Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams (21 page)

“Are there any alarm systems up here I should be worrying about?”

“There's never been a need.”

“It's the twentieth century. Nowhere is safe anymore.” It sounded as if he'd had personal experience with the fact, but that was absurd. He didn't look like a man who thought about anything more serious than where he'd find the next night's bed partner.

Cathlin sniffed. She ignored the way his chest glinted, misted with sweat as he climbed the ladder and stretched up to feel the exposed beams in the ceiling.

That was when she decided it could be closer to World War Three than she'd thought.

“This house must hold a lot of memories for you.”

“Enough.” She wasn't about to discuss her past with him or anyone else.

His eyes narrowed at the chill in her voice. “Growing up in a place like this can be wonderful, even with the leaking roofs and ancient plumbing.”

“Don't tell me, you just happen to have a drafty old castle of your own back in Sussex.”

He smiled faintly. “Near Tunbridge, actually.” He leaned back and braced an arm against the ladder. “Something wrong, Ms. O'Neill?”

“Wrong?”

“You're staring.”

“No, I'm not.” But she had been, Cathlin knew. No matter what she said, this was a different man from the one she'd met in London. This man was competent and cool and very intent. And there was something seductive about that kind of intensity, about the way he ran his hands through his hair, leaving it a rumpled mess when he was thinking. Or maybe it was the way he studied her, as if he were looking past the words, probing all the way inside her.

Suddenly she remembered Serita's description:
It's his eyes, I think. He looks at you and really sees you. There's something seductive, but dangerous about that kind of total focus in a man.

Not for
her,
Cathlin vowed.

“Look, just finish checking the roof, if you don't mind.”

Dominic shrugged and pulled a knife from his pocket. It looked comfortable in the palm of his hand. He gave the damaged ceiling an experimental jab. Instantly, plaster rained down over his neck and chest. He backed down the ladder, coughing all the way, then surveyed the roof in silence. “Not good,” he said finally. “Not good at all.”

“Can it be fixed?”

He rubbed his jaw and Cathlin tried not to notice the play of muscles across his chest. “We're probably looking at a new beam structure and a new tin alloy undersurfacing. Maybe even a whole new slate exterior. It's damp rot all right, and it's gone all the way through. It's going to take lots of money to repair it.”

“How much money?”

His eyes darkened. For a fleeting moment Cathlin saw something like reluctance there. He hiked one powerful shoulder against a rung. “Two hundred thousand, give or take.”

“Give or take
what,
the Crown jewels?” Cathlin moved to the window and gripped the sill. She'd never be able to put together
that kind of money. And expensive or not, this old house was the only real connection she had left to her mother. How could she bear to lose it? “You're sure about that? Maybe it's not as bad as you think.”

He laughed harshly. “Ms. O'Neill, I also happen to own an old château in the Garonne Valley in France. It was beautiful, too, right down to the rotten beams and crumbling foundation. Even the mice nesting in the walls were kind of cute. But the place was derelict. We had to rip out two complete walls and most of the top floor before we could even start on the roof. Believe me, I've waded through enough wood dust and ruined plaster to know damp rot when I see it.”

Every word was a physical blow. The man clearly knew what he was talking about.

Cathlin's heart fell. Two hundred thousand pounds! Even if she signed up a hundred new clients, she couldn't scrape together that kind of money.

Which meant she would lose Seacliffe.

She sank down in the rickety armchair at the window, her visitor forgotten. She felt the dim press of images, of sounds and colors too faint to be real memories. Long ago Cathlin and her mother had come up to these attics. Seacliffe had belonged to Cathlin's grandmother then, and the house had been a happy place, ringing with laughter.

When Cathlin's mother had been alive. When they'd been a family, and she'd seen her father smile.

“What am I going to do?” she whispered.

More plaster exploded beside her foot. Cathlin didn't move, staring down at the white mound, her eyes haunted.

“Maybe it's time you listened to me. I think I can help you.”

Cathlin shoved at the plaster with her toe. “How?”

“There might be a way.” Dominic gave an experimental tap on the wall.

“Do you mean I could manage it for less? If I helped out with the work perhaps.”

“It's too dangerous to allow amateurs up here once the beams are removed and the construction's under way. No, I was thinking of something else. All it will take is a week of your time.”

Anger replaced the empty ache in Cathlin's chest. “I see. How very imaginative,” she said acidly. “But I'm afraid it would take a whole lot more than two hundred thousand pounds to tempt me to do that.”

“Damn it, will you listen to me?” Dominic frowned and ran a hand through his long hair. As he did, flecks of plaster skittered over his chest. “It's not what you think. I'm talking about seven days together under one roof, nothing more.”

