The Wicked One Read online

  His eyes implored her. Though what he was looking for from her, she couldn’t have said.

  “It wasn’t Timmy’s face, Selina. It was Charlotte. She was there.”

  There. He’d admitted it. Admitted what couldn’t possibly be real and yet somehow was.

  It was a lot to take in. This sudden belief in something that shouldn’t exist.

  Philip wasn’t exactly a religious zealot. He’d never been what one would call devout.

  Though he’d attended church with Charlotte, and with his mother before that, he’d never given much thought to anything outside the workings of the world around him.

  When Charlotte’s mind had deteriorated, he hadn’t prayed. He’d sought the help of scientists and physicians.

  When Timmy’s nightmares had begun, he’d looked to medicine and logical explanations.

  But now…

  He gazed at the woman standing only inches from him.

  The firelight danced across her face, making her eyes glitter and her hair shine with reds and golds.

  She looked otherworldly. Ethereal. And she’d helped Timmy more in thirty minutes than anyone before her had been able to.

  How could he not believe in things like magic when this much beauty was standing right there in front of him?

  And how the hell could he be thinking such things in the midst of all this chaos?

  “Why don’t we sit back down?”

  Selina’s soothing tone made him feel like a fractious horse that needed to be broken in. It made him feel foolish. As though he needed to be looked after.

  Yet, he was the one who should be doing the caring. He’d failed in that respect. He’d failed Charlotte, and he was failing his son.

  The weight of his grief was staggering, and he moved unsteadily to the chair she led him to before dropping into it, clasping his head in his hands.

  “I sound insane.” He laughed harshly. “I know I sound insane.”

  When Selina didn’t respond, he lifted his head.

  She was looking at him in that unflinching, unnerving way that said she could see right inside him.

  “When we die,” she said softly, “our souls leave our bodies. And if we’re lucky, they find peace and move on to somewhere better. Somewhere without pain or suffering.”

  Philip hung on her every word, desperately seeking comfort, or at least answers in her words.

  “But sometimes – if things are left unfinished or, or the person isn’t ready to go —”

  She stopped and took a breath.

  “They can’t leave, Philip,” she said matter-of-factly. “Their souls are trapped, unable to move on until they find their peace.”

  He stared at her.

  He’d known that something – different – was going on here. But to hear her speak the words. It made the whole thing terrifyingly real.

  “So, Charlotte –“

  “Hasn’t moved on,” she answered swiftly with a frankness that belied the unbelievable topic.

  “But then why Timmy? Why torment him? Scare him?”

  Already Selina was shaking her head.

  “I don’t believe she means any harm to her boy,” she said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. “She was his mother. A mother’s love is one of the strongest forces in this world and the next. And if she felt as though she needed to protect him or still care for him –“

  “But even if it’s true and this is – Charlotte—” He nearly choked on the name.

  Could it be possible that he, Philip Everwood, Earl of Breton, respected Peer of the realm was sitting here discussing the ghost of his dead wife?

  It seemed impossible. Insane. And yet deep down, he knew it was true.

  “Why would she scare him so? If she has unfinished business with anyone, surely it’s me? I’m the one who let her down. It’s my fault she’s dead. Mine.”

  Selina was off her seat and kneeling in front of him before he could blink.

  The second she was close to him, he felt better.

  It was that undefinable energy that she had. It made him feel calmer, better. It made him feel as though Timmy would be safer just by having her around.

  “Your wife was sick, Philip,” she said softly, her gaze steady on his. “It wasn’t your fault. Sometimes people’s demons are too strong. Sometimes, the burden of living is too heavy for those who are unwell in the way she was. But that doesn’t mean that they’re ready to fully leave. When a spirit doesn’t feel at peace, doesn’t feel as though they can leave their loved ones behind, they get trapped. Stuck. I don’t believe she means to scare him, but she has no other way to reach out to him. Or to you.”

  Her words had tears springing to his eyes, and he blinked them away in embarrassment.

  “You must find a way to forgive yourself. You need to concentrate on Timothy. And to do that, you need to forgive yourself. I’m sure you did all you could. I’m sure you would have saved her if you could.”

  “I would have,” he answered swiftly, albeit brokenly. “I would have done anything to help her. To spare my son this life.”

  She didn’t speak for an age. Simply stared. And Philip was left to wonder what she was looking for in his eyes.

  Finally, she stood, a smile playing around her face.

  “I’m going to help,” she said firmly. “I’m going to help you all.”

  “But how?” He could hear the desperation in his own voice. “What can be done?”

  “She needs to move on. And we’re going to help her do that.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Y

  ou’re making a mistake. A foolish mistake.”

  Selina grimaced as Agnes’s harsh tone sounded behind her.

  She’d gotten back to the cottage later than she’d intended last night.

  After the incident in Timmy’s room, her head had been pounding and her stomach churning. Yet she’d stayed and tried to help the tormented earl understand something that most people simply couldn’t.

  He’d seemed open to what she had to say, if a little sceptical. And that had been as much as she could have hoped for.

