The next day, Gina felt rather at loose ends. They didn’t have to practice now that the lecture was over, so she had nothing to do.
Nothing but find Drake and try to beat some sense into him. The lecture had gone very well, just as she’d planned, but the aftermath was another story. After all she’d done to help Drake, found a way to improve his lectures, got him some patients, and saved his life, she couldn’t believe he had so casually thrown it all away.
The biggest problem was that he didn’t believe her story. She could understand that—she’d found it hard to believe herself. But she had to find a way to make him believe it—his life depended on it.
She finally tracked him down in his room. When he opened the door, he raised an eyebrow. “Have you come with more preposterous tales to entertain me this afternoon?”
Well, that didn’t bode well for changing his mind. But maybe she had something else that would. She slapped the morning edition of the newspaper into his hand. “Have you seen this?”
He glanced at the headline: Manton Mesmerizes Hope Springs.
“Yes, it’s very flattering.”
“Not the article.” She pointed to the sketch accompanying it, one portraying Drake with his hands raised, his white streak dramatically highlighted, and lines of force radiating from his eyes. “That.”
He glanced at the sketch. “What of it?”
“Look familiar? It’s the same one I showed you last night.” She stabbed it with her finger for emphasis. “They’re going to run it again for your obituary. Do you believe me now?”
“No, but I believe that you know the artist and somehow managed to fake the article.”
“Give me a break. When have I had time to go into town to meet these guys? I’ve been with you most of the time.” Not to mention Chloe and Letty.
“Why would you need to? You have your lackey, Rupert, to do it for you.”
“That’s not true.” But this was getting her nowhere. “What can I do to convince you I’m telling the truth about where I’m from?”
“Perhaps you could arrange for my own ghost to visit me in bed some night? I imagine that would be quite convincing.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.” What she had to say next she didn’t want overheard, so she tried to push past him, but he held firm.
“Our chaperones are nowhere about, and it isn’t proper for you to be in my room.”
“All right, then.” She glanced around and didn’t see anyone in the hallway, but figuring she couldn’t be too careful, she lowered her voice. “Your ghost is in the future, remember? After you’re dead?”
“Oh, that’s right. How inconvenient.”
“Come on, there must be some way to convince you. And I’m not going to leave until you tell me what it is.”
He glared down at her, then thought a moment. “Perhaps there is. If you let me mesmerize you, and your story is the same—”
“Forget it.”
His eyebrows rose. “I see. The story wouldn’t be the same.”
“Yes, it would, but I’m not going to let you hypnotize me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you messing around in my memories, asking me questions that are none of your business.”
“I see. You don’t trust me.”
He even sounded a bit hurt. Annoyed, Gina snapped back, “Look who’s talking. According to you, I’m in cahoots with the entire hotel! Think of something else.”
“No, I believe that’s the only thing that would convince me.”
“It ain’t gonna happen,” she repeated.
“It seems we are at an impasse, then.”
“For now.” But she was going to find a way to convince him, no matter what it took.
He glanced at his pocket watch. “It’s almost time to meet my first patient of the day.” He stepped out into the hallway and closed the door.
That’s right, she’d forgotten he was supposed to meet Mrs. Rutledge at two o’clock . . . the beautiful woman whose name was linked with his in his obituary. “You know,” Gina said casually, “the Major thinks I still work for you, so I’d better go along, too.” Gina fell into step beside him.
Drake shook his head. “I won’t have need of your talents today. You may have the day off.”
“Thank you,” Gina said insincerely, “but I’ll pass. You need me whether you realize it or not.”
“For what?”
“Well, to avoid the impression of impropriety, shouldn’t you have someone present while you consult with your female patients?” Especially one Annabelle Rutledge.
“No, I’m a professional, much like a doctor, and people must feel free to tell me their secrets. They won’t be willing to do that with you in the room.”
“But—”
“Absolutely not.”
