Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams (26 page)

 

T
HE ROOF WAS EXACTLY
the problem.

Cold wind and a hail of sand poured into the attic as Cathlin rounded the top of the stairs, candle in hand. It took her long moments to trace the source of the draft, a jagged hole in the south wall, where wind rushed in from the outside, fraying the rapidly eroding layer of plaster.

Muttering words that wouldn't bear overhearing, Cathlin dragged hammer, nails, and a roll of heavy plastic from a corner storage closet and set about sealing the hole.

When she had pounded in the last nail through plaster that felt as though it might pull away at any second, she sank down against the wet wooden floor. And there, strangely enough, she began to laugh, caught by the utter absurdity of trying to hold out a sky full of rain and a marsh full of sand. It wouldn't work, of course. Cathlin was far too practical not to see that. But she laughed on, clutching her sodden sides until tears rolled down her cheeks and the candle guttered beside her.

And as she laughed, she seemed to feel a presence beside her, almost as if someone were laughing with her—maybe the moody old house itself. Or maybe it was some dimly remembered ancestor who'd long ago walked these attics and played games under the old eaves.

She sprawled backward and kicked off her wet slippers, wrig
gling her toes. When the laughter vanished, there wasn't much reason to live, so her father used to say. Maybe it was even that rakish Irishman Donnell O'Neill himself whom Cathlin felt hovering about the attic. If so, she hoped he liked what he saw.

Still smiling, Cathlin reached for the slipper which she'd kicked off into the corner. In the process she snagged a loose floorboard jutting up near the base of the wall.
Probably warped by the rain,
she thought. She had found one shoe and was looking for the other, when she heard a hollow crack.

Without warning the old wood gave way and she was tossed painfully onto her side. When Cathlin raised her candle, she found not one but four panels of wood rotted through. Beneath them lay a recess long hidden under the old floor.

Cathlin's hands trembled with excitement as she probed the dark hole, wincing when something skittered lightly across her fingers. Pushing through dust and cobwebs and heaven knew what else, she reached deeper until she touched something shoved into the recess.

Cathlin worked the heavy object toward her, then eased its smooth bulk up onto the floor. In the candlelight she saw it was a large chest of etched leather with brass fittings.

Her breath caught when she opened it. Did it hold letters from some long-forgotten relative? A treasure hidden from the days when Seacliffe had been a haven for smugglers?

A hint of lilacs teased the air as Cathlin pulled back a layer of velvet. Inside, snuggled against the chest's silk-covered walls, lay neat tiers of costly silk clothing wrapped in fine paper. But whose?

Item after item she pulled from the chest, delighting in the glint of figured damasks and lustrous satins. Full-skirted and tightly fitted at the waist, the gowns were sewn in the grand style of the period paintings of Gainsborough and Constable. Cathlin ran loving fingers over the elegant garments. Pulling aside another layer of velvet, she found a pair of navy slippers with
diamond buckles. Nestled between the slippers was a blue velvet ribbon with a cameo worked in precious amber and outlined with tiny diamonds.

Cathlin's breath caught as the diamonds burned in the candlelight, giving the cameo a warm golden glow. For a moment she did not move, awed by the sense that she had somehow stepped back into time, caught in the drama of a stranger's life, which she had opened with the discovery of this trunk. And something called to her, urging her to run her hands over the soft satin and stroke the velvet ribbon.

She could not resist. She was too much a woman to ignore such a temptation. She caught up the candle and ran to fetch the wobbly old mirror leaning against the top of the stairs. With the blotchy glass settled firmly in place, she stripped off her nightgown and slid on the most beautiful of the gowns, an elaborate creation of navy satin stiff with lace and rosettes and seed pearls.

It might have been sewn just for her, Cathlin thought, as the last soft fold fell into place. Its long sleeves ran full to her elbows, then spilled into clouds of creamy lace. The same lace decorated the low bodice, over full skirts in a bright satin cascade.
In for a penny, in for a pound,
she thought as she pulled on the satin slippers with their tiny heels. She watched, entranced. The diamond buckles caught the light, making her feel like an entirely different person.

