Page 2 of The Lady is Trouble

His breath seized.Madame DuPre. The name conjured forgotten summers of youth. Running through fields of grass so tall the blades hit his thigh, swimming in shallow lakes on moonlit nights, climbing trees until he was breathless surveying all that fell below. Laughter and foolishness—even love by some arcane definition—on a scale he and Piper could no longer afford.

Julian huffed a sigh and grabbed the sheet before he could think better of it. Or stop himself, which he wouldnot, because it appeared Piper had jumped off another goddamn ledge.

And he was her rescuer. Her caretaker.

Her warden.

I’m going to throttle her, was all he managed as he crushed the foolscap in his hand and stepped into the otherworld.

Shadow and candlelight bathed the room. The curious combination of burnt ashes, spice, and lilac. Piper was settled over a desk, her gown as golden as the Kingcup scattered along Harbingdon’s riverbank each spring. Moonlight carved a path along the floor, and Julian followed the dazzling footpath of silvery blue. The walls surrounding her were covered in tattered wallpaper, peeling at the ceiling and seams. The furniture was scuffed, the rug threadbare. The dwelling was nothing like Finn’s description of the modest but opulent manor in Gloucestershire.

His heart thumped desperately against his breastbone. She was more vivid than any model he’d ever painted, and he hadtriedto recreate her, a thousand strokes of brush to canvas.

Her vibrancy eluded him.

Stumbling back, he tried to step out of the trance. It was a problem lately that he had trouble doing so. The otherworld had a voracious claim on him. Through eyes drawn to slits, he observed Marianne’s lips moving, but he was too entrenched in another space and time to respond.

Too entrenched inher.

Independent of his gift, Piper Scott had a stronger hold over him than any woman could ever hope to have.

Muttering a harsh oath, he dropped the advertisement like it burnt his skin, and the image of Piper spiraled away, water down a drain. Forcing him from the room with the tattered wallpaper and the girl he’d sworn to protect with his life but never touch again to preserve hers.

The woman for whom he hungered.

Dear God, Piper, what have you done?

He was through the door and into the hallway before another breath had passed, ducking as a vase accompanied Marianne’s shriek of rage.

She could only determine events had gotten out of control rather quickly.

Piper lifted her veil as she stumbled along the smoke-filled hallway, drawing a breath tasting of charred wood and scorched velvet. Baron Audley’s aura had been so startling. An unusual shade: darker than lime, lighter than moss. Jealousy? Envy? Questions she would have asked had she not shifted rather suddenly in her excitement, bumping the table and sending the candlestick to the floor. She should have known better than to use such a tall taper, but they were very atmospheric.

Now the modest parlor in the hotel where she’d held her readings was ablaze for the second time in one week.Bothcould not be due to her negligence, could they?

She tripped over a crease in the runner and halted in place.Was this the way out? She focused on calming her mind and placed her hand on the wall to steady herself. The wallpaper felt a bit sticky, and though she realized time was limited, her mind returned to the Baron’s aura. Determining the emotion associated with the color took deliberation; it was not a simple process. She needed her research journals, which were upstairs in her room.

Damnation. The papers would be of little use if she burned to a crisp trying to retrieve them.

A strip of light marked the floor at the end of the hallway. Piper’s lungs stung, her vision graying as she dashed toward the exit. This would win the grand prize as her worst blunder yet. Frankly, dying would be the easier option. Because surviving this debacle to find herself, Lady Elizabeth Piper Scott, daughter of a viscount and granddaughter to an earl, exposed as a clairvoyant would be bleaker than any previous error in judgment.

And Julian…

Julian would, quite truthfully, kill her.

She could admit to fleeing Gloucestershire to gain his attention. She’d not had contact inmonths. Four, at least. Running hadn’t worried her, even with the danger to her person, because Julian, the most prudent man she’d ever known, would eventually find her. Before their enemies, she trusted. Naming herself Madame DuPre was like waving a cape before a bull. And although he wouldn’t believe it, posing as a clairvoyant was for her research.

For the most part.

The other reason was loneliness, which she would never,everadmit to feeling. Not when Julian had enforced their separation after explaining why hiding in Gloucestershire was the most judicious planfor her protection. Always choices provided for her protection, not her happiness, until she became so disheartened and experienced that little jab of rebelliousness that made her do silly things.

She nodded her head—go with research when he asks why you did it—and shoved against the door at the end of the hallway with all her strength. The garden was spring-lovely and blessedly vacant, moonlight splashing the brick path she dropped to her knees upon. There was a shout from inside the hotel, the screech of windows being raised to invite fresh air.

She coughed and hung her head, bowing close to the ground, brick biting into her palms. No matter how hard she tried to contain it, chaos followed her as closely as a beloved family pet.

The polished Wellington entered her vision before she sensed his presence. A knee hit the ground beside her, fingers skimming her cheek and lifting her face into the light. She felt the veil being slipped free. Thought scattered as she curled into the contact.

Forever since anyone had touched her with even the slightest regard. All at once, she felt as diaphanous as the smoke surrounding her, dissolving in his arms.