Blair’s hair was windswept after riding back from the tunnel, his dark blue coat was unbuttoned, and he’d loosened his neckcloth a little.
He came toward her, and Laura felt her cheeks redden at being caught so obviously studying the portrait. “I—I’m sorry, Sir Blair, I didn’t mean to...”
“There’s no need to apologize, Mrs. Reynolds. The portrait is hardly a secret, nor is the fact that you and my late wife might be twins.”
He stood beside her to study the portrait. “That necklace looks as if it were fashioned for her, don’t you think?” he said softly.
“It—it’s a very fine piece of jewelry.”
“I wish it had been made for her, but the truth is more mundane. I fear it was won at the card table.” He reached up to touch the painted diamonds. “She loved that necklace more than anything else, and wore it at every opportunity. I vow, society must have wondered if I was a miser and it was the only piece she possessed.”
“I can see you loved her very much.”
“I still do,” he murmured.
His words were painful to her, and she spoke of something else. “I—I trust the engineer didn’t report too badly at the tunnel. Sir Blair?”
“I fear he and I are at odds. He says the damage can be ignored as nothing further will develop, but I have reservations. What if he’s wrong?”
He is, a roof-collapse happens here in 1818, she thought, remembering what Gulliver had said. “Perhaps you should follow your own judgment, Sir Blair.”
“It’s better to be safe than sorry?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. “Probably, but I have to consider the livelihoods of those who work on the canal. Closing the tunnel for unnecessary repairs means severing their income. It’s one thing if I have no choice, quite another if I merely have vague doubts.”
“It can’t be easy for you.”
“It’s part of life’s rich tapestry,” he murmured, and then looked at her and sighed. “Life’s tapestry is also what Marianna must soon face up to properly, Mrs. Reynolds, and I’m anxious that she should be prepared. As you know, Lord Sivintree and his son will soon arrive from Ireland, and the betrothal will take place soon afterward. May I speak frankly?”
“Yes, of course.”
“As a widow, you’re accustomed to how things are in this world. Rightly or wrongly, a wife is supposed to obey her husband, but I’m afraid Marianna will confront Alex Handworth on everything. To say she lacks subtlety is to make a monstrous understatement, and she’s making it clear she doesn’t hold her future husband in particularly high esteem. Storm clouds loom on all horizons, and I’d appreciate it if you did all in your power to impress upon her that she’ll achieve far more if she toes the line. Defiance and the stamping of pretty feet don’t succeed, but charm and circumspection often do.”
Remembering Marianna’s request, Laura held his gaze. “Forgive me for saying this, Sir Blair, but is this match the best thing for Marianna?”
“It’s what my father wished.”
“It isn’t what Marianna wishes.”
He met her gaze. “Your solicitude for my sister does you credit, Mrs. Reynolds, but you trespass upon that which does not concern you. I’ve employed you to attend to Marianna’s introduction to society, and that is all I’ve employed you to do.”
The rebuke washed icily over her, and she wished she’d held her tongue. “I’m sorry I caused offense, Sir Blair.”
“I’m not offended, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“I fear you are, sir, and rightly so.”
A glimmer of humor touched his lips. “Mrs. Reynolds, I strongly suspect you’d have said nothing at all if my sister hadn’t prompted you.”
She flushed a little.
“I thought as much.”
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t agree with her,” she added.
He raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”
“At the risk of trespassing all over again, I have to say I fear Marianna is so firmly set against the match that nothing will dispel the storm clouds you mentioned a moment ago.”
He was silent for a moment. “I’ll bear what you say in mind, Mrs. Reynolds,” he said then.
“I do hope you aren’t too angry with me.”
He looked into her eyes, and then suddenly put his hand to her cheek. “It’s impossible to be angry with you,” he said softly.
His touch seared her skin, and she came within a heartbeat of closing her eyes and moving against his fingers.
Another heartbeat passed, and he lowered his hand in some embarrassment. “Now I’m the one who trespasses,” he murmured, and moved away from her. “Where is Marianna now?”
“In the drawing room playing cards with Mr. Woodville. I was about to join them when you came in.”
