Sexual Hunger (18 page)

“Yes, Mum. Good afternoon,” Jude mumbled.

“Rest well,” Maria added, not knowing what else to say. In the twinkling of an eye, Dora Darington had changed from a martyred mother to the mistress of her own script again. And while it wasn’t strange that Yosef Polinsky had delivered Dora from her misery, Maria would
never
have anticipated the medium’s dismissal. “What do you suppose was on that calling card?” she mused aloud. “I’ve never seen a piece of paper bring about such a change in attitude!”

Jude smiled wryly, not quite meeting her eyes. “They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I suspect Polinsky chooses them well.”

“A
shes to ashes and dust to dust,” the vicar droned as he gazed into the grave now filled with Lord Darington’s casket. “We commend the spirit of Phillip, Lord Darington, into Thy care, O God…”

Maria’s weary mind wandered. From beneath her veil she observed those around her: Jude, on her right, looking downcast and very concerned about his possible role as the Darington heir. The crook of his arm tightened around her hand, and she squeezed back.

On her left, Dora stood with stoic dispassion, a rose between her gloved fingers. She was a column of uninterrupted black, from her smart new hat with its longer veil to the tips of her stylish new pumps: the widow now in the public eye among the many friends who’d gathered at the cemetery.

Jemma stood to her mother’s left, mewling miserably. She’d been forced to leave her ferret at home, so her hands flitted from adjusting her veil to smoothing her gown of black bombazine. The dress, cut closer to her hips and legs, made her look dangerously alluring. Maria sensed these funereal details frustrated the youngest Darington, who was unaccustomed to enduring ordeals not of her own creation.

Father Stoutham cleared his throat pointedly, and Maria refocused on the funeral. Lady Darington stepped forward, dangerously close to the gaping grave, to drop her rose on her husband’s casket. Then she lifted her chin; planted her hands on her daughter’s trembling shoulders to urge her to follow the script. Sniffling loudly, Jemma half-threw her rose rather than look down into the hole that held her father. Jude then stepped forward with Maria, and they, too, paid their final respects. Thank God it was all going according to plan….

Yet when she saw how Rubio scanned the crowd, scowling, Maria sensed something would soon change that. The vicar pronounced his benediction. The somber crowd parted for the family’s return to the carriage behind the hearse, a magnificent black vehicle drawn by plumed ebony horses. Maria nodded at the murmured condolences as they walked the path between the tombstones, spotting Lord and Lady Galsworthy, Lord Fenwick, Lady MacPherson, and Mrs. Grumbaugh among the mourners.

Dora had announced her need for total privacy—no condolence callers—so as Maria approached the hearse, the rest of this endless day loomed before her. She was itching to write a column—anything to occupy her mind with the
living
—but proper decorum and respect for Lady Darington demanded that she remain at Wildwood until evening, when Rubio was to escort her back to the town house. The undertaker asked for a word with Dora and Jude, so Maria stepped into the black carriage first.

From the far end of the seat, Yosef Polinsky put his finger to his lips.

Maria was too startled to speak. What was this man trying to prove? She knew the answer to that, of course: he was positioning himself to fill the empty spot in Dora Darington’s life. But how flagrantly could he flaunt his desires in a funeral carriage and still be considered a gentleman? Was she condoning whatever trick Polinsky had up his stylish sleeve, if she sat down without questioning his intentions? When Jude saw the magician, he would protest long and loudly.

But Dora entered the carriage ahead of her son. And at the sight of Yosef, her sigh camouflaged laughter and she promptly sat down beside him. “So!” she cooed. “You have come to beg my forgiveness for your impertinence yesterday?”

Jude stopped halfway inside the carriage. “What the hell’s going on
here?
My mother has requested a day of solitude and seclusion—”

“You may sit beside Maria and keep your mouth shut, Jude.” Dora gestured impatiently for Jemma to step inside. “Obviously, God has brought this man to us, knowing our…deep need for guidance in our time of crisis. And if Mr. Polinsky can summon your father’s spirit, ask him how to bring your brother Jason home, I should think you’d be grateful for his assistance. Your sister has always wished to attend a séance, so here’s her chance.”

Maria sat back, stunned. Had this scenario and the séance been secretly arranged beforehand? Or were Dora and Yosef cleverly playing upon each other’s conversational cards now that the medium had showed up unannounced? The more she watched the two of them together, the more she sensed an unseen force was indeed at work—and it had nothing to do with the spiritual realm. It was lust, plain and simple.

