Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams (27 page)

“It's not you. Coming back here always brings back a lot of memories.”

“This is one beautiful house. You must have been very happy here.”

Had she? A very long time ago, maybe, when she'd visited her mother and her family. But not in the last years. Then Seacliffe had been full of ghosts, reminding her of the parents she'd lost too soon.

Dominic watched her face intently. “What else happened up here just now?”

“Nothing.” Too swiftly.

“I find you passed out on the floor, dead to the world, wearing a dress probably two hundred years old and you tell me
nothing?
”

“That's right.”

Dominic shook his head. “O'Neill, when are you going to start trusting me?”

Rather than lie, Cathlin stayed silent.

“Great,” he said grimly. After a moment he moved over to the chest and dug inside. His brow arched as he held up a fine cambric chemise with a white embroidered border. “Sure you wouldn't care to model this one for me?”

“Forget it.”

Dominic's head disappeared back into the trunk. “Another
pair of shoes. A mask of silk and feathers. An enamel box of some sort. And—damnation!”

“What did you find?”

Dominic sat up, frowning at his hand. “Some kind of pin. Bloody sharp, too. It's cut me.” Carefully, he lifted a scrap of yellowing linen from the dark interior of the chest. Attached to the fabric was a diamond stickpin that shot cold fire into the attic shadows.

Cathlin's breath caught. “It's…beautiful.”

“Thirty carats at least.” Dominic ran his finger slowly over the fine silver mounting, watching the facets gleam. “I've seen this before.”

“How could you? This chest has been hidden here for years. My mother and her parents didn't even know about it.”

“It's familiar.” Dominic's eyes narrowed. “My God, it's Mad Uncle Gabriel's.”

“Your ancestor's? The one who…”

“That's the one.”

Cathlin's mind rebelled. She sat forward awkwardly, her fingers tense. “It can't be.”

“It is. There's a full-length portrait of the man back at our estate and he's wearing that exact pin.” Dominic looked at Cathlin oddly. “A pin, if I may add, that we have never been able to find. We always assumed that he'd run into bad luck at the gaming tables and been forced to pawn it. Apparently not.”

Cathlin surged to her feet. “Are you accusing someone in
my
family of stealing it?”

“I'm not accusing anyone. I'm just curious.”

“There could be dozens of pins like that. Who says that it belonged to this ancestor of yours?”

Dominic's fingers closed around the beautiful old ornament. He stared down at his closed fist, thinking about the dark legends he had heard about the Ashton diamond ever since he was a boy. They had given him more than a few bad nights. As he'd grown
up, it hadn't helped that he bore the same brooding, dark good looks of the fifth earl. Only their eye color was different. “Look, it's—rather a long story, and you're shivering already. You'd better change and then get some sleep.”

“But—” Cathlin sighed, knowing he was right. Half of the wind in Sussex had to be gusting through that hole in the roof, in spite of her efforts with the plastic. Staying here any longer might be distinctly unhealthy.

On the other hand, Cathlin wasn't taking another step in this beautiful, disturbing gown. “First I want to change.”

“Fine. I'll go down and get a fire going while you—”

“No.”
Cathlin caught his hand, her eyes very wide. “I—I don't want to be up here alone.”

Dominic's eyes narrowed. “Still not going to tell me what happened?”

Cathlin ignored him, reaching for her clothes.

“We'll never get anything done this way. Damn it, O'Neill, you're going to have to trust me.”

“I'll keep that in mind. Now turn your head, if you please.”

A glint went through Dominic's eyes. “What if I don't please?”

Color filled Cathlin's cheeks. “Don't,” she whispered. “Not now.”

Dominic cursed. “It wouldn't be any good anyway, would it? Not if you couldn't look me in the face. Not if you couldn't trust me.” He strode to the chair at the far wall, his shoulders tense with anger.

Maybe she did trust him, Cathlin thought. Maybe it was herself she didn't have much confidence in.

She worked awkwardly at the laces at the back of the dress, freeing it slowly. As the satin slid away, a great weight seemed to lift. After a quick glance at Dominic, she eased out of the billowing satin skirts and tugged on her nightgown, relieved to feel the thick, practical cotton instead of rich satin.

She was buttoning up the front when she heard a hiss behind her. Without warning, one end of the plastic tore free, slapping across her cheek so hard that Cathlin bit back a cry of pain.

Dominic caught the flapping sheet and shoved it away from her face. “Are you okay?”

“It just frightened me, that's all.”

“Hardly. You're shaking like a leaf and you've got a nasty welt on your cheek.” Cathlin winced at even the gentle brush of his finger.