“Don’t let me keep you. I’ll honor you all with my company in due course.”
Their eyes met again, and then she turned to hurry away.
Blair gazed after her, and then turned to the portrait. “Oh, Celina, why do you still do this to me?” he breathed, but the painted eyes gazed sightlessly back, and the sweet lips remained in their eternal smile.
He went to the great writing desk to pour a large measure of cognac, and drained the glass in one mouthful before pouring another. Then he turned to the doorway where last he’d seen Laura, and raised the drink in salute.“I wish I’d never met you, Mrs. Reynolds, but here’s to you anyway,” he muttered, and then emptied the second glass. A wry smile played upon his lips as he reached for the decanter again. To hell with cards; tonight he intended to drown his sorrows. And lay ghosts.
There was no sign of Blair when the three card-players abandoned their game at past midnight. Candle in hand, Laura crossed the landing to go to her room on the third floor, but she paused at the foot of the secondary staircase, right opposite the library, because she couldn’t help noticing the faint light shining beneath the door. After a moment she went on up.
Her room was at the back of the house, in a wing that wouldn’t survive to become part of the hotel. It overlooked the kitchen garden and part of the stables, and in daylight she could see the windows of the low outbuilding that would one day be converted into the Fitzgeralds’ private apartment.
Moonlight flooded everything as she placed the candle on the bedside table and then drew the curtains. How and when would this adventure end? Would she have to bring it to a close herself by going back down the main staircase? Or would it just happen?
The olive green taffeta whispered as she stepped out of it to slip into a voluminous white silk nightgown with pink ribbon ties at the throat. She got into the bed, and lay back between the lavender-scented sheets. For a moment she was afraid to close her eyes, fearing to trigger the time travel, but when at last she did so, she remained in the past. She lay there in the darkness, her thoughts of Blair and the way he’d suddenly put his hand to her cheek. What had it signified? His attraction toward her for herself? Or the temptation to touch someone who momentarily brought Celina back? Common sense told her it was the latter, but oh, how she wished it were the former...
Sleep overtook her, but she awoke with a sudden start. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up expecting to find herself in her hotel room, but she was still in 1818. What had disturbed her?
Flinging the bedclothes aside, she went to the door to look into the passage. Everything was dark and deserted. Many of the upper servants slept on this floor, including Harcourt, but no one else seemed to have heard anything, for all the doors remained closed. Gathering up her nightgown, she hurried to the secondary staircase and looked down toward the landing.
Slowly she descended, and as if to emphasize the lateness of the hour, the clock in the entrance hall began to chime three in the morning. The notes drifted gently up through the silent house as she saw the faint waver of candlelight still shining beneath the library door. Was it Blair?
As the chimes died away, it occurred to her that it might be burglars. Should she raise the alarm? No, for if it was Blair after all, he’d clearly not be pleased. Better take a look first. She tiptoed across the landing and hesitated before stealthily opening the door and peeping inside.
Blair was there, his solitary figure dimly illuminated by the almost exhausted candle she’d left on the mantelshelf all those hours before. He’d taken his coat off, and was slumped in a chair he’d drawn up at the desk. His shirt was undone to the waist, and his neckcloth lay on the desk where he’d flung it. There was no sign of the decanter and glass she’d found earlier. But then she noticed them lying broken on the hearth beneath Celine’s portrait. They’d clearly been hurled there, and that was what had awoken her.
Blair’s frilled shirt was very white in the candlelight as he gazed up at the portrait and then reached to take the diamond necklace from the flat leather jewelry case that lay on the desk. The precious stones glittered and flashed in the candlelight like white fire, their brilliance spilling sensuously over his fingers as he looked at the portrait again, then kissed the necklace as if it were still warm from Celina’s skin.
His lips lingered on the diamonds, and Laura found she was holding her breath. Oh, to be those diamonds... Silent longing filled her. She wanted to go to him and stroke away his sorrow.
Suddenly he sensed her presence, and turned to look directly at her. The cognac had him in its spell, and he saw the wife he mourned so much. He smiled. “Ah, there you are, my love.”
