Candace Camp - Mesmerized

Olivia Moreland has forever denied the possibility of clairvoyant abilities, working instead to discredit the mediums that flock to London. But when Lord Stephen St. Leger requests her help in investigating an alleged psychic’s claims, she can’t deny the ominous presence she feels within the walls of his ancient estate—or the intimately familiar connection she feels to Stephen himself.

The last time he’d called Blackhope Hall home, Stephen had watched as his elder brother claimed both the family title and the woman he loved. Now, in the wake of his brother’s murder, Stephen has reluctantly returned to find his family ensconced in scandal. Who is responsible for his brother’s untimely death—a dark spirit or the psychic who claims to have channeled it? And what is it about psychic investigator Olivia Moreland that so thoroughly draws him in, reigniting a passion he hasn’t felt in years?

As they search for answers, Stephen and Olivia discover that the only way to fight a powerful evil is with a powerful love.

Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author Candace Camp

“Camp’s newest Matchmaker novel features her usual vivid characterization, touches of subtle humor and plenty of misunderstandings, guilt and passion. You won’t want to miss this poignant and charming tale.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Courtship Dance

“Delightful…Camp is firmly at home here, enlivening the romantic quest between her engaging lovers with a set of believable and colorful secondaries.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Wedding Challenge

“A beautifully crafted, poignant love story.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Wedding Challenge

“Lively and energetic secondaries round out the formidable leads…assuring readers a surprise ending well worth waiting for.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Bridal Quest

“A clever mystery adds intrigue to this lively and gently humorous tale, which simmers with well-handled sexual tension.”

—Library Journal on A Dangerous Man

“The talented Camp has deftly mixed romance and intrigue to create another highly enjoyable Regency romance.”

—Booklist on An Independent Woman

“A smart, fun-filled romp.”

—Publishers Weekly on Impetuous

Mesmerized

Candace Camp

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER ONE

1876

THE OIL LAMP in the center of the long table was turned low, eerily lighting the faces of the people around it, throwing eyes and hair into deep shadows and dancing along the sharp lines of brow and cheekbone, making the silent attendees look gaunt and mysterious. All eyes turned toward the large wooden box a few feet from the table, dark and looming. There was no sound from inside it.

Then the lamp went out, and one of the women gasped. Blackness enveloped them. Hands turned cold, and pulses sped up. Everyone waited. There, in the dark hush, it was easy to imagine a ghostly finger trailing coldly across one’s shoulders, to think, with a heart-pounding combination of fear and anticipation, that someone might speak from across the black void of death.

Even Olivia Moreland, despite the fact that she was there for a far different purpose, could not help but feel a little thrill dart up her back. But it was not enough to keep her from her business. Slowly, carefully, using the tricks she had learned from the very people she intended to expose, she eased backward, shielded by the blackness surrounding her, and separated herself from the ring of people around the table.

She paused for a moment, giving her eyes a chance to adjust to the lack of light; then she started forward slowly. It was still difficult to see, as the only light in the room was the glow from the hallway creeping in around the door. She did not want to alert anyone to the fact that she was up and walking. It had to be a surprise to everyone when she reached the medium’s cabinet. All her attention was on the dark box before her; every nerve in her body seemed to quiver, tense with expectation. She was almost there....

A hand lashed out and wrapped around her arm, fingers digging painfully into her flesh.

Olivia shrieked and jumped. A deep masculine voice cried out, “There! I have you!”

All around the table, women echoed Olivia’s shriek, and there was the clatter of a chair overturning and a general hubbub of voices and movements.

Whatever instinctual, primitive fear had flooded Olivia at the sudden grasping of her arm, it subsided at the sound of a very real and human voice.

“Let go of me!” she snapped, trying to pull her arm away.

“I think not—until you have explained yourself.”

She continued to struggle, hissing, “Stop! You are ruining everything!”

“No doubt I am,” he replied in a faintly amused tone. “It is always so unpleasant to have one’s duplicity revealed.”

“Duplicity?”

As the two of them exchanged words, there was the sound of a thud, followed by a muttered curse, and at last a match flared into life at the table. A moment later, someone lit the oil lamp and there was light in the room. Olivia found herself staring down into the cool gray eyes of her captor.

A faint shock passed through her, a feeling almost of recognition, though she realized immediately that she had never seen this man before. She was certain that, if she had, she would have remembered him.

He was seated at the table, his chair pushed a little away from those on either side of him, and he was half-turned and leaning back in order to grasp Olivia’s arm. His shoulders were broad, and Olivia could well attest to the strength of his hands and arms. His face was lean, with high, wide cheekbones so sharp they looked as if they could have cut paper. It was a hard face, a look emphasized by the cold intensity of his eyes. Only his mouth—wide, with a full lower lip—would have softened his face, but it was at the moment pulled into a thin line. His hair, thick and dark, nearly black, was shaggily cut, as if someone had taken a pair of scissors to it—or, perhaps, a knife. The ungentlemanly appearance of his hair was echoed in his clothes—made of clearly fine materials, but just as clearly sewn by someone other than one of the well-known London tailors, as well as being a trifle out-of-date. She would have thought him foreign on an initial glance, except that his voice had been unmistakably that of an upper-class Englishman.

There was a moment of silence as everyone else in the room stared at the tableau.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you!” Olivia retorted, desperately searching for a good reason for her to have been walking about. She twitched at her skirts, which had managed to become twisted, showing an entirely inappropriate ruffle of her petticoat on one side. There was a lock of hair that had escaped from her neat bun, as well; she could feel it curling down beside her face. She realized that her appearance put her at a disadvantage, and she was made even more uncomfortable by that steady silver-gray gaze on her face. But she refused to let this man cow her. Olivia was quite aware that she was small and unremarkable in appearance—a little brown wren of a woman, she had more than once thought of herself, especially when compared to the other, more peacocklike members of her family. But she had learned to counter that impression with a steady and stubborn refusal to be intimidated.