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“ M irandaaaaa. . . !”

Adam’s scream echoed in the darkened chamber as he sat bolt upright, his chest matted with the sheen of cold sweat.

Gulping air like a half-drowned man, he untangled the sheets that, but a few moments before, had been ghostly fingers attempting to strangle him.

It had been naught but a dream, but never before could he recall a dream so vivid.

He slipped into a robe and pulled the curtains wide. The sun was nearing its nadir, the afternoon almost spent. According to the gilded hands of the cloisonné clock on the mantle, the hour of five was half done. He had slept for nearly eleven hours, yet he did not feel the least bit rested.

Odd snatches of dreams drifted into his recall, visions of Miranda, lost in a dark tunnel, the shade of Augustus Pelton tugging her along by the hand.

Before them was a blinding glare, like a summer sun reflecting on the water and the ghost was walking them both straight into the inferno.

Even now, with eyes open wide, Adam’s heart began to pound like a tinsmith’s hammer and the metallic taste of fear rose acid on his tongue.

It had seemed so real, so very real. But then, his dreams had become entirely too vivid of late, disturbingly so.

Though she claimed to have no part of the Wodesby heritage, Miranda had ensorcelled all of his nights since their first meeting.

Of late, it seemed that the line of separation between illusion and reality had become perilously thin.

The Wodesby insanity seemed to be seeping into his well-ordered world of logic.

Indoor breezes on a still night, shades that chilled the bone and warmed an old heart, cats and dogs having words with each other, messages sent through the ether by mind.

Barely a week before, he would have laughed, dismissed it all as the absurd fabrications of a liar or a Bedlamite.

But now, he could neither mock nor ignore that which he could not explain.

Even more disturbing was this odd constriction in his chest every time his thoughts turned toward Miranda.

He found himself worrying about her, consumed with a fever of apprehension that was well beyond natural friendly concern.

Never before had a single kiss become so fixed in his mind and he found himself reviewing every minute sensation, from the feel of her skin, to the feathery tickle of her breath upon his cheek.

The Caliban in him ran rampant, imagination transforming those brief moments into elaborate fantasy.

But this elemental hunger clearly exceeded mere erotic need.

Adam wanted more than the taste of her lips.

Somehow, the sound of her laugh, the sight of her smile, the smell of her sweet scent had attained the disturbing status of near necessities.

It was shocking to realize that the beast that raging inside of him would be content just to hold her in his arms, to hear her voice, to be with her.

Common sense demanded that he put as much distance as possible between himself and the Wodesbys.

However, there was nothing rational about these strange emotions that defied all laws of logic.

As Adam stared out the window at the setting sun, trying to reconcile his contradictory collection of feelings, the familiar odd tingling began at the back of his neck.

Down he searched into the gathering shadows of the mews, almost expecting to see Thorpe’s cat’s eyes staring back up at him.

But there was not a feline in sight, no wonder with that huge dog prowling in the alleyway.

A mastiff . . . a mastiff black as onyx.

It would seem that his marmalade nursery maid had retired to be replaced by a guardian Angel.

He tore the window open. “Go home!” he roared. “Go tell your master I will not be hounded! Do you hear me?”

But the dog just stood and stared upwards at him, with a look suspiciously like laughter.

Adam belted his robe as he pelted down the stairs, running like a madman, his bare toes stubbing on the stones as he opened the garden gate to face the dog. “I am not a sheep to be tended, do you understand? Do you understand?

The mastiff wagged his tail and panting in a perfect imitation of a dumb canine.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Adam said with a shake of his fist. “You do not fool me in the least. Tell Wodesby I have had enough, you hear? Enough!”

“What on earth are you doing?”

Adam turned to find his uncle staring at him with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. “I . . . I . . .” he stuttered.

“It seemed as if you were having a bit of a tiff with that dog over there,” Lawrence observed leaning on the doorpost casually.

“However, it would seem to me that the canine’s comportment is superior.

She, as you may observe, is fully dressed in the manner of her kind.

However you . . .” his gaze took in the barely decent concealment of Adam’s dressing gown, “you would do well for a few more fig leaves, dear boy. My, my, I had never suspected that a blush might extend so far.”

“I am going mad,” Adam murmured.

