Chapter 22

TWENTY-TWO

Desmond watched Stalker's expression shutter at that very pertinent question. It was a telling response. He dared to hazard a guess that, if where to do a bit of investigating, there would likely be a string of unsolved murders in whatever communities he'd inhabited before. "Belladonna, are you injured? Is Edwina hurt?"

"We are both uninjured. Though I daresay Edwina is quite hurt. Discovering the truth of Thomas' death, that it was committed by someone in a position of trust has likely been quite difficult for her."

"Make them go away," Stalker implored.

Desmond looked back at the reverend. He was not looking at Belladonna. Rather his gaze was fixed down the corridor, on something unseen. It raised the hair on his arms. "Who is there?" Desmond demanded.

Stalker swiveled his gaze toward him. "Can't you see them? She brought them here! Conjured them!"

Desmond dared to glance at Belladonna. There was no confusion in her expression, nor was there a denial. He couldn't see them, but he had no doubt that Stalker was seeing something and that whatever vision it was that tormented him, Belladonna and her unique gifts were behind it. When he looked away from her again, Stalker was staring in horror once more at the entities only seen by him.

Desmond let him go, stepping back enough to retrieve the knife from the floor. Then he moved toward Belladonna who kept her gaze locked firmly on Stalker. He had almost reached her when Belladonna abruptly turned her face away.

Behind him, he heard a strangled scream emerge from Stalker. Uncertain if he truly wished to know what prompted it, Desmond still paused to glance over his shoulder.

The vicar was leaning against the wall, his face turning an alarming shade of purple as he clutched at his chest. But this was no simple sexier of the heart. Not when Stalker was staring up as if looking into the face of an attacker that only he could see.

"What is happening here?"

"I asked for help," she said softly. "I called upon my ancestors and pleaded for their help. And they have given it."

Desmond felt a shiver race through him. He wasn't afraid of her. He wasn't even afraid of whatever spirits now tormented Stalker. They were there for a very specific task, after all. "Let's retreat to the bedchamber. We need not witness this."

"I must," she said. "I cannot ask for it and then shy away from it. But you should go. See to Edwina while I… while I wait for them to conclude their task."

Desmond didn't reply to that. But he didn't slip away into the bedchamber either. She'd asked for help and it was being provided, though he doubted her tender heart had considered the possibility that in doing so she'd be sending Stalker to his death. Still, he would not let her face such a thing alone. He stood beside her, clutching her hand in his as they watched together as Stalker's face, one purple with his efforts to breathe, now faded to a sickly shade of gray before he slumped the floor, limp and no longer a threat to anyone.

He hadn't seen her ancestors. But as the tension in the corridor began to dissipate, he realized that he had felt their presence. Now, as they slipped back into the void from whence they'd come, the deficit of energy in that space was undeniable.

"I didn't mean for them to kill him," she said softly. "But I also didn't specify that they shouldn't. And Amarantha warned me about that. She warned me that inc calling on them, I would be unleashing something powerful into the world. And that somehow, balance will always be restored."

"His death is the balance, Belladonna," Desmond insisted. "The man beats and torments his wife. He murdered Thomas, who was the kindest of men, for having the temerity to refuse to see you hanged or burned at the stake. His death is not a loss or a tragedy. The only tragedy of it is that we may never know the full extent of his crimes."

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms about her. When the tension receded from her and she leaned into that embrace, resting her head against his chest, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Seconds later, Edwina came rushing up the stairs. There were leaves in her hair and her skirts were stained with grass and mud. "What in god's name happened to you?"

"I climbed over the balcony railing, but the holland cloth was not quite long enough. I had to jump the last several feet, and naturally, I took a tumble. But I am not hurt."

It was then that Desmond saw the pistol in her hand. "Did you mean to shoot him?"

"Yes," his sister admitted. "Yes, I did. I regret that others saw to his end before I could."

It played hell on a man's vanity, he thought, to have such capable women in his life. But the alternative to that was unthinkable.

"I'll fetch the magistrate," he offered.

"There's no need," Edwina insisted. "I've already sent a footman to bring him back here."

"It will look as though he had a heart seizure in the midst of attacking Edwina and myself," Belladonna said. "There likely will not even be an inquest."

"Do you think that," Desmond asked, "Or do you know that?"

She simply shrugged.

"Right," he said.

Hours later, the magistrate had come and gone. Belladonna was in a slightly better frame of mind. She was no longer wracked with guilt having summoned her ancestors and all but sentencing Reverend Stalker to his death. There was a certainty that had come to her in those last few hours. He would never have stopped. There would have been no peace for any of them because he would not have been content until she was dead.

"You are still troubled."

Looking up, she saw Desmond in the doorway of her bedchamber. "Must we keep up this ridiculous tradition of having separate rooms? It is the most unnatural thing in the world that a couple who is married should sleep separately."

"You only say that because you have not heard me snore," he pointed out.

Her lips curved in a slight smile. "I'm willing to chance it. I don't want us to sleep apart."

"Then we will not. This is our home now. Traditions and expectations be damned."

With each word, eh'd taken a step closer to her until she could reach out and place her hands flat against the hard planes of his chest, covered only by the crisp cotton of his shirt. "You came back to save me."

"Quite unnecessarily," he agreed. "You had it all well in hand, it seemed."

"I might have failed," she said. "I had never done that particular spell. I had learned it, but never actually completed it. Precisely because it is so powerful and unpredictable. Amarantha cautioned me to never use it unless I had no other choice."

"Did you?"

Belladonna considered that for a moment. "Not that I could think of at the time."

"I had a rather starling realization while I was speaking with Mrs. Stalker," he said softly. "I am in love with you. I know that its't what you wish to hear. That speaking of love makes you fearful of this curse?—."

"No. I'm tired of being afraid," she said. Because she'd had her own realization. When she'd walked into the corridor and seen him holding Reverend Stalker against the wall, it had dawned on her that there were no guarantees in life. Not for anyone. Eugenie had lost the husband she loved. Edwina had lost hers, as well. It was a dangerous thing to love someone so much, but it was a very lonely and painful thing to never love anyone at all. "Because I love you, too. I love you and curses, to borrow one of your favorite phrases, be damned."

There was no more time for talking. Desmond took her in his arms, kissing her with the same fierce intensity that robbed her of her senses. And like everything else with them, it progressed quickly to a hurried but undeniably satisfying coupling that left them both spent.