  She remembered the fear in his voice as he’d admitted to seeing Charlotte’s face. Remembered the guilt and grief in his tone as he’d spoken of her.

  They’d talked long into the night. About Timothy mostly. How he’d been waking, what he’d been scared of.

  At one point, Philip had smiled slightly, saying that this was the first night in eighteen long months that Timothy had remained sleeping.

  And Selina had been shocked at the tender pride that had lit her from within.

  It was just the draught she’d given the boy, and she explained as much to Philip. Yet he’d continued to gaze at her in awe and, foolish – even dangerous – as it was, she’d lapped up the praise. Revelled in it.

  Agnes was right. She was unwise. And on very dangerous ground.

  Her interest in the man was more than it should be. And wasn’t that the very epitome of idiocy? Lusting after the man as he cried over his dead wife.

  Selina’s stomach flipped uneasily as she continued to wash the gowns she’d brought to the river behind the cottage.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she answered now, as she continued to scrub the dimity gown in her hands. The scent of lilac from the soap she and Agnes made filled her nostrils. Yet it didn’t calm her as it usually did.

  She plunged the dress into the cold water of the stream, wincing at the sting against her hands.

  Winter wouldn’t be long coming.

  “You came home with the lark, Selina. And then you tell me that you want to go back there? To stay there?”

  Selina refused to turn around and see the censure in Agnes’s faded hazel eyes.

  “I know you care not what people think of you, child. But even you must see the danger in such an arrangement.”

  “There is no danger,” she answered swiftly. “Philip is an honou
rable man. And if I’m to help him, help his boy, then I need to be close by.

  “You don’t need to be living in the house with an unmarried man, Selina,” Agnes shot back. “You know what happens in situations such as these. He’s a blackguard for even asking it of you.”

  Selina took her growing frustration out on the gown, squeezing it viscously to wring out the water before throwing it into her basket on top of the others.

  Upon standing, she hefted the basket onto her hip then swung to face Agnes, blowing an errant curl out of her eyes.

  “I offered,” she argued mutinously. “And I offered because the lad isn’t sleeping. What help am I to him if I’m not there when the suffering is taking place?”

  She brushed past the older woman, stomping toward the cottage and trying to control her temper.

  In truth, she was only this angry because there was a kernel of truth in Agnes’s protestations. But not because Philip had any dastardly plot in mind when it came to her virtue.

  Rather because of her own feelings, her own desires.

  “And I might remind you that he offered to have you come and stay, too,” Selina shouted back as she banged the basket onto the table.

  The trouble with living with Agnes was that they were both quick to temper, and it occasionally caused an almighty row between them.

  “Oh, aye. And why would I want to go and live off his lordship’s charity, hmm?”

  Selina sighed and turned to look at the woman who’d been a mother to her.

  “You wouldn’t be going for him. You’d be going for me. And not because of anything so foolish as propriety.” She rolled her eyes. “But there’s not a soul in that house apart from Philip and Timothy who will want me there, Agnes. And I don’t think any of them would do me harm but –“

  Selina felt her cheeks heat. She hated admitting any sort of weakness. Hated feeling like she needed someone. Even the wonderful, stubborn woman who’d raised her.

  “This is hard for me,” she said. “What ails the lad. It’s strong. Perhaps stronger than me. And I want someone who loves me there.”

  Agnes’s gaze softened for a millisecond before the shrewdness was back in force.

  “Is he handsome? This English lord.”

  Selina ignored the sudden racing of her heart and nodded. What would be the point in lying?

  “Your mother fell for such a one. And look how that ended.”

  “I’m not my mother,” Selina bit out.

  But Agnes’s words had burrowed themselves into her mind.

  Was this just history repeating itself? She definitely wanted to help the troubled boy, and she thought that she could do it.

  But if she were being truthful, this wasn’t just about the boy. It was about the man. In part, at least.

  And it was true that her father was an English lord. Agnes had told her that often enough over the years. Agnes didn’t know his name, and Selina didn’t want to find out in any case. All they knew about him was that he’d been a guest of the deceased Lord Breton, staying at Everwood Manor and, presumably, taking the opportunity that presented itself with no thought or care about the woman involved.

  But that wasn’t Philip.

  Perhaps she was naïve and foolish. As foolish as her mother. But she didn’t think so.

  Somewhere inside she knew, or at least believed, that Philip wouldn’t use a woman so ill. Even a gypsy woman.

  In any case, he’d never made her feel less than just because of the station she’d been born to. And he hadn’t allowed his staff to openly disrespect her, though she supposed there was nothing he could do about the glares or hostile grimaces.

  But then, when had the opinions of strangers ever bothered her?

  “Are you going to come then?” she asked, a little snippily. She didn’t mean to be harsh with the old lady, but all these questions about Philip and his intentions were unsettling in ways she couldn’t quite explain. Not even to herself.

  “Hmm. And what has his lordship told the staff up there in the big house? To explain your presence.”

  God, but she was a tenacious oul one when she wanted to be.

