Chapter Six
The guests had been shaken by Aunt Mildred’s and Aunt Agnes’s antics, but Sophie noticed that they seemed to forget all about the ghostly encounter when Lord Rodwell led her to the dance floor.
She could feel their eyes on her—on them.
But she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was dance with this handsome earl. And dance they did.
They glided across the floor as if their bodies had been made to move in unison.
Sophie briefly wondered if her aunts had put her and Lord Rodwell under some type of spell, but that wasn’t possible.
They weren’t witches. They were merely ghosts.
The spell she was under was one of a different sort.
It was the sort she’d read about in books—when people fell in love.
“I’ve been searching for you, Miss Spencer,” the earl said. “Ever since I saw you at Highgate Cemetery. I didn’t even know your name at that time, but you captured my attention that day. I thought you were an angel.”
Sophie’s heart drummed in her chest. “I am no angel. Only a young lady who lives across the street from the cemetery.”
“I beg to differ,” Simon said.
Sophie gazed into the earl’s dark eyes and felt as if she were in a dream.
She had not realized how lonely her life had become these past few years.
She loved her aunts, but they were ghosts, after all, and living alone with two ghosts in a drafty old house with dwindling funds was no life for a young lady.
Now, on this ballroom floor, in the arms of a dashing young man, Sophie felt alive for the first time in years.
The orchestra, merry guests, abundant food, and the beautiful Mayfair home of Lady Cheshire brought back memories of her old life and made her yearn for all she’d lost. Her aunts were right.
It was time she married and created a new family and home for herself.
That is what Papa would have wanted for her.
Suddenly, an icy wind swept through the room and, once again, the candelabras were extinguished.
Before Sophie had time to process what was happening, cold hands grabbed her tightly around the waist. Then she was elevated off the ground and traveling at an unnatural speed through the air.
Her heart raced. This was not the work of her aunts, of that she was certain.
Her captor, whoever he or whatever it was, hurled her into her carriage with such force that she almost hit her head against the window.
Then the doors slammed shut, and the carriage sped through the streets as though it were flying.
Something was horribly wrong. She tried the door, but it would not budge.
She sat up and strained to see who was driving the vehicle, and to her horror, saw no horses pulling the carriage.
Even so, they were moving at a supernatural speed, even faster than her ghostly aunts were able to move.
There was only one creature on earth capable of such speed—a vampire. Alexi had kidnapped her.
When the carriage came to an abrupt stop, the door shot open, and Sophie’s worst fear was confirmed. The vampire, draped in his black hooded cloak, whisked her out of the carriage with superhuman strength and slung her over his shoulder. Then he hurtled through the dark, misty cemetery.
*
January 1, 1858
Simon stood in shock and utter darkness, along with the rest of Lady Cheshire’s guests, as her footmen scrambled to relight the candelabras.
What just happened? And where is Sophie?
She was no longer in his arms. It was as though she’d been ripped away from him. He moved blindly about the room, straining his eyes in the darkness to see. But it was no use. The room was in chaos. People were bumping into each other, crying out, “Not again!” and “Let there be light!”
Suddenly, a great clap and thundering boom sounded, and the sky outside the large sash windows lit up. Streaks of green, blue, red, and white shot through the air.
“Happy New Year!” someone shouted.
The guests broke out into applause and made for the garden, bellowing, “Happy New Year!” as they went.
Everyone appeared joyous, but Simon felt something was intrinsically wrong.
The first time the light had suddenly died that night, the aura in the room had been different—playful, even mischievous.
The second time they’d been extinguished by an icy wind—one that had chilled him to the bone.
Evil had been present in the room, and his gut told him that Sophie had been caught up in it somehow.
The light in the now mostly empty ballroom gradually returned as the standing candelabras were relit.
But Sophie was nowhere to be seen. Simon moved frantically through the ballroom, searching.
He approached the French doors that led to the garden, intending to continue his search outside, but Miss Waterford accosted him before he could step onto the patio.
“Lord Rodwell! There you are. Happy New Year to you,” she said, putting her hand to her forehead and swaying slightly as though she might swoon. “I was almost frightened out of my wits when those fireworks started.”
“Happy New Year,” Simon said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. “Have you seen the young lady with whom I was dancing?”
“Do you mean mad Miss Spencer?” She dropped her hand from her forehead and gave him a scathing look.
“Don’t call her that,” Simon said.
“And why shouldn’t I? She is mad. It is well known she talks to ghosts.”
“Gossip doesn’t become you, Miss Waterford,” Simon said, and the lady scowled.
But something about her words rang true.
Simon frowned, remembering seeing Miss Spencer at the cemetery and then again on Oxford Street right before the high winds struck.
And now, there was yet another strange incident.
He did not believe in ghosts or the supernatural.
That was the stuff of fairytales. Still, he could not shake the feeling that Sophie was in trouble.