Her skin came up in gooseflesh as if a cold gust of air had touched her flesh. Gran had never said anything because she knew that people would kill to get ahold of them. She put the books back in and closed the lid, then relocked it. What was she supposed to do with the diaries?
Something scuttled over the kitchen floor. She jumped up expecting to see a spider or roach, but there was nothing there. No doubt it was already hiding somewhere, ready to surprise her. Yuck, God knew what she’d brought out of the shed and into the house.
She wiped her hands on her jeans and ran up the stairs to tell Caspian what she’d found. He wasn’t in the first two rooms. In the third room he was standing next to the bed, his hand on the footboard, eyes closed. He didn’t seem to have heard her and he didn’t move. His lips curved in a small smile.
What was he doing?
Was he imagining what had gone on in the house and having some kind of weird fantasy?
Lydia coughed. It was just too strange to see him standing perfectly still yet obviously thinking something.
Chapter 9
Caspian’s eyelids flew open. Lydia stood in the doorway looking like a beautiful thundercloud. His stomach sank. How long had she been standing there? Had she heard him talking to Dylis while sifting through the furniture’s past? He hoped she wouldn’t notice the tightness of his jeans. The trouble with sifting through impressions in a bedroom was it was like scrolling through a porn video. It didn’t matter where he looked, there was flesh, and that’s all he was. He couldn’t help his body’s response. He was sure even a fairy would’ve been affected by the things he saw.
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”
“I…” The truth rested on the tip of his tongue. Dylis sat on the sideboard, her sword in hand. “Sometimes it helps to put myself at an auction. I remember something similar being on the floor a few years ago.”
He was going to trip over his lies and fall into the river of damned souls. Dylis huffed and rolled her eyes.
Lydia raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. She didn’t believe him. Ah well, it had been nice to see that look of desire in her eye while it had lasted.
“Right. I never saw you doing that before.”
“I did look pretty stupid standing there, and I make a point of trying not to look stupid in public.” He’d done that too many times growing up. Tripping over fairies no one else could see, touching something and getting caught in the vision. He changed the subject and hoped she’d let it drop. “Some of this furniture is really old. It predates the notorious years.”
Some of it he suspected was as old as the house.
“Really?”
He tapped the wood. “Guest bed. The one down the hall, an old master suit. Do you have photos? It’s like a museum, as if your grandmother was trying her best to keep it as it was even as she earned a living.”
“How do you know this stuff?”
Because I’m psychometric and half fairy didn’t seem like an appropriate response. “I don’t know. I’m making educated guesses,” he said instead.
Her face softened a little. He was off the hook but not out of trouble. The tension in his muscles eased. Dylis should’ve warned him Lydia was coming up, but they’d been discussing the sudden increase in Grey activity. It was no longer just the ghost—which Dylis hadn’t found. Maybe it was hiding from the interlopers because it was tiny and weak. That made sense if it had been here for as long as Lydia claimed. The ghost was probably close to death.
Tonight there’d also been imps in the garden, hanging around the stable as they’d pulled out the trunks and trying to trip him up, and Dylis had scared off a boggart that had been creeping around the house. While he knew this was part of Shea’s campaign to annoy him into making a deal and he needed to ignore it, it was wearing him down. Which was the whole idea. Shea could keep up this low-level annoyance for a very long time. If Shea were using stronger magic, he’d be killing himself faster, so this was much more effective. Had Lydia noticed anything strange about the house yet—aside from him spending quality time with the furniture?
“I think I’ve found something that could confirm your theories.” She turned and went down the hallway.
Caspian followed. In the kitchen Lydia opened one of the trunks. He knew exactly what he was looking at—diaries.
“Are they your grandmother’s?”
She nodded. “They go back to World War Two. Well, that’s the oldest I’ve found. And I only had a quick look.”
Caspian rubbed his hand over his jaw. The diaries complicated things. “They have a value I can’t begin to estimate, and not just in monetary sense.”
“I know. What if she listed mistresses and the men? Some of the same families would still have weight in the community. And then there were the deals done at the parties. And then there were the other parties. It only closed twenty-eight years ago…”
She was thinking exactly what he was; there could be very sensitive information in there wrapped up with the real history of the house. Had Gran kept the diaries as a who’s who in case there was trouble, or were they simply diaries of her life?
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. What can I do? This is her life. I can’t burn them.”
“No, no. You can’t do that, but you need to keep them safe.” They were part of the estate. Most times a person’s personal diary didn’t matter. But this was different. Madam Callaway was a well-known person from a well-known family and her diaries went back. Her diaries had historical significance as well as social significance. “I think you should read some of them, get a feel for what’s in there. If it’s names, we’re going to have to handle things differently.”
How desperate would people be to keep their association with Callaway House quiet? The artists probably not much, judges and lawyers and politicians, very much so. And if they were making backroom deals here, he was willing to bet they had the pull to make the diaries disappear.
Lydia slumped down onto the lid of the other trunk, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Her gaze glued to the floor. “I can’t do it. There’s too much here. I can’t keep everything and I don’t want to get rid of anything. I don’t want to sell and I don’t know what to do.”
Then she began to cry. The kind of half-smothered sob as if she didn’t want him to notice. But how could he not notice? Her hiccupping breaths cut at his heart. In that moment he knew it was more than simple attraction. He wanted more of Lydia than just the time at the house. He wanted to see where what they had was going. For a moment he hesitated, not sure what to do, or what she would want him to do. Would she rather be left alone to pull herself together? He didn’t know her well enough to answer that yet. However, he couldn’t walk away when she was so upset. He sat next to her and put his arm around her, drawing her close. She let herself be pulled into his embrace.
“It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. You don’t have to decide anything now.” His hand stroked her hair. He wanted to kiss her tears away, but after the look she’d given him when she’d caught him feeling the bed, that probably wasn’t a good idea. So he let her cry.
He closed his eyes. He didn’t know what it was like to lose someone close, but he could imagine the hole that would be left when his parents died. It wasn’t just her grandmother; this was the woman who’d raised her.
After a few moments Lydia sniffed. Her head was still resting on his chest as if she was reluctant to pull away. Her breathing steadied. “God, you must think me pathetic for falling apart like that.”
“No. Everyone is entitled to grieve.”