The Highland Dragon's Lady by Isabel Cooper Page B

that table, even the strongest and fastest man in the world, I would’ve been able to keep Mrs. Osbourne from getting more than bruised. If two or three men had been behind it, perhaps she’d have cracked some ribs.”
    Comprehension left Reggie very still for a minute, then she drew a long, dismayed “Ohh” from her mouth.
    “Aye,” said Colin in the last moments he knew he had before Edmund and Brant came through the door. “I’m not blaming myself. I’m thinking that we’re in the house with a very strong creature.”

Eight
    Bed was a mixed blessing.
    Reggie was glad to be alone. Rather, she was glad to get away from the scene downstairs. After the first rush of action and catastrophe, waiting had kept everyone’s nerves trembling on edge. When Dr. Brant had emerged from the drawing room, wiping off arms that were bloody to the elbow, and announced that Mrs. Osbourne should be all right with time and care, the frail structure of calm had collapsed. So had Miss Heselton, literally, falling into the nearest set of male arms and having hysterics.
    In deference to the woman’s surprising competence and the events of the evening, Reggie made herself consider it possible that the hysterics were real and that Edmund being the first man at hand was sheer coincidence. Mr. Heselton, after all, had been engaged in comforting Miss Browne, who’d been looking all of three steps from the grave herself, and Colin was not the sort of chap who made one think of comfort.
    Nonetheless, for a moment their eyes had met, and Reggie had considered going over to him, as little as they knew each other. His presence had been calming and refreshing earlier, unless that had just been the brandy. For a moment, she’d thought he might come to her.
    But she didn’t know him, she didn’t want to presume that one rash act on a balcony and his unthinking response gave her the right to drape herself over the man whenever she pleased, and she had things to do. There were servants to talk to, while Pater paid the doctor and Mater got the guests off to bed. There were orders to give about breakfast the next day and trays to be taken up to Mrs. Osbourne and Miss Browne. Emma was to come off her general housemaid’s duties and keep an eye on the night’s casualty, and someone had to clean up the ruins of the chandelier. Moreover, Reggie had to explain what had happened, and sound calm and unconcerned when she talked about the “accident.”
    She thought she managed all right. Woefully inadequate as she might be in society, she was her mother’s daughter in some ways. She answered questions, neither lying nor giving too much information. She smiled, she said that she was certain everything would be all right, and she didn’t think the servants looked too worried.
    Then again, they hadn’t been at the séance, and they hadn’t heard Colin talk about the ghost’s possible power.
    If the spirit had wanted to kill her, Reggie told herself as she went upstairs, it could have done so any time in the last two years. It hadn’t hung about in the drawing room and done more damage, so either it didn’t want to or, for some reason, it couldn’t. She was very probably safe that night.
    “Very probably” and “safe” were not words that went well together, but she didn’t have the energy to worry. Talking to the servants had used the last of her strength. She practically pulled herself up the stairs, careless of the damage to her gown, and let Jane undress her in numb almost-silence.
    “Your hand,” the other woman said as Reggie raised it to push back the heavy mass of her hair. She’d sponged the cut off, and it really wasn’t bad enough to need a bandage—not much more than a scratch, but obvious. “What happened?”
    “Chandelier.”
    “I’d heard,” said Jane, and she fixed Reggie with a knowing look and a thin smile. “At least you’re tired enough to stay in tonight.”
    “It could be worse,” said Reggie, managing a smile