“Right. And I'm an emissary from the Martian base hidden on the far side of the moon.”

There was a sudden curve to his lips. “Are you always this prickly, O'Neill?”

“Depends on my company. After all, I'm not a complete idiot. Who would pay that kind of money for a week of my time? I'm not exactly centerfold material.”

Dominic's green eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”

“Two hundred thousand pounds for the pleasure of my company, in bed or otherwise?” Cathlin laughed rather unsteadily. “I rather think not.”

“You rate yourself far too low in that case.” His eyes were hard, his voice deadly serious.

Goose bumps rose along Cathlin's neck. He
wanted
her. She could almost taste the force of his desire, so attuned were they at that moment. And Cathlin discovered what a potent aphrodisiac that kind of hunger could be.

But she forced herself out of her sensual haze. What was happening to her? She was a competent professional who dealt with powerful people every day. She was responsible for rare objects
worth thousands of dollars. She was capable and intelligent and utterly in control of her life.

Up until the moment you met this man, you were.

“I don't believe anything you've told me, Lord Ashton, but I'll listen anyway. As you see I'm rather desperate. So now maybe you'll be specific. How exactly are you proposing I make that vast sum of money you mentioned?” Cathlin spoke tightly, not wanting to believe he could be telling the truth.

“Actually, it's a little difficult to explain. Hell, it's more than a
little
difficult.”

“Try me.” Behind Cathlin another clump of plaster struck the floor. She muttered something graphic and slid her hands into her pockets.

“If you'd answered my messages, I could have told you all this a week ago,” Dominic said irritably. “What it comes down to is this. You and I are the beneficiaries of a two-hundred-year-old will that stipulates the ownership of a very precious old case of wine. A Château d'Yquem, to be exact. Vintage 1792,” he added, in the coup de grace.

“Château d'Yquem?” Cathlin's eyes widened. “But a wine of that age and quality would be worth about…”

“A million pounds at least. I know the figures too,” Dominic said tightly.

“But why? And how?”

Dominic turned to pace the dusty attic. “It has to do with one of my ancestors. Mad Uncle Gabriel, we always called him, though he wasn't an uncle and I have no idea if he was mad. But he was reckless, mysterious and a bit of a firebrand. And then, about a week ago…”

He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck irritably. Cathlin tried to focus on what he was saying, but she kept seeing the soft hair that swirled over his chest. “What happened then?”

“We found out when he died—and where. His skeleton was
discovered hidden inside a walled-in cellar with his wine. And with it was his last will and testament, stipulating the way the wine should be handled.”

“Good heaven above.”

“I was a little surprised too,” Dominic said wryly. “But there's more, I'm afraid. According to the will you, as the descendant of one Geneva Russell, and I, as Gabriel Ashton's oldest living descendant, must spend seven days together at the site of the buried wine. Otherwise, the will is negated.”

“Is that legal?”

Dominic smiled faintly. “Hell if I know. I'm told it is. The point is that the man who found the wine considers himself honor bound to comply with Gabriel's last request. I expect you would, too, if you found a two-hundred-year-old skeleton buried in your cellar.”

Cathlin took an unsteady breath. “But it all seems so…so odd.”

Dominic shrugged. “Don't look at me. I'm not exactly thrilled about taking a week away from my own work right now.”

Cathlin looked out the window, listening to the wind rise. “One million pounds,” she repeated softly. Then she looked up. “Is this some kind of joke? If it is, so help me I'm going to—”

“It's no joke. I've got the documents to prove it. I can even arrange for you to see the will, which was signed in Gabriel's blood,” Dominic said grimly.

“You're kidding, surely.”

His hard look told her just the opposite.

“My God, you're telling the truth, aren't you?” Cathlin watched a cloud of plaster swirl up, carried by a gust of wind from one of the holes in the roof. “But why us? What was the connection between our ancestors? They weren't married, by the sound of things. What happened to them?”

“That's part of the puzzle, I'm afraid. I've done some checking into the Ashton family records, but came up with nothing. I was
hoping that you might be able to supply some answers about this Geneva Russell.”

Cathlin frowned. “I don't know much about that side of the family. My mother was an only child, you see. And then, after she…” Cathlin cleared her throat. “After she died, my father and I moved to Philadelphia. He had scads of relatives there and it simply seemed the best thing to do.” She glanced around the attic. “I suppose there might be some kinds of records around here. I haven't had much time to go through things.” She looked at Dominic and gnawed at her lip. “Not that I'm agreeing, mind you, but where would this hypothetical week be spent?”

