The Wrong Girl(22)

"Are you going to leap out from behind a cupboard and shout 'Boo'?"

He didn't even laugh at that, although I couldn't help smirking. I'd be checking around corners for the next five weeks.

"You don't strike me as the fearful sort." He continued to look at me, twisting his mouth in thought as he studied me. "It's very odd that your talent would be triggered in that manner when it's not something you appear to suffer from overmuch. Besides, you must have been afraid when I abducted you, yet nothing happened."

"You drugged me! And anyway, how do you know it's odd? For all we know, you may be the odd one and everyone else with our afflic—talent—has the same trigger as me."

"You may be right. The question still stands—how am I going to frighten you?"

"You could get Bollard to chase me with a shovel again." My joke fell flat, and I shuddered at the memory of stumbling across the mute in the woods.

Jack was at my side in an instant. He touched my hands, and sparks zapped between us. I felt a shock through to my bones. It was as if every part of me had been struck by lightning and even after he drew back, my nerves continued to sizzle.

He stood and shook out his hands. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

I expected to see burns on his hands, but they appeared perfectly fine. As did mine. They did, however, feel hot. Indeed, I felt hot all over. I removed the choker from around my neck, but it did little to alleviate my discomfort.

"Why did that happen?" I asked. "I thought you only started fires when you were angry."

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and turned away.

"You touched me when you kidnapped me, yet that didn't happen," I said, talking more to myself than him. I didn't expect an explanation and nor did he offer one.

He made a great fuss with the pails, kicking them gently and watching the water ripple on the surface.

I studied my palms again. They were still hot, as was the rest of me, but they no longer tingled. Remarkable. "There seems to be so much that we don't know about this. Jack, I must ask...what makes you think I can be trained at all?"

He stopped kicking the buckets and knelt on one knee in front of me. There was resignation in his eyes, and a deep sadness, but I did not touch him like I wanted to. "We have to try, Violet." His voice was smooth and chocolaty thick. Despite my confusion and uncertainty, it instantly lifted my spirits. "Otherwise you'll be a prisoner for the rest of your life. Now." He stood again and removed his waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves.

"Jack!" I shielded my eyes with my hand, but peeked through the fingers. "I may have lived a sheltered life, but I do know undressing in company is not appropriate."

"To hell with propriety. I'm boiling inside."

I quite understood, and I thanked God that I wasn't wearing a corset and had chosen a light dress for the day. "If you're trying to frighten me, it's not working."

He laughed. "I'm not trying to frighten you. Not yet. Let's begin with some breathing exercises you can employ for when you're feeling afraid."

***

I couldn't sleep that night. Thoughts of Jack whirled through my head. I couldn't block them out, nor did I want to. I liked how he looked at me. I liked how he made me feel. Except when he zapped me, that is. It had taken the rest of the day before my body cooled enough to feel comfortable again. Indeed, I was still a little warm, so I rose to open the window. The air was cold but didn't alleviate the heat throbbing through me. Jack's touch had indeed been powerful, and the effects long-lasting.

Voices drifted up to me from below. In the moonlight, I could just make out two figures standing side by side. One wore a long overcoat and hat. The other did not. Both had the stance and size of men.

"He'll be in a lot of trouble if Langley finds out," said a voice I instantly recognized as Jack's. Why was he referring to his uncle by his surname?

"We don't know it's 'im." Good lord, it was Tommy, speaking in a slum accent similar to what I'd heard Jack use that one time in Langley's rooms. His tones had been cultured earlier as befitted a footman in a grand house, so why the slip now?

I leaned further out the window to hear more.

"Of course it's him," Jack said. "The maid said—"

"She 'as a name, Jack. Maud. You mighta risen up 'igh now, but you better not f'get where you came from. Wouldna want that pretty lady knowin' what you really is, would ya?"

Something flared in the darkness, and I realized with a start that it was Jack's fingers. There were no sparks, but they did glow.

"Jesus bloody Christ, Jack-o'-lantern!" Tommy backed away. "I don' mean no 'arm. I won' tell 'er nuffin'. Put yer 'ands away."