The next morning, Drake cursed his lack of sleep. This day, of all days, he needed to be fully alert.
He blamed Gina for the bleary eyes staring back at him from the shaving mirror. Not because of her ill-advised appearance as a ghost—he’d deduced early on that she and Rupert were the ones trying to frighten him. So it wasn’t her ghostly presence that had disturbed him, but her all too physical one.
He’d lain awake for the rest of the night, reliving those moments when she’d lain beneath him, soft, womanly, inviting. . . . And her unexpected response had merely added fuel to the fire, setting his senses ablaze, making his body crave the satisfaction of being cradled within her warmth.
It was disturbing. He hadn’t been this aroused in a very long time. He had denied himself the comforting touch of women, believing he didn’t deserve the solace they represented. Not when Charlotte’s short life had been so devoid of the blessings of a loving spouse.
And though it had been more than two years, Drake still mourned his little sister, still felt the pain of her passing, still blamed himself for not preventing her death. In expiation, he had dedicated his life to helping other people. It wouldn’t bring Charlotte back, but it might assuage his guilt and give him some measure of peace.
Now, Gina threatened to disturb his equilibrium Worse, he would have to tender her an apology. There was no excuse for his behavior last night. He should have ignored her ripe body beneath his, disregarded her sensuality and unreserved response. Unfortunately, the combination of all three wrapped up in the provocative package that was Gina had been too much for him.
And just when had Miss Charles become Gina in his thoughts? Annoyed, Drake wondered what ailed the woman, no matter what he called her. Instead of lingering on the silky texture of her mouth, he should remember her actions. If she was not mentally imbalanced already, she was definitely heading in that direction.
A tiny voice niggled at him. Wasn’t that what he had been trained to do, help people with mental illnesses?
Perhaps, but nothing in his training had prepared him to deal with Gina, especially since she was so intent on making him change his behavior.
That was another puzzle. Why the devil did she want him to leave the resort so badly?
He sighed. He couldn’t afford to contemplate the enigma of Gina Charles today, nor could he afford to let her distract him from his main purpose. For now, he needed to concentrate on his upcoming lecture. He’d worry about Gina later.
Drake spent the rest of the day going over his notes until the time finally came for his lecture. Knowing he was as prepared as he could possibly be, Drake approached the small theater with confidence. Not surprisingly, it was decorated as lavishly as the rest of the hotel, with heavy velvet curtains lining the small stage. The theater was designed to hold perhaps a hundred people or so, and Drake was gratified to see a good number of people filling the seats.
Surveying those seated below, Drake nodded at the Biddles and Harringtons, who had assured him faithfully they’d be there, though he certainly hadn’t pressed for their attendance. He estimated perhaps forty additional people had chosen to attend, which pleased him. That was, until he caught sight of a familiar form entering from the rear—Gina.
She seemed different somehow, and it took him a few moments to realize this was the first time he’d seen her attired in anything but that depressing gray uniform. Well, except for the nightgown last night, and he had best not think of that. And, if the awkward way she moved in the bright blue dress was any indication, she had borrowed the finery from someone else.
Drake frowned. Any other young woman would go out of her way to avoid him after he had compromised her virtue. He should have known Gina would never do the expected.
So, why had she come? To cause trouble? He wouldn’t put it past her.
She seated herself toward the back, and a man sat beside her who didn’t fit in with the rest of the guests. His clothing was a little too bright, his hair too shiny, and he was wearing too much flashy jewelry to appear perfectly respectable. But when the man distracted Gina by engaging her in conversation, Drake was more than happy to accord him all the virtues of a gentleman . . . if he would only continue to hold her attention.
Dr. Ziegler approached Drake and cleared his throat. “Well, young man, are you ready to begin?”
Straightening his jacket, Drake nodded.
As Dr. Ziegler went to the lectern, Drake quickly marshaled his facts and figures in his mind and double-checked to ensure he had his notes handy. He missed most of Dr. Ziegler’s introduction, but the smattering of polite applause let him know the moment he had been waiting for had arrived.
This was the first time he had addressed a group, but surprisingly, Drake wasn’t nervous. Instead, his confidence was bolstered by the knowledge that the information he had to impart was vitally important.
He smiled down at the audience. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you all for coming. This is the first of a series of lectures I shall present on the topic of mesmerism, and tonight, I will start with a history of the science as it has evolved from Dr. Mesmer’s early experiments through later practitioners to the methods in use today.”
