Page 60 of Mesmerized

“Yes. But worse.” She looked at him. “You must think me foolish and weak.”

“No, of course not. I have never seen you to be either one of those things.”

“I feel it. But I couldn’t stay there—the feeling was too strong. I felt his presence in that room. I couldn’t go inside. It was as though he were pushing on me, smothering me.”

Olivia shivered, and the shiver set off a score more inside her, radiating out from her core. She wrapped her arms around herself, unable to stop her trembling. She felt chilled to the bone.

“Here. Let’s get you to your room,” Stephen said, standing and pulling her up with him.

He put his arm around her and walked her around the corner and down the hall to her room. He found one of her shawls lying across the back of a chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. The room was not cold; it was, in fact, quite pleasant. But Olivia could not stop shivering. He guided her over to the bed and opened the chest that sat at the foot of it. He pulled out a light knitted blanket and wrapped it around her, too. Then he took her in his arms and held her gently, the warmth of his body soaking into hers.

“I’m sorry,” Olivia began.

“Hush,” he told her, smiling. “I enjoy this.”

She chuckled and relaxed in his arms. The shivering had stopped, and for a moment she let herself luxuriate in the warmth. A movement in the hallway caught her eye, and she turned, looking out the door. She stiffened.

Irina stood in the hallway, looking in at them. She said nothing, her face carefully blank, just watching them.

Stephen felt Olivia’s movement in his arms, and he, too, looked up, following her gaze. For a long moment, the three of them simply stared at one another. Then Stephen’s arms dropped from around Olivia, and he walked over to the door and closed it firmly.

“Stephen!” Olivia said on a gasp, part astonishment, part amusement. “Miss Valenskaya caught us in a compromising position. You just made it even worse.”

He shrugged. “It’s my house. I don’t care to be spied on.”

Olivia groaned and sat down on the edge of her bed, shedding the blanket he had wrapped around her. “I wonder what tale she will carry back to the others.”

“I find it hard to care.” He stopped beside her, his hand wrapping around one of the posts of the bed. “Are you all right?”

“I think so.” Olivia shook her head. “It has been the strangest day. I feel as if I am disconnected from myself.”

After a moment, she went on softly. “My grandmother used to tell us that she communicated with my grandfather—after he was dead, that is. And with her dead parents, too. She liked to say that she knew things before they happened. She frightened me terribly.” She cast a sideways glance at Stephen. “She, of all of us, was the most deserving of the term ‘mad Morelands.’”

“Olivia...”

She shook her head, smiling. “No, let me finish. Kyria and Reed and the others always laughed off the nickname, but it bothered me. I think it was because I would think about Grandmother and wonder if it was true. She was an absolute harridan. She bullied everyone. Poor Great-uncle Bellard was terrified of her. Anyway, I remember once she told me that I was like her, that I had the second sight. She said I could see things and hear things that others could not. That was what scared me the most about her, I think. I told myself that everything she said was absurd. I didn’t want to be like her. I didn’t want to believe any of that was possible. I think that is why I started investigating mediums, discovering their tricks and exposing them.”

“You wanted to prove that it wasn’t possible?”

Olivia nodded. “Most of all, to prove that I would not, could not, be like her. And now...”

“You are not like her,” Stephen said decisively. “Whatever you have seen, you are not mad. And you certainly are not a harridan. You are a thoughtful, witty, compassionate and altogether remarkable woman. Don’t you remember my telling you that?”

Olivia smiled at him. “Yes.”

Stephen moved closer to her, and unconsciously she leaned toward him. His lips brushed hers. “If I stay here any longer,” he said, his voice husky, “I really will put you in a compromising position.”

He kissed her again, a light, firm peck on the lips, then turned and left the room. Olivia sighed and lay back on her bed. Just that light kiss, his very closeness, had her whole body thrumming, and she knew that, if she were honest, she would much prefer to have been compromised.

* * *

SUPPER THAT EVENING was subdued. Mr. Babington was still lying in his bedroom in his unconscious state. No one else could bring themselves to be very lively, even Belinda, whose recent scares had made her much quieter. Madame Valenskaya was obviously distressed over Mr. Babington’s state, and during the course of the evening, she waxed sentimental over her attachment to the “dear man.” Olivia, sitting beside the medium in the drawing room after supper, began to suspect the woman was tipsy.

The following morning, Olivia and Stephen began a search of the library for books regarding Blackhope and the Scorhill family, having already examined all the books to be found in Stephen’s study.

“Whatever it is we are seeing,” Olivia reasoned, “it has something to do with this house during the Middle Ages. If we could find a history that gave us information about the house during that time, perhaps it would help us.”

St. Leger agreed, and they went to the library after breakfast to begin a thorough search. Olivia enjoyed spending the time with Stephen, but after a morning of searching, they had little to show for their efforts.