Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Closing the third door along the hallway that was not the powder room, Haven moved on to the next, desperate to find the one room in the corridor where she could freak out unnoticed. Frustrated with the bunching of her less-than-well-fit borrowed gloves, she pulled them from her hands.
The next door in the hallway was the room she sought.
Tossing her gloves on the hallway table, she entered and closed the door behind her.
Gazing at her flushed appearance in the mirror, she fought the urge to high five her face. Hard.
What the hell is wrong with me?
She didn’t feel right. Her new emotions and urges were out of place in her personality.
Since when did she go out of her way to cruelly insult people, especially other guests at a party?
That wasn’t her. Sure, she’d get bitchy with people when they got mouthy with her, or deserved a well-placed kick in the ass, but she never picked a fight with another person simply because they looked at her wrong.
There had to be something else going on, something deliberately creating tension and situations where there weren’t any.
Her reflection paled as a thought struck. Could all of this mayhem be the work of the spirit inside the watch?
Damn watch.
She was glad she'd found a hidey hole for it in her armoire. Earlier, upon inspection of the large wooden hulk, she’d discovered several little drawers where she could hide something as precious and important as a magically empowered, spirit-possessed golden pocket watch.
With all of the emotional and psychological warfare, albeit one-sided, going on, she was reminded that though it was tucked away, the spirit dwelling inside was free to float and interfere wherever it wanted.
Goddamn meddling troublemaker. I will not be jerked about on invisible strings like some sort of puppet.
Petulance rose to poke against her better judgment.
“I’ll show you.”
She’d been her own woman. She refused to go back to being ruled and manhandled by anyone, physical or immaterial. Her life and future depended on it.
Determined to finish the evening without the burden of a guilty conscience, she turned to leave the powder room. She intended to make her way to the music room, bite back her desire to scratch out Kroger’s eyes, and apologize.
She froze.
A prickling tension slammed into her heart. Skittering ice spiders stole the breath from her lungs, weaving diamond-hard webs of fear and uncertainty through her chest.
Someone was watching her.
She spun slowly, scanning the interior of the powder room which held several elaborately framed mirrors, four plush chairs, and a reclining couch, two large bowls, three pitchers of water, and a door—the door to the hallway.
Someone was in the corridor waiting for her.
“Who’s there?” She intended to sound fearless, even if she wasn’t, but her voice was hoarse, raspy, and terrified.
Silence.
She swallowed. “Hello? Who’s there?”
Nothing. She stood in the middle of the room, as still as death, and waited, listening for any sound indicating a presence; someone lurking outside the powder room, hoping to catch her unaware and vulnerable.
Was the spirit, once again, orchestrating this?
No, this was different.
Dangerous.
She waited, hands on her chest, feet cemented to the floor, breath lodged in her lungs.
Minutes passed.
The clock in the hallway chimed the hour and her tension ebbed.
Is the danger over?
Sick of trembling in fear of the unknown, she commanded her feet to move for the door. Slowly. One foot in front of the other, sweat gathered between her breasts, hands shook, mind screamed, and her stomach rioted.
Step.
Step.
Step.
When she reached the door, she took a deep breath and pulled it open.
The empty corridor greeted her.
She poked her head through the opening, and turned to glance one way, and the other.
Utterly alone. A heavy sigh escaped, and she put her hand to her forehead to stave the flow of moisture rolling from her hairline. When she turned to inspect the powder room again, something just outside the door caught her attention.
She glanced down at the table.
One of her gloves was missing.
The blood drained from her face.
Her naked hand flew to her throat.
Someone had been there.
Anxiety crawled under her skin; tingling in her scalp, and shivers up her neck.
A shudder of unease rocked her as she picked up her remaining glove and dashed back toward the main hallway, away from the quiet corridor teaming with brooding shadows.
Turning the corner leading to the music room, Logan nearly collided with a clearly preoccupied Haven.
She stopped short and gasped.
Her already flushed skin deepened to a rose blush. Her expression was one of anxiousness, and she wouldn’t meet his gaze.
Questions, immediate and vital, dashed against his brain: where had she been, and what had she been doing? Suspicion reared its ugly head, reminding him that beautiful women couldn’t be trusted, especially beautiful women from the future.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I should’ve watched where I was going, but my mind was elsewhere.”
Bowing, he smiled in an effort to alleviate some of the tension following in her wake.
“No reason to apologize, Miss Edwards. Please, let me escort you to the music room.”
At his words, Mr. Kroger—following much too closely behind him—stiffened, his body straightened.
The suspicions pricking Logan’s conscious minutes before were now swinging axes.
When Haven thread her arm through his, he saw one of her gloves missing. The heaviness in his belly was quickly replaced by sourness.
He couldn’t understand the intensity of his anger. Yes, she’d been alone and in a hurry. Yes, her glove was missing. Yes, her expressive face turned his insides to molten lava, but that didn’t mean she’d done something.
Did it?
He escorted her to the seat beside his aunt, and after giving him a look of shy appreciation, she sat.
Aunt Mildred smiled brightly, stood, and announced, “Well, now that we are all here, I would like to invite Miss Minerva Hughes to play for us. She has graciously volunteered to make the conclusion of our evening together a musical one.” Turning to Miss Hughes, she continued, “My dear, please proceed.”
Logan took a seat in the back of the room, and Divinia Kroger sat beside him, her fan in her lap, and her gaze on his face. He avoided eye contact.
Offering her a polite nod and bland smile, he turned his attention to the woman seated to his front left. Haven appeared nervous, fidgety, which wasn’t something he expected. Hating the direction of his focus, he looked away.
Minerva Hughes settled down at the piano and began to play a lively folk piece made popular by an influx of composers from the Urals.
Though the music soothed, and as much as he said he wanted thoughtless musical bliss, the lilting melodies didn’t take his mind from the beautiful American time traveler in the deep-green gown.
So tangled up in thoughts of her, his suspicions, and his unwelcome physical responses to Haven, he was surprised when Miss Hughes played the final chord, and then rose to gentle, appreciative applause.
She’d played three pieces of music, and he hadn’t heard a single note.
He glanced about the room. Did anyone notice his embarrassing preoccupation?
Divinia Kroger peered at him, her expression blank but her fingers were strangling the delicate fan in her lap.
She’d noticed.
How could she look so calm, yet be displeased enough to destroy an ivory-framed fan?
This is becoming troublesome.
He flashed his most charming smile, but met a cold rebuff.
Without a word, she rose.
Her eyes said enough.
She was angry.
He would be the first to admit he didn’t give Miss Kroger the attention she deserved, but did his lack of attentiveness warrant such malice? He stood to give his apologies, but she cut him off before he could utter a sound.
Turning, she made her way to her brother who’d been standing alone at the back of the room.
Sulking?
The twins spoke in hurried yet hushed tones, and glanced in his direction twice.
Logan fought the urge to groan aloud, feeling the utter ass as the evening deteriorated quickly. Relief washed over him when Aunt Mildred rose from her seat.
The evening had finally come to a close.