Eager interest appeared on most of the faces, so Drake went on to explain Mesmer’s early belief that it was something he called animal magnetism that had caused the hypnotic effects he had engendered in his patients. As Drake expounded on the progression of mesmerism over the past twelve years, he was careful not to emulate or even mention mesmerism’s more colorful and flamboyant practitioners. They had given the science a bad name, lowering it to the status of sensational sideshow entertainment instead of exploring the wonderful potential it held for curing mental illness.
But the more Drake spoke, the more the upturned faces changed from avid interest to polite acceptance. Fearing he would lose them, Drake gave them a preview of the next lecture, reciting an impressive list of the types and kinds of illnesses mesmerism had already helped to alleviate.
It didn’t help. Their expressions reflected utter boredom now. Confused as to where he had gone wrong, Drake finished with an open invitation to visit him in Dr. Ziegler’s office any afternoon between the hours of two and four.
Scattered, halfhearted applause greeted his closing remarks, leaving Drake even more confused. What had gone wrong? He had been assiduous in presenting his carefully cultivated facts.
Dr. Ziegler came up to shake his hand. “A very illuminating presentation, Mr. Manton, worthy of a true scholar.”
Bemused, Drake thanked him, wondering if the doctor had attended a different lecture than the rest of the audience. They couldn’t seem to leave fast enough.
All except the Biddles and the Harringtons, that is. Mrs. Biddle dragged Letty up to the stage and declared, “What a marvelous lecture, Mr. Manton. Weren’t we just saying so, Letty, dear?”
“Yes, Mama,” Letty replied dutifully, though it was obvious she had been as filled with ennui as the rest.
The Misses Harrington arrived then, accompanied by their mother, and all the women vied with one another in effusive praise of his resonant speaking voice and his commanding presence at the lectern.
In resignation, Drake realized none of them had mentioned the important message he had tried to convey.
He listened politely but wished himself elsewhere, needing to lick his wounds in private and determine what had gone wrong. He thanked them for their praise, damning as it was, and murmured an excuse to escape their insincere pleasantries.
The momentary relief caused by their departure abruptly ceased when he turned and came face to face with Gina. For a brief moment, he wished he hadn’t been so hasty. He would welcome a little insincerity in the face of Gina’s blunt honesty.
As if the pain of his humiliation wasn’t enough, he had to endure her expression of pity as well. “So,” he snapped, “have you come to rub salt in my wounds?”
Well, that’s a slap in the face, Gina thought. All she’d planned to do was pat him on the hand and say, “There, there.” Now, she felt more like kicking him in the shins. Raising her chin, she glared at him. “No, I just wanted to say I’m sorry it didn’t go well for you.”
He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have barked at you.” Sensing this wasn’t the right time to offer condolences or, ever worse, try once more to convince him to leave the resort, Gina turned away.
“Wait,” Drake said urgently.
Surprised, she halted. This was a first. Usually, he couldn’t wait to get rid of her.
Continuing in a low voice, he said, “I believe I owe you an apology.”
“It’s okay. You already said you’re sorry.”
“No, I mean an apology of a different sort . . . for my behavior last night. I was somewhat less than gentlemanly.”
Gina felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment. Why did he have to remind her of that? She’d been trying to forget it all day. For one thing, she couldn’t afford to get involved with any man, especially not here in the past. There was no future in it.
For another, women in this time were so ridiculously virtuous, he probably thought she was wickedly immoral for responding to his kiss. “There’s no need to apologize,” she said quickly. Besides, it was partially her fault that it had gone as far as it had . . . though it was totally his fault that they’d stopped.
When he looked as though he wanted to continue, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Really, don’t mention it.” She wanted to forget the whole night had happened. When Esme had somehow learned of it, Gina didn’t know which the housekeeper found more appalling—the fact that Gina had worn her nightgown to try to scare Drake away, or that she had worn her jeans and T-shirt underneath.
In any case, Esme had removed all her twenty-first century clothing for “safekeeping.” The only thing Gina had left to remind her of the future was the article she had secreted under the mattress.
“As you wish,” Drake said in a placating tone, then paused for a moment, thinking. “I’ll probably regret this, but I wonder if you might help me with another matter.”
“What’s that?” she asked, grateful for a change of subject.
