Page 57 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

“Go on. It’s just what?” Thisbe demanded. When he said nothing, staring at her in frustration, she let out a noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a growl, then swung around, heading for the door.

“Wait! Thisbe! Oh, the devil. They want the bloody Eye!”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THISBE STOPPED AND turned around, her anger vanishing in the face of real concern about Desmond’s mental state. He looked like a man teetering on the edge of sanity—his hands clenched in his hair as if he would pull it out by the roots, his eyes wild, his entire body rigid with tension. Carefully, she said, “They want a bloody eye?”

“Noooo.” He elongated the word, almost a moan, but at least he relaxed, his hands dropping to his side. He still looked comical, with his hair sticking out in every direction from his treatment of it, but Thisbe had no inclination to laugh. Despair was written all over his face. “Not a bloody eye. The Eye. The Eye of Annie Blue.”

“Desmond...you aren’t making sense. Who is Annie Blue? And why would any of these people want her eye?”

“Because they think your grandmother uses it to see the dead.” Thisbe’s jaw dropped, but he went on in a leaden voice, “Wallace has a letter... Arbuthnot something had the Eye in his possession.”

“Arbuthnot Gray? My great-great-whatever-grandfather Arbuthnot? Desmond, is this a jest?”

“No! No, I swear to you. Anne Ballew was an alchemist. My aunt Tildy believed I am descended from her, which, of course, is nonsense.”

“I think I’d better sit down.” Thisbe took a seat in one of the chairs by the library table, her mind whirling.

Desmond didn’t sit, though he clutched the top of a chair as if it would keep him in place. “People nicknamed her Annie Blue. She was very famous—she was burned as a witch. She claimed—people believed, anyway—that she could see the dead. Communicate with spirits. And she had this instrument.”

“Called the Eye.” Thisbe relaxed in relief. Desmond wasn’t out of his mind. He was talking nonsense, but at least it wasn’t gibberish.

“Yes.”

“And Mr. Wallace believes my grandmother inherited this thing?”

“Yes. You know the subject of Professor Gordon’s project. An instrument that—”

“An instrument that could reveal ghosts to humans.” Thisbe rose slowly to her feet as all the warmth drained out of her. “Some optical instrument, say, something along the lines of a kaleidoscope. That’s it, isn’t it? That is why you—you—”

“No! Thisbe, no, that’s not why—I didn’t know you.”

“But you made sure you got to know me, didn’t you?” Thisbe felt sick at her stomach, but her mind raced on. “That’s why you came to that lecture, isn’t it? That’s why you chose that seat. You thought you could get to Grandmother through me. That I could persuade her to give it to you.”

“No. I swear to you.”

“I have a little trouble believing anything you swear,” Thisbe retorted hotly.

“I didn’t know who you were when I met you. I didn’t know the Duchess of Broughton was your grandmother. I didn’t know that was where you lived until you came out the door.”

Thisbe drew in a sharp breath. A shard of ice speared her chest. “You didn’t come to see me that night. You were there to—to what? Steal it?”

“No. I mean... I wasn’t going to take it.”

“Then what? You came merely to locate it? Get the lay of the land so someone else could steal it?”

He looked at her helplessly. “Thisbe, please... Professor Gordon was desperate. I owe him so much.”

“Whereas you owe me nothing. I understand.”

“It’s not a matter of owing. I love you.”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.” A saving rush of anger expelled the chill. “Why in the world didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to think exactly what you’re thinking,” Desmond snapped back. “Blast it! I didn’t try to steal it. I didn’t want to use you.”

“Stop.” She made a sharp gesture. “Come with me.” She turned and strode from the room, her steps sharp and fast against the tile of the corridor.