Sexual Hunger. Melissa MacNeal

losing your perspective!”

      “How dare he imply—”

      “You’re inferring the worst, Rubio! And now he’s provoked Dora into spilling the story and discrediting you! Back away!”

      “You wish to come forward, madame?” Polinsky extended his hands, gazing over the audience’s heads at Jason’s distraught mother. “You and I…perhaps we reach out together? Send our prayers—our pleas—to your son, yes?”

      “Yes! Oh yes, please!” Dora squeezed awkwardly between those in front of her, unaware of how she unseated them in her haste to contact Jason. Around her, the guests’ whispering rose to an excited hiss, as though the hall were filled with gossiping snakes.

      Marie felt as though this medium—or magician, or whoever he was—was physically tugging on her hands to lure her into this demonstration as well. But somehow she kept her seat. She gripped Rubio’s arm as Yosef Polinsky took Lady Darington’s dainty hands in his.

      Was it her imagination, or did Dora seem…enthralled beyond the lure of contacting her son? And if they contact Jason’s spirit, does it mean he’s…dead?

      “Listen closely,” her brother murmured against her ear. “We will discuss this later.”

      Nodding, she watched the foreigner clasp Lady Darington’s hands and then close his uplifted eyes. Long moments passed while Polinsky appeared to summon the unseen…to pull predictions out of the ether, as it were. Or did he truly possess psychical powers, as Rubio did?

      “I sense he is…floating. At sea, perhaps. He is very confused.”

      Dora gasped. “Confused about what? How could he be floating on the—”

      “In unconscious state. Cannot reach us.” Polinsky’s eyes flew open as though he’d been very far away while his physical body remained here among them. As he gazed at the sleek blonde before him, a smile eased over his features. “His body, it rests. His mind, it has gone…deeper. Seeking refuge. Your son, he is…adrift. Healing.”

      “From what?” Dora cried. Still clasping his hands, she gazed up at Polinsky as though he held the secret to her salvation—and Jason’s as well. “We must find him! If he’s injured—”

      Again a gasp flew around the crowded room.

      “—we must send a ship, or—the whole damn Royal Navy! Or—”

      “Dora. That’s quite enough.” Lord Darington stepped between the guests who’d moved for his wife, his features growing ruddier. “This man is a huckster and a heartless fraud, playing upon your emotions! We’re going home.”

      “But I—how can you think of leaving?” she cried. “Neither Scotland Yard nor that gossipmonger Miss Crimson has produced a shred of evidence about Jason’s circumstances! We’ve learned more tonight from Mr. Polinsky than—”

      “Claptrap. None of your sass, woman!” Lord Darington clamped his arm around his wife’s shoulders and, without glancing at anyone, marched her down the stairway. The hall grew so quiet, Dora’s whimpers haunted them until the front door closed heavily.

      “I’ve seen enough, too. Come along, Rowena.” The portly Lord Galsworthy stood up, clasping his young, redheaded wife’s hand. “Whatever Fenwick had in mind for tonight’s entertainment, this Polinsky character has only inflamed the ladies’ imaginations and incensed the gentlemen’s sensibilities. Good night, all.”

      Maria blinked. And before she could sift through the implications of Galsworthy’s pithy remark—one she might paraphrase in her column—two other men excused themselves, wives in tow. Yosef Polinsky stood out of their way. He didn’t protest these exits, nor did he call anyone back with the promise of proving himself legitimate.

      She felt Rubio’s gaze. His hot-coffee eyes insisted they leave as well, now that it wouldn’t appear Polinsky had intimidated him. As Maria stood, it occurred to her that those who remained had all consulted regularly with Rubio…all of them ladies who’d come without male escorts: Meriweather Golding and her bejeweled widow friends, as well as Camille and Colette Bentley.

      And wasn’t that interesting?