Shades of Midnight (9 page)

When the door closed on Douglas Hunt, Lucien ran his fingers through his mussed dark hair. Eve fought the urge to help him.

"How dare he
shake
you and talk to you that way?" Lucien asked. "And who the hell is he?"

"Alistair's business partner," she said. "He's not particularly happy about me asking questions, and he's definitely upset about the news that the ghosts are in residence." She replayed the short visit in her mind. "I believe he was in love with Viola. Do you think he might have been the man she was seeing? Her husband's business partner? That would have been messy. Quite a scandal."

Lucien looked her in the eye, deep and questioning. The anger faded from his face, and was replaced by something akin to wonder. "Evie," he said softly, and she didn't even think about correcting him, "what if Alistair didn't kill Viola? What if they were both murdered?"

* * *

Intrigued by the new idea, Lucien took the stairs two at a time. He'd met Viola in the bedchamber she and her husband had shared. That was probably the best place to find Alistair.

"No!" Eve called as she followed him, her footsteps light and quick on the stairway. "It's too dangerous. Everyone says Alistair killed Viola. Even Viola! Why else would she ask
why?"

"Because she thinks he murdered her, but in reality it was someone else." Lucien threw open the bedroom door. He saw nothing, but he sensed them here. Both of them. Eve followed him silently into the room. "It was almost midnight, it was very dark. Someone came up behind Viola, perhaps... said or did something that made her think he was her husband, and then he stabbed her in the back. We saw what happened next. He drew down her wrapper and stabbed her again, and if Mrs. Markham's memory isn't faulty, he then took the bloody garment with him. Why?"

He walked the perimeter of the room as he puzzled on this new possibility. "It rained," he said softly. "What if he got a muddy hand print on the gown, and had to dispose of it so no one would suspect someone from outside the house was here that night."

"It's possible," Eve said. "I'll go over my notes and see if I find anything that supports that supposition."

Lucien shook his head. "No. Notes won't help us with this. There's only one way to find out."

"You can't channel Alistair," Eve said sternly. "I forbid it."

He turned to face her. Eve stood by the door but didn't enter the room. To be honest, she looked poised to make a quick escape. Perhaps she did not want to be in the bedroom with him again.

"You
forbid?"

"Remember what happened when you channeled Elliot Alvin? You almost killed O'Hara!"

"Knowing what I know now, perhaps I should have." The man would pay, one day, for getting fresh with Evie. He waved off her concern. "Besides, I'm stronger now than I was then, I have more control." The truth was, channeling drained him. The more control he had during the sessions, the worse he felt after. Last time a spirit had possessed him for a length of more than half an hour, it had taken him two days to recover.

"Lock me in," he demanded as he searched the room for signs of the ghostly couple. There they were, hovering by the dresser. In addition to feeling the ghostly spirits, he now saw them in bits of light Eve could not see.

"What?"

"In case I'm wrong and Alistair is dangerous, I want you safely on the other side of a locked door. I'll call you when I'm finished."

"No," she said stubbornly.

"Evie..."

"You'll need me to listen. You won't remember what he says."

"I'm getting better at that, too," he said. "I'll remember most of what Alistair says when he speaks through me."

"Most?"

"Enough."

Eve pursed her lips. "No!"

Lucien knew just how to send her to the safety of the hallway. He smiled. "You're concerned for me. That's very sweet, Evie. It's also more proof that you do, in fact, love me..."

She couldn't shut the door fast enough. He waited until he heard the lock turn and catch, and then he pulled a wing chair to the center of the room. He sat there, facing the dresser where he saw the flickering traces of light. His feet were planted firmly on the floor, his arms rested on the arms of the chair. His heart pounded hard and fast. No matter how many times he did this, it was always frightening. And exciting.

He took a moment to slow his heartbeat, to make himself connect with the light that teased and danced.

"Alistair," he said, his voice low. "Speak to me. Speak through me."

One of the fragments of light came toward him. Slowly, waveringly. Alistair was no more certain about this than Eve had been.

"I'm here to help," Lucien said, trying to reassure Alistair as he had earlier assured Viola. "Please, let me help you."

After a moment, where the light hovered, waiting, it shot unerringly and quickly toward Lucien's heart.

Lucien felt the spirit enter him. There was a moment of pain, followed by a sensation of a deep peace he never felt when he conversed with the living.

Alistair was here.

Chapter 6

Lucien knew what he was doing. He always did. As he often said, he was a scientist. An expert. He didn't take unnecessary chances.

Eve waited as long as she could, pacing in the hallway, wringing her hands and fiddling with the key she'd used to lock Lucien in that room. Who was she kidding? He did take chances, she knew that too well. He took dangerous risks on every job; he took chances every day of his life! And she'd allowed him to force her out of that room, as surely as if he'd picked her up and carried her!

A voice, Lucien's and yet not Lucien's drifted to her through the closed door.

"That's it," she said, taking the key and inserting it into the lock. "I'm not going to stand here and... and do nothing!"

She threw open the door to find Lucien sitting in a wide, padded chair that had been placed in the middle of the room. His head rotated slowly as she entered the room. He smiled at her. That was
not
Lucien's smile.

"Well, hello," he said, his deep voice colored by a Georgia accent. Lucien's own voice was usually more clipped, more precise and with a hint of New York, where he'd been born. "Aren't you a pretty one?"

