brute snatched at it, and the other men shouted. He smiled even as he felt the blade hit him and bury itself in his back. Tottering a little, he returned to his desk, and with the last of his strength sat down.
“What did you do?” the brute demanded as he loomed over him.
“Why, I won, you idiot.” As the darkness crowded close, Pickering closed his eyes, and let it take him.
Chapter 14
What brought Jennet out of her peculiar dream was the smell of her former betrothed and one-time lover. As she sat up his scent seemed to grow even more pronounced, and she turned her head to find it coming from the upholstery. At some point this night he must have sat in the same spot to leave his scent there.
Had she come to his room without even realizing it? Or had he come in while she had been dozing? Was he standing somewhere in the shadows, watching her?
Jennet allowed her stiffened shoulders to relax, and made a show of yawning and stretching. As she did so her gaze wandered around the chamber, but once more there seemed to be nothing to indicate any presence other than her own. She heard nothing but a distant creaking sound, likely from the wind against the old shutters. What she did see was the narrow door to the balcony standing a little ajar. Rising as silently as she could, she tiptoed over to it, took hold of the knob, and yanked it open.
The balcony stood empty.
“You are being a ninny,” Jennet told herself as she stepped out onto the veranda. The wind had grown lighter but colder, and beneath her she could see Prudence Hardiwick and two other young ladies climbing into a carriage. The rig in front of them held two gentlemen who were laughing and calling back to the ladies something about being the last to go. They looked as if they had imbibed just as much as Catherine.
Catherine.
Jennet called out and waved to them in hopes of stopping them. By that time both parties were driving off, however, and the clatter of horse hooves on the drive drowned out her voice. Hoping to catch them, she hurried out of the chamber and down the stairs, but by the time she reached the front entry the drive stood empty. As she turned she saw the footmen had also gone, likely to clean up after the guests. She went directly to the ballroom, which stood empty.
“Hello?” Jennet felt slightly alarmed now. “Is anyone here?”
A low moaning sound came in from the adjoining room, but when she stepped out to see who made it, she found herself facing the black cat that had earlier darted across the drive. The feline regarded her with its yellow-green eyes for a moment before it padded over to rub itself against her skirts.
“This is the second time you have crossed my path tonight,” Jennet told it sternly, and then sighed and crouched down to pet it. “Never mind me. I do not believe you leave bad luck behind in your travels. If Mama would not break out in a rash the moment she beheld you, I would take you home with me.”
The cat purred loudly and pushed its head against her fingers, and then went oddly still. It swung its head toward a painting hanging above the mantel across from them, and then just as suddenly scampered out.
Jennet regarded the portrait, which showed an older man sitting on a wooden bench surrounded by a patch of roses. He appeared to be staring off at something with great affection, judging by the smile on his mouth. She walked over, and to her astonishment she realized that his face matched that of the man from her dream.
The etched brass plate at the bottom of the frame read Emerson Thorne at Dredthorne, 1714.
Slowly she backed away from the portrait, but she couldn’t look away from the eyes, which seemed now to be watching her.
“I must have seen it when I came into the ballroom earlier,” Jennet muttered, although all she could recall was feeling furious and foolish at the same time. “I do not believe in ghosts. There is no curse, either.”
As if Thorne had heard her, he spoke from her memory. You must be the one to break it.
A low yowl made Jennet flinch, and she looked over to see the black cat again, this time standing with its back arched in front of an open door. Hurrying over