Margo Maguire (12 page)

Perhaps the question of ghosts was a larger riddle than either he or Jack had anticipated.

Still, he was going to write to his old friend at Menlo Park and see if there’d been any developments in electromagnetics that would make any of these mysterious events possible. What other explanation could there be? Lilly Tearwater had not slipped up once in her story, and Sam had found no one capable of carrying out an illusion of the magnitude he’d seen here.

Sam still had his suspicions about whoever had bashed in his head, but even that incident might have been exaggerated somehow. He didn’t like to think it was his own mental instability that caused him to believe he’d been gouged, but the alternative wasn’t much better.

“Charlotte is quite good at following the bees’ course. Not many people are able to concentrate so well.”

Earlier, he had trapped one bee and dropped a dot of bright blue paint on its back in order to keep track of it. “When the bee returns to the hive, we’ll retrace the pattern of the dance she makes and see how it correlates to her course in the meadow.”

Lilly looked up at him. “You said ‘she.’ How do you know it’s female?”

Sam grinned. “All of the workers are female. The drones are exclusively male. And they have only one function.” Since it was wholly inappropriate to discuss such matters with a lady, Sam let it drop, but he knew the moment she caught his meaning. Lilly flushed slightly and turned away to look at Charlotte through the field glasses again.

Another woman would have climbed right up and slapped his face. It pleased Sam that Lilly was not a prudish female.

“You mentioned the bees’ dance before.”

Sam had planned to keep his distance from Lilly, but found himself climbing down the ladder to join her on the ground.

It was to continue their peculiar dance, he supposed, circling around one another without touching, intensely aware of each other. He would have been attracted to her in any location, but something about Ravenwell made every encounter with her seem more intimate than the last.

The mere anticipation of her illusive touch aroused him beyond anything he’d shared with a
real
lover.

He let his eyes drift closed and waited for the sensation of Lilly’s touch to come over him, just as he’d felt it last night when Sir Emmett had taken Lady Alice in his arms.

He knew that Lilly had felt it, too. She’d bolted from the dining room the instant he’d caught her eyes…

The fresh summer breeze ruffled his pant legs and cooled his skin. The scent of wildflowers and sunshine drifted through his senses.

Sam crossed his arms while he waited, silently bidding the illusion to commence. His breath caught while he anticipated the sensation of Lilly’s hands on his shoulders, caressing his chest, sliding down to his waist. Last night he was certain that he’d felt her hands on his thighs, moving fluidly toward his most sensitive parts.

He shuddered and wiped the palms of his hands on his trousers, and waited for sensations that never came.

L
illy kept her thoughts under tight rein as Samuel stood unmoving behind her. She was not going to repeat her past mistakes with him, even though she had spent an inordinate amount of time last night dreaming of how it would feel to lie in his arms.

With a mere thought, she could sequester them somewhere, and repeat Sir Emmett and Lady Alice’s performance of the night before, but without the guise of the ghosts. It would be just the two of them, Samuel and Lilly, experiencing every intimacy—without actually touching.

It was tempting, but wrong, even without considering whatever untoward effect her magic would have. The inn might burn down this time, for all she knew.

If ever she touched Samuel, it would be with his consent, a mutually agreeable event that would not make his heart quake or his skin go pale.

She really ought to leave now. Take her books and head down to the beach as she’d planned, and forget about Samuel Temple and her imagined interlude with him.

“Lilly…”

Her breath caught at the sound of his voice, and she turned slowly toward him. His hands dropped to his sides, clenching into tight fists. Small beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead.

Lilly felt his gaze on her mouth.

She moistened her lips and waited expectantly. Only a few steps would bring him within touching distance. He could come to her and brush his lips against hers—softly, just the barest whisper of a touch—and see that no harm befell him.

He took a step toward her, while Lilly stood perfectly still and reminded herself that she could be patient. No matter how desperately she wanted to throw herself into his arms, she was capable of waiting for him to come to her.

Vague thoughts of impropriety crossed her mind, but she disregarded them as he came even closer. He raised one hand and barely brushed the few wisps of hair that had come loose from her combs.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered as his eyes closed.

Lilly held her breath and savored the light touch. Something snapped nearby, but she scarcely heard the sound. She leaned slightly toward Samuel and waited for his mouth to descend upon hers. Her heart thudded heavily in her breast and her own eyes drifted closed.

“Miss Tearwater!”

They both jumped at the sound of her name. Lilly took a shuddering breath, then looked to her left.

Mr. Dawson approached them through the trees. “I’m glad I found you. I say, Temple, you’ve got quite a contraption here,” he added.

Lilly sensed Samuel’s withdrawal. As Mr. Dawson stepped up to the rope ladder that hung from the thick branch of the chestnut tree and admired its ingenuity, Samuel tied a box of equipment to the pulley and hoisted it to the platform.

“Very good, Temple,” Mr. Dawson said, then turned to Lilly. “Mrs. Bainbridge said you were going to the beach. Shall I escort you, Miss Tearwater?”

