Ghost Girl

Chapter 7

"Quin!" It came out as a pathetic rasp, but he must have heard.

He glanced over his shoulder then sprinted back to my side. The fever subsided as quickly as it had taken hold. He cursed in French then helped me sit up. I swayed into him. He cradled me and I rested my cheek against his chest. His heart thumped out a strong, rapid rhythm.

To my horror, a tear escaped and slid down my cheek. It was foolish. He had returned again and I was well. But the flood of fear I'd felt at his outburst and then as I watched him walk away left me shaken and unsure.

"I wasn't leaving you, Cara," he murmured into my hair, as if he sensed my fear.

I swiped angrily at the tear. "I didn't know that."

His lips touched my forehead where a dull ache lingered. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep, calming breath. It felt good to be kissed like that, even if it were merely a chaste, apologetic one. Very good. Indeed, no man who was not my relation had ever kissed me, or held me, or touched me in the way Quin did. Yet I was still very aware that only moments before he'd been so angry with me that he'd forgotten his purpose for being here.

"I'm sorry I angered you," I said, my voice a little more wobbly than I would have liked.

"It was as much my fault. I'm afraid I'm still growing used to your modern sensibilities."

"You mean you're not used to having wenches constantly question you?"

He pulled away from me and I felt the loss of his solidness keenly. "I hope you can forgive me. But, please, do not ask any more questions. There are some things you're better off not knowing."

I swallowed and tried to catch his gaze with my own, but he looked away. "Come," he said, voice rumbling in his chest. "I'll take you home."

He helped me to stand even though I had fully recovered and didn't need assistance. He tucked my hand into the crook of his arm again and we walked off like an old married couple. We received some stares from passersby who'd perhaps witnessed my tumble—or were scandalized by Quin not wearing a full suit—but none spoke to us.

I didn't tell Sylvia, Emily and Jacob about the incident. They were too curious about our visit to the Myers' home. We relayed the conversation, including Myer's denial that he was in any way involved in Harrington's possession of Clement.

"We're going to the library tomorrow," I said. "Now that Quin's suit has arrived, we won't be stared at." The clothes had been delivered while we were out, but Quin had yet to change.

"I expect Myer will watch over you while you research," Jacob said.

"He claims that research bores him. His historian will be there, however."

"Who?"

"A paranormal historian by the name of Nathaniel Faraday."

Emily frowned. "That names sounds familiar."

Sylvia gave a little gasp, but at my warning glare, she shut her mouth.

Emily didn't notice. Her eyes lit up and she smiled at me.

"Yes, it's the same one," I said before she asked.

Jacob's gaze flicked between us. "Who is this Faraday?"

"I met him on the journey back to England. I didn't realize he was a paranormal historian. I thought he was just a regular one."

"Did you ask him why he never wrote after promising to?" Emily asked.

"He promised to write?" Jacob sat up straighter.

"He did," Emily told him. "But nothing came of it. A pity. You made him sound quite dashing, Cara. I would have liked to meet him and learn his connections."