Unraveling Secrets (The Secret Trilogy) (23 page)

But the girls were nowhere in sight.

Thoroughly panicked, she stopped and looked back. “Thomas?”

“I can
’t see them either, miss. Shall I run ahead and make certain they’re all right?”

“Yes, but not too far. I don
’t want us all separated.”

He hurried away
, stepping off the path to avoid the crowd.

Abigail glanced back to make sure the other guard was still there. He gave her a polite nod, his gaze
continuing to scan the area.

Her heart pounded with fear. What on earth
were the girls thinking when she’d specifically told them to stay close? She wobbled between fearing the worst—that somehow Simmons had taken them—to less dour circumstances—that they were having a bit of fun hiding from her.

A
s she was about to send the other guard for help, she caught sight of Thomas escorting Sophia and Olivia toward her. Both looked put out at the interruption.

“Abigail, whatever is the matter?” asked Olivia. “Thomas insisted you need us.”

Torn between anger and relief, Abigail’s hands shook as she reached for them. “I asked you to stay close when we arrived. Don’t tell me you didn’t hear my request.”

“We weren
’t far,” Sophia tried to assure her.

“We were only having
some fun,” Olivia added.

A motion caught Abigail
’s gaze just past Thomas’s shoulder. She gave a startled gasp at the sight of Simmons a short distance away. “Oh, dear heavens.”

Thomas glanced at her and immediately spun around, searching for the cause of her fright. He, too, must
’ve seen Simmons, for he took off at a run, the other guard immediately behind him.

“Whatever is wrong with Thomas?” Sophia asked.

Olivia kept her gaze on Abigail. “You’re as pale as a ghost.”

Sophia took her arm. “Are you quite all right?”

“I’m fine. I believe Thomas saw someone he knew.” She hoped the answer would pacify them so they wouldn’t ask further questions. She willed her pounding heart to slow.

“So he chased after him?” Olivia shook her head. “That seems inappropriate.”

Sophia stared at where Thomas had disappeared, her brows puckered. Abigail knew she didn’t believe her explanation.

“Girls,” she began as she realized what a close call they
’d had, “I asked you to stay nearby. Why did you get so far ahead of us?”

Olivia gave her a sheepish look. “We were hoping you were meeting
Lord Ashbury. We thought we saw him and wanted you to have some time together.”

“Yes, and we didn
’t want to be in the way of your budding romance,” Sophia added earnestly. “You need all the help you can get with him.”

Abigail stared at both of them, certain they
’d lost their minds. “Lord Ashbury is not interested in me...that way.”

Olivia waved away Abigail
’s denial. “We’ve seen the way you look when you speak of him.”

“He came for a visit the other day,” Sophia added.

“And you’ve been gone more than usual,” Olivia continued. “Not to mention how secretive you’ve been.”

“So we assume you
’re keeping company with him,” Sophia said. “We thought we saw him and that you had arranged to meet him here.”

Olivia patted
Abigail’s hand. “We’ve no doubt he’ll form an affection for you. You’re pretty and smart. How could he possibly resist?”

Abigail shook her head. While she appreciated their faith in her, she couldn
’t believe the conclusions they’d drawn. “You’re both mistaken. I need you to be careful over the next few days. There is a—a stranger lurking in our neighborhood, and I don’t want him coming anywhere near either of you.”

Sophia looked to where Thomas had gone again. “Does this stranger have anything to do with the man whom Thomas is chasing?”

Uncertain how much to tell the girls, Abigail put an arm through each of theirs and started onto the path again. “I’m sure Thomas will be along soon. Let’s return to the carriage to wait for him.”

By the time they returned home, two frustrated guards included, Abigail
had recovered from her fright.

Another, stronger emot
ion had taken its place—anger.

Simmons had eluded them once again. She now knew he was still watching the house. The guards might be keeping him at a distance, but they weren
’t preventing him from spying on them and most likely looking for a chance to approach—a very unsettling notion that lay heavy on Abigail’s shoulders.

What if Simmons h
ad done something to the girls?

She couldn’t g
et the thought out of her mind.

After seeing the girls safely inside, she gave her stepmother a brief update and spent several long minutes reassuring her. By the time Irene calmed, Abigail dec
ided to pay a visit to Stephen.

Her patience had come to an end. Something needed to be done. Now.

Abigail had Thomas take a long route to Park Lane to see if anyone followed. She breathed a sigh of relief when he thumped the roof of the carriage to let her know he
’d seen nothing and was proceeding to their destination.

At Stephen
’s home, a young footman she’d never seen answered the door. When she asked to see Stephen, a look of panic crossed the man’s face. “I’m sorry, but he’s not receiving.”

She frowned. “I believe he
’ll make time to see me.”

The
man’s eyes grew wide as though he was trying to think of what else he could say. “I’m sorry, miss, but he’s indisposed.”

“
He’s ill?”

