Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
'Sometimes seeing the future is a gift; sometimes it is not.'
- Lady Rathbourne
Miss Cleo Sinclair, the Earl of Tremayne's daughter, became aware that she was being watched.
It started as a prickle down her spine. He was quiet, whoever he was, and trying not to let her sense him. That was vexing. She would have been frightened, but she was quite certain she wasn't going to be kidnapped today.
Or murdered.
Oh, she'd woken with the feeling that something was going to happen.
Premonition kept itching along her skin at odd moments, and she kept getting this breathless sensation as though something enormous lurked on the horizon, but she was fairly certain it wasn't going to be dangerous.
Those sorts of premonitions always hit her like a downpour, sweeping her out of the monotony of everyday life and into the current of foretelling, regardless of whether she wished it or not.
Could this be what she'd been sensing all day?
Not danger, but something else? She didn't think so.
Nothing ever happened to her, nothing exciting anyway.
She was her father's Golden Goose, more precious than a solid-gold statue of Buddha.
Her purpose in life was to while away her time here at Tremayne Manor until she was called to come predict something for her father or do a foretelling for one of the lords and ladies who paid him a small fortune for them.
Four steps to the rose arch in her father's gardens, and then she'd be downwind. She let the gravel crunch beneath her feet, counting silently.
A curl of cologne drifted past, all bay rum and bergamot with a hint of rosewood and lemon.
A gentleman then. One that was well in hand, for that was a special blend she'd only smelt rarely, and only on the richest of her father's acquaintances.
Those who spoke with crisp Eton vowels and went hur-hur-hur when they laughed.
Cleo lifted her head, the ends of her blindfold brushing against her throat as she paused by the rose trellis. She chewed on her lip, then made a decision. "Are you following me, sir?"
There came a choked silence. He hadn't expected her to be aware of him.
"Unless, of course, it is mere coincidence that you are going to feed the ducks in my father's locked and walled garden too?
" Her basket brushed against her skirts as she turned.
There was nothing but stillness in front of her, though she could still scent his cologne.
"Now you're making me feel a little silly.
I know you're there." She touched her blindfold.
Nothing like adding a little mysticism, a little drama.
"You cannot sneak up upon the Cassandra, did you know? "
"My apologies." The voice was deep. Not very old, she thought, though older than she. He sounded slightly French, and a little out of his depth, as though he were searching for words to say. "I did not mean to disturb you."
"Well, clearly. You were sneaking so quietly behind me."
An awkward silence ensued. "I'm sorry."
"For being caught, or for creeping around after me in the first place?" She'd long since learned that blunt questions often startled truthful answers out of people, or she could pick up little truths out of their reactions, anyway.
"I did not know you were a diviner." This fact sounded rueful, as though, had he known, he might have stayed away.
"I'm not. I'm the diviner. The current one, anyway."
"Are they all blindfolded? I had thought..." He trailed off. He was aware of rude enquiries, even if she considered them minor inconveniences.
"It helps to make the visions clearer. My father blindfolded me when I was five.
I had a foretelling saying that if I ever saw the world again, I would lose the Gift.
" And so she'd never dared take the blindfold off.
It was the only thing that made her valuable to her father. She didn't want to lose that.
"You haven't seen a single thing since you were five?"
"Oh, I've seen a lot of things, some of them not very nice.
Sometimes it's quite interesting. If I had my vision what would I see but roses and grass and trees?
Whereas, without it, I can see all manner of things, sometimes even the world.
" She didn't give him time to gain his balance; instead, she stretched out her hand, gesturing for his arm.
"Are you going to walk with me? Take a poor, blind girl safely to the water's edge? "
"I'm certain you were managing quite well enough without me." Movement whispered, as though he laced his hands behind his back. It was a subtle withdrawing, told in a gentle murmur of fabrics.
Cleo tilted her head on its side. "Don't you like touching people?"
