Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams (13 page)

“N-Nicholas!” she cried raggedly, lurching over the grass, one hand to her shoulder, the other scrubbing away tears of pain, now turned to tears of joy.

Such fierce joy that she didn't hear the low, feral purr until the Mini was nearly upon her.

Turn!
The raw order rang out in the depths of her mind.

She moved by pure instinct, just as Nicholas's hoarse warning filled her ears a split second later. Horrified, she watched a blue door go whipping past, only inches away from her knee. If she hadn't moved it would have broken her kneecap—and possibly much more.

This time, however, the car kept going, picking up speed. Dear God, they were heading straight for Nicholas!

In mute horror, Kacey watched the two adversaries surge together on a collision course, car and rider implacable. She
caught a glimpse of Nicholas's face, dark with fury, before he pulled his mount aside at the final instant, barely managing to avoid impact with the Mini.

He pounded past her a moment later, shouting a question. “—all right?” she heard.

“Yes! Be careful! They've got a gun!”

But he was already gone, streaking toward the coast. In that instant Kacey felt her stomach wrench as she realized his intent.

To save her, he meant to draw them off, toward the cliffs.

Be careful. Oh, be very careful, my dearest love. At first, she didn't realize that she'd spoken with her thoughts rather than with speech. Raw static filled her mind for an instant, and with it came a burning sensation like acid. Like bitter sadness and aching regret…

She turned, her legs wobbling, her lungs aching. Horrified, she saw the Mini wrench about in pursuit of Nicholas. As if caught in a nightmare, she watched the car streak after horse and rider. In the bright sunlight, the jaws of the cliffs gleamed silver above the sea, and Kacey realized that this deadly game of cat and mouse would soon be pushed to a bloody conclusion.

Help him, Adrian! Please, if you love me—if you ever loved me, help him now! Tears spilling from her eyes, Kacey put all the force of her yearning heart into her plea.

Suddenly the swirling static receded; now only chill silence remained. Kacey tasted the sick-sweet tang of fear on her tongue as the two shapes began to converge.

They were gaining on him! It was only a matter of yards to the edge now! Nicholas kneed the horse in a sharp turn, but the car followed, its angry wheels jolting over the earth.

“Dear God, no!” Kacey's shrill scream echoed across the downs.

And then out of nowhere came the gray blur, flashing from behind the gorse and streaking over the flat earth. Only feet from the Mini, he lengthened stride and leaped into the air, legs flexed, a study in grace and power.

A second later, the cat lay flat against the windshield, his black paws braced against the wiper blades as he clung to the glass.

Kacey never knew exactly what happened next. It would always remain a blur of noise and movement interwoven with the sound of her own screams.

An angry shout. The wild neighing of a horse. The scream of grinding gears…

And then the dark rectangle of the car, rising as if in slow motion and arcing in sudden, dreamlike silence over the ragged edge of the cliffs to plunge out of sight into the snarling waters six hundred feet below.

“N-Nicholas…” Kacey never finished her hoarse cry. Already swaying, she felt her legs give way. That was the last thing she felt before crumpling slowly to the ground.

IT IS DONE
. I
MUST GO NOW
,
Katharine.

Kacey frowned, hearing—no,
feeling—
the words slip down to the dark place where she floated, mind asleep, thoughts closed off to the outside world.

A-Adrian?

Yes, my heart. I'm here.

Thank you—for saving him.

Silence, bleak and total, for long moments. In those empty seconds, Kacey realized exactly how much he loved her.

And just how much he regretted having to give her up.

Suddenly the scent of roses filled her mind, along with the gentle kiss of spring wind.
Nonsense,
the voice whispered.
It is no more than I came to do. Now you, my stubborn woman, must rest. There will be time enough for all the other things. For now, just rest…

Kacey tensed, caught up in the terror of those last, chilling moments. But—Gideon? He was—

Gideon will be with me, which is where he belongs.
And then, as if he'd seen her frown,
No, don't fret, Katharine. Not for what you cannot begin to understand…just accept this thing I tell you.

Then…thank him, at least.

A smile. She could feel it crinkle through her, warm and slightly chiding.
No need, sweeting. Gideon has already heard. You might try the aquamarine, you know. Whistler vows it was always his most difficult pigment in the Nocturnes. And be bold—add ocher
to your aquamarine and lavender to your grays, then dilute the lot with a liberal dash of turpentine. This is his way of thanking you for caring. But then you were always a rare one for caring, weren't you, my love? Even while Nicholas and I tore you in two…

The scent of roses lay heavy upon her, almost like a lover's caress. And then Kacey's thoughts began to scatter, exhaustion overtaking her, the fragile thread of contact beginning to unravel, Adrian? she asked drowsily.

