Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams (53 page)

“I'
M FINE
.”

“Be quiet.”

“No, really, Dominic. I'm fine.”

But Cathlin's protests were ignored, muffled against Dominic's chest as he carried her into the abbey's rose-filled study. “Until I'm convinced of that, you're staying right here,” he said tartly. “That madwoman came too bloody close out there. She was the one behind all of it, the intruders at Seacliffe, the men in the car, even that letter you found under your door with the ragged bit of plaid.” His jaw hardened. “If she weren't dead already, I'd have serious trouble resisting the temptation to do the job myself.”

Cathlin's fingers tightened on his shoulder. She didn't want to think about the nightmare of the last hours, not until the horror of the memories had begun to fade. She looked up at Dominic, seeing the lines of tension at his mouth and jaw that marked the worry that still gripped him. “You can't mean that.”

“Just be glad we won't have to find out.” He settled her in a chintz couch in front of the window, then sank down beside her. After a moment, he cursed and hauled her onto his lap.

“Dominic, I'm fine, really.”

“Well maybe I'm not. I don't think I'll ever forget looking up and seeing the two of you silhouetted up there on the edge of the roof. As I watched, it all came back.” His eyes hardened. “I saw
the cellar, Cathlin. I saw the bricks going up one by one and I heard the scrape of the mortarman's trowel. And when I looked down I saw my own blood pooling over the granite floor.”

“So close. Then and now.” Cathlin brushed back a dark comma of hair from his forehead. “But I knew you'd come, Dominic. And until you did thank heavens the cat was there to frighten me back from the edge. The pain cut through the mental blocks somehow and when I got up, Joanna Harcliffe's control was broken.”

“Cat?” Dominic frowned.

“A great creature, gray with black paws.”

“Funny, I don't remember Nicholas keeping a cat here at the abbey.” Dominic shrugged and eased Cathlin against his chest, trying to ignore the immediate ache that their contact kindled. “So it was Harcliffe's wife all along. No one would have guessed her capable of such tortured planning. Probably you weren't the only one she had her claws into either. In a way I can almost feel sorry for her husband, because James Harcliffe looked totally broken when he left in the ambulance with her body. Clearly all of this took him by surprise.” His breath slid out slowly. His fingers crossed over Cathlin's waist. “But it's finally over now, my love. Gabriel and Geneva are at peace at last, with their old, sad mystery solved.” Cathlin's fingers stole into his as he pressed a hard, protective kiss to her hair.

Outside the moon shone cloudless from a cobalt sky. Wind fluttered the roses cascading along the moat. And somewhere in the quiet darkness a nightingale began to sing.

 

“B
UT SOMETHING
MUST
BE
wrong. They've been in there for hours already!” Nicolas's voice was tight with worry as his wife patted his arm.

“They're fine, Nicholas.”

“What if something happened to them? After all, Cathlin has
been under a terrible strain. First she had to come back here and face the memories of her mother's death. Right on top of that comes this mad attack by Joanna Harcliffe.”

“I'm sure that Dominic is very well equipped to soothe any trauma that Cathlin might be feeling right now.”

“No, I can't take a chance, Kacey. I'm going in.”

Even as Nicholas fingered the ancient silver key to his study, a ripple of muted laughter drifted from behind the closed double doors, followed by the sound of a pillow hitting the floor.

Nicholas's frown wavered, but he didn't give up. “What if you're wrong? What if Cathlin—”

“Sometimes, my love, for someone so vastly intelligent, you can be very, very dim,” his wife said tenderly.

Another wave of laughter emerged from behind the oak study doors. This one was decidedly masculine.

“I suppose you might be right,” Nicholas said slowly, returning the key to his pocket. “So what do we do now?”

“We do nothing at all.” His wife took his arm and led him off toward the kitchen. “Except perhaps to have a word with Marston. Unless I miss my guess, those two are going to be famished when they finally come out.” She gave her husband a knowing smile. “As I recall,
we
certainly were.”

The viscount's gray eyes took on an answering gleam. “You're right, we were, But not for food, my love.”

 

“D
OMINIC, WE CAN'T
. I
T'S
almost ten o'clock.”

Skin moved slowly over warm skin. Sunlight spilled over the moat and filtered past the damask curtains to fill the study. “What will Nicholas and Kacey think of us?”

Dominic laughed darkly. “That we are very much in love, I hope.” He slanted Cathlin a wolfish smile. “And that we're embarking on the honeymoon we never had.”

“But my dress. Your shirt.” Her face filled with color as she
gazed down ruefully at the crumpled shirt at her feet, now entirely buttonless. Her own dress had fared little better.

“You
were
rather impatient, weren't you?”

“Me? What about
you?
” Cathlin held up the shredded remains of her lace camisole. “This isn't exactly the sign of a patient man.”

Dominic's smile grew even more wolfish. “Fantastic, wasn't it?”

After a moment Cathlin's lips slid into a smile. “Entirely. Especially when you…” She pushed onto her toes and whispered something in her husband's ear.

His eyes darkened. “No more, Irish. Otherwise, we'll never get out of here. And I don't plan to spend another night on this cold floor, no matter how valuable its eighteenth century Peking carpet.” He studied the room thoughtfully, then swept a muted wool throw of tartan plaid from a nearby wing chair. After whisking it around Cathlin's shoulders, he cinched the long folds with his belt. “Very nice. Lady Macbeth incarnate.”

“Snake.”

“Witch.” His voice grew husky. “Enchantress. You must be, woman. You've certainly stolen my heart and all vestiges of sanity, Cathlin O'Neill.”

