Accursed (27 page)

“What are you doing? Are you insane?” John rasped, his voice low. He pulled his hand away from her mouth and moved across the seat as far from her as possible.

“But . . . I thought . . . you wanted . . . ,” she stammered.

Her eyes were wide, and they burned with embarrassment and with hot tears that slid down her cheeks and chin and down into the hollow of her throat.

Each tear was an accusation, a reprimand that came not from John, but from deep inside herself. She cursed herself for her stupidity, for thinking she could for a moment be free of restraints. Other women seemed able to throw off those bonds—Sophia managed it—but somehow Tamara had made a mess of it. For a moment her wantonness had felt wonderful and exciting, and now it was shameful.

William was right. I
am
a slatternly woman,
she thought, biting her lip again to keep from sobbing aloud. She couldn’t even bear to look at him, let alone speak to him again.

She had thought he was different, thought she had sensed a kindred soul buried inside the man who now rejected her. She realized now how terribly she must have misjudged him.

The cab came to a jarring halt, and against her will Tamara slid against John. She felt her breasts pressing against his chest, and her terror only increased. A moment ago his touch had been enough to stir her in ways unlike any she’d ever known. Now it horrified her.

She pushed herself away from him, her heart pounding.

She turned to open the carriage door, but John reached out and grabbed her hand.

“Tamara, wait! Please. I . . . I did not mean to use you so rudely. I was just . . . startled by your actions. Shocked, I should say.”

She stared at him, desperately willing him to apologize, to help let her put the whole episode behind her. His flirtations had made his intentions clear.

Now that she replayed the scene in her mind, she was sure she had not imagined it. John had stoked that fire with great purpose, and then flinched away from it as though he had been burned. Could it be that he had actually
intended
to humiliate her, as he had humiliated William? Tamara couldn’t find any other explanation for the way he had responded to her.

“I am sorry that I was hurtful to you, Miss Swift.”

Tamara did not answer.

John sighed as the carriage began to move again. He glanced away as though searching for something in the darkness of the carriage.

“Tamara, I know you think of me as a scoundrel. Some wild, feckless fellow who goes about tasting all of life’s fruits, with not a care in the world. But that is not the truth of the matter. Indeed, I am the
antithesis
of that image, though I am sure Sophia would lead you to believe otherwise.”

Tamara nodded, but remained silent.

“I find you truly admirable, Tamara Swift, but I am not looking for a wife. I’m not immune to your charms. You are . . . really quite exquisite. But when I hushed you, it was with humor, to cheer and calm you, and to take a moment to collect my own thoughts. Seduction was not my intention.”

She was glad now that he could not see her face well in the darkness of the cab. How embarrassing it was to misunderstand him so horribly. Oh, how she wished that she could disappear.

This last thought gave her pause—she
could
translocate, if she were so inclined. The thought of doing so in the midst of his earnest entreaty cheered her, and she almost chuckled at the thought of how John would react. Then he continued.

“I
would
like to see you again, to spend time with you . . . as a friend,” John said, his voice pulling her away from her imaginings. “I think that you and I have more in common than either of us might imagine.”

Tamara swallowed, her throat aching with the aftermath of her tears. She wiped at her eyes and raised her chin proudly. “I am not certain that would be possible, Mr. Haversham. I find myself rather stifled in your company—”

John leaned down and kissed her gloved hand.

“Please do not be embarrassed. It was an honest mistake, one that I am sure I myself must have led you to. You are a very lovely woman, Miss Swift. I am sure you must have many suitors. It would only seem natural that I should be one, as well.”

Lovely,
thought Tamara miserably.
Now he assumes I am an egoist like his cousin.

“This has been an . . . enlightening evening, John. I will consider your request.”

She knew her words sounded cool, but she needed time to evaluate what had just occurred, and what John had said. Tamara wasn’t sure what she would do if he called upon her again.

She guessed he would not, though; that all of this was just his gentlemanly way of attempting to leave her with some of her dignity intact. Oh, how she hated him, and was intrigued by him all at the same time.

“Thank you, Tamara. I appreciate your candor.”

He released her hand, allowing her to slip out just as Farris opened the carriage door.

“And thank you for your kindness, Miss Swift. I hope your evening was not completely horrid. I really do look forward to enjoying your company again soon.”

“Good evening, Mr. Haversham,” she said, taking a step away from the carriage so that Farris could close the door, which he did much too abruptly.

Her shame and humiliation were beginning to diminish as she climbed the few steps to the door of Ludlow House, and now they were beginning to give way to something else entirely. The desire she had felt for the man was all too real, the memory of it all too fresh. Tamara had never felt its like before, and she could not deny that she
wanted
to feel that way again.

And she had seen in Haversham’s eyes—heard it in the tenor of his voice—that he desired her, as well. Why, then, had he demurred? She did not know. But she wasn’t going to be satisfied with his offer of friendship. If John Haversham wasn’t seeking to court her, so be it, but when next they met she would do everything in her power to make him realize that the mistake was his. She would make him want her, make his body yearn for hers the same way she had burned for him back in the carriage.

I must be insane,
she thought happily as she reached the front door and went inside.

It was only upon stepping into the foyer of Ludlow House that the day’s events came back to her and she realized that, for a short time, John Haversham had made her forget her grief. Perhaps she ought to have been grateful to him.

