The Lord and the Banshee (Read by Candlelight #13) - Gillian St. Kevern Page 0,27

all this way, I should not like to make you leave Ireland on my part.”

Cross felt every one of his sixty-seven years. “We do not begrudge you your safety. If anything, we would make great efforts to ensure it. I do not think you realise how much you mean to us.”

“Thomas.” Pip squeezed his hand. He moved closer on the bed, until his leg brushed Thomas’s. Pip cupped his cheek with one hand, gently stroking his hair. “The regard you have for me is evident in every look you send my way, every word you utter—though, I might wish that you were not quite so abrupt when speaking to the O’Flahertys.” He coughed. “I am in no doubt of your feelings towards me.”

It was a strangely bittersweet feeling. To know himself loved, on the brink of dealing so great a blow to he that loved him. “If you do not think of your own danger for your sake, will you not consider it from ours?” Cross caressed Pip’s cheek. “Julian and my world would be much diminished without your presence.”

“Believe me, I am very sensible of your feelings. I should never like to worry either of you, or give you cause to grieve.” Pip smiled, pressing his fingers to the hand Cross held to his cheek. “But I cannot do other than what I feel so strongly drawn to do. The investigation of paranormal phenomena… Well, it is more than a passion. I believe that it is my life’s purpose.”

Cross’s heart sank. “You will not desist, even if it puts you in danger?”

Pip shook his head. “What walk of life is entirely free of danger? At least I have the knowledge to take what precautions I may. Another man, without my knowledge, would be in greater danger. Besides, my investigations have allowed me to help numerous people, and educate countless more. That alone would make the danger worth it.”

Cross shut his eyes. He could not disabuse Pip of the notion that he’d found his raison d’etre—it would be too cruel, to lose Cross and his life’s work both. “I can rest as well in Connaught as I can at Foxwood. We will remain until you’ve studied the banshee to your heart’s content.” Or Cross and Julian unmasked her.

Pip squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Thomas. I know it is harder than you will admit to be away from Foxwood this long. But I want you to be certain that I prefer your company to that of any banshee.”

Cross snorted. “On that note, it would be as well, perhaps, to alert the rest of the household to our sighting and ascertain their whereabouts. We must make sure that no tragedy has occurred.” And discover who was absent during the apparition’s appearance.

“True! I am remiss—“ Pip hurried to the door. He paused in the door way. “Shall I send Mrs O’Flaherty to you?”

Thomas shook his head. “Rest is the only cure I need. Already I feel much better.”

“If anything changes, do not hesitate to inform me at once. If you have compunctions about putting out our hosts on your behalf, I have none.”

Thomas could not help but smile. “Go.”

He waited until Pip’s footsteps could no longer be heard, then levered himself out of the bed. He withdrew the cigar box from its hiding place. He and Pip had spent long hours discussing what best to do with the heart. To remove the heart from the vault without consulting Pip was bad enough. To do what he contemplated doing…

Cross removed the cigar case from his pocket and opened it. The heart pulsed, a steady rhythm it had kept up for a decade now, warm to the touch, as if it had only just been removed from its owner’s chest.

Immortality—but at a price. Cross’s grip tightened around the heart. He had intended to give the heart to Pip, hoping it would counteract any curse. He had not anticipated using it himself. It was only while they remained at Connaught, but even so. One could not defy death without consequences…

Unbidden, the image of the banshee rose before him, her skin pinched, her cheeks sunken. Her eyes gleamed like those of an invalid, bright with pain. Una Malone had not died with her death, and it had made her a monster…

The fire snapped loudly, a log collapsing.

Thomas jumped, catching himself with a snort. He had let Pip’s vivid imagination influence him. The banshee was pure invention, and the heart—well, he did not intend to use it long