If He's Wild by Hannah Howell Page A

feel, however, that she has an indomitable will to survive, and to keep her brother alive.”
    He nodded and stared at the drawing of Germaine as he sipped the last of his tea. Alethea suddenly found her attention pulled away from him, which surprised her a little, as she took a dangerous delight in watching him, being close to him, even taking subtle deep breaths so that she could fill her head with the crisp smell of him. She stared down at her hands and allowed her mind to wander where it wished, to pick through the flood of images and emotions she had just experienced. There was something there demanding her attention, and she had experienced such a thing often enough to know it was best not to ignore it or fight it. Breathing slowly and evenly, she let her thoughts flow.
    When Hartley turned to speak to Alethea, he frowned and set down his cup. She looked half-asleep. He softly called her name, but she did not respond. Afraid she had slipped into some kind of trance, he gently stroked her arm and tried to decide what to do next. He was just thinking he ought to call for her servants when she suddenly sat up straighter, her body tense and her eyes wide. It startled him a little when she turned and grabbed his hands in hers. This gift of hers was going to take some getting used to, he thought and then wondered why he was concerned with that.
    “The jewels,” Alethea said, struggling not to allow her excitement to overrule the lessons she had been taught by other Vaughns about how to best use her gift.
    “What about the jewels?” Hartley asked. “Have you seen something else?”
    “No, nothing new. I but carefully looked over all that I saw. When a vision is as strong as this one, the images coming so fast and the emotions so intense, it sometimes takes a while to recall the small, often very important, details. Something was pestering me, as if some piece of information was demanding I take note of it. The compte and his family brought a casket of jewels with them, yet you said very little was found upon the beach.”
    “I suspected anything of any value was taken and has been sold by now.”
    “Some of the things, most surely. But not all, I think. I was blinded by Germaine’s emotions when she saw the Black Rose—”
    “The Black Rose?”
    Alethea blushed faintly. “The name I decided to call the woman, I fear.”
    A quick glance down at her drawings revealed that the rose she used to indicate Claudette was indeed black, that she had shaded in the petals with her charcoal instead of leaving it as just the outline of a rose. “A good choice.” He looked back her, trying hard not to be infected by the excitement he could see sparkling in her beautiful eyes. “Go on. What have you remembered?”
    “Germaine saw the woman get out of the carriage and”—she pointed at the drawing of Germaine—“you can see how she felt, so you can surely guess how strong that emotion was. Then the need to flee, to hide, returned, and I now realize that she saw a little more than the woman, even looked back once. A man came up from the beach and handed the woman a casket. She opened it and smiled, briefly lifting a lovely ruby pendant up to look more closely at it before stuffing the whole casket into the carriage. Just before Germaine lost her locket, she had the thought that she could find the woman through those jewels. Germaine was certain the woman would try to keep most of them, if not all of them. Could you not do the same?”
    “I will need to make a list of what jewels I am aware of,” Hartley murmured, beginning to allow himself to share a little of Alethea’s excitement. “There may even be a listing amongst the papers the compte left behind with my solicitor. He knew it was dangerous despite the truce, but felt compelled to see if any others of his family still survived and if there was any chance of regaining at least a few of his holdings.” Hartley sighed. “I tried to keep Germaine and Bayard here, with