Her fingers trembled on the cameo. The delicate features made something tighten in her chest. She lifted the heavy stone to her neck.

Instantly the stone warmed beneath her touch.

The diamonds burned and the mirror seemed to shimmer, light-ringed. In that extraordinary instant, while the moon rose over the marsh and a kestrel called in lonely splendor, Cathlin felt beautiful, admired, loved in every atom of her being. It was almost as if this dress, hidden safely away for centuries, was meant only for her, a message of love and protection.

Who had owned these things? Were they keepsakes of a very special evening, a night when two lovers had danced beneath crystal chandeliers and exchanged whispered vows by candlelight?

She would never know.

Hypnotized, Cathlin studied her image in the old, cracked mirror, watching the diamonds glitter. So absorbed was she that the creak of the stairs went unnoticed, as did the low, checked breath from the doorway.

“How did you get here?” came a low, harsh voice. “I warned you not to come. Now it's too late.”

C
ATHLIN LOOKED UP, STARTLED
.

Dominic's angry face was reflected in the mirror.

“Dominic? What are you doing up here?” She crossed her arms, feeling enormously silly pirouetting in the majestic gown before a cracked mirror.

There was a hint of madness in his eyes. He was acting very oddly, almost as if he didn't hear her, his whole attention focused on the dress.

“You have no right to be here.” Sweat beaded his brow and he swayed slightly.

“Dominic, you're not well. Go back down to bed.”

This was getting crazier by the second, Cathlin thought. The man was obviously delirious, and she would have to talk him back to the sofa before he passed out cold.

“You should never have come,” he said hoarsely. “I warned you what would happen if you came back.”

Warned me?
Cathlin went very still. “You did?”

“I told you it was hopeless, but you wouldn't give up. And I told you what would happen if you returned.”

“Tell me again.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frowning. He frowned, as if he had to concentrate to speak. “I told you if you returned, I'd accept your bargain and there'd be no turning back. Not for either of us.” His eyes were feverish.

He put out his hand, as if mesmerized by the sight of her in the candlelight. “You look even more beautiful than I remember. But your hair is all wrong.” He caught her glowing black hair, letting it flow through his fingers like sand. “How odd it looks cut so short. And you've left off your powder.”

“You're wrong. I—”

Dominic—who didn't seem like Dominic at all—went very still. He studied her face with fierce intensity. “Why didn't you stay away?” With a groan, he pulled her to him. His hands trembled as he kissed the creamy curve of her neck.

Cathlin shivered, hearing the voice of a stranger, feeling the hands of a stranger. What had happened to him? Who was this woman he took her for? And who in heaven's name was
he?

He was simply delirious after falling down the hill, she told herself sternly. But the explanation didn't make her feel any better. It certainly didn't explain Dominic's strange behavior or the dark glitter in his eyes.

“Why didn't you put on my cameo?” he demanded.

“Cameo?” For a moment Cathlin had trouble breathing. She felt him pull the jeweled ornament from her fingers and fasten it at her neck. She shivered as the heavy piece of amber settled onto the fragile bones at her throat. “You mean…it's yours?”

“Have you forgotten so soon?”

“But you didn't—” Cathlin broke off, swallowing sharply as his mouth brushed her shoulder. He touched her with the cool certainty of a man who has touched many women—and has brought all of them pleasure.

Well, he wouldn't pleasure
her,
Cathlin vowed irritably. But she couldn't seem to think straight, not with his hands tracing the curve of her throat and his mouth doing slow, carnal things to the lobe of her ear. “St-stop,” she said huskily. “I can't think when you do that.”

“Then don't,” he growled. “Just close your eyes and let me
love you. I've thought of nothing else since you came to me at the Crown and Dragon.”

At the Crown and Dragon?
“Mr., er—exactly
who
did you say you were?”

“Have you forgotten already?” A muscle flashed at his jaw.