“Despite your wish to get rid of me, or perhaps because of it, you’re the only one who has been honest with me. Could you . . . would you . . . tell me where my lecture went wrong?”
Where didn’t it? But Gina kept the flip response to herself. Drake seemed honestly bewildered as to why his talk had bombed. She paused, wondering how to phrase his problem without offending him, but the chatter of female voices interrupted her.
Uh-oh, it looked like Drake’s fan club was inching back this way. Nodding in their direction, she said, “Why don’t we discuss this somewhere else?”
A faint grimace twisted his mouth. “An excellent idea. Where?”
“It’s rather hot in here.” Especially with all the clothes Esme insisted a proper lady must wear on an evening out. “Why don’t you give me twenty minutes to change, and I’ll meet you in the gardens?”
His eyebrows rose, and Gina remembered Rupert had described the gardens as a popular “trysting place” for couples. Darn—she’d put her foot in it again. She added quickly, “It’s cooler there by the fountains, and I need to walk Scruffy.”
As the women drew nearer, Drake nodded. “Twenty minutes, then,” he said and hurried off.
Gina stopped at her room to change into her uniform. It might be ugly, but it was a great deal cooler than the horribly confining dress Esme had lent her. It was kind of fun playing dress-up, but in the sweltering heat of August in Virginia, it wasn’t very comfortable . . . and air conditioning wouldn’t be invented for many years to come.
Scruffy was eager to go out, so she led him out the side door and hurried to the gardens. As Drake greeted the ecstatic dog, Gina became conscious that they were visible from the hotel so she urged him down one of the paths concealed by the enclosing shrubbery.
They walked in silence for a moment, and Gina sighed in appreciation. In daylight, the formal gardens appeared rigidly controlled in perfectly manicured splendor, but at night, they held an entirely different appearance. Fairy-like fireflies darted about, lending a magical air, and the darkness made her other senses more acute, enhancing the gentle sounds of burbling water in the fountain and the lush, heady fragrance of evening-blooming primroses, honeysuckle, and wild roses. No wonder this was The Chesterfield’s version of lover’s lane—it was very seductive.
Their wandering brought them to a stone bench in a secluded bower. Silently, Drake gestured toward it, inviting Gina to seat herself.
She did so, grateful for the coolness of the stone and the light breeze that whispered through the surrounding foliage. Scruffy jumped up beside her and Drake sat on the other side of the dog to scratch his ears and stare off into the night, his odd white streak gleaming in the moonlight.
Not wanting to break the enchantment, Gina waited until Drake was ready to speak. Finally, with a sigh, he asked softly, “Where did I go wrong?”
In the darkness, Gina searched for a kind way to tell him his talk had been incredibly dull. “I don’t think the audience found your lecture interesting.” He slanted her a glance full of self-mockery. “You mean they found me boring. I know that, but what I don’t understand is why.”
He seemed genuinely confused, so Gina decided to enlighten him. “It was the wrong slant for that audience. You spoke to them as if they were all scholars, as if they were interested in learning for its own sake.”
He frowned. “Isn’t everyone?”
She almost laughed at his naïveté. “No—most people want to be entertained. They came looking for amusement and got a history lesson instead. No wonder they were bored.”
“Not everyone,” Drake protested, sounding defensive.
“No, but the doctor is a scholar himself, and . . .” She paused. There was no way to put this delicately. “And, uh, I believe some of your female admirers have an ulterior motive in saying they enjoyed your lecture.”
Though the shadows of the shrubbery obscured most of Drake’s face, she saw his lips twist in a rueful smile. “Perhaps you’re right. At least your motives are clear—you’ve made no secret of the fact that you want me gone.”
Gina shrugged. She couldn’t deny it, especially now that the man who had sat next to her at the lecture had given her another option to get Drake to leave. Lester Suggs was a booking agent for the lecture circuit. If she could just help Drake find a way to wow his audience, Mr. Suggs might schedule him for a long tour around the country. Anything to get Drake out of The Chesterfield and away from the doom that awaited him.
Unfortunately, Drake wouldn’t take any suggestions from her unless she could understand why he cared so much about mesmerism. How could she get him to confide in her? Hmm, she’d always been a good listener. Maybe if she encouraged him to talk . . .
Deliberately changing the subject, she asked, “Why are these lectures so important to you?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I can help you improve them, but only if I know your objective—what you want to accomplish.”
Incredulity colored his voice as he asked, “You think you can help me?”