Winston entered the hall from the back of the house.
The footman seemed quite relieved at his arrival. The butler’s ever-ready smile looked a bit strained. “Good day, Miss Bradford.”

“Hello, Winston. Is Lord Ashbury unwell?”

“He is certainly not feeling his best.” A wary expression crossed the butler’s face, making Abigail wonder what was going on. “I’ll inquire if he’s able to see you. Perhaps you’d like to wait in the drawing room?”

“Thank you.” Perplexed at what could be wrong with the strong, virile man she knew, she withdrew to the drawing room where she paced, her
concern growing by the minute. She needed to speak with him.

A loud cr
ash sounded from a nearby room.

Within moments, Winston entered, his smile
gone, his jacket askew on his shoulders. “It would be best if you left, miss.”

Abigail stared at the butler, trying to determine what on earth was happening. “He refuses to see me?”

Again the butler hesitated. “He is
unable
to see you.”

That made her even
more certain that something was wrong. “I see. Thank you, Winston.” She stalked past the butler and out the drawing room. But she had no intention of leaving.

She strode
toward the library door.

“Miss Bradford.
” Winston hurried after her.

She held up her hand, palm out. “I take full responsibility, Winston. You should take this opportunity to have tea, don
’t you think?”

The butler shook his head, obviously unhappy with the turn of events. “
He’s not going to be happy with either of us, miss.”

Abigail waited, her hand
on the door knob, until Winston had taken his leave. She drew a deep breath to rein in her emotions then opened the door.

The curtains were drawn, leaving the room cloaked in darkness. The air was stale and made her wonder how long
Stephen had been in there. Pausing to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimness, she moved toward the drapes and drew one back.

“Get out.” The angry words
spewed from a chair before the empty fireplace.

“Stephen?”
Shock held her to the spot. How could the man she thought she knew speak to her with such rudeness?

“Where the hell is Winston?” His tone was gruff and anything but welcoming.

“He’s indisposed,” she said, letting her own anger color her tone.

He scoffed. “Then you
’ll have to show yourself out.” His face was hidden by the wing of the chair in which he slouched. One of his long legs stretched out before him, but he didn’t bother to rise. A nearly empty decanter and half full glass sat on the table beside him.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” She moved closer, unable to guess what had him acting so oddly.

“I am not receiving.”

“So I was told.”

“Then go!” he barked.

Curiosity drew her forward, though a voice in her head suggested she do as he bid. She stepped around the edge of the chair, but could see little of his face in the shadows. “What
’s happened?”

“Nothing. I suggest you leave. In fact, I
’m certain Winston would highly advise it.”

“Are you in a mood?”

“When am I not?”

The sharp tone of his voice tugged at her and against her better judgme
nt, she remained where she was.

“Go, damn it. Get out.” He waved his hand toward the door.

“As soon as you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Bloody hell.” He bolted up from his chair to loom over her. “What part of
‘leave’ do you not understand?”

She stiffened, her heart racing as she was forced back a step. She hardly recognized him. His face was ashen
beneath the stubble of whiskers. Deep circles lined his pain-filled eyes. “I understand the word quite well, thank you.”

Stephen turned away but not before she saw
a flash of pain cross his features. That made her even more determined to discover the reason for his distress. He strode toward the door, jacket off, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, not even properly tucked into his trousers—a far cry from his normally neat appearance. His state of dishabille made her feel like she spoke with a stranger.

He stuck his head out the door. “Winston!” He waited a moment before trying again. “Winston! Bloody hell. The place is crawling with servants until I need one. Show yourself out.”

“You only have to tell me what’s wrong and I’ll go.”

An impenetrable wall of silence was her only answer. But he rub
bed his forehead as he moved back toward her, telling her that at the very least, he had a headache.

“Stephen.”

Her soft whisper of his name struck him to the core. The dark void that held him in its grip loosened its hold for the barest of moments then came rolling back over him. He gritted his teeth to keep the blackness from spilling out on to her. What could he say to get her to leave before he said or did something they’d both regret?

Every few months, a dark gaping hole appeared in his psyche and lasted for several days. Of late, the spells had become more frequent and more difficult to fight off. When they struck, he couldn
’t sleep, had no appetite, and as Winston put it, raged like a wounded bear, striking out at anyone within reach. No wonder all the servants hid.

He
’d yet to determine what triggered the bouts. They had to be another side effect of the electromagnetic blast, for he’d never had the problem before. The spells descended on him in the early hours of the morning and were impossible to shake off. It was like drowning in a pit of despair. His head pounded so hard he felt blinded by it. The only thing he could do was close himself off until the demons departed.

His deepest fear was that these spells
were the first sign he was losing his mind and soon he’d be left with nothing but cold, pain-filled darkness. The fear of existing in the endless black void with only a headache to keep him company was more than he could stand.

“Go. Please,” he bit out with his back turned towards her, holding his head, hoping it wouldn
’t explode.

“Let me help you.” Her soft voice pierced through his darkness,
beckoning him like the flickering flame of a candle.