“Here in England.”

“
Where
here in England?”

He seemed very concerned with closing the catch on the ladder all of a sudden. Cathlin's eyes narrowed. “I'm waiting.”

“Someplace north of here. Nice grounds. A moat and a beautiful granite abbey.”

A gust of air swirled down from the roof, ruffling the fine hairs at Cathlin's neck.

Moat. Granite. Abbey.

She shivered slightly. “Just give me the name.”

Slowly her visitor wrapped one broad hand around the ladder. “Draycott,” he said finally. “Draycott Abbey.”

“No.”
Cathlin's face had gone very pale. “That's impossible. Draycott is where my mother was…murdered.”

D
OMINIC SHOVED A HAND IN
his pocket and cursed softly. It wasn't going to work, he could feel it already. Still, something kept him from walking out. Maybe it was the pain Cathlin O'Neill was trying valiantly to keep from filling her eyes.

“I'm sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I can imagine how painful this is for you.” He frowned at how that sounded. “Hell, probably I can't begin to imagine. But this is a chance for
you,
for your future. Your mother would want that kind of chance for you.”

Cathlin turned and rested her head against the windowpane. The movement sent her hair sliding over her cheeks.

Dominic felt the force of that single gesture through his whole body. Even now there was a grace to her, a vitality that pulled him like a magnet. He'd felt aware of her as a woman since the first second he'd seen her, but the awareness had soon turned to something more. It was dark and elemental, like this beautiful wild landscape around them.

That's crazy, Montserrat. You're strangers with a business deal to consider, and nothing more.

He shoved a hand against the ladder, reminding himself that he was a man who prided himself on being in control. It was part of him by nature and profession. He couldn't think of one other woman who had managed to shake his control like this one, and he damned well didn't like the feeling? “Well?” he said.

He saw her brush at her eye, then study the six-inch crack of
sky showing through the broken roof. “I can't. Not…
there.
” She started toward the stairs.

Her foot was on the threshold when Dominic caught up with her. As his fingers wrapped around her wrist, he could feel her anger and uncertainty pulsing through every bone in his body.

How did he tap into her feelings like this? They were two strangers, after all. They didn't even
like
each other, for God's sake.

Scowling, he looked down at his fingers circling her wrist. The sight of their locked hands was like being kicked in the stomach by a horse.

By a very
angry
horse.

Dominic went stock-still, feeling sweat bead his brow. He had to fight an urge to pull her against him and find out how she tasted, how she would fit, molded hot and naked against him. “Give me an answer,” he said harshly.

“The answer's no!”

Dominic felt her trembling and bit back a curse. Was she remembering Draycott and her mother? No matter what happened, she'd have to face those memories some day, he told himself. Maybe the best time was right now. “Not even for a million pounds?”

“Didn't you
hear
me? My mother died there! I never even found out why,” she said bitterly.

“Maybe this is your chance to find out. Maybe—”

“And maybe there's a tooth fairy,” she said in a low, hard voice. “No, don't.” She raised her hand, almost as if to ward off a physical blow. “No more, please.” Dominic had a glimpse of the depth of her pain then. He knew that on some level he had just stumbled across some of those buried memories of hers.

But burying wouldn't work. He could have told her that from personal experience. The memories always came back to haunt you.

“You'll have to leave.” Her voice was tight with anger, but beneath it was an edge of panic.

“You'd be crazy to turn this down. I'd have to be crazy to
let
you. This house is beautiful, but it isn't going to last another five years in this condition. Maybe not another five months.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I don't like to lose, Ms. O'Neill. Not in life, not in business.” Some angry force made him add, “Not in love. And I'm not giving up. I'm going down to check on my car, then I'll be back.”

“The answer will be just the same. I'm never setting foot on Draycott land again.” She raised her head and Dominic saw pain seep through her eyes. He hated being the one to cause anyone that kind of pain. But something drew him, something made it impossible for him to turn his back and walk away from her the way he wanted.

“You love wine. I heard it in your voice at the auction in London. And this involves a wine of the very rarest sort. Just think of owning a wine like that, touching and holding it in your hands. It would be something beyond imagining.”

Why was he making this harder for her? Dominic wondered. Why couldn't he just accept her answer and be done with it? Or had it already gone too far for that?

“I don't want to hear this! Not for any amount of money! I don't care who you are or what you're offering, the answer's still no.”

“Cathlin, wait—”

She shoved past him, one hand locked to her mouth. The hammering of her feet down the stairs sent another slab of plaster hurtling to the attic floor.