"Not really, no. And something tells me that touching someone who can see the world might be a little dangerous. What if you could see all of the secrets inside me?"
She smiled. Touch often gave her insight into a person, sometimes even forcing a prediction or foretelling upon her. Oh, yes, he was very interesting. "Are there secrets to see?"
"We all have secrets." There were shadows in his voice.
"Well then, it seems you have set me a challenge."
The stranger took a step back, but she didn't reach out and grab him.
"Oh, don't be silly, that would be too easy.
" Cleo felt a wicked smile dawning. She didn't want to simply know his secrets.
She wanted to unearth them. There was no fun in simply knowing them, and no guarantee that premonition would ignite at a single touch either.
It took long hours of meditation for her to force a foretelling.
Otherwise they came at will, and certainly not hers.
"That's what bothers me," he murmured.
"Are you going to stay awhile? I rarely receive visitors, and none of them interested in me."
"What makes you think I am?"
Cleo swung her basket. This was a truth she wasn't certain she wanted to give him, but then she didn't want him to go away either.
"People don't talk to me very often. They only ask me questions about themselves.
They rarely answer mine. Thus, I suspect your interest lies in me, not in what I can give you. "
There was a breathless moment of waiting. "I'll stay awhile," he said finally. He was watching her face when he said it, she could tell, and it made her heart lift a little.
"So what is your name? Am I allowed to know that?" Cleo asked, turning once again toward the pond. He was right. She didn't need his help. Sixteen years of traversing these paths blindly had ingrained them in her head.
He hesitated. "Sebastian."
Sebastian. She mouthed the word, liking it. She hadn't heard that name before, at least, not in connection to her father. "My name is Cleo."
"I know."
How unusual. Cleo had thought herself a well-kept secret, except for within certain circles, but the surety of his tone led her to a suspicion. He had known whom she was, and he had come looking for her in the gardens. This wasn't just some stumbled upon assignation.
His interest was definitely in her.
Not her father.
Truth, said her premonition, lancing through her like white fire.
Cleo hid her gasp in a muffled cough. "Well, what are you doing here? What is your purpose in trespassing?"
"Trespassing?" He sounded surprised. "I'm not trespassing. I was sent here to deliver a message."
"Oh, that." She'd heard the ruckus in the foyer and the cool masculine voice that had left her father sounding faintly subdued.
It hadn't sounded at all like this quiet, gentle stranger who liked silences.
An entirely fascinating situation, for the Earl of Tremayne was rarely subdued.
He wore his anger like a coat, and the usual means of describing him were: blustery, pompous, loud, arrogant.
.. a list that went all of the way to demanding.
But something about this stranger made the earl cautious.
"That was over an hour ago. Does my father usually allow messengers to linger on his grounds? "
There was nothing but silence.
"Cat got your tongue?" she asked.
"Are you usually so... outspoken? You should be more careful with strangers."
It wasn't a threat. He actually sounded somewhat taken aback.
"Nothing's going to happen to me today. I'd have sensed it.
" She reached up and gestured to her blindfold.
"I don't always see everything that's going to happen, but disasters, or catastrophes?
Always. Alas, there are no major scandals in my future. "
"Scandals?"
"Well, were you referring to a young lady being thrown over the back of a dashing young stranger's horse and carried away to be ravished, or were you referring to something else entirely when you warned me to be careful?"
"Someone reads those newspaper serials to you, don't they?"
"My companion," she replied cheerfully. "She particularly likes the ones where dukes do dastardly deeds. Nothing less than an earl will do." When he didn't answer, she tilted her head toward him. "Oh, I'm sorry. I've shocked you, haven't I?"
"I... was just wondering how to answer that." He sounded faintly amused. "After all, I'm not a duke. Or an earl."
"I won't hold that against you. After all, you look like an Adonis. Everything can be forgiven for that, apparently."
His coat rustled, as if he turned toward her sharply. "How did you—?"