Lilly did not wish to encourage Mr. Dawson’s attentions. But she saw no way out of it.

“Here is Charlotte,” Sam said to Lilly. Then he turned to the pissant Englishman who thought he was going to take Lilly away. “Feel free to head down to the beach, Dawson. Miss Tearwater and Miss Gray are assisting me at present.”

A surge of purely male possessiveness shot through Sam when Henry Dawson took Lilly’s elbow and approached Charlotte. Sam felt like tying
him
to the pulley, hoisting him up to a high branch and leaving him there.

Frustration flooded through him.
He’d actually touched Lilly!
But before he’d been able to do anything more than make the most fleeting contact with a shimmering lock of her hair, Dawson had intruded on the moment. He’d spoiled it.

Charlotte approached, keeping her eye on the bee as it flew toward the chestnut tree. Lilly slipped out of Dawson’s grasp and moved away to stand beside Sam.

“What will you do when the bee returns?” she asked.

“Watch how it behaves when it flies up to the hive.”

“Will it dance?”

“I’m betting on it.”

Lilly stood far enough away that there would be no accidental contact between them. Sam wasn’t sure he should be grateful for that space.

Charlotte came closer, pointing to the bee, with its leg baskets full of pollen. Sam picked up the field glasses and watched it land on the hive. He observed the dance—a simple circle, since the chosen bee had not traveled far or wide to fill her pollen sacs.

Sam gave Charlotte the field glasses and showed her how to use them. When she’d focused on the hive, she whipped the glasses away from her eyes and gave him a shocked look.

Sam laughed. He actually laughed aloud.

It had been months since he’d felt such humor, the kind that reached all the way down to his bones and Sam relished the good, wholesome sense of it. When Charlotte put the glasses to her eyes again, she kept them there, turning toward the meadow, then toward Ravenwell. Each new sight was met with Charlotte’s version of excitement—not speech, but a quick in-take of breath.

Lilly enjoyed her friend’s excitement, joining in Sam’s laughter. She started to reach for him, but lowered her hand just before touching him. “Neither of us has ever looked through such glasses before,” she said.

Sam wished there was no barrier between them. He wanted to take her up to his bower and hold her in his arms while she looked across Ravenwell’s acres, and laugh with her when she delighted in the
sight of a bird’s nest, or a squirrel skittering high up in a tree with its kits.

Perhaps it was possible.
He had touched her hair!
A sliver of hope wedged itself into his heart.

“Have you always studied bees?” Dawson asked. “Are you considered an expert on the species?”

“No, I’m not an entomologist,” he replied, throwing in a word that he was sure Dawson wouldn’t recognize, “but a naturalist.”

“Like Mr. Darwin?”

He nodded.

“Can’t say as I know much about the man. Miss Tearwater,” he said, dismissing Sam. “Shall we adjourn to the beach?”

She took the field glasses from Charlotte and raised them to her eyes. “Thank you, no, Mr. Dawson. I believe I’ll stay here a while.” Lowering the glasses, she looked at him. “But don’t let me keep you. You won’t want to miss the afternoon at the beach. It’s lovely this time of day.”

Dawson bristled, even though Lilly had kept her tone friendly. But both men understood what had just transpired. Lilly had sent him about his business while she remained here with Sam.

“Is that your camera?” Lilly asked Samuel.

He turned to look up at the equipment he’d arranged on his platform high up in the tree. “You want to see it?”

She nodded. “I’ve only seen a camera once before, in London. Maude and Charlotte and I had our photograph taken in a studio.”

He seemed pleased by her interest. “Do you think you can manage the rope ladder?”

Lilly felt her face heat. “If you’ll just turn away for a moment, Mr. Temple,” she replied with a laugh, “I’m sure I’ll manage. But it might be an indelicate sight.”

He did as she asked, and Lilly climbed up to the platform without much difficulty. The structure felt solid, but she kept her balance by hanging on to a branch as she walked to where the camera sat on its tripod.

A moment later, Samuel was beside her. He handed her the field glasses. “Look through them now,” he said. “But sit down first. The view might be disorienting.”

Lilly lowered herself to the floor. “You can see for miles! There’s Charlotte.”

Her friend was on her way down the path toward Mrs. Webster’s farm. And Mr. Dawson had disappeared into the woods.

“If you could leave Ravenwell, where would you go?” Samuel asked.

Lilly took the binoculars from her eyes. “I don’t know. Do I have to choose only one destination?”

“List them in order of preference.”

“Rome. That would be first. I’d want to see everything—every statue, all the catacombs.”

“And after Rome?”

Lilly picked up the glasses again and watched Charlotte while she considered. “A Moroccan bazaar? The Egyptian pyramids? Perhaps, but…” She lowered the glasses. “I think India would be next.”

“Why India?”