That implacable tone in his voice told Gina she wasn’t going to budge him on this. But if she couldn’t stop him from seeing Mrs. Rutledge, she could at least make sure there wasn’t any hanky-panky going on. No matter what Drake thought now, Gina knew he’d soon be seeing Mrs. Rutledge romantically—she had seen it in black and white. “Okay, then, I’ll be your receptionist.”
He cast her a doubtful glance. “Receptionist?”
“You know, someone to screen patients, take appointments, and make sure you aren’t disturbed while you’re with someone else.” Surely he couldn’t object to that.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said, then stopped abruptly. They had reached the waiting room, which was packed with people. When the potential patients saw him, they looked up expectantly and all began to speak at once.
Over the confusion, Gina said, “Still think you don’t need me?”
He gave her a wry smile. “Well, perhaps you’re right this time. I told Mrs. Rutledge I would see her at two. Could you sort out the others?”
“Sure,” Gina said in triumph. “Just let me know how long you’ll want for each appointment.”
“Fifteen minutes for the initial consultation, I think. Then if I think I can help them, we’ll schedule hour-long appointments later.”
Seeing her chaperones in the waiting room, Gina carefully left the door open as she followed Drake into his office. Rummaging around in the doctor’s desk, she found some blank paper and a pen and ink.
Going back to the door, she said, “Mrs. Rutledge, Mr. Manton will see you now.”
The blonde rose and her husband followed her to the door.
Drake frowned. “I’m sorry, but I shall need to see Mrs. Rutledge alone.”
“Why?” the beefy man boomed in a voice filled with suspicion as his wife looked at him with trepidation.
That’s what Gina wanted to know, too, and Mrs. Rutledge looked very uncertain as if she didn’t quite know what to do unless someone told her.
“Because the application of the mesmeric technique is most effective when the patient isn’t distracted by others.”
“But you did it in front of a whole crowd last night,” the man exclaimed.
“That was merely for show, and the people being mesmerized were not trying to change their habits, they were just performing the actions I suggested to them.”
“But I gotta tell you about her bad habits,” the man whispered in a carrying tone.
Mrs. Rutledge cringed, as if she was afraid her husband was about to enumerate them in public. Drake cast her a sympathetic glance and said, “I’m sure Mrs. Rutledge is more than capable of explaining them to me herself.”
“I dunno . . .”
Gina could see Drake’s point. With this man overpowering his wife, Drake would never be able to get anything out of her. And Mrs. Rutledge needed a little backbone, if nothing else.
“I’m sorry,” Drake said firmly, “but that’s the way I work. And this first time is most important. I need to judge your wife’s temperament and symptoms, to see if I can even help her.”
The man looked as though he was ready for war, so Gina stepped in and grasped his arm. “That’s right,” she said confidingly and turned her most charming smile on him. “It’s the only way Mr. Manton can help your wife change those bad habits of hers. Now, why don’t you just sit over here and wait a bit, and talk to the nice gentlemen in the waiting room.” As she steered Rutledge out of the doorway with one hand, Gina pushed his wife in through the doorway with the other. Gina cast a quick glance over her shoulder and was glad to see Drake had picked up on her maneuver and was steering Annabelle into the office. Annabelle cast her an odd glance compounded of gratitude and trepidation. Well, she’d soon find out there was nothing to fear from Drake. Mr. Rutledge allowed himself to be persuaded over to one of the waiting chairs, though he didn’t look at all happy about it.
Though Gina was dying to know what was going on inside that office herself, she busied herself by speaking to the others in the waiting room, and scheduling initial consultations. For those who really indicated a need, that is. To the sensation-seekers, she just gave the date and time of Drake’s next lecture.
She had gotten most of the way through the waiting room when Drake’s door opened, and Annabelle came out with a timid glance at her husband.
Rutledge stood. Without sparing his wife a glance, he glared at Drake who stood behind her. “Well?” he demanded.
“Yes, I think I can help her.”
