Page 9 of Bound By The Christmastide Moon

He was not stout or rounded. He was in possession of all his extremities. And he certainly was not of an age past his prime.

Lord Lichfield did, however, tower over both Mallory and Hettie.

The earl’s shoulders were broad enough to pull a cart or roll a boulder up a hill.

And he was handsome. Not in the tradition English sense with a sharp nose, angular jaw, and rigid stance. No, it was far more—yet far less—what her brethren in muslin considered a dashing man.

He had a sophisticated air about him. As if he had seen things, experienced things, Mallory could only guess at.

His clenched jaw, and his clear blue eyes cascading over her, made Mallory wish she’d donned a gown that didn’t constrict her breathing in such a manner, as she found it exceedingly difficult to gain a proper breath.

Her stomach fluttered—actually fluttered as he gazed upon her.

A single black curl fell over one eye, and he pushed it back before turning his attention to Aunt Hettie.

“Heaven’s above,” Hettie hissed in her ear.

Mallory stalled from turning to assess her aunt’s reaction. While she was fairly skilled with her gifts, her aunt hadn’t the need to touch a person or object to gain her visions. The notion of a vision slamming into her at any turn would be overwhelming—and likely a true curse for Mallory. Yet, Hettie had lived with her talents for decades longer than her niece, and her grasp on the power was far superior and less daunting. Or, at least, her aunt proclaimed it to be so.

Lord Lichfield stepped forward, bowing deeply to Hettie. “I am Silas Anson, the Earl of Lichfield.” His strong voice reverberated in the room. The earl was certainly blessed with better manners than the Duke of Wycliffe. “Lady Mallory Hughes. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, at last.”

“I—well—” A cold calm settled over Mallory, despite the heat she’d battled at first seeing the man. When her head spun, and her stomach churned, Mallory reached out for something—anything—to stop her from what was certain to come next. There was little need for the science-minded Felicity to be present to observe and assess what was happening…Mallory was about to faint for the first time in her life. “My lord—”

Where had her aunt gone?

Mallory waved at the empty space beside her where Hettie had been a moment ago.

Nothing said normal English debutante like losing consciousness before a handsome lord.

Finally, she grasped on to something, quickly realizing it wasn’t something, but someone.

The lightheaded sensation fled instantly, only to be replaced by blurred vision as her grey eyes clouded.

Heavens, but there would be no chance of convincing Lord Lichfield that she was nothing more than your usual London lady, which was an odd thought as she was certain she appeared a possessed female.

Lightning coursed under her skin, banishing the chill from a moment before as her focus cleared.

Mallory no longer stood in the Tetbery parlor, but in a garden—a frozen, winter garden—the moon heavy and full overhead. A man stood not far from her, shrouded in the shadows of night, his back to her. Yet, she knew the man, their connection lay deeply within her heart. His black curls were cut short on top, in no danger of falling to block his gaze—which struck her as peculiar. A loud bang sounded close by, and the man fell to his knees before slumping forward into a heap.

A ragged exhale pushed the burning air from her lungs as a strong hand clamped on her arm above her elbow. Twisting, she saw no one at her side in the garden.

She trembled, and her vision began to clear, returning her to the warmth of the present.

Blinking several times, Mallory glanced at her arm where Lord Lichfield held her securely upright, his palm against her bare skin several inches above her glove.

“Mallory—dear child—are you unwell?” An edge of panic laced Aunt Hettie’s voice, but she sounded far away. Out of reach. Why?

With a start, Mallory shook herself free of the vision and stared up into Lord Lichfield’s anxious face, creased with worry. More surprisingly, her sense of sorrow as she gazed up into his most captivating blue eyes. Her chest ached, and a sense of loss overwhelmed her.

Perhaps her aunt had been correct, and Mallory was destined to live the life of a spinster—for she’d just witnessed the Earl of Lichfield’s death.

Chapter 4

Silas stared down at the young woman, his focus only leaving her pale face to glance at Lady Henrietta for guidance. When the stoop-shouldered woman gave nothing, appearing as shaken and incapable of words as her ward, Silas sensed he’d need to step in and right the situation. He was obviously to blame for whatever had afflicted his betrothed, though he knew naught what his mere greeting could have caused.

Perhaps this was a precursor to their wedded life? Though he desperately hoped Lady Mallory was not a woman prone to the vapors or flights of fancy. Quite specifically, Silas was worried about Lady Mallory resembling the characteristics of his mother.

Besides, Mr. Peabody would be disappointed to hear he’d ruined all the solicitor’s hard work over the previous six months within two minutes’ time with his abysmal manners. Not that Silas cared a whit what the incompetent man thought.