She looked up. His hair was unruly where the wind gusted over it. His eyes were flecked with gold by the candlelight. She wanted to hate him. She hated everything he stood for: men with easy fortunes, grand birthrights, and too much charm for a woman's safety. In spite of all that, Cathlin couldn't close herself off from him. He was too near, too overpowering. She'd never had a problem putting men in their place in the past, but with this man she didn't know where to begin.

Or if she even wanted to.

“Cathlin…” His fingers opened, eased across her cheek. They were trembling slightly.

Something sharp and sweet passed between them.

Dear God, he's going to kiss me,
Cathlin thought dimly.
He's going to pull me to him and touch me as I've never been touched before. If I don't want it, I've got to stop him now, before it's too late.

If I don't want it…

But the words wouldn't come.

Their eyes held, a universe of emotion slamming between them while their bodies stood frozen and the sea air gusted around them.

Dominic swallowed, his eyes hard.
God help me, I'm going to kiss her. How can I help it, when she looks at me with that crazy blend of innocence and passion, with eyes that go right through me and make me feel I've known her forever?

Even then he fought it, telling himself he was a fool and worse, but she touched some deep corner of his heart, calling out to him, seducing him in ways that went far beyond the physical. He shouldn't touch her. He couldn't.

But he did.

Even the faintest brush of skin hit him like a jolt, made heat ripple through Dominic's body. He caught a low breath and eased her closer. When he heard her sigh, he covered her mouth completely.

She was all softness and need, all hunger and woman, and she fired his blood as it had never been fired before. He pulled her against his body, sliding his hands along her hips.

“Cathlin.” It was a wave of need, of protest, of wild discovery. “God help me…”

Her lips opened beneath his. Somehow her fingers were in his hair. He felt her ease against him, her breath feathering against his mouth.

Her response made him harden with agonizing rapidity. Breathing heavily, he ran his fingers beneath the thick cotton and met cool silken skin. Her ragged little moan was loud in the taut silence between them and had the effect of gas poured on an open fire. Dominic told himself he was crazy to want her like this, but all the cold reasoning in the world didn't change the way she made him feel.

Hungry. Possessive. Like a man who'd found something precious that he didn't even know he'd lost.

What the hell was happening here? He drew a ragged breath and eased away.

He wondered if she even heard. Her hips moved restlessly. Her head fell back as she offered him the cool arch of her throat and the thrust of her breasts.

Dominic fought for sanity when all he wanted was to throw her down on the bare wood floor and bury himself inside her. And
some crazy voice whispered that if he did, it would be unforgettable. And also somehow familiar.

He cursed. “Let's go.”

“Go?” She looked dazed.

“You need food.” He took a tight step backward and smoothed down her nightgown, cursing when he saw the tight jut of her aroused nipples against the soft cotton.

“Food?”

“Food,” he repeated hoarsely. “Then a fire.”

“Fire,” she muttered dimly.

“And then we talk, Cathlin. Really talk.”

She blinked, as if having trouble focusing. “Talk. Yes—have to talk.” But her eyes were dark with desire.

Dominic cursed. Any more looks like that and they would end up naked on the floor. Maybe talking wasn't such a good idea either. Dominic wanted nothing more than to pull Cathlin against him and kiss her back into blissful insensibility.

But he didn't. He couldn't, not with all the questions hanging over them. He caught a ragged breath, wondering how much more torture he could take. She was looking at him, just looking, her eyes wide and haunted. And the sight of her eyes was like getting a roundhouse kick to the groin.

“What's…happening, Dominic?”

“You're asking me, the man you love to hate? Why start trusting me now?”

Cathlin ran shaky fingers through her hair. “Because like it or not, we're both involved. You knew about that pin. And something about that gown…affected you. Can't you feel it?”

In Dominic's hand the Ashton diamond felt cold and sharp. Frowning, he caught up the old shoes and satin dress and stowed them back in the chest, along with the diamond ornament. “Damned if I know
what
I feel right now, except tired.” After a moment he shoved the lid down on the chest.

Somehow it left him feeling a hell of a lot better.

“It's probably just the effects of sleep deprivation. We'll talk in the morning, O'Neill. Tomorrow everything will look a whole lot better.”

Dominic didn't believe it, but he hoped it sounded good to Cathlin.

T
HE MOON HUNG OVER THE
marsh, veiled in clouds. It was a night such as smugglers might have plied their desperate trade and excise officers made their equally desperate pursuit. But now the sea was quiet. In the wake of the storm, only the night birds cried, winging low over the lonely curve of sand and cold canal.

