She closed the book over her index finger, holding her place. “I’m listening.”
He rubbed a palm over his face. “The earls of Griston are said to be cursed.”
“Cursed!” Whatever she was expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. “I don’t understand. Curses are mythological.”
“Are they? Did you hear voices in the trees?”
She waved out her free hand. “That was the wind.”
“The wind doesn’t blow just when I’m about.” Clearly, he was straining to hold on to his frustration or impatience. “Let’s continue. Obviously, your diary has something to do with my ancestors.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” Peyton took a quick sip of her wine and, after giving him a wary look, she opened the journal and continued. “Irene and I met Griston’s father, the fifth earl once. We were quite young at the time. In fact, looking back, I believe that Lord Griston had invited Mama, Irene, and me for a walk in the park, where I was accosted by a boy who attempted to relieve me of my locket. That boy was James! Lord Griston’s man spirited him away. It all happened so long ago. I believe I was five at the time. Mama and Papa, Lord Brockway—he is not Irene’s and my real papa, we just call him that. Our real papa was shot and killed my fourth year—while we were at a fancy ball. I can still remember the dress Mama wore… Papa had been giving Irene and me safeguarding instructions. One night a man came into my bedchamber and grabbed me by the wrist. He knocked our governess, Miss Lambert, out. I escaped, thanks to Papa’s instructions! But alas, Irene did not. I was able to hide… Irene had been found on a ship bound for “adventure.” It should be noted: Irene hates adventure. Anyway, James and Lord Harlowe, Nathan’s father, were also found. It’s all terribly confusing, looking back…She goes on to talk about how her parents got together,” Peyton said. She read ahead a bit more. “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh?”
“The sixth of April 1829. Goodness. I just heard from James. He spends a lot of time with Winslow—er, Lord Griston. He told me that the earl believes he’s been cursed. And James believes him. What tripe. A curse? Of course, I demanded explanations. He said that when they are out of doors, the trees talk.”
Peyton studied Alistar from beneath lowered lashes. She felt as if she’d entered a time warp. The atmosphere even warbled a bit. His expression rotated between amusement,I told you so, and something else she couldn’t define. Helpless resignation? Hopeless despair? Good grief. She was beginning to sound like Tarron. In her head, thankfully. With no idea what to say, Peyton picked up where she’d left off.
“Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing? He said the earl suffers from terrible headaches and that, just before the onslaught of a particularly staggering bout, he spends an inordinate amount of time in the music room, playing some of Vivaldi’s and Tartini’s most intense pieces.”
She stopped, piercing Alistar with a boldness she didn’t normally possess. “Do you have these headaches?”
Anguish touched his features. “Sometimes. They happen right before a vision.”
He didn’t have to tell her he’d been hit with a particularly painful memory. “Within the Shadows?” she whispered.
He answered with a sharp nod.
How she wished to comfort him, but she had no idea how. “Should we stop?”
“Perhaps a couple more? If you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” The rain still pounding the windows, closeting them in, was claustrophobic. Ignoring the sensation, she turned back to the journal.
“The thirtieth of May 1829.Ooh, I’m green with envy. Irene has the most beautiful gown for her debut. It’s even more beautiful than the gown she wore for her presentation at court. To me, at least. And she is in her chamber at this very moment complaining of how her feet hurt. How utterly typical. I suspect she’ll accept her first offer just so she won’t have to attend all the fabulous events I would die for. I have three years of waiting before my own. It’s so unfair.”
Peyton stopped. “Oh, it jumps three years.
The fifteenth of April, 1832. The family departed for London just this morning. I had to beg, borrow, and steal to be left behind. James has promised to introduce me to Winslow Spears, the Earl of Griston. I can hardly countenance it. My season will begin next year after a trip to the continent for a wardrobe. Griston, to my knowledge, has never entered society. As far as James could ascertain, his father went mad, according to a notice inThe Gazetteback in 1819. I vow, my curiosity will be the bane of my existence.”
Peyton paused again. Then she continued, “The twenty-second of June 1832. The weather is unbearably hot. I’ve been spending my days at the pond with my shoes and stockings off, lying on my stomach! Mother would flay me alive. Ha! It would be worth it.”
Brooding, Alistar leaned back and watched Peyton pick up her ballet-type shoes and slip from the library, likely reflecting on the words she’d read. The journal lay on the table, within an arm’s reach. The pull to pick it up was a siren’s call. The only thing stopping him was the image of her face when she’d said it might be fun to read together. He wasn’t so certain now.
He set down his wineglass, wishing for a hearty swig of brandy.
Dishes clanked in the kitchen. A twinge of guilt touched him, but honestly, he’d barely ever set foot in a kitchen. It would be like an ox in a shop full of Waterford crystal. He forced himself to rise and leave the room. If only to keep the journal out of temptation’s range.
“Is there anything I can do to assist you?”
“In the morning perhaps. Coffee?” She pointed to a coffee pot. “Not my specialty.” She swiped her hands on a towel. “I’ll show you to your room.”
So, they wouldn’t be sleeping together. How disappointing. He followed her out and back up the stairs.
She opened the door to a room that could only have been a man’s room, considering the dark wood and red-and-gold accents.
“Is this your friend’s room?” he asked her.