  “I’m quite sure he doesn’t feel the need to explain himself to his servants. However, since most of my time will be spent with Timothy, I suppose that makes me a sort of nanny.”

  Agnes scoffed.

  “Whoever heard of a rich English lord hiring a gypsy girl as a nanny?”

  Her disbelief stung a little, though of course it shouldn’t.

  “Maybe he doesn’t just think of me as a gypsy girl,” she answered mutinously, but the bite had gone from her words.

  Agnes suddenly marched over and took Selina’s face between her two, roughened palms.

  “Perhaps he doesn’t,” she said intently. “And that’s what worries me so.”

  “Mrs. Leary.”

  Philip had been playing with a happy, rested Timothy at the lake that sat within the grounds of the manor house.

  He should dry off and clean up before Selina and Mrs. Healy arrived, but first he needed to ensure that their stay here wouldn’t be made unnecessarily difficult.

  “My lord?”

  Philip suppressed a black oath as the housekeeper came and stood before him, hands clasped together in front of her, a model of a deferential servant.

  He couldn’t find fault with her work, and nothing she said to him was ever anything less than polite and obedient.

  And yet, there was always something in her demeanour that made Philip edgy. He knew that she would not approve of Selina being here, and he wanted to make damn sure she kept her unpleasantness to herself.

  And not just because Selina was helping Timothy. He could admit that to himself, at least. He didn’t want Selina hurt. He didn’t want to see that incredible spirit tested by her treatment in his home.

  “Timothy’s ah – helper will be arriving today. Like every one of my guests, I expect her to be treated with respect.”

  A flash of something venomous lit the old lady’s eyes, but it was gone so fast Philip almost thought he’d imagined it.

  “Forgive me, my lord, but if this person is a helper then surely she is not a guest?”

  Philip slipped on his aristocratic mask. The one he used when dealing with difficult people. The one he used to remind people that he was in charge and his decisions were to be followed through and not questioned.

  He hadn’t mentioned that the ‘helper’ was a she, but then he supposed it would be obvious that it was Selina.

  “The lady and her companion will be helping Timothy, but they are friends and guests. As such, they will be treated with all due respect.”

  This time the flash of venom was even more pronounced.

  “So, I am to instruct the staff to wait on the gypsy girl and her companion, my lord?”

  It was an impressive fete, Philip decided, to be able to pack so much disapproving judgment into what should have been a deferential question.

  “You are to instruct the staff to treat Miss Lee and Miss Healy with every courtesy befitting the guests of an earl, Mrs. Leary. If that is something that you feel you cannot manage –“

  “I can manage, my lord. I’ve been working in this household since your grandfather ran it.”

  She might as well have finished her sentence with, “and you’re not half the man he was.”

  Philip was about to dismiss her without further comment when he remembered his concerns about the servants’ gossiping about Selina and the fact that they’d been alone together last night.

  “One more thing,” he said infusing his tone with authority, ensuring that the recalcitrant woman knew he would brook no argument. “That courtesy will extend to the control of wagging tongues, Mrs. Leary. If I hear even a whisper of scandal attached to her name, or mine, there will be consequences. Am I clear?”

  Mrs. Leary’s cheeks flushed, and he knew that he’d been right to worry about talk. But she nodd
ed her understanding.

  Philip dismissed her hoping that she did her job and warned the staff about the dangers of spreading rumours about Selina. And about him. He would keep a close eye on things, however, and make sure that they adhered to his rules, and didn’t take it upon themselves to mistreat Selina.

  Philip took out his timepiece. Less than an hour until Selina should be arriving. Though she’d warned him that sticking to times wasn’t exactly a forte of hers.

  He could well believe that she didn’t confine herself to strictures of time. She was far too free spirited for that.

  Yet he found himself looking out for her arrival. And not just because of Timmy, either. And this, he knew, was a problem.

  He was getting closer and closer to admitting his attraction to the girl.

  And yet – the last thing he wanted was to be attracted to her.

  How could he even be thinking that way when Timothy was suffering so? When he’d let Charlotte down so badly that even now in death, she was so tormented that she couldn’t move on?

  His wife and his son had suffered in unspeakable ways because of him. And now he was lusting after the one person who might be able to help them both?

  Philip cursed himself and moved to pour a snifter of brandy.

  He would simply have to put these selfish thoughts from his head.

  Selina would stay as long as it took to help Timothy, and then she would leave.

  He would go back to England. Back to a normal life.

  And that would be the end of any sort of relationship between them all.

  Movement outside the window where he stood caught Philip’s eye, and he looked up to see Selina and her companion walk up the gravel driveway toward the house, both carrying only the smallest of bags.

  He spared a fleeting glance for the old woman before his attention was inevitably trapped by Selina. His mouth dried as lust slammed into him. His thoughts of forgetting all about her seeming laughable now as his eyes greedily raked her.

  Her dark hair fell loosely down her back in a waterfall of rich browns and deep reds. And her bright violet skirts swirled about her feet as she walked, giving a tantalising glimpse of slender ankles.