. I can never be a teacher, or a farmer, or a lawyer. I can never deny who I am." He didn't want to try, not ever again. "If you can forget what you've seen and what you know in order to be this blasted ordinary woman, then good for you. I for one will miss the Evie Abernathy who can go head to head with a ghost or two and a ragtag collection of admittedly odd spirit chasers and come out laughing."

She played with the peppermint stick, seemingly unaware that every move she made was maddeningly seductive. "There were fun times, I suppose."

"You suppose."

She looked at him dead in the eye, her lips wet and sticky, her mind somewhere else. Was she remembering all the good times they'd had before he'd ruined everything?

"I just fell into it, you know," she said, stopping to lick her lips. "My father met Hugh shortly before he died, and I was so lost... I had nowhere to go and Hugh quickly put me to work taking notes for him. It grew from there; it took over my life so gradually that before I knew it I was... one of you."

"Hugh has a penchant for finding and saving lost souls."

Eve nodded slightly, her head down. "He does that, doesn't he? We met Hugh too late for him to help my father, but he was a godsend for me." She lifted her head and looked at him. She was no longer lost in the past, but was very much right here.

"I wish my father had met you, before he died. He handed money over to every swindler along the East Coast, trying to get in touch with my mother. If only he had found you..."

"It wouldn't have mattered."

"You could have tried to call her for him. If he had known that she was at peace, that she was waiting for him, he could have..." Her face fell. "Maybe he could have found some peace himself, in this life."

Lucien shook his head. "Hugh told me, early on, that I had to shut out a lot of the noise in my head and choose how I would use my gift. I had to pick a path and stick to it, and I did. Your mother crossed over to the other side peacefully, as is right and proper. I find the spirits who did not make the trip successfully, and do my best to send them home. I would never, not for any price, yank a spirit back from where it belongs."

"So she's... all right?"

They had never talked about her mother, and she didn't mention her father much, either. Evie lived solidly in the present. She didn't dwell on past mistakes. Except his, apparently. But right now he could see the painful questions in her eyes, so close to his own.

"They're both fine." He gave her a smile and tucked a stray strand of honey colored hair behind her ear. "I see them around you, now and then."

She jumped and pulled slightly away from him. "You do? I thought you said..."

"They come on their own accord, as they please, when they please. I don't pull them here. They never stay very long. A few seconds, a minute or two. Just long enough to see that you're safe and happy."

"You never told me," she whispered accusingly.

"You never asked. How was I to know that you wanted to be aware of their presence?" He'd learned the hard way to keep his mouth shut, unless called to do a specific job. "Do you know what would happen to me if I went around telling everyone that the spirit of their mother or their recently deceased husband or their favorite aunt popped in now and then to check on them?" He felt Evie relax, there on his knee. "If someone asks me I tell them the truth, but I keep most of what I see to myself, these days."

"I'm not like everyone else," she protested softly. "You can tell me anything. Everything."

"Can I?"

She reached out and brushed back a strand of his hair. Her fingers were tender, soft as the brush of a feather. "You can."

"So you forgive me?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course not."

Since there was no heat in her words, he didn't take her too seriously. He cupped the back of her neck with his hand and pulled her toward him. "It's true," he whispered. "You're not like everyone else. There is no one in the world like you. I was such an idiot to... to... to let that day slip by."

"Yes," she said as her lips neared his. "You were."

He kissed her, and her mouth on his was so right, so sweet... he didn't want it to end. He held her there, with his hand at her neck, but she didn't try to pull away. She rested one hand on his shoulder, and after a moment her fingers began to rock, just as her lips did. A kiss like this, a kiss that pounded through his veins and his spirit, had to mean something. Forgiveness, perhaps? Love?

When she pulled her mouth from his he released her, his hand raking gently down her back.

Eve licked her lips as she pulled away from him. "You taste like licorice."

"Sorry," he said, not sounding at all apologetic.

"It's all right," she said. "Perhaps licorice isn't so bad, after all."

He smiled at her, giving her a completely wicked grin. "You taste like peppermint."

He liked this too much, having Evie on his lap while he sat in her kitchen as if he belonged here. It was... ordinary. It was so much of what she wanted from life. Well, what she said she wanted. Did she truly want to be like everyone else?

She broke the silence, and ruined the moment with a single sentence. "I think you should go, now."

"To the parlor?"

"Back to Miss Gertrude's," she said softly.

"Evie..."

"It doesn't look right for you to be here. We don't have a chaperone."