While Dominic Montserrat twisted restlessly in dreams, the scent of lilacs filled the sleeping house.

 

“H
ELP ME
.”

“No one can help you, Geneva.” A tall man with pale, hard features stood before Geneva Russell in the candlelit study of one of London's most prominent hostesses. Henry Devere was clad in black satin that was not half as cold as his eyes. He smiled mirthlessly as he toyed with an enameled watch on a silver chain. “Your sister's life is in your hands now. Find me the Rook and she lives. Refuse me and she dies.” He smiled darkly. “And her children will die along with her.”

“Monster! You can't do such a thing!”

“Oh, but I can, my sweet Geneva. And so I shall, unless you find me the Rook tonight. There is a reward of one thousand gold guineas on his head, and by God it shall be mine.”

“But I don't know the man. I cannot do as you ask.”

“Ah, but you can. With your sister's life in danger, you went straight to the Rook. I have had your movements watched, my
dear. You spoke to the man and you can identify him tonight. I want no question in my mind when he is taken.”

Geneva's breath caught. “Tonight?”

“Of course. My informers say he will be here among the guests at the masquerade, dressed as Marc Antony. A most appropriate jest, don't you think, since he is soon to fall before your charms just as Anthony did before his Cleopatra?”

Geneva felt her flesh crawl as she studied the heavy-lidded eyes and fleshy lips. She had known Henry Devere slightly in India, where he had been a merchant like her father. After her parents' death, she had come back to England to find her sister, only to discover she had gone back to France with her husband.

Henry Devere had been only too kind, only too glad to help her communicate with her sister.

At first.

Then he had begun to press her with more personal attentions. When Geneva had repelled his advances, Devere's manner had changed. Instead of the condescending advisor, he had become a cold-blooded bully. When he threatened harm to her sister, Geneva knew it was within his power, since his business contacts with the new, revolutionary government in France were extensive.

She wanted to scream, to turn, to flee, but she could not. Not while her sister's life hung in the balance. “There could be dozens of such costumes,” she said desperately. “How shall I know which one is the Rook?”

“That, my sweet Geneva, is
your
problem.” The man in black ran a finger down her shoulder. “I suggest that you use your very lush charms to entrap him.”

Geneva shivered as the diamonds glinted on her shoes, reflected in the dancing light of a dozen wall sconces. “Don't touch me,” she hissed, feeling bile fill her throat.

His nail bit into her skin. “Oh, but I shall touch you, my little
beauty. And you'll fulfill my every command gladly, or you'll watch your sister die.”

Fear tore through her. She was trapped, horribly trapped.

Only one man could help her, but she knew that to ask him would amount to betraying him. “Go away.”

“Not just yet, I think.” Cold hands slid over her neck. “You will kiss me first.”

Fury filled her. Such a beast deserved only one response. She lashed out with her knee, catching him full in the groin. Instantly, he bent double, his face tight with agony.

But her hopes were dashed as he came upright, the triumph in his eyes replaced with blind fury.

“Bitch. I'll see you pay for that. I'll make you beg for my for giveness before I'm done with you.” He swept up a heavy silver candlestick from the lacquered table beside him.

“I think not, Devere.” A shadowed figure stepped from the heavy curtains of the French doors to her left. “The lady does not seem to care for your presence. In view of that, I insist you leave.”

“Who are you to order me about? By God, I'll teach you to interfere.”

“Take another step and I rather think you'll die.” Candlelight glinted off a pistol as Geneva's rescuer moved from the shadows of the window.

Her breath caught as she saw the draping folds of linen that stretched across his powerful chest. Above his masked face was set a garland of olive leaves.

“Marc Antony,” she whispered.

“Of course.” His voice was smooth, silken. It was a voice to sway men and entice women, she thought. A voice born to bear the weight of command. “But why are you not in costume?”

She did not speak, her hands clenched in the folds of satin.

“I—I had no time,” she heard her voice answer, as if from a great
distance. It was a stranger's voice, full of fear. “I did not plan to attend.”

“A pity.” His eyes darkened. “You would have been magnificent as my Cleopatra.” He turned to the man in black. “Goodbye, Devere.” There was a hard note of warning in his tone.

For a moment Henry Devere stood motionless, his body stiff with fury. Then a cold, sly smile eased across his lips. “As you wish. All Rome must bow to Antony, after all.” He looked at Geneva. “Be certain that you do not succumb as easily as Cleopatra did, my dear. You know what happened to her.” Still smiling, he made his way back out into the hallway.

Geneva shuddered, clasping her hands to her waist. Evil clung to the man and filled the room even after his departure.