The carriage seat wheezed as Jude landed beside her. His expression remained ominous as he studied the couple across from them. Jemma blinked, looking unsettled yet fascinated.

The undertaker peered in before closing the door, and then his eyes bugged. “Begging your pardon, Lady Darington, but I heard raised voices and—I understood you were to be driven home—”

“All is well, Mr. Cromley. You and your driver may proceed with our plan. I shall pay you immediately—and generously—for the way you have so kindly assisted us in our time of bereavement.” Even from behind her dense black veil, there was no mistaking Dora’s intent or her presence of mind.

The portly man nodded, understanding his role in this little drama. The carriage door closed with a solid
whump
, and moments later they were rolling down the road toward Wildwood.

Rolling toward what?
The silence had so many different shades of meaning between the five of them, Maria couldn’t guess what might happen next. Revelation? Or the total rearrangement of everything proper and habitual; the things that kept their lives on track, day in and day out?

“Yes, Pandora, this table shall be perfect. Quite appropriate that Lord Darington, rest his soul, sat in this cozy parlor as he read his newspapers.” Yosef Polinsky gazed around the darkened room, nodding as he spoke. “We shall close the door to prevent intrusion. Once the spirits have replied to our summons, we want no chance of interruption.”

Despite the way she watched this medium for hints of fraud—he was a magician skilled in sleight of hand, after all—Maria found her pulse pounding. She’d grown up in a house inhabited by spirits, and she’d been a sitter at séances her brother conducted, yet this event felt fortuitous: it seemed as right a time as any for contacting Phillip Darington’s spirit or for attempting to reach Jason. She would protest if Polinsky employed any unusual or unseemly methods, aware that
anything
might happen if the spirits of her fiancé or his father actually responded to them.

“You shall sit here beside me, my dear lady, along with your son and daughter,” Yosef said as he pulled out the chair nearest the end he would occupy. “And you, Miss Palladino, shall take the seat on my left. Does anyone have questions before we begin? I must insist that everyone sit at this table of his own volition, believing in the power of the spirits we invoke. If you doubt this process or my abilities, speak now! Negativity produces chaos. Results of which are irreversible.”

“May I hold Willie?” Jemma asked in a bleating voice. “If I keep him in his cage—”

“Absolutely not!” Jude snapped.

“Jemma, dear, that’s a silly idea. Your ferret will distract—”

“Animals are far more sensitive to the presence of spirits than we are,” Polinsky intoned as he lit an oil lamp in the table’s center. “But I must concur with your brother and mother, Miss Jemma, for if you’re holding Willie you can’t join hands with the rest of us. The energy to summon spirits comes from the vibrations and continuous electrical impulses we pass around our circle.”

Jemma didn’t reply. Instead, she observed the seating arrangement as the others settled into their chairs: she would face Polinsky from the opposite end of the oval, while a space gaped between her and Maria. “How am I supposed to clasp hands with Jude and Maria, when I can’t reach? And shouldn’t we have another sitter to make the number even? Five is such a lopsided—”

“Ah,
five
! The number of conflict and tension and change.” Polinsky stood behind his chair, a teacher surveying his small class. His eyes lingered on Dora. She had removed her hat and veil, when the medium had hinted that spirits preferred to communicate with sitters who appeared open and inviting. “If you prefer, milady, you may invite a trusted servant to sit with us, or perhaps—”

The clatter of the brass doorknocker made them all jump, and then listen as the butler opened the front door. Had Polinsky contrived for a sitter of his own choosing to join them? Maria watched his expression, his striking male profile as he, too, awaited any message from this visitor before proceeding. The conversation at the door was muffled, yet Maria sensed an intense energy, the presence of someone—

“Rubio!” she blurted when his familiar tread passed the parlor. “Rubio, come in and—”

The door opened and her brother appraised the situation with one swift glance. While his black cape looked elegant enough for the funeral he’d just attended, its lining of red and purple paisley print made him appear more of a magician than Polinsky. “Well! It would seem I’m just in time to round out your séance table!” he quipped. “A stroke of good fortune, indeed.”

Maria felt a surge of relief when he pulled up a chair between her and Jemma. His foxlike grin hinted his appearance was anything but coincidental. “We were about to summon the late Lord Darington’s spirit,” she murmured. “To ask about Jason’s whereabouts—”

“So we can pursue him,” Dora insisted. “We
must
bring him home now, and hope a return to these familiar surroundings will restore his memory.”

