Page 33 of Courting Catherine
“But I saw it,” C.C. said, though it made her feel foolish.
“You imagined it,” he corrected. “Think about it. A few minutes ago six rational adults were sitting around this table holding hands and calling up ghosts. All right as an odd sort of parlor game, but for anyone to actually believe in messages from the otherworld...” He certainly wasn’t going to add that for a moment, he’d felt something himself.
“There’s something appealing about a cynical, practical-minded man.” Lilah rose to open one of the drawers of the buffet and unearthed a pad and pencil. After coming over to kneel by C.C.’s chair, she began to sketch. “I certainly respect your opinion, but the fact is not only did the necklace exist, I’m certain it still does.”
“Because of a nanny’s bedtime stories?”
She smiled at him. “No, because of Bianca.” She slid the pad toward C.C. “Is that what you saw tonight?”
Lilah had always been a careless and clever artist. C.C. stared at the rough sketch of the necklace, two ornate and filigreed tiers studded with square-cut emeralds, sprinkled with diamond brilliants. From the bottom tier a large gem in the shape of a teardrop dripped.
“Yes.” C.C. traced a fingertip over it. “Yes, this is it.”
Trent studied the drawing. If indeed such a piece did exist, and Lilah’s drawing was anywhere close to scale, it would undoubtedly be worth a fortune.
“Oh, my,” Coco murmured as the pad was passed to her. “Oh, my.”
“I think Trent has a point.” Amanda gave the sketch a hard look before handing it to Suzanna. “We can hardly take the house apart stone by stone, even if we wanted to. Despite any sort of paranormal experience, the first order of business is to make certain—absolutely certain,” she added when Lilah sighed, “that the necklace is a fact. Even eighty years ago, something like this had to cost an incredible amount of money. There has to be a record. If Lilah’s famous vibes are wrong and it was sold again, there would be a record of that as well.”
“Spoken like a true stick-in-the-mud,” Lilah complained. “I guess this means we spend our Sunday pushing through a paper mountain.”
C.C. didn’t even try to sleep. She wrapped herself in her flannel robe and, with the house creaking around her, left her room for Trent’s. She could hear the murmur of the late news from Amanda’s room. Then the hum of sitars from Lilah’s. It didn’t occur to her to feel awkward or to hesitate. She simply knocked on Trent’s door and waited for him to answer.
When he did, with his shirt open and his eyes a little sleepy, she felt her first frisson of nerves.
“C.C.?”
“I need to talk to you.” She glanced toward the bed, then away. “Can I come in?”
How was a man to deal fairly when even flannel had become erotic? “Maybe it would be better if we waited until morning.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
The knots in his stomach tightened. “Okay. Sure.” The sooner he explained himself to her, the better. He hoped. Trent let her in and closed the door. “Do you want to sit down?”
“Too much nervous energy.” Hugging herself, she walked to the window. “It stopped snowing. I’m glad. I know Suzanna was worried about some of her flowers. Spring’s so unpredictable on the island.” She dragged a hand through her hair as she turned. “I’m making small talk, and I hate that.” A deep breath settled her. “Trent, I need to know what you think about tonight. Really think about it.”
“Tonight?” he said carefully.
“The séance.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “Lord, I feel like an imbecile even saying it, but, Trent, something happened.” Now she thrust those restless hands toward him, waiting for him to clasp them in his. “I’m very grounded, very literal-minded. Lilah’s the one who believes in all this stuff. But now... Trent, I need to know. Did you feel anything?”
“I don’t know what you mean. I certainly felt foolish several times.”
“Please.” She gave his hands an impatient shake. “Be honest with me. It’s important.”
Isn’t that what he’d promised himself he would do? “All right, C.C. Tell me what you felt.”
“The air got very cold. Then it was as if something—someone—was standing behind us. Behind and between the two of us. It wasn’t something that frightened me. I was surprised, but not afraid. We were holding hands, like this. And then...”
She was waiting for him to say it, to admit it. Those big green eyes demanded it. When he did so, it was with great reluctance. “It felt as though someone put a hand over ours.”
“Yes.” Eyes closed, she brought his hands to her curved lips. “Yes, exactly.”
“Shared hallucination,” he began, but she cut him off with a laugh.
“I don’t want to hear that. No rational explanations.” She pressed his hand to her cheek. “I’m not a fanciful person, but I know it meant something, something important. Iknow.”
“The necklace?”
