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And he’d be damned if this woman manipulated his wife’s memory to hurt him any more than their reality already had.

CHAPTER 6

Witnessing a haunting should not have made him so hungry.

With a grunt, he flipped over in his bedsheets onto his protesting stomach and cursed his predicament. He’d stormed off to his bedchamber like a petulant child after the disastrous reading, his mind in such a tumult that he forgot he hadn’t eaten a proper meal since that morning. But he couldn’t decide if the lurking sense of dread or the threat of ghosts creeping in the hallways kept him in his bed.

He swiped his palm down his face. There was no haunting, no ghosts or spirit of his late wife. Ghosts were not real, no matter how convincing the medium’s performance had been. He knew Bridget was a liar. And yet, he couldn’t explain away the phenomena he’d encountered at the table.

Nor could he ignore how her touch electrified his skin, the connection he’d felt with her in the tavern. But he wouldn’t allow a captivating woman to deter him from proving she was a fraud. Making an example of the famed Moreau family of mediums to Parliament would push Dalton’s legislation into law. And if he convinced the Viscountess Croxton that Christina’s spirit was well and truly gone, he might find a modicum of peace himself. But for now, he needed evidence.

And perhaps a snack.

He threw his legs off the side of the bed, mentally charting his course through the labyrinthine manor, when he froze, holding his breath.

Soft footsteps padded down the hallway, as though whoever had slipped from their bed didn’t wish to be noticed. A moment later, a faint glow appeared from the crack beneath his door.

His pulse kicked faster as the flickering light approached and paused outside his doorway. The light didn’t move, nor did he hear any more footsteps. Before he could think better of it, he marched to the door, swung it open to find⁠—

Nothing.

He peered up and down the hall, but the other bedchamber doors remained closed. The candles on the trestle tables between the rooms were unlit, the massive oil paintings above frozen in a ghostly watch.

Phineas backed into his room once more, shutting his door firmly and locking it. As though a measly lock would stop a ghost.

There is no such thing as a ghost.

Yet his appetite had vanished, replaced by an uncomfortable foreboding, a sense that someone unseen watched him. He climbed into bed and pulled the blankets tightly beneath his chin—was it colder in the room than it had been before?—and convinced himself to close his eyes.

Thump.

His eyes snapped open.

Thump. Thump.

He sat up, his heart thudding unevenly against his ribs. The sound wasn’t coming from the hallway, but from inside his room. As though heavy boots tromped across the floor, no—in the massive, ornate armoire.

Thump! Thump!

Summoning his courage, he threw off the bedding and rushed to the armoire, swung the doors open⁠—

A blast of frigid air, far colder than what he’d felt in the parlor during the reading, pummeled his skin. He stumbled backward, blinking, but aside from his clothing, nothing was inside.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He must be losing his mind. Four decades on this earth, and he was already succumbing to senility. Because ghosts were not real!

Creak.

Phineas’ entire body jolted as if he’d touched a live wire. He spun in a slow circle, searching for something out of the ordinary in the dark in an unfamiliar room. The shadows suddenly seemed too long, too menacing.

Creeeeeeeak.

The mirror on the vanity rocked back and forth, slowly, deliberately. Reflecting the tabletop and rotating toward the ceiling again.

He grabbed the candle stub from his bedside, fumbled with a match until it was lit, and crept to the vanity. By the time he was close enough to examine the mirror, it had stilled. But a message, identical to what he’d seen in the parlor below, appeared in the dust on its surface.

LEAVE NOW

His first instinct was to do just that. He could find a horse—hell, he would walk into town, wait until dawn to find a carriage out of this godforsaken place.