“You're shivering and you've dropped your shawl.” A length of lace slid gently around her shoulders. “And you are bleeding.” Carefully, her rescuer caught the bead of blood left by Devere's nail. Raising her arm, he ran his tongue lightly over the tiny prick.

Geneva shivered at the shocking intimacy of his touch. “It—it's nothing,” she whispered.

“He was importuning you?”

She nodded, unable to speak, still repelled by the memory.

“The man is an animal. But perhaps you do not wish to speak of it.”

Words came finally. “How…much did you hear?”

The silver eyes were unreadable. “How much should I have heard?”

She gave a careless shrug. “It is of no importance.”

“You would do well not to find yourself alone with him in the future.”

“And what of you, my lord? Need a woman fear if she finds herself alone with you?”

His low laugh seduced her flushed skin. “Perhaps. Does that make you want to run, Geneva of the golden eyes?”

“I can defend myself.”

He did not laugh as other men would have, but only nodded gravely. “Against some, yes. But not against such a man as Devere.” His hand slid over a powdered curl of her hair. “And perhaps not against a man like myself.” His jaw hardened. “I think it best that I leave you now.”

“No.” She spoke quickly, remembering Devere's threat. “Not yet. I…I do not care to join the others.”

He dark brow rose. “You play a dangerous game.”

Dear heaven, how much had he heard?

Just then voices came from the hallway. A drunken couple swayed into the room, arms entwined.

Her rescuer cursed. Pressing a finger to his lips, he pulled her back behind the heavy damask curtains. Molded against him, with his faint scent of lemon and tobacco in her throat, Geneva felt cut off from the world, cut off from herself, cut off from all she'd been and known and felt before.

By some spell of night and candlelight she had become a stranger in a satin gown, a woman falling inch by inch under this man's potent spell. She turned slightly, feeling her hip nudge his hard thigh.

Heat burned out from those inches of contact, heat that left her pulse hammering.

Outside she heard the rustle of silk and a woman's soft moan of pleasure. Her own heartbeat quickened at the sound. She thought of what it would be like if this man took her into his arms. Would she know the same pleasure and moan softly?

“Look at your image,” he whispered, pointing to the glass pane behind them. His fingers moved to her neck. Something cool and hard slid over her skin.

She turned, as if in a dream. A beautiful cameo of carved amber hung about her neck, strung from a velvet ribbon. “It's…beautiful. But I cannot—”

“Hush, beauty,” he said with a trace of his habitual arrogance. “It pleases me to please you.” He stood behind her now, his hands in her hair, his head bent as he planted little kisses along her ear. “Wear it always, and think of me.”

Geneva shivered at his exquisite touch, watching their images meld and dance in the candlelight. She
would
wear it. Just as she would always think of him. Even after she betrayed him?

She shuddered.

“You are cold?”

“No, not cold.”

“Then this is fear, fear of me?” His voice was suddenly taut.

“No, not fear. But surely, we cannot.” Her breath caught. “Not here. I don't want—”

“You will,” he whispered. “I have fought you with every shred of my being and failed.” His voice hardened. “May God help us both.”

Geneva watched his hands slide over the creamy skin at her chest. She closed her eyes, her breasts grown tight and aching beneath his touch.

As if in a dream, she felt his mouth tease one crest of crimson. She caught back a breathless sigh, and sank trembling fingers into the blackness of his hair. “This isn't what you think.”

Outside their curtained bower came a low, choked moan and the indrawn breaths of cresting passion. Geneva flushed, horrified.

But the man beside her barely noticed. “Gabriel,” he said harshly. “Say my name, and let me know you think of
me.”

“You,” she whispered. Then, more huskily, “Gabriel.”

“Yes, my love. That is the name of the man who is kissing you, the man whose cameo you wear. I mean to see you don't forget it.”

His fingers brushed against her hardened nipples. She shivered, filled with heat as she stared at their images in the long glass window.

She had to stop this. She had to make him understand.

But her body mocked her. She could not deny him what she had long ago determined to give freely, in order to save her sister's life. Her neck arched. The cameo swayed, cool and heavy as she curved into the hardness of his body.

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

Geneva shuddered, fighting the dark pull of his sensuality. Even if he left now, could he be swifter than Henry Devere, who would use every connection he had in France to see her sister brought to harm? Geneva knew she could not risk her sister's death. She would have to be clever and cool, using both men to her own ends.

With a low curse Gabriel caught her shoulders, his eyes burning over her face. “I have thought of nothing else since I saw you at the Crown and Dragon. You have but to command me, for whatever I have is yours. But in return you must fulfill your part of the bargain.”