“No, of course not.” Cathlin thought wildly. “I just like to hear you say it.”

His dark brow rose. “I am the fifth earl of Ashton, of course.”

The
fifth
earl? Dominic was the tenth earl. That would make him…

Gabriel.

A tremor went through her. He was delirious. He had had an accident and this business of the will had made him hallucinate that he was his ancestor. There was no other possible answer. “Don't you mean you're the tenth earl?”

“I am the fifth, woman. And in case you've forgotten, let me remind you that exactly three days ago you offered me the pleasures of your body if I would agree to a desperate effort to rescue your sister from France.”

“I did
what?
”

“Do you pretend to have forgotten?” he demanded.

Just great,
Cathlin thought wildly.
Put on a pair of diamond-buckled shoes and find yourself caught in a deserted house with a madman.

Correction. A madman who had been dead for something like two hundred years, if her peerage math was correct. She held up a warning hand. “Now I'm not saying that I disagree with anything you've told me, Lord Ashton. It's just that I have a tiny problem with, well, promising my body to anyone. It's nothing personal, you understand.”

His lips brushed her ear and Cathlin suddenly found it hard to breathe. “It will be. It will be exquisitely personal when I take
you. I can't get you out of my blood, and I mean to see that you want this as much as I do.”

“You're not listening.” Cathlin felt the sensual slide of satin atop her naked skin and the cameo pressed against her throat. She had to get Dominic back downstairs before he collapsed. Then she was probably going to collapse herself. “No matter what you say, I think it's time you got some rest.”

“No,” he said hoarsely. With a groan, he pulled the lace kerchief from the bodice of her gown. Cathlin watched, dazed, as satin and lace parted cleanly. How had he known the two were unattached? In fact, how had he known about the cameo? When he'd come in, the ornament had still been hidden in her hand.

She took a steadying breath.
Get a grip, O'Neill.
It's just a coincidence. “Look, we've got a little problem here.”

“No, you look,” he commanded, turning her to face the mirror. “Look at us together.”

Cathlin did. He stood behind her now, his hands in her hair, his head bent as he planted little kisses over her neck. She shivered at his exquisite touch, watching their images dance as the candle sputtered behind them.

An odd dry ache gathered in her throat.

Suddenly she found she wanted him to touch her. “Stop this. We can't—” Her breath caught. “I don't want—”

“I've fought this with every shred of my being,” he whispered. “But you've won, woman. You'll have your way.”

Cathlin watched his bronzed hands slide over the creamy skin at her chest and felt her breasts tighten and ache as a man who looked like Dominic but was not Dominic brushed his lips gently across them. “Th-this is crazy.”

His lips nudged the high swell of her breast. She caught back a breathless sigh and found her fingers buried in his midnight hair. “Dominic, this isn't what you think.”

“Dominic? So now you confuse me for another. Have you made your wanton offer to so many men?”

“No! That is—”

“Gabriel,” he said harshly. “Gabriel is the name of the man who is kissing you now, and, I'll see you don't forget it.”

Cathlin caught a shaky breath. Through the smooth satin she felt the press of his callused fingers. They stroked and pulled, until her nipples hardened. His desire was a tangible wave as she stared at their joined images in the old mirror.

She had to stop him. She had to get out of this beautiful old dress and back to her old, everyday self.

But somehow Cathlin couldn't take her eyes from the lustrous folds of satin where Dominic's hands lay clenched. She couldn't ignore the jolt of her heart as his mouth brushed the velvet ribbon at her neck. All unbidden, her neck arched and she curved into the hardness of his body.

“Yes. Like that, my love. Let me feel your passion.”

Cathlin shuddered. What was happening to her?

“You have won, I confess it freely. You have but to command me.” His hands were hot and not quite steady as they burned over her sensitive skin.

“No. That wasn't me. This—this is all unreal.”

Smothering a curse, he pressed his mouth to the rise of her breast. “Does this feel unreal? Or this?”