Sleep.
It was a brisk command, almost paternal now.

She felt the last thread break, then slipped deep into a cloud of dreams.

Into forgetting. Just as Adrian had intended.

Goodbye, my heart,
the voice in her mind whispered softly, knowing she could not hear. Regret hung heavy on him as he began the last difficult step of easing the contact which had become the sweetest thing in his long and very tattered existence.

His bitter sigh mingled with the wild channel winds.
My three visits have been given and used. There can be no more, my love.

Someday, perhaps, you will remember—when the pain has faded and this day is no more than a faint shadow in your memory. And on that day, perhaps you will remember just how much I loved you, Katharine, though my damnable pride always got in the way.

Until then, forget me and everything about me. Just forget…

The voice fell away, ebbing into a raw swirl of noise for a moment.

He collected himself, but only with great difficulty.
Until then, mind my roses, if you will, sweeting. Them I have loved full well. But not as much as I have loved you, Katharine. And always will love you…

Then the voice melted away, buffeted by the chill currents from the sea, swallowed up by the cry of gull and curlew.

Soon even the scent of roses was swept away on the churning channel winds.

 

S
OMETHING PRODDING
—
SQUEEZING
her fiercely.

Go away!

“Kacey!”

No more—leave me alone. World surging in, and all she wanted was forgetting—no,
remembering,
in a way more intense than any waking thought.

“Sweet God, Kacey, wake up!”

Once again the probing fingers. This time they shook her, then slapped her cheeks.

She started to reach out with her mind, then stopped short, frowning.

Reaching out for what? For whom?

No answer came back from the chill shadows around her. Only sheer blackness, like a slate washed pure and clean.

“Kacey, can you hear me?”

Something about the raw plea in that voice pierced the dark veil of her thoughts. She opened one eye warily, wincing at the light that flooded in. Her head immediately began to throb, and pain broke over every inch of her body.

It was a hard face Kacey saw above her then—eyes smoldering silver, lips full, tense now with fear. So very tense…

Slowly she reached up and traced the taut line of that mouth. A beloved mouth? A beloved face, she realized.

In one sharp stroke, recognition burst over her, and the lingering traces of her dreams were swept away.

“N-Nicholas? Is it really you?”

The hands tensed and crushed her to his chest. “Thank God,” Draycott muttered thickly, his fingers buried in her hair, his breath warm on her cheek. A faint line of moisture worked down his face.

“You came,” Kacey whispered. “I hoped…I tried to believe…”

“Of course I came. I'll always come, my brave, sweet love.”

Then no more words, just two bodies crushed together, heart
to wild heart, breaths raw with thanksgiving. And then, as the fear slowly ebbed, they were caught up in feelings far different…

Driven by a need too long unassuaged.

Driven by a need that felt two hundred years old.

He would have taken her then, fiercely, out of a raw desperation to prove that they were both alive, with a future yet to share. But at that moment Marston tapped at the door and entered, followed by a tall, gray-haired visitor.

The Englishman with the silver eyes smothered a curse. Not yet, it appeared, were they to have their moment of peace.

It was a strange scene, even in this room that must have witnessed many strange scenes in its time. The golden-haired woman, pale still, propped against the flowered chintz cushions, an ice bag on her temple and a bandage wound around her forearm.

The dark-haired man on the sofa beside her, his eyes tense on her face, full of the consciousness of how close they had both come to dying.

The butler, stealing discreet, sidelong looks at the other two, holding back a smile, content with all he saw.

Last of all was the irritated police inspector, who plunged a hand through his disheveled gray hair, understanding nothing at all. “But I still don't see how you knew where they'd gone, Lord Draycott,” the inspector began, moving directly to the question that had been bothering him the last two hours. “The coast road could have taken them any number of places.”

Nicholas's eyes fixed on Kacey's face, drinking in the beauty of her smile. He muttered a curse, desperately wishing the officer would go away.

Draycott said nothing about the voice he'd heard, of course. Nothing about the swift, sharp images or the absolute certainty he'd had of her location. No, that would be for another time, he decided. Preferably after he'd come to understand it more himself.

Inspector Jamieson muttered something beneath his breath as Draycott bent and feathered a soft but very thorough kiss across Kacey's parted lips. The officer scratched his gray head, distinctly ill at ease, but determined to have some answers all the same. There were forms to be completed, after all. Forms in bloody triplicate! And this was one case he wanted closed—once and for all! “I'm terribly sorry to intrude, Lord Draycott, but I really must ask—”

Nicholas sat up slightly, his lips curved in a dark smile. “I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea, inspector. Just a lucky guess, perhaps.”