"We're both fully grown," he said indignantly. "We don't need a chaperone."

"I have a reputation to think of," she argued. Still, she sat on his knee. "The preacher knows you're here, Miss Gertrude, Daisy, and all those people in the general store. You can't just... move in."

"Why not?"

"It's not..."

"Proper," he finished for her.

She nodded. "You can come back tonight, when it's time for Alistair and Viola to appear."

"What am I supposed to do until then? I should be here, trying to rouse and speak to Alistair again, or working on the specter-o-meter, or..."

"Please," she said, and at that moment he knew her asking him to leave had nothing to do with her reputation or becoming ordinary or being proper. She was afraid. Not of ghosts, not of gossip, not even of him. She was afraid of that kiss.

He assisted Eve to her feet as he stood, bent down to give her a quicker, sweeter kiss, and then headed for the back door.

He heard her sigh of relief as the door closed behind him.

* * *

Lucien had been gone almost an hour when a knock sounded at her front door, making Eve's already uncertain heart leap. Surely he wasn't back already! She had just managed to get her heartbeat back to a normal rhythm, to dismiss the crazy notions that kiss had brought to life. She wasn't ready to face him again.

Of course, she didn't have to answer the door.

A quick peek out the parlor window, and Eve felt a rush of relief. It wasn't Lucien, after all. It was Daisy, carrying a plate covered in a linen towel.

Eve opened the door on her openly curious friend. "Is he here?" Daisy asked as she stepped into the foyer.

"Who?" Eve asked calmly.

"Lucien Thorpe!" Daisy handed over the plate. Eve lifted the towel to see a nicely arranged dozen or so cold, hard biscuits. "I thought he might like some biscuits."

"Mr. Thorpe isn't here, at the moment." Eve offered the plate back to her friend. "Would you like to try delivering these to Miss Gertrude's?"

Daisy made a decidedly unfeminine sputtering sound as she headed for the parlor and her favorite chair by the window. "No, of course not. They're not very good. At least I didn't burn them, this time!"

"So, those biscuits were just an excuse?"

"Of course." Daisy's eyes sparkled. "I simply had to come by. You missed all the excitement!" she said as she sat down, her yellow skirt settling nicely around her chair, the pale curls that framed her face bouncing softly.

Eve sighed as she placed the plate of biscuits on the table by the parlor door. "Did I?"

"Reverend Younger came into the general store after you and Mr. Thorpe left, and he was absolutely
raving."

Eve sat on the couch, landing a bit harder than was graceful. Her own skirt never settled with ease around her legs, the way Daisy's always did. Her skirt bunched and wrinkled. At the moment, she barely noticed. She had more important concerns. Of course the preacher was raving. She should have known word would spread quickly.

"Is it true?" Daisy whispered.

"Is what true?" There was no telling what Reverend Younger might have said. Something to discredit them, she supposed, in case they persisted in asking questions about Viola Stamper.

"He said your Lucien Thorpe was some kind of swindler who tries to make people think he can communicate with the dead."

Eve closed her eyes. "Lucien is not a swindler."

"I didn't think so," Daisy said. "I know full well that you are not the kind of woman to be taken in by a swindler. You're much too sensible for that."

The rumors had begun. Rumors about Lucien, not haunted houses. Not ghosts. Why hadn't Justina Markham started talking about the spirits in this house? Why hadn't Douglas Hunt? Word spread quickly in a small town like Plummerville. If word about the ghosts had begun to spread, Daisy would have heard that by now, too.

She had hoped to keep this all quiet. Lucien. The ghosts. What a foolish idea. People would find out what was going on here, one way or another. They would find out who Lucien was, and they'd discover what her association with him had been. There would be no normal life for her, not here, not anywhere.

"Miss Gertrude stopped by, too," Daisy continued when Eve offered no explanation. "She said..." with a wave of her hand, Daisy dismissed Miss Gertrude. "Well, you can't believe half of what that woman says. She can twist a simple piece of gossip until it no longer bears any resemblance to the original rumor. Besides, I'd rather wait to hear this from the horse's mouth."

"Hear what?" Was Miss Gertrude spreading the word that Lucien intended to ask Eve to be his wife?

Daisy had a way of smiling that made her look half angelic, half demonic. That expression had sent many a man running, and had drawn many more straight to her. For some reason, she sent them all packing. She gave Eve that look now. "Poor Garrick," she said, completely dismissing Lucien's landlady. "He will be heartbroken when he hears that there's a man in town who calls you Evie and buys you peppermint."