If He's Wild by Hannah Howell Read Free Book Online Page B

scent of roses was so strong it lingered in the air throughout the vision.” She looked at each of the three men. “But you all believe her capable of murder, I think.”
    “We suspect she is not what she claims to be,” replied Hartley. He hesitated a moment and then decided that, between Aldus’s assurances that the Vaughns could be trusted and all that they had already guessed, there was little point in being hesitant or secretive. “Her choice of lovers is too precise, always men who could give her information the government would prefer to keep secret. Men have died, ones thought to be safe and unknown to the enemy. ’Tis only a hint, but there may be deaths in France that she is responsible for, people who should have been safe or could have escaped. Several well-planned escapes were foiled, the people killed, and she was always, well, around, shall we say.”
    “Your angry spirits, Iago,” Alethea said to her uncle.
    “Yes, undoubtedly,” Iago replied. “And Claudette’s sister is not so innocent, either.”
    “You saw spirits around her, too?” asked Aldus.
    “No, but”—Iago grimaced—“she is cold, cold to the bone. I had a very brief affair with the woman. Once my blind lust eased, I felt that coldness, that emptiness, and could not abide being near her.” He smiled faintly at the looks of confusion and doubt upon the faces of the other three men. “I do not possess the gift of seeing or knowing how a person thinks or feels, but I can sense approaching death. Margarite is not approaching death, yet there is about her a similar feeling, a chilling emptiness, as if some part of her has died or left her spirit.”
    “Her conscience?”
    “Possibly. If she has been responsible for any deaths, those who have died may not have suspected her. She might just help her sister in some small way. What I sense, however, is the soulless chill of a killer. She might not do the killing with her own hands, but she does not, or will not, hesitate to see it done or care who is killed. Or how.”
    Alethea could see that Hartley was made uncomfortable by such talk, and a sharp pang of disappointment struck her heart. After seeing him in visions and dreams for so many years, she had obviously nurtured the hope that he would be the one who would understand, would believe in her and not fear her as her husband had. Despite the fact that he had seen her eyes that night she had seen him staring into the fireplace, he was stubbornly hanging on to his disbelief. The meeting lasted barely a half hour longer, and, after arranging another, she left with Iago.
    “I think they actually begin to believe us,” Alethea said as Iago’s carriage began to move along the busy streets.
    “More or less,” agreed Iago, “but Hartley did not want to. There is no denying the proof held in that sketchbook you brought, but Hartley was struggling mightily to do so. Aldus and Gifford believe. I am certain of it.”
    “They are both very curious men, and that probably makes them more accepting of new ideas, more prepared to accept strange things without fear or unease. I got the feeling that your gift, and mine, were ones Aldus has long been intrigued by.”
    “True. Of course, none of them have met Modred. The tolerance we met with tonight might fade quickly when faced with his particular gift.”
    “Sadly true, even amongst our own family. His gift does tend to make people very uneasy. What do you think their lordships will do next?”
    “I have no idea. The only thing I can be sure of is that they no longer think we are in league with the enemy.”
    “For the moment, I suppose that is enough,” Alethea murmured and fiercely beat down that part of her which tried to ask for more, a great deal more, from a certain golden-eyed man.
     
    “Do you believe all that?” Hartley asked his companions the moment he was certain the Vaughns had left.
    “Yes,” replied Gifford, and Aldus nodded.
    “Damnation, we cannot accept talk of