Her finger traced his lips, light as thistledown. “Cathlin O'Neill
Montserrat,
” she corrected softly.

Dominic looked upward, as if pleading for celestial assistance. “One look, one tiny touch, and she makes me putty. No, she makes me the most ineffectual mound of blancmange.”

“How the mighty have fallen,” Cathlin said silkily, moving her shoulder so that the soft wool gaped and afforded her beloved husband an intimate look at the skin he had worshiped and explored so thoroughly through the long hours of darkness.

The Earl of Ashton muttered beneath his breath and tugged the tartan closed. “March, O'Neill. You may be the keeper of the wines, but I'm the one dedicated to protecting your luscious body.” His mouth hardened as he gathered up the shredded
remains of their clothes. “If we stay in here one minute longer, protecting you is going to be the very last thing on my mind.”

Her brow cocked. “So?”

“So you need a break. You've got beard burns over most of your body.”

“Mmm. The memory alone is lovely.”

“Damn it, Cathlin, I saw you wince when you stood up. And I have a fair idea of how you're feeling right now. After all, I wasn't exactly feeling very civilized last night.” Dominic unlocked the study doors and threw them open. “I'm not very proud of that fact,” he added grimly. He looked out into the shadowed corridor, frowning as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Someone cleared his throat.

“Marston, is that you?”

“I hope I have not disturbed you, my lord.” The butler's face was impassive as he gazed at a rather ugly eighteenth-century oil portrait just to the left of Dominic's head. “However, I confess I am delighted to see you. The viscount has been rather distressed, you understand.”

Cathlin caught a quick breath. “Nothing's wrong, is it? Genevieve hasn't—”

“No, the family is quite healthy,” Marston hastened to reassure her. “Actually, it was you two he was concerned about.”

“Us? But why—” Her voice fell away and color flared through her cheeks.

“Locked in the study in utter silence for six hours, eh?” Dominic chuckled. “Nicholas, concerned host that he is, was busy imagining all sorts of tragedies.”

Marston's lips took on a faint curve. “His lordship has always had a rather active imagination. But now everything is settled.” With one quick look he took in Dominic's bare torso, the shredded clothes caught beneath his arm, the rosy hue of Cathlin's cheeks. He also noted the stubble that had caused that
color. He nodded contentedly, then turned. “And now if you will come this way, everything is prepared.”

Dominic frowned. “Prepared?”

“Quite.” Impassively, Marston gestured for Cathlin to precede him. “My lady?”

Seeing no alternative, Cathlin tugged at her makeshift robe, then moved self-consciously toward the front of the house.

“The limousine is waiting at the front door.”

“Limousine? Limousine for where?”

“I believe you will have to ask the viscount and his wife about that.”

“Damn it, Marston, don't go bloody butlerish on me now.”

No answer. Marston managed to hide his smile; he was not so successful with the twinkle in his eye.

Dominic was just steeling himself to drag the truth out of the tight-lipped retainer when Nicholas himself appeared, a broad smile lighting his handsome face. “So the recluses finally emerge. Hunger got to you, didn't it? Kacey said it would.”

Cathlin's stomach gave a telltale rumble.

Nicholas pretended not to notice. “Everything's arranged.” His eyes lingered on their rather eccentric attire for a moment, before he turned to lift a large woven hamper from the polished floor of the foyer. “You should find everything you need in there. Caviar. Wild strawberries. French bread and foie gras. Belgian lace napkins and champagne on ice.” Nicholas's brow arched wickedly as he shoved the heavy hamper at Dominic's chest. “The champagne is Veuve Clicquot, of course. Sorry I didn't have any more La Trouvaille on hand. Damnably hard to build up much stock with that perfectionist in charge. I presume you
do
have enough strength left to carry all that, Dominic.”

“I believe I can summon up the requisite energy,” the earl said dryly.

“Wonderful. Meanwhile, Kacey has gone for your clothes. Amazing how she can predict these things.” He gave a contented nod, well pleased with his plans. “Now off with the two of you. Everything is set.”

“Set?” Cathlin tugged uneasily at the folds of the tartan throw at her chest. “Set for what?”

Dominic's eyes took on a shimmer of humor. He eyed the two well-worn Burberry raincoats tossed over an oak peg by the door. “Forget the clothes. We'll just take these.”

The viscount gave a low chuckle. “Be my guest.”

Briskly Dominic pulled Cathlin out into the rose-filled courtyard. As they disappeared toward the limousine that purred in front of the gatehouse, the viscountess padded down the stairs, an old Louis Vuitton bag under her arm. “They've gone? But they can't. Their clothes will be in no shape to travel in.”

“I doubt they'll be needing any more clothes, my love. Not the way Dominic was looking at Cathlin. Come to think of it,” he mused, “she was looking at
him
the same way.”

“But—”

Viscount Draycott smiled broadly and pulled his wife against him.

After a moment she laughed softly, catching his hand in hers. Together they watched the car disappear over the wooded hill. “It all worked out just as Gabriel hoped. Those two were meant for each other, weren't they?” Kacey said wonderingly. “How could he possibly have known?”

 

I
T IS SAID THAT NO ONE AT
London's elegant Dorchester Hotel can be surprised by anyone or anything.

Which was true. Usually.

But not on this sunny spring morning as the daffodils tossed in elegant Park Lane window boxes and waves danced along the Serpentine Lake where it lapped against the blinding green expanse
of Hyde Park. When two people emerged smiling from the limousine that purred up to the venerable hotel's front steps, the liveried attendant broke into a broad grin of surprise. “Welcome back, Lord Ashton! It's been too long since you've come for a stay.” The man's eyes crinkled as he nodded to Cathlin in turn.