“Katharine,” she repeated. “Can you see her?”
“She’s not here.” He gestured at the portraits with a clumsy wave unlike his usual assured grace. “All of the ghosts.”
So that’s what he was talking about: the portraits. Which did not include portraits of either him or his late wife.
“You’re not here either,” she pointed out.
“Then where am I?” A tremor of fear entered his voice, and he turned in a circle, as slowly as if he were moving through honey. “Where am I? Where am I?”
“You’re here.” Thea caught his hand to stop him from turning. She wondered if she ought to run for help. “I’m here and you’re here.”
“I’m here.” He sighed, calmed, and studied her. “And you’re here.”
Flipping his hand, he tangled his warm fingers with hers. Then he smiled, and even in the dim light it was an unexpectedly sweet smile for that scarred, surly face.
“You wanted to touch the flower,” he reminisced, his fingers playing over hers. “Then I frightened you.”
“Yes. You were rather beastly.”
His brows drew together. His eyes narrowed. Thea tugged at her hand, but he held it fast.
Then he bared his teeth and made a sound. Like…a squeak. Another squeak, and another. It became a series of squeaks, also known as…a giggle.
The Earl of Luxborough was giggling.
“Beastly,” he repeated, still giggling, his face scrunched up and his big shoulders shaking. “I was beastly.”
Thea found herself laughing too, more from relief than amusement, until his giggles subsided with a deep sigh.
“Come along, Countess.” His voice sounded normal now, if a little lethargic. “Come and meet the family.”
He led her to a portrait and she held up the candle to see a man in a big white wig and ornate clothes.
“This was my father.” He led her to another, similar portrait. “And here is my brother John. He didn’t like her, but he gave us a home anyway.”
“Her? Do you mean Katharine? My lord?”
He didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on his brother’s portrait.
“Luxborough?”
Nothing.
“Rafe?”
Sluggishly, he turned his head. The distant dreaminess had returned. “I turned her into a ghost. She was dead when she was alive.”
“What happened to Katharine?”
“I couldn’t help her. You saw her books,” he added in a near whisper. “Her secret messages. She was scared. So very, very scared.”
“What was she scared of?”
“Me.”
Abruptly, he released her hand and wandered away. The cool air collided with the warmth he had left behind. Nothing made sense. Of course, he was intoxicated. Then she remembered the bishop, who clearly cared about him, who had said Luxborough had done nothing wrong, but blamed himself anyway.
Somehow, Thea could not be frightened.
“Lord Luxborough? Rafe?” She darted around in front of him. “Where is your portrait? You are the earl now. Your face should be here.”
“No one wants to see my face.”
“I like your face. It tells your story. How impressed your children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren will be, telling tales about old Rafe, who survived an attack by a giant cat.”
“Not going to have children, so no grandchildren. No great-grandchildren. Et cetera.”
“But you said you needed to marry to get heirs.”
“I have heirs. I have Christopher. He’s my other brother. I have another other brother too. Half my brothers are dead. Half my brothers are alive. I’m half dead and half alive. Where was I?”
“Christopher. Heirs.”
“Christopher has lots of heirs. His wife produces them in litters, like a rabbit.”
He resumed his walk, toward the gloomy passage leading to his rooms. But his gait was unsteady and he bumped into the doorjamb. He stopped short and frowned at it.
“My lord?”
He poked the doorjamb.
“Luxborough?”
No response.
“Rafe?”
Slowly, he turned his head.
“Do you need help?” she said. “Shall I take you to your room?”
“Countess. It’s you.”
“That’s right.”
“I like you, Countess. You talk too much but I like you anyway.”
“Oh. Good. Are you drunk?”
“Bhang,” he said.
“Bang?” she repeated.
“Bhang,” he agreed.
“Like a gun? Bang?”
“Like a gun.” He giggled. “Bang bang.”
“You’re giggling.”
“I am not.”
“I’ll help you back to your rooms.”