“And because it’s pretty damn embarrassing that he’s plundering our ships,” Jude added wryly.

At the end of the table, Jemma beamed as she reached for Rubio’s hand. “And with the
two
of you mediums here, working together, how can we fail?”

As Maria watched the conversational ball bounce around the table, she held her protest in check. It had been
her
idea to go after Jason, when they’d received the telegram that provoked Phillip’s dramatic passing! Finally, with all the major players gathered at this table, Dora seemed eager to proceed—or at least eager for Yosef Polinsky to prove himself, now that Rubio had appeared.

“Let’s get started, then!” Rubio reached for Maria’s hand and then Jemma’s, while the others completed the ring around the table. Polinsky sat down, appearing darkly powerful in the shadowy parlor; a man who intended to lead them to the answers they sought, if only to outperform his competitor.

When Yosef gripped her hand, Maria jerked: a jolt of awareness passed from Polinsky’s palm on her right, through her body like an electrical shock, to shoot out through her hand and into her brother’s. Rubio swiveled his head to gawk at her—and then at the other medium—before returning a similar surge of power.

“Gentlemen, please!” Maria gasped. “We must decide who will lead and who will follow, before I become your human sacrifice! Use your power to attract the spirit assistance we need, not to play childish games!”

The ring in Rubio’s nose twinkled like Gypsy fire. “Excellent point. Since this séance was your idea, Polinsky, I shall act as a conduit rather than a source. But should your efforts fail, I’m not above showing you how it’s done!”

Yosef sneered, his eyes a-glitter. “With all due respect to our hostess, we shall set aside our differences—our mutual animosity—to seek the spiritual guidance Pandora has requested. Shall we close our eyes to concentrate?”

The parlor rang with an anticipatory silence. The measured tick of the mantel clock marked the passing moments, until the man at the head of the table inhaled deeply. “We beseech you, spirit guides, to act on our behalf,” he began in a reverent voice. “We seek the former Lord Darington, known to us as Phillip and Father…and we ask that you, my guides, channel your information and encouragement through me.”

Polinsky’s words resonated in the quiet room. Through one slitted eyelid, Maria observed the others: Dora with her ethereal, uplifted face; Jude, who concentrated his thoughts despite the way Jemma fidgeted on his other side. Was it her imagination or did the room’s temperature plummet and then rise again? The flame in the oil lamp flickered once…twice, even though nothing stirred the air around them.

Jemma flinched. “Ouch! Who
pinched
me?” She looked accusingly around the table. “Mr. Polinsky, if that’s
you,
sending your rude thoughts my way, you can stop it right now!”

The magician’s smile looked wolfish and…domineering. “I didn’t do a thing, my dear. It’s all in your mind.”

Maria considered this. Would Yosef claim that everything that happened—or didn’t—was only in their minds? Or that the séance didn’t progress because they hadn’t properly harnessed their thoughts? When a current of air brushed her cheek, she looked to see if Rubio was playing tricks with the energy around them. He appeared, however, to be minding his own business…which, because his eyes were closed in apparent meditation, might mean he was conjuring up ghosts of his own. Would his guides compete with the spirits Yosef Polinsky had called upon?

“I feel something,” Dora murmured, awestruck. “A current, a pulsing of air around my shoulders, as if—”

“As if your dear, departed husband were wrapping his arms around you?” Polinksy smiled indulgently at the woman beside him.

She smirked. “Phillip rarely touched me. He wasn’t a demonstrative man—”

“Well, someone is touching
me
!” Jemma blurted. “As though a cat were twining between my legs under the table! Is that
you
, Willie?” The young woman reached with her feet and then broke the circle of hands to peer beneath the table, but her ferret wasn’t there.

“We are indeed in the presence of spirits. They’ve come to introduce you to the spiritual plane before we delve into deeper communication,” Rubio intoned. Still he sat with his eyes closed, his empty palm inviting Jemma to complete the circle again. “It requires great effort for a spirit to manifest its presence. We should be grateful that all who hover around us bring peace and the benefits of their influence.”

Dora chortled curtly. “Well, I would expect nothing different, since—”

“Never assume that all spirits are friendly, or that they have our best interests in mind,” Rubio cut in pointedly. “There are those who would mislead us. Those who would frighten us, so we would leave them be, in their otherworldly realms.”