Lilly sighed and looked up at Samuel, happy to speak of her favorite topic. “I suppose I’ve heard more about India than any other place. A number of
our guests have either visited or lived there. I want to see a Bengal tiger and men riding elephants. I’d love to taste
masala gosht,
lemon rice and
kali elaichi.
”

“You’ve heard of
masala gosht?
”

She nodded. “From one of our visitors last year. He’d served as a sergeant major near Delhi for most of his career.”

“I imagine he kept you entertained with his tales of India for many an hour.”

They talked about the things she had learned from Sergeant Dillard, and Samuel started to assemble his camera. Lilly watched through the field glasses as boats on the lake floated lazily into view. A few fishermen napped with their hats pulled over their eyes. Two boats with young men at the oars raced each other to the far side.

And another boat contained a pair of lovers, touching and leaning toward each other to share a few kisses. Their small craft began to rock precariously when the man left his seat to stretch out beside his sweetheart, and the lovemaking intensified.

“Did he tell you about the Red Fort in Agra? Or the Taj Mahal?”

“Hmm?” She barely heard him when the man in the boat slid his hand up his companion’s skirt. “Y-yes…I would want to see them. And the Pink City,” she added absently.

The woman in the boat responded eagerly, giving him free access, while her own hands explored his body.

Lilly knew she should lower the binoculars, but she could not. She felt frozen in place, unable to look away from the sight of their bared flesh, their brazen
caresses. Her heart pounded and her legs felt as rubbery as if she’d swum all the way to the island halfway across the lake.

The woman opened the buttons of her companion’s trousers and slipped her hand inside. When he threw his head back, Lilly saw his throat move jerkily and she dropped the field glasses to the floor.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I’ll just—”

“They’re all right.” He picked up the field glasses and set them beside the camera.

Lilly felt as though her blood was on fire. She saw the same kind of intense heat burning in Samuel’s eyes when he looked at her, but he made no move to come closer. The muscles of his body seemed tense and the expression on his face was one of confusion and agitation.

But he could not come to her.

“I should get back to the inn,” she said, hoping he would say something to stop her. Just a word would keep her there in his bower.

But it never came.

Lilly spent an hour at the beach, looking over her books. But her mind continually wandered to the sight of the lovers in the boat. An odd pressure deep within her body grew, making her restless. She turned the pages of her book, but saw nothing but the woman’s hand, pleasuring her man.

All at once she stood, dropping her precious books in the sand at her feet. It was ridiculous to dwell on such a sight. She should have turned away as soon as she’d realized what the man and woman were about.

But she had not, and Lilly did not think the image would ever leave her.

Gathering up her books, she left the beach and walked up the path toward Ravenwell, meeting Charlotte on the way. They found Mrs. Bainbridge on the terrace in the garden, arranging the tables for tea. Lilly felt remiss in staying away so long, but she could not regret the time she’d spent with Samuel at the chestnut tree.

He’d been so kind and patient with Charlotte. That in itself endeared him to her. And the possessive way he’d dismissed Mr. Dawson had been wonderful. Lilly sighed. Not that it had been the correct thing to do, but she’d never before been the recipient of such unexpected masculine attention. It was as if Samuel actually cared for her.

Lilly could not help imagining herself sharing with him the kind of intimacies she’d seen on the lake. He had actually touched her this afternoon, leading her to believe that in time, more might be possible.

She and Charlotte left Mrs. Bainbridge to finish her work on the terrace while they went to their private rooms to change into fresh clothes after their afternoon of leisure.

Lilly walked into her bedroom and began to undress. She felt very strange—invigorated, but languid. Fascinated, but puzzled. She removed her blouse and skirt and tossed them on the bed, then stood at her mirror and took the combs out of her hair. Perhaps she should have given Samuel more time to come to her. She was a fool to have run away from—

Charlotte clapped twice to get her attention.

“What is it?” Lilly asked.

Charlotte took her hand and pulled her into the sitting room. Pointing to the open window there, she lifted her shoulders to ask if Lilly had left it agape.

Lilly frowned. She did not remember leaving it open and indicated as much to Charlotte.

Lilly indicated she was fairly certain she hadn’t opened the window. “You’re sure
you
didn’t leave it that way?” she asked.

Charlotte shook her head, indicating that she’d felt too cool that morning to have opened it.

Standing in the sitting room, wearing only her corset and petticoats, Lilly felt a chill in contrast to the heat that had inflamed her most of the afternoon. She pulled down the sash and locked it, then hugged herself, rubbing her hands up her arms to warm them.

“I must have opened it.” She pointed to herself. Though she didn’t actually remember it, there could be no other explanation.

Unless someone else had come into their private rooms.

Lilly glanced around to see if anything had been disturbed, or seemed out of place. Charlotte’s sewing basket lay on the hearth where she’d last seen it. None of the furniture had been altered, and the pictures and lamps appeared to be untouched.

Then a terrible thought struck her. Quickly, she turned and went back into her bedroom. Her comb and hairbrush seemed to be in the exact position that she left them every day. Hairpins. Candle. The framed tintype of herself, standing with Charlotte and Maude. Her best shoes, neatly arranged against the wall. Everything was in its place.