Laura was rooted to the spot. What should she do?
“Where have you been, Celina?” Still holding the necklace, he got up and came around the desk toward her.
She had to say something. “I—I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You know I’m always glad to see you,” he said softly.
“But, I...”
“Come here.” The command was uttered softly, like a caress.
Slowly she went to him, expecting that at any moment he’d realize she wasn’t Celina. But he didn’t, he was too far in drink.
He caught her hand to draw her closer. “I’ve been waiting for you, my love. Why have you been away so long?”
She couldn’t answer. His fingers burned against hers, and she couldn’t pull away. She didn’t want to...
He let go of her hand to fasten the necklace around her throat. The diamonds shimmered against her skin as he slid his fingers into her hair.
She raised her mouth instinctively to meet his, and their lips came together in a long, exquisitely loving kiss. She could taste cognac, fiery and intoxicating, but though she knew she should leave, her treacherous body trapped her with desire. She wanted his kisses. Needed them. And although she knew she was stealing his love, she couldn’t help herself. Shame knew no place in her actions, she felt too much for that. The spellbinding emotions he’d aroused were too compelling, and as they ran riot through her, she surrendered body and soul to temptation.
Her arms moved about him, and she slid her fingers over his back, exulting in the sheer ecstasy of holding him. He was warm and real, his body firm, lean, and muscled. She remembered watching him on the riverbank, and desire stirred even more intensely through her. She wanted him— oh, how she wanted him... The diamonds glittered at her throat as her lips softened and parted beneath his. Seductive coils of sexual need twined around them both. His hands enclosed her buttocks through the soft stuff of her nightgown, and he pressed her hips to his. The dormant masculinity she’d gazed upon by the stream was now rock-hard and throbbed potently against her. She felt as if her whole body would dissolve with excitement.
He moved her erotically from side to side across his arousal, and shuddering pleasure almost robbed her of consciousness. She leaned her head back, her breath escaping in a long sigh as she gave herself up to waves of almost sinful pleasure.
He drew his head back, his eyes dark in the candlelight. “Fie on you, madam, would you have me take you here?” he said softly.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Have you no modesty?”
“None at all,” she replied, slowly untying the ribbons of her nightgown with trembling hands and allowing the garment to slither to the floor around her feet. Her body was smooth and inviting in the gentle light, and her taut nipples cast small shadows across the fullness of her breasts.
Then she slipped her arms around his neck, molding herself voluptuously against him and drawing his tongue deep into her mouth. No man could have resisted such abandonment. White-hot with passion, he pressed her against the desk, his fingers sliding knowingly over her thigh and then between her legs.
No words were needed. She pulled away to lie back on the desk as he undid his breeches. His erection sprang out, imperative and pounding, and her breath caught with incredible pleasure as he pushed the tip gently between her legs. He skillfully applied gentle pressure, arousing her almost unbearably before sliding fully inside her. She melted with the kind of gratification she’d never dreamed could exist, and gasped as he withdrew to thrust in again.
The cognac hadn’t robbed him of his potency, nor had it dampened his ardor. He was virile, practiced, and above all he was making love to the woman he worshipped. It was Laura Reynolds whose body he penetrated, but it was Celina he saw in her sea-green eyes, and as his strokes became more urgent, culminating in an explosion of sensual delight, it was Celina’s name he cried out as he gave up his soul.
Laura reached up to cling to him, and the tears on her cheeks were the first acknowledgment of guilt. She’d knowingly seduced him, but she was the one who now paid the price. He thought he’d just made love to his wife, but Celina was dead, and in the morning, when the cognac released him from its grip, he’d remember—and he’d hate Laura Reynolds.
For the moment, however, she still held him. She needed to glean every last second of these stolen moments. His virility softened slowly inside her, and after several sweet minutes of lingering kisses and caresses, he pulled away at last to straighten his clothes.
She was afraid to look into his eyes, afraid she’d see bitter realization there, but as he smiled at her, she knew he still saw his wife. “I love you so much,” he whispered, drawing a fingertip across one of her nipples.
“And I love you, Blair,” she replied with heartfelt honesty.