Instead, by the time she had reached the privacy of her own room, she was deeply ashamed.

D
ESPITE THE GRAVITY
of the day’s events, by the time William returned home late that night he was feeling pleased with himself.

The ghosts entertained doubts about his capacity to serve as Protector. It was a duty unlike any other, to defend England from all the powers of darkness and evil, and it required courage and discipline. William had always had a great deal of the latter. It was the former that they weren’t sure of. Oh, they tried their best not to show it, certainly, but he knew just the same. In his heart, he had shared those doubts.

After all, Tamara was the more instinctual of the two of them, and the more perceptive, as well. Those traits had allowed her to adapt far more easily to both the knowledge of the magical world, and the power they had inherited. Tamara had shown a far greater facility with magic. That meant William would have to work that much harder than she, simply to fulfill the duties they had both inherited.

But he was up to the task. William Swift was nothing if not a hard worker, dogged and filled with determination. And in moments when he wasn’t wrestling with self-doubt, he thought he might actually have the edge over his sister in a situation that required quick decisions.

He had acquitted himself quite well at the Carstairs and Widly residences. Had, in fact, achieved great success thus far in pursuing their present line of inquiry. The documents he had taken from Carstairs had proven invaluable.

He was aware, however, that it had been a near thing at Widly’s house and that going about on his own was perhaps unwise. So William had summoned Admiral Lord Nelson, pulling him away from his own inquiries, and the two of them had proceeded together. They had spent the remainder of the evening visiting the other buyers to whom Carstairs had sold artifacts.

Most of the gentlemen William found at home purported to be horrified to learn that they had purchased stolen objects, but William could not have said how many of them were honestly ignorant of the origins of their purchases.

Where they found the man of the house not at home, the wives seemed genuinely repentant. Husband or wife, none of them balked at handing over the objects in question, particularly once he informed them that Swift’s of London would guarantee their return, or some form of compensation.

Far more important than their cooperation, however, was the fact that none of them seemed to have been tainted by the curse.

At a number of the places they visited, they found neither the master of the house nor his wife at home, and where there was anyone to be found, the servants remarked that they had been absent for an extended and unexplained length of time. In some places, even members of the staff had gone missing, and William was convinced that they had fallen victim to the same curse that had claimed their masters. He wondered, deeply disturbed by the question, where they had gone and if they had somehow been drawn to one another.

Troubled or not, though, William Swift was quite proud of himself . . . or he had been until Horatio had related to him the information that had been conveyed by the spirit of Colonel Dunstan.

“Did your associate say how long the Indian population of the East End has been affected by this curse?” William had asked.

“There are indications that the trouble began as long as two or three weeks ago, I’m afraid,” Horatio replied.

That news caused William to pause, and debate with himself how best to proceed. Their logic thus far had been sound. The artifacts had certainly seemed responsible for the transformations of Frederick Martin, Carstairs, and Widly, and the connection to the smuggled goods seemed obvious. If the curse was affecting those responsible for the theft of the statuettes, and their export to England, he supposed it was possible there would be Indian men involved in that criminal enterprise, as well.

The hideous by-product of the curse, however—the impregnation of women in those slums—that development was unexpected, and it seemed to be affecting persons who had no discernible connection to Carstairs and his illegal endeavors. The darkest of magics, affecting those who were entirely innocent.

Still, the artifacts seemed the only tangible element that linked the transformations. At least for the moment.

He was troubled, however, by Dunstan’s suggestion that he and Tamara did not care about the evil plaguing Albion so long as it affected only the poor. It was not true, certainly. Had they known of the plague any sooner, they would have acted. Yet he did wonder if they had been vigilant enough; if there was a tack they might have taken that would have brought word of those horrors to them sooner.

In the end, William and Horatio determined to follow through upon their present course, and then decide upon the next step—undoubtedly an investigation of the horrors in the East End—when this phase was completed.

Currently they stood in one of the attic rooms at the top of Ludlow House staring at their handiwork: an empty room.

Together, they had decided that a cloaking spell was the best way to protect anyone from accidentally stumbling upon the artifacts. That, coupled with a binding and protection spell, would keep everyone in the household safe from the effects of the curse. Similarly, they had decided to keep the imprisoned victims here, as well, still restrained in the wine bottle. Removing them for any reason seemed unwise. As an extra precaution, William had placed a protection spell around himself before he had started to weave the wards.

Thus, the seven idols and the wine bottle full of diminutive creatures were rendered completely invisible.

“I think that should hold them,” William said proudly. “Well done, Horatio. Well done, William.”

Nelson shook his semi-transparent head in wonder at William’s strange proclivity to address himself in the third person.

“You know, Horatio, while I confess that I’m pleased we didn’t encounter any more of those monsters, I’m also quite troubled by it. Presuming our absent buyers have been afflicted like Carstairs and the others, where do you suppose they’ve gone?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t say, though it worries me as well,” the ghost agreed, his voice low and thoughtful.

There was a knock at the attic door, and Tamara burst in. “Byron said that Horatio had received news from a comrade. Are we going to investigate the slums of London this evening?”

William frowned. “It’s already quite late, and we’ve not had an opportunity to discuss a plan of action. I think it might be wise to wait until tomorrow. And when we do expand our investigation into those areas, I must insist that you not accompany me there, Tamara. To have a girl along would be inviting trouble.”