“Good,” Rutledge exclaimed, and Annabelle appeared to be relieved.
No matter what adulterous things Annabelle might do in the future, she didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. Taking charge before Rutledge could discuss any of his wife’s supposed bad habits in public, Gina said, “I’ll just schedule another appointment for Mrs. Rutledge, then.” She glanced up. “Mr. Wilson, you’re next.”
The small man went into the office and she scheduled Annabelle for the following week. There were only a few more people left, and Gina took care of them with dispatch.
Now, she had nothing left to do but show people in and out—and sit and think about her situation. Unfortunately, nothing she could think of would sway Drake, and she doubted she would ever convince him of the truth. At least, not without subjecting herself to hypnosis.
But the thought of surrendering herself to someone else’s control was abhorrent. What if he had her do something crazy? What if he dug around in her thoughts and feelings while he was in there? What if he found out how she felt about him?
And how do you feel about him? a small voice asked inside her head.
Well, to tell the truth, Gina wasn’t quite sure. Half the time she was with him, she felt as if she were under a spell of enchantment, mesmerized by his intensity, his gallantry, his magnetic eyes. . . .
The other half, she was irritated by his pigheadedness. But it didn’t matter—she didn’t want him to know about either half. He was right, she didn’t trust him. And, according to the newspaper article of his assignation with a married woman—Annabelle—she had darned good reason not to.
But if he didn’t listen to her, he was a dead man. The thought was agonizing, but what could she do?
Unfortunately, if he was still here on December 22, despite her warnings, there was nothing she could do. Maybe she should just worry about herself—at least she had some control over that. Since Esme had said she didn’t have to save his life to go back home, maybe Gina should concentrate on finding the pistol that could send her home.
Where could it be? She tried to picture it, but all she could remember was that it had a long barrel and the grip was half-melted. Melted . . . Hmm, that must mean it was in the fire that claimed Drake’s life. No wonder it had sent her back.
So, if it was in the fire, and the only two who had died in the fire were Drake and Annabelle, then one of them must have had it with them. Gina couldn’t imagine Annabelle carrying around a weapon like that—she just didn’t have it in her. So where did it come from? Drake had said he didn’t own any weapons.
Gina paused. Yes, so he had said. But could she take his word for it? Would he admit to being armed with a dueling pistol? In this century, men didn’t tell ladies things they thought might upset them. And if she asked again, he’d deny it even if he had it—he wouldn’t want to admit to having a pistol she might claim as the instrument that had sent her back in time.
Well, then, she wouldn’t ask. She’d just go check for herself. She sent the next patient in, then called Letty over. “I have to take Scruffy for a walk, so could you fill in for a little while until I get back?”
“Of course,” Letty said, and Gina smiled. A month ago, the girl would have stammered and blushed, but now she was confident enough to take on some small responsibility. For a mesmerist, Drake made a darned good psychologist.
Leaving Letty in charge, Gina went in search of Rupert. She waited until he was through helping a guest, then pulled him aside. “Rupert, I need you to let me into a guest room.”
His expression turned wary. “You know I can’t do that, Gina.”
“Oh, yes you can.” She lowered her voice. “I have reason to believe he’s hiding a dangerous weapon.”
“So? Most men carry a gun.”
“So what if he uses it on another guest?”
“What if who uses it?” Rupert asked suspiciously.
“Mr. Manton.”
Rupert pulled his arm away. “Uh-uh. I ain’t getting involved with pulling anything on Mr. Manton again. He was nice enough about it the first time, but—”
“He won’t know,” Gina insisted. “He’s in the middle of his consultations now.”
“No—”
“Come on, Rupert. Just let me in to his room. I have a really good reason, but I can’t tell you what it is. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“You’re probably right, there.”
Sarcasm, from Rupert? “Please? I promise no one will know.”