Dominic didn't try to stop her. Something told him that once he touched her, once he felt her body shiver and then yield to his, all his years of careful experience at control would be swept away in a second.

Impossible, of course. And yet somehow he already knew exactly how she would feel wrapped against him.

Almost as clearly as if it had already happened.

 

C
ATHLIN WATCHED HIM
stride down the long gravel drive toward the coast road. Gravel and dust flew up around him, driven by the wind.

The tears didn't come, just as they hadn't come after that day fifteen years ago. She had never found out what had led to her mother's fall from the roof at Draycott Abbey, though she had spent years wondering.

Suicide? Cathlin shivered. It couldn't possibly be. Her mother had always seemed so happy, ready with laughter and a hug. But perhaps a child couldn't see the pain that a grownup learned to hide.

When she was older, Cathlin's father had explained what he knew of the events of that night. Somehow Elizabeth Russell O'Neill had fallen or been pushed to her death from the roof. But Donnell O'Neill had steadfastly refused to believe that what had happened had been an act of suicide. He had gone on searching for clues for months, but neither he nor the investigating officers had ever solved the mystery of what had occurred up on that dark and silent roof.

Though she had no conscious memory of that night, Cathlin had been the one who found her mother's body, motionless and silent against the soft green grass by the moat. Yet the night remained one great blank. Over the years Cathlin came to consider it a blessing that her memories were locked away where they couldn't torment her.

And now in a matter of minutes this hard-faced stranger came striding into her life, touching those dark places in ways that Cathlin couldn't begin to imagine.

Or to bear.

Overhead a curlew shrieked and darted over a tidal pool. Cathlin looked down at her hands, angry when she saw the fine tremor that shook them.

She had to accept the hard truth then. It wasn't going to go
away. Even though the memories were buried, they were still very much alive.

Cathlin watched angry clouds race in from the channel. Just like the storm, dark and gathering speed, there were things that couldn't be put off any longer. The doctors had told her one day everything would come back to her. As an adult, Cathlin finally had to consider methods of remembering, things like drugs and deep hypnosis. Maybe it was time she had an answer to those years of shadows. If so, the whole process would have to begin at Draycott Abbey.

Maybe she owed it to her mother to find out what no one else could.

 

S
HE WAS WAITING, FISTS
tight, when Dominic strode back up the drive. “There's one other thing you'd better understand, O'Neill.” His hair was raked back by the wind and a fine sheen of sand covered his face. “Like it or not, we're in this together. You're not the
only
one who stands to gain from that will.”

Abruptly Dominic stopped. Over Cathlin's shoulder he studied the eerie sweep of reeds and silver water. “Come inside.”

“Why.”

He bit off a curse. “
Now,
O'Neill. There's someone out there.”

“It's not exactly a crime. As I told you, we get lots of lost hikers this time of year.”

Dominic's eyes were cold and hard. “In this kind of weather? I doubt it. But if they're just hikers, they won't mind answering a few questions.” He pulled her around, shielding her with his body. “Keep walking, slowly and very casually.” He draped an arm around Cathlin's shoulder and began moving her toward the house.

As they neared her old Jeep, he bent low and pulled a backpack from the car. Turning quickly, he moved his body between Cathlin and whoever was out there on the marsh.

“What are you doing?”

Dominic ignored her, pushing her along toward the house. “Is there a door that will let me out on the north side of the property?”

Cathlin nodded. The confusion in her eyes began to be replaced by fear. “If you're trying to frighten me, you're succeeding.”

“I'm not trying to frighten you,” he said harshly. “I'm trying to protect you.”

“From what?”

His mouth hardened. “That's always the question, isn't it? Now show me how to get to the north side of the house.”

It was soft but it was an order, and they both knew it.

Cathlin led him wordlessly through high, wood-beamed rooms full of Georgian furniture, along a corridor that had once been lined with portraits but now held only a few proud faces. Even now the house contained a fragile beauty and a vast dignity, offering comparisons with its beautiful, stubborn owner.

When they emerged onto the lawn at the far side of Seacliffe a few moments later, Dominic's face was unreadable. “Stay here.”

And then he sprinted off into the trees.

Cathlin started to stop him, but the memory of his eyes kept her still. In an instant the friendliness had slid out of them, leaving them wintry and hard.

Warrior's eyes.

A stranger's eyes.

Cathlin shivered slightly as his tall figure vanished into the dense woods above the house. She found herself wondering what Dominic Montserrat's real business was here at Seacliffe.

Because if his proposal was as simple as it sounded, then she was a lost Romanov princess named Anastasia.