The officer gave an exasperated sigh. If only the man would concentrate for a moment…

Then, as he saw the radiance that filled Kacey's eyes, saw the blinding force of her answering smile, Inspector Jamieson began to understand exactly why Nicholas Draycott was having trouble breathing, or of thinking about anything else right now.

But business was business, the officer told himself firmly, squaring his shoulders. “I don't believe in guesses, Lord Draycott. It's hard work that solves crimes.” Jamieson frowned for a moment, considering his next words. “Shall I be frank?”

“Of course.” Just as long as you make it quick and then leave us bloody alone, Nicholas thought, his irritation growing more pronounced by the second.

“Special Investigations knew that Trang had secured a movable fortune somewhere close at hand for a fast escape. It was there all along, hidden in the mud of your cell—an ancient Buddhist reliquary urn set with a fortune in cabochon gems. And inside was a microfilm list of all Trang's contacts—in Asia as well as Europe. That's what your two friends were after.” The inspector's eyes narrowed. “They'd been involved with Trang long enough to learn about his little stash, and when the choppers came in for you, Lord Draycott, they were already scrambling
for the urn. They never found it, though, because by then soldiers were swarming everywhere and they didn't have a clear chance to look. By the time things settled down after Trang's death, the urn had disappeared. That's where SI came in. They found out about the contents of the jar last week and grew distinctly uneasy when…” The inspector cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “That is, just in case…”

With a sharp curse, Nicholas jerked to his feet. “Just in case what, inspector?”

“In case Miss Mallory might be, er…” The officer's eyes flashed to Kacey's face, and he cleared his throat again.

“Go on, spit it out, man!”

“Well, be working with one of those fellows from Bhanlai. Someone up in London was worried that—”

Draycott plunged across the room toward the telephone, muttering a long and very graphic stream of curses with every step. “The bloody, interfering imbeciles! What have they got, oatmeal for brains? Someone's head is going to roll for this, by God. Just see if it doesn't!” His hand was on the receiver when Kacey's breathless protest brought him to a halt.

The inspector never did see what passed between them, as Nicholas's back was turned. Ever after, he was to puzzle about that.

But whatever it was, the effect was swift and totally persuasive, for a moment later Draycott ran a hand through his unruly hair and slowly came back to his seat. Silently, Kacey reached out, drawing his hand to her cheek. That much Inspector Jamieson did see, and the jolt of naked longing he'd seen on her face was enough to stun him speechless.

His discomfort increasing by the second, the inspector plunged ahead. “By the way, the two of you were bloody lucky out there on the downs today. That's a damn unstable stretch of cliffs. It could have given way any moment, especially with the weight of the car.” Jamieson's brow creased. “Good God, didn't
one of your ancestors fall from the cliffs somewhere near there, Draycott?”

A closer ancestor than you'll ever know, Nicholas thought grimly. And luck had absolutely nothing to do with the events that took place out on the cliffs today, he added silently.

No, love and not luck had saved them today. Love along with trust. And perhaps a little help from Draycott Abbey's proud and stubborn ghost…

Nicholas's fingers tightened as he felt Kacey shudder.

Jamieson saw, too, and that more than anything else decided him it was time to leave. His only regret was that he wouldn't get a chance to interrogate those two ruffians in the Mini, particularly that fellow with the acrid cigarettes and the arrest record stretching from here to Brighton.

But neither of those men would be talking to anyone—ever again. And that left the urn in limbo.

Too bad, that. Still, someday Draycott might remember exactly what had happened to it. Until then, SI would just have to wait.

Jamieson smiled grimly at the thought of those tight-lipped bureaucrats up in Whitehall waiting patiently for anything.

Yes, nothing else needed tending to here, the gray-haired officer decided. “I expect I'll be going then. Tomorrow one of my men will pop round with the Turners we recovered, Lord Draycott.” He darted a last, sidelong glance at the pair of oblivious lovers. “On second thought, perhaps next week might be a better idea,” he revised softly.

When he took his hat and left the room, Marston, efficient as usual, was waiting to show him out.

“Bloody strange business,” the inspector muttered, half to himself.

“But it ended well for all that, I believe.”

Jamieson merely frowned, cramming his hat down on his
head with unnecessary force. “A lucky guess indeed! What kind of fool does the man take me for?”

Still muttering, he walked into the courtyard. “It's going to look damn odd on the paperwork, I can tell you that!”