“I don’t—”
“And if I do get caught, I’ll tell them . . .” She paused, searching for a suitable cover story. “I know, I’ll tell them Jack O’Riley dropped his keys and I borrowed them. What do you say, Rupert? I just want to make sure he doesn’t have a gun, that’s all.”
“What are you going to do if you find one?”
She hadn’t thought about that. “Uh, nothing. I just want to know where it is. And if I think it represents a danger to the hotel or the guests, I’ll report it to the Major.” She added quickly, “I’ll just tell him that I think Mr. Manton has a gun—I won’t tell him I saw it in his room.” She tugged on his arm once more. “Whaddaya say, Rupert? It isn’t much to ask, is it?” When he still looked doubtful, she said, “I’ll just pester you until you do it.”
That did it. “All right,” Rupert said, “But this is the last time I help you.”
He walked with her to Drake’s room and glanced furtively about. Once the hallway was empty, he used his passkey to let her in to the room, whispering fiercely, “Be careful now. And don’t tell anyone I let you in.”
“I won’t,” she promised, and Rupert shut the door behind her.
Now that she was inside, Gina wasn’t sure where to look first. Drake had left his trunks inside the room instead of lining the hall as many of the guests had. Probably because they were still half-full. Whatever the reason, it was easy to rummage through them. She didn’t find much—mostly books and old papers. His desk yielded much of the same, and she didn’t find anything inside any of his pockets.
Well, since it wasn’t in his trunks, desk, or wardrobe, where else could it be? She glanced at the bed. Would he hide it there? She checked thoroughly under the bed and the mattress, but found nothing. Darn—it looked like he didn’t have it after all.
A small frame on the bedside table caught her eye and she picked it up. It was a miniature portrait of a young girl with dark hair and dark eyes much like Drake’s. It must be Charlotte, the sister who had meant so much to him.
A key suddenly turned in the lock, startling her. Oh, no, she couldn’t be discovered here—by anyone. Hastily putting the portrait back on the nightstand, she realized she couldn’t make it out the window in time, so she dived into the wardrobe, pulling the door shut behind her.
Squeezing in behind his clothes, she held her breath, hoping whoever had entered would leave soon. Drake should still be in the middle of his consultations, so maybe it was a maid. Unfortunately, hidden as she was behind the dark clothing, she couldn’t see a thing.
She heard someone moving around, then the door to the wardrobe opened. She held her breath, hoping she had concealed herself well enough. When the door closed, she let out a sigh of relief.
She heard another door open, and the tones of a man and woman having a short conversation, frustratingly muffled by the wardrobe. The door closed again, and Gina listened carefully. Had the intruder gone? Was the coast clear now?
Suddenly, the wardrobe door swung open again and she heard Drake’s deep voice. “So, have you taken to wearing my clothes now?”
Gina sighed. Damn, she was caught. Now what? “No,” she said in a small voice. She felt a little silly being caught hiding like a child, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to face him either.
“Come on out,” Drake said, then watched in amusement as Gina struggled her way past the confining clothes. She looked a little shamefaced, as well she should. He ought to be angry at her, but this latest escapade was so very Gina, he just couldn’t. It was rather like training a puppy—it did no good to get angry with them. They were just too cute when they were caught doing something wrong.
“Come out quietly,” he added. “Mrs. Biddle informed me you were in my room, but I don’t think she believed me when I told her you weren’t here. No doubt she’s lying in wait in the hall to catch you coming out.”
Gina grimaced. “How’d she know I was here?”
“Apparently she spotted you coming down this hallway, so she immediately came to me.”
“But shouldn’t you be interviewing potential patients right now?”
“Yes, I should be, but Mrs. Biddle threatened to go to Major Payne unless I checked . . . so I canceled them and came straight here.”
Gina glanced longingly toward the window.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he said with a grin. “You run away every time things don’t go your way, but not this time. This time you’ll have to stay and face the consequences. Besides, it’s daylight outside. Someone would see you.”
She twisted her mouth into a grimace. “I guess you’re right.”
