Page 14 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

THISBE SHOT UPRIGHT in her bed. Her muscles were clenched, her lungs burning; pain lit every inch of her body. For an instant she remained frozen, lost in the shadows between nightmare and fact. She panted, her senses gradually restoring her to reality. Everything was familiar; everything was known. She was in her own bed in her own room, surrounded by her family.

If she cried out, if she was in danger or pain, any of them—indeed, all of them—would come to her rescue. She wondered if her father would come as he had when she was a child, and she smiled faintly, thinking of him rushing in, candle in hand, nightcap askew on his now-graying head. And somehow that vision, more than anything, calmed her.

She relaxed her muscles and drew longer, steadier breaths. The pain seeped out of her. What a strange dream—the fog, that enclosed feeling, the fear of the murky unknown. That hand that grasped her leg, followed by that moment of agony.

Thisbe slipped out of bed, pulling on her dressing gown against the chill of the room. She lit a candle and settled down in her chair. There was no hope of going back to sleep just yet. Besides, she wanted to think about this dream.

It had been so peculiar, so unexpected. She would have thought her dreams would be pleasant tonight, given the sweetness of the day. Instead, she’d had a nightmare—and a peculiar one, at that. She’d dreamed before of being chased or of getting lost, but this wasn’t quite like either of those things. But that wasn’t the only oddity. It had been so clear, so vivid; even though the world around her had been gray and the threat unseen, there had been none of the vagueness usually found in dreams. It had been sharp and crystal clear. Nor had pieces of it immediately slipped from her memory; every detail, every moment, was stamped in her mind.

Strangest of all, though, had been the end. In other nightmares, the dream ended before the bad thing, whatever it was, actually happened. She fell but did not hit the ground. She saw the knife, but didn’t feel it slice into her. She experienced the fear, but she didn’t feel the physical pain.

Yet tonight, her whole body had been flooded with pain. She remembered the fingers grasping her legs, the nails sinking into her. She shivered at the memory and reached down to rub her calf. It was as if it had really happened. Which was, of course, ridiculous. She pulled up her gown as if to prove it to herself.

On the pale skin of her calf were five small red marks—the size and crescent shape of fingernails.

Thisbe froze, staring at the indentations. Her mind whirled with horrific thoughts. But only for a moment. The ideas were not only fear-invoking, but they were also impossible. There must be a logical explanation. There always was.

A hand digging into her in a dream world couldn’t create an actual physical mark. There was no one else in the room when she awoke. Therefore...she had done it herself.

Of course! In the throes of her vivid nightmare, she had clutched at something in desperation, and the only thing within reach was her own limb. She had dug her fingers in with such fervor that they had left indentations on her flesh. And that explained the sensation of pain, as well—she had felt it because it was real. It all made sense now.

Satisfied, Thisbe blew out the candle and climbed back into bed.

CHAPTER FOUR

A FEW DAYS LATER, Thisbe sat in front of the mirror while Kyria worked on her hair. Thisbe wondered if it had been a mistake to agree to her sister’s offer. The dress was lovely, and it did make her eyes even greener. All the fringe was gone, as Kyria had promised, and the skirt was narrower and slightly flatter in the front, so she wouldn’t be bumping into everything around her. It was just that...well, she was attractive, but she didn’t quite look like herself.

Of course, right now she looked like a witch—albeit a well-dressed one—for Kyria had separated her hair and pulled it into big hanks in several different places, each tied with a bow. “Are you sure you know how to do this?”

“Don’t worry,” Kyria reassured her as she twisted one of the sections of hair into a neat knot on the crown of Thisbe’s head. “Joan taught me.”

“And she practiced it on me,” Olivia said from her perch on the end of the bed. “It looked splendid...at least, it did until I started playing with Alex and Con.”

Thisbe snorted. “I can imagine.”

“Alex had to take it apart to see how it was made, and he was most disappointed, I can tell you, that I couldn’t put it back together.”

“Which can also be said for the grandfather clock in Papa’s study,” Kyria added.

“Thisbe!” a deep, masculine voice said from the open doorway. “Good Lord. What’s Kyria roped you into now?”

“Hello, Theo.” Well, that put the cap on it. Now here was her twin; much as she loved him, he was sure to tease her. Or, even worse, adopt his protective big-brother pose. And, by the way, he was not her big brother, having arrived in the world four minutes after Thisbe.

“What’s going on?” Reed stuck his head around the door curiously.

“Why are you here?” Kyria asked in annoyance. “It’s Boxing Day. Don’t you have presents to give?”

“Already did,” Theo answered.

“Well, then, chums to visit? Wassail to drink?”

“Bit early for that.” Reed grinned. “Besides, what could be more enjoyable than spending time with our sweet-tempered sisters?”

“Go away. Both of you.”

“Why? What are you up to?” Theo asked. Tall, with the same black hair and green eyes as his twin sister, he leaned casually against the doorjamb, arms crossed, and grinned at them.

“Why are you doing that to Thisbe? Are you angry at her?” Reed slid into the room. He was a slightly younger, less powerfully built version of his older brother. His hair was dark brown rather than black and his eyes were gray, but there was no mistaking the Moreland jaw or the lively intelligence in his eyes, which was a hallmark of the whole clan.