The Medium (Emily Chambers Spirit Medium Trilogy #1) (19 page)

We were
contemplating that when a girl of no more than ten or eleven carrying a basket
full of violets came from seemingly nowhere. She was dressed in clothes that
looked to be older than her if their dirty, patched-up state was any
indication. Her head and hands were bare and she shivered as a breeze whipped
around us. "Please, sir," she said to George, "buy my flowers, sir.
Buy some lovely violets for the pretty lady." She pulled out a bunch of
the purple flowers and tried to shove them into George's hand.

"Go away,"
he said, batting them aside. "We're not interested." He clicked his
tongue and put his hand at my back to steer me around the girl.

She sniffed and
wiped her nose on the shoulder of her dress but her long brown hair got in the
way and she wiped it on the stringy strands instead. She didn't seem to notice
as she blocked our path and thrust the flowers at me. "Please buy a poor
girl's flowers, sweet lady." She sniffed again and her big brown eyes
blinked up at me. "Buy some pretty violets for your dressing table, miss."

"She's not
interested, child," George snapped. "Be off!" He tried to move
around her, taking me with him, but I stopped him.

"I'll buy a
bunch," I said, opening my reticule. "How much?"

"Emily, you
shouldn't encourage her," George said. "If you buy things you don't
need from these children their parents will only see it as a sign and send them
out more. It's an endless circle."

"I ain't
got no parents," the girl said, turning her owlish eyes on George.

He frowned down
at her, his face not softening in the slightest. "Nevertheless—."

"I'll buy
another bunch for my sister," I said. "How much did you say they
were?"

The girl's face
lit up, her eyes growing so wide they took up half her face. "A ha'penny
each, kind lady." She gave me the two bunches and I gave her the money. It
wasn't much and we weren't so poor that we couldn't afford the price. Nevertheless
Celia probably wouldn't approve of the unnecessary expense. Hopefully she
wouldn't notice my purse was a little lighter than when I'd set out.

The flower girl bobbed
me a curtsy, turned her nose up at George and went on her way.

"I'd have
bought them for you," Jacob said, walking beside me. "If I had any
money."

The thought of a
ghost handing money over to the girl was so ludicrous I laughed out loud. But Jacob
apparently didn't get the joke. His face hardened then he blinked and looked
away. Was he embarrassed? Had I offended him?

Oh dear. I was
about to apologize when George, who I thought had been sulking, spoke. "Sorry
you were forced into that," he said. "I would have got rid of her if
you'd only allowed me."

"George,"
I said, putting as much sternness into his name as I could, "if I want to
get rid of someone I will do it on my own. She was just a child and her flowers
weren't expensive. I wanted to buy them."

He sighed. "You're
too kind for your own good, Emily. I suppose that's part of your charm."

"Charm?"
I almost burst out laughing again but I'd already offended one man so instead I
said, "Thank you."

He smiled at me.
"I'll walk you home."

"No," Jacob
growled, "I will."

"You both
can," I said and I think George understood Jacob had offered too if his "Oh"
was anything to go by.

"No," Jacob
said. "I want to speak to you alone."

"But he
can't hear you."

"It doesn't
matter. You're—." He stopped talking and walking and heaved a heavy sigh. I
stopped too and George had no choice but to wait. "I just want to be alone
with you," Jacob said. "To talk," he added. "It's easier
without him hovering at your elbow hoping you'll trip over so he can catch you."

I was about to
tell him he'd summed up the situation between George and I incorrectly but I
didn't want George to hear me. I wasn't so certain Jacob had got it wrong
anyway.

"Do you
mind if Jacob accompanies me from here?" I asked George. "We're out
of the worst streets and I have some private matters to discuss with him."

George's lips
twitched and pursed and twitched some more before he finally gave in with a deep
sigh. "Very well. If you must." He looked up and down the street,
which was wider and filled with fewer shadowy corners and characters than the
streets we'd just left behind, although it wasn't any cleaner. London's soot
covered these sturdier buildings just as thickly as it did elsewhere. George's
gaze finally settled back on mine. "Be careful. And hurry home before it
rains. All right, Beaufort?"

Jacob grunted. "This
farewell has gone on long enough." He strode off, no doubt expecting me to
follow.

"We'll be
in touch soon," I assured George. Jacob stopped and waited for me, arms
crossed in a picture of impatience. "In the mean time, perhaps if you
could speak to Leviticus Price."

He nodded and
doffed his hat. "Of course, Emily. Good day, Beaufort." He watched me
go and I was relieved to turn the corner with Jacob and be out of George's
sight. I wasn't sure why but having him watch me like that, with such interest,
made me feel awkward. On the other hand, having Jacob watch me like that made
me feel special but only in a good way.

Unfortunately he
wasn't looking at me at all. He was staring straight ahead. Several people
walked through him but he didn't seem to care.

"What did
you want to ask me?" I whispered trying not to move my mouth and draw
attention to myself. It wasn't easy.

"Nothing,"
he said. "I just wanted to get rid of Culvert. I don't like him."

"Why not?"

His entire
answer consisted of a shrug. "What private matters did you want to talk to
me about?"

We had to cross
the road and I waited for a break in the traffic. Jacob wandered out into the
middle of the busy street and a carriage pulled by two horses rolled right
through him. No, not through him. He could touch them because they were
objects, just like he could touch the picture frame or the mantelpiece. He must
be vanishing just as they reach him then reappearing after they'd passed.

It took me
longer to safely navigate the traffic and horse dung but I managed it without
incident and joined him on the other side in front of a row of shops.

