Page 98 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

“Maybe you’re the one in danger,” Thisbe argued.

“What? Why would I be in danger? Wait. When you came here tonight, you said...” In truth, he couldn’t remember what she had said. He had bolted straight from sleep into a waking dream of Thisbe in his arms, and her words had been only extraneous gibberish floating about. “You were scared. What happened?”

Thisbe looked sheepish, an expression he’d never seen on her. “What if your aunt’s story wasn’t a legend? What if you really are descended from Anne Ballew?”

“What?” That had been the last thing he had expected her to say. “Why would you think that?”

“You don’t know that she was not your ancestor, do you?”

“No, but that’s true of just about everyone in the world. Being from Dorset doesn’t make one her descendant. Nobody even knows if she had children.”

“But isn’t it more likely that she did have children? She was an alchemist, not a nun, and she was an attractive woman. Her coloring was the same as yours.”

Desmond stared. “Thisbe...this isn’t like you. It’s very slender evidence to base anything on. Why are you—”

“Very well.” Looking even more embarrassed, Thisbe slipped out of bed and pulled on her nightgown and wrapper again. Apparently, she, like him, viewed her clothing as defense. “I had a dream tonight. I’ve been having them for some time now. Ever since I met you.”

“You dreamed that I was Anne Ballew’s son?”

“Yes... No... Well, not exactly.” She took in a deep breath and went on in a rush, “I’ve been dreaming about Anne Ballew. The woman in my dream is the woman in the portrait in Uncle Bellard’s book.”

“Well, if you saw her portrait, it’s likely—”

“No,” Thisbe interrupted, her tone adamant. “I didn’t picture her in the dream because I’d seen her in the book. I dreamed about her long before I read it. Before I’d even heard of Anne Ballew or the Eye. There was fire—I felt it. She pleaded with me to save someone. She said I owed it to her. She said she bound me.”

“She said this in your dream tonight?”

“She’s said it over the course of them. I’ve had a number of them, and they’ve grown more vivid. They’ve changed from hot to bone-chilling cold.” She raised her hands as he started to speak. “I know it’s ridiculous. You cannot give me any reason why none of this is real that I have not already told myself. I don’t believe in mystical things or speaking to the dead.”

“I know. So why do you believe these dreams are real?”

“They’re odd—they’re intense. They’re not like any dream I’ve ever had. She looks exactly like that woman in the book, and there’s the fire. Tonight she told me that I must ‘save him.’ She said it would destroy you.”

“She said me specifically?”

“No, but how many ‘hims’ are involved in this thing? Who among them is rumored to be descended from her? She called him ‘blood of my blood. Bone of my bone.’ And, Desmond...I didn’t see her in a dream. Tonight she was standing in my room.”

“You talked to Anne Ballew?”

“She talked to me. I said nothing because I was scared out of my wits.”

“Just a moment. You were communing with Anne Ballew’s ghost tonight, but my believing in an omen is ludicrous?”

Thisbe had the grace to look abashed, though she protested, “I saw Anne Ballew with my own eyes, whereas your premonition is from my grandmother, who doesn’t want me to be with you.”

“Because I’ll cause your death!”

“If you a had title in front of your name, I suspect her premonition would change drastically,” Thisbe retorted. “Oh, the devil. I don’t know what I believe anymore. Maybe my grandmother is mad as a hatter, and I am, too, and neither you nor I have the slightest thing to do with Anne Ballew. Or maybe Grandmother has been telling the truth all these years, and she can commune with Old Eldric and any number of spirits. Maybe she didn’t misinterpret what she saw, and her premonition is accurate. None of that matters because I don’t care.”

“Thisbe—”

“I don’t. It’s my life, and I am willing to take the risk.”

“I know you are.” Desmond went to her and cupped her face with his hands. “You’re fearless.” He bent to kiss her gently. “But I am not. I cannot bear to think of anything hurting you. I couldn’t stand to live any longer if I was the cause of your death.”

Tears swam in Thisbe’s eyes, and she pulled away. “Do you think I don’t feel the same for you? Love makes one a coward.” Thisbe walked away, then turned back. “You know...she didn’t say you would cause my death. She said your love would. We could be together if you stopped loving me.”

Desmond gazed at her, his heart leaden. “But that is something I can never do.”