“I know I am. So, why don’t you have a seat?” He gestured toward the wing chair and Gina seated herself as he sat on the bed.
She looked a little uneasy, which was just as well. She was too impulsive—she needed to think about the consequences of her actions. “Since we’re trapped here for awhile, why don’t we talk?”
“You’re not trapped here,” Gina pointed out. “Just me.”
He smiled ruefully. “Actually, I am. You see, I told Mrs. Biddle I would stay here to do some research in my notes. And I asked Jack O’Riley to let me know when she stops hovering around this hallway. So, until the porter arrives, why don’t we talk?”
“What about?” she asked warily.
“We could start with why you were in my room . . . and hiding in my wardrobe.”
“I was hiding because I didn’t want anyone to find me here,” she said, stating the obvious.
It wouldn’t get her off the hook. “And why were you in my room?” Seeing the mulish expression on her face, he added, “And no fairy tales, please.”
“I was looking for the dueling pistol.”
“Here? But I told you I don’t carry any weapons.”
“I know, but you might have forgotten. . . .”
Her tone was unconvincing. “I see. You didn’t believe me.” He was surprised to find the realization hurt.
“Not really,” she assured him. “I thought perhaps you were just trying to save my feminine sensibilities or something. You know—you’re such a nice guy, you might have thought it would frighten me or something if I knew you had a gun in your room.”
No, he rather thought nothing would daunt the intrepid Miss Charles. But he was flattered by her description. “Thank you for that, anyway.”
She shrugged. “It’s true.”
“Why are you so intent on finding this pistol?”
She scowled. “You told me I couldn’t talk about that.”
He sighed, afraid that would be the case. “Tell me anyway.” Then, “Wait, I think I know. This would be the pistol you claim will take you back to the future.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“And how is it supposed to do this? The recoil shoots you into the future? Wait, I know—it’s a magic bullet that does it. Or maybe you shrink to the size of a pea and shoot yourself out of the gun?”
“Very funny,” Gina said with a disapproving frown. “No, all I have to do is hold it—on the winter solstice.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I was afraid you might have to use it on me.”
She threw him an annoyed glance. “I might yet, if you don’t stop with the sarcasm.”
“But you’re such an easy target. . . .” When she said nothing, he asked, “Why did you think I had it?”
“Because when I found it, it was half-melted, as if it had been in a fire. Since you and Annabelle are the only ones who die in the fire, I figured one of you must have brought it with you.”
It made a strange kind of sense . . . if you believed in the ridiculous story to begin with. Trying to see it from her point of view, Drake said, “Well, I don’t have it, and I highly doubt Mrs. Rutledge would carry a weapon—especially one as large as a dueling pistol.”
“That’s what I figured, too,” Gina said. “But if neither of you have it, I don’t know how it gets to the fire and into my hands.”
Strictly through your vivid imagination. But Drake kept the thought to himself. “Perhaps she borrows the pistol from her husband. Maybe Mr. Rutledge has it.”
Surprise dawned on Gina’s face. “You know, you might be right. We’ll have to look there.”
“We?”
“Well, yes, you wouldn’t want me to get caught there, would you?” she asked with a grin.
“Well, no.” But he quickly changed the subject, hoping she would drop the whole idea. “So tell me, when are you going to marry me?” he asked lightly.
She rolled her eyes. “That again. You know I can’t, so stop asking me.”
“But I can’t,” he protested with a smile. “Your reaction is always so . . . interesting.”
“Interesting? Is that why you ask me? Because I have interesting reactions? What am I, a science experiment?”
He regarded her with pursed lips, amused by her outrage. “No, I rather think you are a delightfully vibrant woman who is endlessly fascinating.”
Gina flushed. “ Oh. “ Then apparently casting about for something to say, she came up with, “How about Annabelle? How do you feel about her? Did you declare your undying love for each other?”