"Well?"
he prompted.

"Last night
you did something for me," I said. "So now I want to do something for
you in return."

He frowned. "Last
night? You mean meeting your aunt's ghost? I don't think you should thank me
for that. She was a witch. I'm sorry I mentioned her at all."

"No, not
for that." I spoke quietly but not just because I didn't want to be
overheard. The tears in my throat kept me from speaking any louder. "I
wanted to thank you for...for telling her you think I'm pretty. It was
very...noble of you."

Before my heart
could hammer another beat, he'd pulled me into a dead-end alley. It was empty
except for a few crates pushed up against the brick wall of the neighboring
chop house and some rotting vegetables piled in a corner. "It had nothing
to do with nobility, Emily," he whispered. He bent his head so that we
were nose to nose, barely a breath separating us. His eyes burned into mine,
their smoldering heat seeping through me, warming me from the inside out.

"Then what
was it if not to show me you're still a gentleman?" I had the heavy
feeling that his answer would bring us closer to something important, something
so big that I knew we could never go back. Never undo it.

Nor would it be
something I wanted to undo.

CHAPTER 9

Jacob didn't say
anything. He simply touched my cheek with his fingertips. It was the lightest,
gentlest of touches as if he was afraid anything more would shatter me.

I was afraid of
that too—of the emotions swelling inside me, filling me to overflowing, my body
almost unable to contain them.

"My conduct
around you has nothing to with nobility, Emily. Nothing to do with once having
been a gentleman." Then, as if he liked saying my name, he repeated it in
a murmur. "Emily." His lips came closer, closer, his eyes never leaving
mine.

My nerve endings
sizzled at the intensity in his gaze, the feel of his cool fingers on my skin
and the sheer masculine presence of him towering over me. "Then what is it
about?" I managed to whisper past the lump lodged in my throat.

His thumb traced
the line of my jaw, across my chin and down my neck. I thought perhaps he
hadn't heard me over the pounding of my heart but then he said, "I don't
know." He watched, absorbed, as a trail of goosebumps formed in the wake
of his fingers. "I've never felt so drawn to someone before. Not like
this. But I can assure you there's nothing honorable about what I feel."

"Then
what...?"

"It's
primal. Basic." His mouth curved into a crooked, devilish smile that had
me gasping for air. "Savage."

As if the word
had flipped a switch inside him, he reeled back and dropped his hands to his
sides. His eyes shuttered closed and he breathed deep and hard as if trying to
regain his composure.

Savage
. The word hung above us like a guillotine, ready to fall at any
moment.

"I'm sorry."
He opened his eyes and stared at the hand that had touched me, a look of utter
horror distorting his handsome features. "I don't know what's happening to
me," he whispered.

I didn't know
what to say to that so I clasped both bunches of violets in one hand and gently
took his hand with my other. I placed the palm against my lips and kissed it.

Slowly, like
unpeeling layers, his face relaxed and returned to the perfect proportions I
admired. "Talk to me," I said. "Tell me what's wrong."

He shook his
head.

"Jacob, if
you are to be my spirit guide for the next little while then I need to know what's
troubling you. I might be able to help."

"You can't
help." He pulled his hand away. "You're the problem."

My heart missed
a beat. He hadn't said I was
part
of the problem but I was
the
problem. "Do I...scare you in some way?" I tried to wade through all
the possibilities of what he might mean but I could only come up with one. "My
unnatural ability to see ghosts can be disconcerting—."

"No. It's
not that." He laughed ruefully. "You don't scare me in the least. It's—."
He shook his head and started again. "It feels like I'm losing my
humanity. Every day I'm with you, every hour, every minute, gets harder and
harder to—." He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes.

I waited but he
didn't continue. I didn't know whether I should prompt him or if that would
only anger him, or upset him. I reached out and caressed his cheek instead. The
hard, chiseled line of it gave his face a regal quality, commanding and
majestic. Fascinating. The skin was soft, cool, and I sighed, enthralled.

With a matching
sigh he opened his eyes. And stepped away. "You shouldn't do that,"
he said but there was no anger in his voice, or alarm. "We must go."

"But I
haven't told you what I wanted to say," I said. He waited, feet apart as
if steadying himself on a rocking ship. "I wanted to do something for you
in exchange for the service you rendered me."

"I told
you, getting your aunt to come was a mistake. You owe me nothing."

The best
response to that was to ignore it and move on. "I want to speak to your
parents."

"No."

"I want to reassure
them—."

"No, Emily."
He paced from one side of the narrow alley to the other, hands on hips, head
bowed. "I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why?"

"Because
it's not."

"Why not?"

"Emily,
just leave it be. I don't want to discuss this with you."

He stalked off. I
remained in the shadows and waited for him to realize I wasn't following. When
he did, he came back, his temper seething if the tightness of his face was
anything to go by.

"Don't make
me hoist you over my shoulder," he said. He wasn't laughing. Not even
close.

"I'm going
to see your parents this afternoon," I said. "Unless you can give me
a good reason not to."

He scrubbed a
hand through his hair and down the back of his neck, kneading it as if it
ached. "Very well. You've forced my hand. My concern is that they won't
believe you." He said it defiantly and I waited for the "so there"
but it never came.

"Few people
ever believe me at first," I said.

He shook his
head and I waited for further explanation. I had the feeling there was more to
it than he was letting on. "My father dabbles in the sciences—biology and
psychology mostly. It's a hobby of his. He belongs to various scientific
societies and regularly writes papers debunking the supernatural. He thinks all
mediums are frauds, and that's putting it kindly."