Cathlin saw his hands taut at her shoulders. She saw her own face, wearing a mix of shock and desire. And as the candlelight played over their images, she felt the tug of the cameo, warm and heavy at her neck. With it came the brush of a phantom curl at her shoulder.

She had a sudden sense of voices and distant laughter, along with faint lilting notes of music. She blinked, watching the mirror dance, feeling her mind open until the shadows fled. Before her
she saw a beautiful room with frescoed ceilings and candles caught in golden wall sconces.

She struggled, caught in the nightmare, acutely aware of the tug of the cameo at her neck and the cool weight of the satin gown on her naked skin.

And then the mirror shivered and swayed, and there was only darkness.

 

“C
ATHLIN
?” S
OMETHING WAS
striking her cheeks. “Cathlin, wake up.”

“No!” She struggled blindly. “I won't do it!”

“You won't do what?”

“I can't. I won't betray him.”

Cool liquid brushed her eyes and face, trickling into her mouth. “Look at me, Cathlin.” It was a different voice, a voice that carried the soft hint of French vowels. “You are safe.”

Safe? Cathlin cracked open one eye. No curtains, no wall sconces, thank God. Only Seacliffe's damp old floorboards and a trunk lying open at her feet.

And a man. A man whose eyes blazed with urgency.

Cathlin let out a long, low breath, fighting a wave of nausea. What in heaven's name had happened to her?

“Are you all right?”

“I'm getting there.”

Dominic eased her back against this chest. “What happened up here? And where did you find all this?”

Cathlin hadn't a clue. Was it something to do with these old clothes and the cameo she'd found in the trunk? An hallucination perhaps?

She tried vainly to pull away. “I'm fine. I'd also like to get up.”

“Not yet.”

Cathlin glared at him. “Maybe you should be explaining what happened to
you.
You were the one who came charging up here
like a man possessed. In fact, you acted like—” Cathlin started to tell him about the fragmented images she'd had, and her suspicion that Dominic in some way had assumed the identity of his ancestor Gabriel.

Right, O'Neill. Then he'll really be convinced you've had a major cerebral concussion.
“Like a complete stranger,” she finished.

Dominic frowned. “I did? All I remember was being caught in a hellish sort of dream, something with music and laughter and blurred lights. Then I found myself up here. And you were lying on the floor, dressed like that.”

“It's not exactly a crime to dress in old clothes.”

“I didn't say it was. I'm just trying to figure out how I got up here.”

Cathlin ran shaky fingers through her hair. “Okay, I'm sorry. I'm still a little shaken.” Abruptly she sat forward. “Where's the cameo?”

“What cameo?”

“The one I was wearing. A velvet ribbon with a carved amber stone. I had it on before I—” She swallowed. “Before I woke up.”

Dominic frowned, looking at the floor around them. “Maybe it slipped off. It won't be easy to find. Some of the floorboards have broken right through.”

“I know. That's where I found the chest with all these things.”

Dominic gave a silent whistle. “Good work.”

Cathlin wasn't so sure. Something about that gown and cameo left her distinctly uneasy. “That cameo has to be here somewhere.”

“You're staying put,” Dominic said tautly. “You must have fainted a few minutes ago and knocked over that old mirror against the wall.”

Cathlin noticed the frame that lay on the floor, candlelight caught in a thousand shattered shards of glass.

It doesn't matter,
she told herself sternly. It was just a mirror. “Can you see that cameo anywhere?”

“Maybe it's in the chest. I'll look, if you're sure you can—”

“Breathe without your assistance? I think I
might
be able to manage it.” She caught a breath. “Look, I'm sorry. I suppose I should thank you. It's just—”

Just what? That I feel as if I've been tossed into a nightmare. That this gown feels somehow familiar. That I keep trying to hate you and I don't succeed.
“Oh, forget it.”

“No, let's not forget it.” Dominic's voice hardened. “I didn't mean to upset you, Cathlin. Not from the first. It just seems everything I do rubs you the wrong way.”