Page 9 of The Lady is Trouble
“His manor proved to be the least battle-ready in Cambridgeshire, and we never saw them coming. Our enemies stormed right in, past the fortifications the earl had erected. They knew what they were looking for, too, if you have any doubt. You and the chronology. They got neither, but we may not be so lucky the next time. It was a convergence of bad tidings. Finn less able to decipher his dreams, the League in complete disarray, scattered about England, powerless to do anything more than share the odd morsel of information. I had to spirit you away, without hesitation, and that is what I did. Find a secure location for the League while organizing our efforts as more than an old man’s diversion. Which is what I’mdoing.”
“Thevisions, Julian.”
He glanced around the room before letting his gaze slide back to her. “They’re getting stronger, is that what you want to hear? It’s not bad on doorknobs, railings, dishes. Things touched repeatedly. They create only this semblance”—he circled his finger around his ear—“a whine, like a bothersome fly. Muted colors, like watching someone run through smoke. I can almost ignore those.”
“But, today, you had trouble with a simple fork.”
The spectacles left his face to be deposited on the table. “Too little sleep. One drink beyond what was advisable last night. And my throat feels like someone lit a fire in it.” He grasped his teacup, regarding her over the rim. “The visions are going to have control this morn, not I. I’m strong enough to bring them in.” He tapped the teacup to his temple. “The trouble is getting them out.”
“I’m always apologizing to you, but I am sorry for making everything more difficult.” Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze and forged ahead before he could stop her. “We could work on controlling the visions as we did years ago. A healer must heal, Julian.” She paused, wetting her lips, and trying to ignore how his regard stripped her bare. “I no longer have a place in the League. You must return this to me. No matter the danger, youmust. And it seems as if you need me to return as much as I need it.”
He held her gaze as the sounds of a busy dining room surrounded them. “Gifts often shift with age, Yank. Mine is not wholly what it once was. Regrettably, it’s stronger. Where I go…it’s almost a trance.”
“Control can be had with practice, was that not your motto?”
He managed a tight smile. “It was.” His lips, bottom fuller than the top, pressed in on one another. “But now I know better.”
Piper controlled the urge, thecompulsion, to touch him. There were no better means of driving Julian away than to let him know their long-ago kiss lingered in her mind like a tender wound.
Maybe he had forgotten, but she had never been able to.
“Jules, you don’t have to be disappointed in me.” After a long moment of silence, she completed the statement, “I can do that very well myself.”
He grimaced, dragging his hand across his mouth to hide it. “Piper, you misplace my intent. Maybe you always have.”
“Since my grandfather’s death, I’ve misplaced everything. My place, my purpose.” She moved her eggs around on the plate, her appetite spent. “As a Scott, society has to accept me. And they do, in part. But we both know I don’t suit.” She tapped her fork against china. “My father never cared for anything resembling well-bred behavior, and after he died, the earl’s wishes were paramount. I had no one else. Every fleeing governess brought another round of angst as he realized that not only my gift but my unusual upbringing, set me apart. The one season in London was pure agony, the auras an eruption before my eyes. I couldn’t maintain a steady stream of inane conversation while colors bloomed around me.” She lifted her shoulder, a shrug one of those governesses would have brought low with the business end of a book. “So, I am left somewhat aimless unless you’re going to let me back in.”
“Let you in? You’ve never beenout.” His tone, thick, vibrant, and full of meaning, called to her as soundly as his touch. The emotion shaping his handsome face was too much for her to catalogue and keep her wits intact. “After I was cast out by my own father because of a gift I didn’t want but could not control, can you imagine my disdain for everything, and I do meaneverything, he believed in? I manage the viscountcy only to protect the tenants who have spent their lives dedicated to it.” He braced his hands on the table, urgency in his stance. “Like your grandfather found me, and I found Finn, there are more with gifts they cannot manage, people I am welcoming into the League, welcoming to Harbingdon. We are stronger in number. If I have any purpose in life, it’s to make sure no one suffers the way I did, the way Finn did.”
“They need a healer, Julian.”
He brought his fist to his lips, pressed hard. “You’re right, they do,” he admitted.
“Partners,” she said.
“Partners.” The word teased from his lips, a gentle whisper.
“I work with you on controlling your gift. You help me catalogue mine.”
Figuring it was honorable enough to take advantage of a man’s bewilderment, Piper extended her hand, and God help them both, Julian took it.
Julian backed down the stairs, three to be precise, until the dining room, with a modest lean of his body, came into view. He’d been headed up at a swift trot, the better to end a negotiation he had no chance in hell of winning.
Her soft laughter had slowed his progress.
He grasped the railing as if his life depended on staying connected to the pitted wood. Thankfully, the visions were muted and manageable, while the riot in his brain was not.
He had agreed to be her partner.Piper Scott’spartner.
Was he bloody cracked?
Balanced on the tip of his boot in the event he had to spring into action to avoid being caught observing, he recorded Piper’s interaction with the inn’s owner, Warren McAlister. A conversation about gardens and what bloomed best in sun versus shade. How much water did this plant require and which ones could go without. She was buoyant, vibrating with youth and loveliness. So petite, and this Julian had failed to recall, her head barely reached the man’s chest.
Or his.
She sounded genuinely interested in horticulture, gesturing enthusiastically as she absorbed the advice of a man enthusiastic himself. A man, by the by, whom Julian had never seen rise above a bland smile in two years of frequent stops at his establishment. The exchange made him question how much he actually knew about the woman currently soaking up all the oxygen and sunlight in the dining room below. If he drew a breath, he imagined he’d catch the trace of lilacs radiating from her skin, stronger even than the scent of his breakfast sausage.
He stood there, suspended, and watched her captivate.