Annoyed by her repeated assumption that he and Mrs. Rutledge would have an affair, he said, “Of course not. I just questioned her about her symptoms, to see if mesmerism could help her.”
“Since you gave her another appointment, I guess it can. So, what are her symptoms?” Gina asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.
“I’m afraid that’s confidential.” He was surprised she asked.
She pouted. “After all I did to help you get your patients, you’re going to keep this from me? I deserve to know.”
“I do appreciate everything you’ve done, but that doesn’t mean I can breach client confidentiality.”
A gleam appeared in Gina’s eye. “You would if I were another professional you were consulting on her case. Wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, if I felt the need for assistance, I would contact another professional. Why?” he asked warily.
“Well, you did say I was very good at reading people and you’re not . . . so how do you know you’re reading her correctly?”
The truth was, he didn’t. “That’s what I hope to determine in the course of her treatment.”
Gina grinned. “Well, why not save yourself and your patient some time and grief, and consult with a professional people-reader? Me.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Her instincts had been invaluable in pinpointing the areas where Chloe and Letty needed assistance. Perhaps she could help with his other patients as well.
“I am right.”
“Then . . . all right. Your insights would be useful.”
“Good,” she said, squirming in delight. “Does that mean I can sit in on the sessions? I think I’ll need to, so I can catch what you miss.”
He thought for a moment. “Only if the patients don’t object, and it doesn’t impair their treatment.”
“Great. Okay, tell me about the session with Annabelle. What are her bad habits?”
Drake remembered how woebegone poor Mrs. Rutledge had seemed when she related her troubles. “One bad habit is that she prefers to read romance novels rather than attend to her domestic duties.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad—who wouldn’t?”
“Her husband doesn’t agree. And she has a problem pleasing him. . . .” He paused, wondering how to phrase this.
“In bed, you mean?”
Why had he worried about Gina’s sensibilities? “Yes, there . . . and elsewhere. She has a problem anticipating his needs.”
Gina snorted. “Well, I hate to tell you this, but it seems the only bad habit Mrs. Rutledge has is being married to Mr. Rutledge.”
He nodded. “That’s the conclusion I came to. But I was unsure if I was reading her correctly, or if I was seeing things in her marriage that aren’t there.” His gaze slid toward his sister’s miniature. The same things Charlotte had found wrong in her marriage.
Gina’s gaze softened. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I think you read her right.”
“Thank you. I just hope I can help her. . . .”
“You can,” she said bracingly. “You’ve already helped Chloe and Letty so much—you’ll be able to help Annabelle, too. So, what about the other patients?”
Before he could answer her, someone knocked on the door. Gina darted over to hide beside the wardrobe, and Drake cautiously eased open the door, glad to see it was O’Riley. “Is Mrs. Biddle gone?” he asked the porter.
“No,” Jack whispered fiercely. “That ol’ biddy is settlin’ in for the winter. But I have an idea to get rid o’ her.” Raising his voice, he said clearly and distinctly, “Ye know that woman ye wished to see?”
Playing along, Drake said, “Yes?”
“Well, she wants to see ye now.” He lowered his voice to a loud whisper that would be clearly audible to any listeners. “In the bathhouse.”
“Thank you, “ Drake said loudly and placed a token of his appreciation in O’Riley’s fist. Closing the door, he beckoned Gina over and said, “O’Riley is a genius. I’ll just go meet this nonexistent woman in the bath house. Mrs. Biddle is sure to think it’s you and will follow me.”
“Good idea,” Gina said, her eyes twinkling.
“I’ll make sure to lead her on a merry chase. Then, once we’re out of range, Jack will let you know when the hallway is empty.”
She smiled. “Thank you for being so concerned about my reputation. You’re too good to me.”
Once again, Gina had surprised him, this time with her sensitivity and heartfelt thanks. Giving in to an impulse, Drake stooped and gave her a swift kiss. Grinning at her stunned expression, he said, “I know.”