“About time it happened.” Lawrence laughed watching as his nephew turned and fled into the house. “Sanity is not all that it is cracked up to be, eh, Angel?”

The mastiff wagged her tail in agreement.

“Your master thanks you for your vigilance and asks that you return home for a well-deserved rest.” Lawrence said, tipping his hat in salute. “I will accompany him back to Wodesby House.”

With a tired bark of acknowledgement, Angel set off for her place by the hearth.

. . .

Lady Wodesby reached out, gently touching her sleeping daughter’s cheek.

“Adam?” Miranda murmured, her eyes flickering open.

“I did not wish to wake you, my dear, but midnight is nigh,” her mother said. “You really ought not to be asleep when the heart of the night comes. ‘Tis doubtful that the Light will beckon now, but far better to be sure than to risk losing you again.”

“The Light,” Miranda whispered, feeling an ineffable sorrow.

“You will return one day, Miranda,” Lady Wodesby said, putting a comforting hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “But at the proper time, when your days are full in number. It was fortunate, indeed that Lord Brand was present.”

“So you know,” Miranda said, closing her eyes so her mother could not see the full extent of her sorrow. “I almost wish that he had not called me back. For now, I cannot face the thought of a farce of a marriage to Martin Allworth any more than I can deal with the prospects of a life without Adam.”

“Damien will come to accept a liaison with an Outsider,” Lady Wodesby said, a stubborn set to her chin as she clasped Miranda’s hand. “He will have to.”

“If that were only all,” Miranda said, bitterness rising like bile.

She pulled herself up to a sitting position.

“The Mage waves his hand and voila! Everything is in order. Well, the world out there is not governed by your magic these days, Mama. The Marquess of Brand has a bevy of eligible young women to choose from, the least of them far more acceptable in the eyes of society than a daughter of the House of Wodesby.”

“Unless he loves you, as I believe he does,” Lady Wodesby said.

“How could he?” Miranda asked, disbelief turning rapidly to suspicion. “Unless . . . Mama, you have not given him one of your potions, have you?”

“Ah, my dear!” Lady Wodesby breathed a sigh at the agony in her daughter’s eyes.

“Our family has done you ill indeed, if you can believe that you would need a philter to capture a man’s fancy.

You may assure yourself, what Brand feels for you is not born from anything that I have brewed. He has been waiting for you to waken.”

“Adam is here?” Miranda asked, the last traces of sleepiness vanishing to be replaced by trepidation. What would he think of her now? “Tell him that I am still asleep, Mama.”

Lady Wodesby’s brow furrowed. “Child, you may lack magic, but I had never before thought you in want of courage. Brand has nearly worn a path through the library carpet with his pacing, though both your brother and I have assured him that rest was the only requirement for a complete recovery. He saved your life, my girl, though he does not fully know it. At the least, you owe him your thanks. Now I will help you dress. You ought to be up to it, since you made your journey under power of the ghost’s magic and not your own. ”

From her mother’s determined look, it was clear that Miranda would be dragged from the bed if necessary. Cautiously, she set her feet upon the floor.

“No dizziness? No weakness?” her mother asked, keeping a steadying hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “How do you feel?”

“Ravenous,” Miranda replied.

“A good omen,” Lady Wodesby said, with a relieved look. “If you are hungry, ‘tis clear that you have both feet back in this world. Damien and I have already dined, however, Lord Brand barely touched a morsel. I shall tell Tante Reina that the two of you are ready to sup.”

“He is only being kind,” Miranda murmured.

“I have never known kindness to interfere with a man’s appetite,” Lady Wodesby said, pulling a gown from the wardrobe and eying it critically.

“This blue should do nicely. Nor would mere concern warrant reading your brother a sermon upon your virtues as Brand did just a few moments ago. I vow, I was certain that the roar would rouse you.”

“Adam dared to deliver a lecture to Damien?” Miranda shook her head in astonishment as she slipped into her shift.

Lady Wodesby chuckled as she pulled a simple blue round gown down over her daughter’s head.

“I vow, I have not heard the like since your Papa’s passing.

According to Thorpe, Damien sat meek as a pup who has mauled his master’s slipper, while your Adam took him to task. Angel was growling under her breath.”

“He is not my Adam,” Miranda said, flushing from her brow to her collarbone. “And likely never will be.”