Then hopelessness crashed through him again. “You can
’t. No one can.”

“I would try.”

The pounding in his skull dragged at him. He sat back down and held his head in his hands, eyes closed. “Nothing helps,” he gritted out. “Not drink. Not sleep. Nothing.”

He felt her presence directly before him, her sweet lavender fragrance enveloping him. Her fingers tentatively ruffled his hair,
sending warmth trickling deep inside him.

He opened his eyes to find her kneeling before him. Those blue eyes seemed to reach out, grabbing hold of something within him. Again, he felt the flutter of her hands in his hair, then along the tight cords of his neck. He knew he should push her away, but couldn
’t find the strength. Instead, he closed his eyes and enjoyed her touch and the brief respite it gave him.

Her breath caressed his cheek and was soon replaced by the softness of her lips. “Let me help you.”

The warmth inside him grew from her whispered plea. Her fingers ran along his eyebrows, soothing his aching head. With a slow, fluid movement, she eased him back into his chair. “Will you let me try?”

He found he couldn
’t deny her. Her presence alone seemed to lift some of the black cloak weighting him down. He wanted to tell her she held his very sanity in her grasp, but instead he gave the barest of nods.

She rose and moved behind him, her movements revealed by the rustling of her gown. Again he felt her fingers along his brows and nearly moaned in relief from the reprieve of his pounding head, even if it was only temporary.

“I have an idea to aid you.” Her words were soft, spoken in a soothing tone. “You’ll have to keep an open mind.”

He couldn
’t concentrate long enough to guess her intention.

“Focus on the sound of my voice
. On the feel of my hands. Breathe slowly and deeply. Relax.” She paused between each instruction, giving his mind and body time to obey. “Clear the thoughts from your mind until all you see is gray. Never-ending soft gray.”

The rhythmic cadence to her voice made it easy to follow her directions.

“Relax each muscle in your body, starting at the top of your head, moving down to your shoulders, to your chest.”

Oddly
, his muscles twitched as though completing her instructions of their own accord. He let them, doing his best to keep only gray in his mind as she continued.

“Now imagine floating before you is a crystal orb. It carries a soft, golden light.”

He could see it perfectly. It was beautiful. He wanted to reach out to touch it, but the sound of Abigail’s voice telling him to relax kept his hands at his sides. The orb turned slowly, moving gently as though bobbing on the current of a river. Its golden light reached out to him like soft rays of sunshine, warming him. He could hear the sound of Abigail’s voice but couldn’t quite capture her words.

As he focused on the orb, he caught a glimpse of something in the smooth reflection of its surface. He concentrated harder, but the image faded. With effort, he relaxed again and the image grew stronger until at last he
saw a beautiful woman inside the orb. He knew she represented warmth, everything good, and all hope in his world. She smiled and reached for him, enveloping him in a comforting blanket and all was right with the world.

Her name was Abigail.

***

Abigail was scared to death. What on earth had she been thinking? Hypnotism was nothing for amateurs to meddle in. The fact
that she’d read a book on the topic hardly made her an expert.

“And now you’ll awaken when I say your name.”

She hadn’t even finished the book yet. She had no idea how to bring Stephen out of this meditative state other than what she’d once seen at a performance in Covent Garden.

But she
’d had to try to help him. She couldn’t walk away when he was in so much pain. It surprised her that he’d relaxed enough for hypnotism to work. He had such a strong mind that it seemed an unlikely outcome.

Now she knelt before him, looking at his relaxed countenance as he leaned back in the chair. His dark hair fell across his forehead.
That delicious stubble graced his jaw. Those long lashes lay still. He appeared to be sleeping. But she couldn’t leave him this way. She’d read that much in the book. The doctor advised against using hypnotism as a method of inducing sleep as it wasn’t safe to leave people in a hypnotic state for long periods of time.

“Stephen.” She spoke his name with firm conviction, hoping it wou
ld be enough to bring him back.

Her patient gave no response. Panic whirled inside her. She waited a moment, thinking perhaps it took longer than she
’d expected.

Still nothing.

She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek when his eyelashes fluttered.

“Stephen
.” Relief made her light-headed as his green eyes opened. She drew a long, slow breath to ease her pounding heart. “How do you feel?”

His brow creased. “What the hell was that?”

She blanched, realizing her efforts had been for naught. Her feeling of relief was quickly replaced with dismay. She’d hoped to help him and had only made matters worse. When would she learn to let things be?

“I
’m terribly sorry. I—”

“Abigail.”

She looked back to see an odd expression cross his features.

He lifted his finger and ran it along her cheek, his expression puzzled. “Did you hypnotize me?”

“I believe it’s described as more of a meditative state.” The way he regarded her with such intensity unnerved her. She still couldn’t tell if he was angry or something else. “How is your headache?”

He blinked several times. “Gone.”

Relief made her slightly giddy. “And the...other?” She wasn’t even sure what to call the dark mood that had smothered him.