Eve's eyes widened. She held her breath. She'd heard that before his marriage, Alistair had been somewhat of a ladies' man, a charmer. Apparently that was true. She was rarely called pretty, and even then... it was usually her aunt who made that kind observation, or perhaps one of her cousins. "Hello, Mr. Stamper," she said when she found her breath again.

He lifted a hand and motioned for Eve to come closer. Against her better judgment, she did. She had seen Lucien channel a spirit before, several times, and it never ceased to amaze her. Lucien was here, and yet he was not. Alistair Stamper was dead and had been for thirty years, and yet he was present in this time and place. When she stood beside the chair, Lucien... Alistair... reached out and took her wrist in his hand.

"You're so warm," he said softly, a hint of longing in his voice. "I miss... warmth. There are times of reliving and remembering when the warmth seems almost to be there, but this... this is good and real and alive." His fingers rocked over her wrist as his smile faded completely. "Viola isn't warm anymore. She hasn't been warm for a long time. She's punishing me, I suppose, taking away the warmth I crave. Coming to me and then... running away when I call to her."

A chill worked down Eve's spine as Alistair continued to caress her wrist. Lucien's fingers were warm, but she also felt a hint of the spirit's coldness, as if a touch of cold air manacled her.

"Perhaps Viola has good reason to run from you," she said, trying to make her voice steady.

"I tried to tell her I'm sorry," he whispered. "She won't listen to me."

"She's afraid of you," Eve said softly, making an effort to keep her voice even. Her own fear was very real at the moment. She knew Lucien would never hurt her; she could not be so sure about Alistair.

"I gave her no reason to be afraid," he said angrily, the grip at her wrist tightening. "I just made one small mistake!"

"Murder is not a small mistake," Eve said.

Lucien's head snapped up, and the eyes that glared at Eve were not those of the man she loved. They were darker. They were the eyes of a stranger. "Murder?"

Something sharp shot through Eve. At first she thought it was a knife, that she'd been stabbed in the back just as Viola had been, thirty years ago. But the pain faded quickly and she was filled with a strange sensation, as if light became substance and flooded her entire body.

Eve was no longer alone in her own body. Viola was with her, inside her, a part of her. She experienced the spirit's fear, and confusion, and love as if they were her own. Most of all, she felt love.

"Viola," Alistair whispered, seeing, sensing, or feeling the presence of his wife in Eve. A wry smile crossed his face, the grip on her wrist gentled.

Now Eve knew why Lucien didn't stand. Having Viola's spirit inside her weakened her considerably. Her legs began to buckle, and as if he knew what she was feeling and that she was about to fall, Lucien pulled her onto his lap. She dropped there gratefully.

"Why?" Eve whispered, and the question was not her own.

Lucien's fingers traced her jawline, brushed her cheek, trailed down her throat. "How many times do I have to say I'm sorry? I couldn't help myself. It was an impulse I could not control. I'm a weak man, imperfect and impulsive."

Eve shook her head. "I thought you loved me."

"I do."

"Then how could you..."

Lucien drew her close. His lips hovered over hers. "We were never good with words, Viola. Let me show you how I feel. Let me make love to you, while we're warm and soft and alive."

"I shouldn't want you," Eve whispered.

"But you do." He kissed her, softly at first and then hard. His tongue delved just inside her mouth, teasing her own. When he began to unbutton her dress, starting with the button at the top and working his way down, Eve didn't even think to protest. She wanted to know what it felt like to have Lucien's hands on her body, and Viola wanted to feel Alistair. No matter what he'd done. No matter that he had killed her.

Eve closed her eyes when Lucien slipped his hand beneath the bodice of her brown dress and caressed the swell of her breasts. His fingers were warm, tenderly and unexpectedly arousing. It was startling and yet right, as if she'd waited all her life for him to touch her.

"So many clothes," he whispered, as he finished unbuttoning her dress, parting the fabric to reveal her yellow corset. "Such pleasant surprises beneath," he drawled in a teasing voice. "A corset of yellow like sunshine, bright and pretty as spring flowers, hidden underneath that drab brown dress. What else do you hide?"

He kissed her mouth well as he blindly unfastened the hooks and eyes down the front of her corset. In the back of her mind, Eve knew she should order him to stop... but she allowed Viola to take over, for a while. She let the unexpected passion rule, just for a moment. This sensation was too delicious to push away.

The corset fell open, and Lucien's hand returned to her breasts. He didn't just touch, he caressed, he teased. He rolled the nipples between his gentle fingers, plucking at the sensitive tips and then laying his mouth against her throat to suck at her hungry flesh.

She was alive everywhere, her blood danced through her veins, she throbbed.

Lucien often talked about how becoming a home for a spirit, even for a short while, was draining. There had been an initial weakness, but right now Eve didn't feel drained at all. She was alive and tingling. The blood rushed through her body, washing away all her fears, her anger, and her indecision. There was just sensation and love, and they were both powerful. And wonderful.

"Touch me," he whispered.

Eve didn't hesitate, didn't even stop to think. She unbuttoned Lucien's shirt, laid the fabric back, and pressed her hands against his bare chest. Firm and well shaped and hard, he was unlike anything she had ever touched before. A sprinkling of dark hair teased her fingers as she ran her hand across his chest. She laid her mouth against the hollow of his throat, tasting his salty flesh, flicking her tongue over his skin. Something shot through her... like electricity, a jolting charge so powerful it shook her to her bones.