Stung, Gina said, “Well, you weren’t doing so well on your own, were you?”
“Very true.”
“Then maybe I can help.”
“Perhaps,” Drake admitted, though doubt still tinged his voice. “But I hope it doesn’t involve dressing up like a ghost to terrorize innocent guests.”
I guess I deserve that. “Of course not. I promise—no stunts. But I have experience in entertaining an audience and I can help you . . . if you’ll tell me what you’re trying to accomplish.”
Drake was silent for a moment, but the darkness or her soft, matter-of-fact tone must have lulled him into confiding in her. In a low voice, he said, “I—I want to help people.”
Surprised, Gina asked, “Why?”
Again, silence filled the night until Drake said, “There was someone . . . two years ago. I was unable to help her, and she died.”
A stab of jealousy pierced Gina, but she quickly suppressed it. She had no business being jealous. In fact, her only business was to get him to leave the resort so she could go home.
Though she wanted to know more about this woman who had died and meant so much to Drake, this wasn’t the moment to probe. At least, not for that information. “So tell me, what kind of help do you want to provide? What do you want in an ideal patient?”
He didn’t need to pause this time. “The ideal subject would be someone whose illness is mental in origin, perhaps someone who has tried physical or other traditional means of treatment and failed.”
So this mesmerism really was the precursor to modern psychiatrists and psychotherapy. Well, Gina had spent some time in therapy, trying to come to terms with her father’s death and her mother’s coldness. She knew all the buzz words and was familiar with pop psychology, which was far more than anyone in this time knew. Heck, that made her an expert.
The only question was, what type of person did he want to appeal to? “Will anyone do? Or would you prefer to have someone influential as your first . . . subject?”
He frowned, considering. “Mesmerism isn’t just for the rich and powerful—it should be available to every person, depending on need.”
When he hesitated, she added, “But . . . ?”
“But in order to spread the word about the benefits of this treatment, I need to start with people like the guests here at the resort. That’s why I came here.”
Okay, that made sense. “Then the first thing you need to understand is that these people are bored. To get their attention, you need to put on a dog and pony show.”
He glanced down at Scruffy. “A . . . pony show? I don’t understand.”
“I mean that to intrigue them, you have to catch their interest. And the best way to do that is to be entertaining.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but that goes against everything I believe in. Sensationalists such as Dane Carl Hansen have given mesmerism a bad name, reducing it to silly parlor tricks.”
Ah, so he was familiar with the concept. Good, that would make her job easier. “But did he then use this ability to help people?”
“No,” he admitted.
“Well, there’s the difference between you,” she said in triumph. “You can borrow his methods, but turn them to your gain. To other people’s gain.”
“It doesn’t seem right, somehow.”
“Nonsense—you aren’t going to make people interested in mesmerism by lecturing them with dull history. You need to jazz it up a bit.”
He eyed her skeptically. “And you are good at this . . . jazz?”
“I’m very good, if I do say so myself.” Learning to be a handler and putting on a good performance for the dog show judges had taught her that. “I know how to impress a crowd.”
When he didn’t say anything, she added, “Isn’t it worth a little sensationalism to achieve your objective, to find the kind of people you want to help?”
“I don’t know . . . what do you have in mind?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll figure something out. Do we have a deal?”
“Perhaps. You do seem to have a flair for the dramatic, but . . . why are you willing to help me with this?”
Honesty seemed best in this situation, and he was already aware of her primary objective. “Frankly, I hope this will help you leave The Chesterfield earlier.” If she could make his next lecture interesting enough, she was sure she could convince that nice Mr. Suggs to book Drake in a series of lectures across the country . . . far from The Chesterfield and the fiery fate that awaited him here.
He pondered for a moment longer. “Very well, I agree. On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You must tell me why you are so determined to have me leave.”
Playing for time to come up with a suitable story, she said, “Okay, but not until after your next lecture.” That would give her a month to come up with something he’d believe.
“All right.” He grasped her chin and gazed at her with those dark, sexy eyes of his, saying softly, “But none of your tricks, now. If I am to change everything I believe in, you must promise you will do me the courtesy of telling the truth.”
Gina gulped. He was difficult to resist when he turned the full force of his personality on her. And it was even harder to lie when he so obviously believed in her honesty.
“All right,” she said, and meant it. “But I warn you, you’re not gonna believe it. . . .”