The More I See You (2 page)

Piano lessons. At age five.

You wouldn’t think that something so innocuous, so innocent and child-friendly would have led a woman where she never had any intention of having gone, but Jessica couldn’t find any evidence to contradict the results.

Piano lessons had led to music scholarships, which had led to a career in music that had somehow demolished her social life, leaving her no choice but to sink to accepting the latest in a series of hopeless blind dates: Archie Stafford and his shiny penny loafers. Archie was the one who had invited her to England for a month with all expenses paid. He had landed the trip thanks to a great deal of
sucking up to the dean of his department. He didn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the good old boys who clustered with the dean and Lord Henry every night smoking cigars into the wee hours, but maybe that’s what Archie aspired to.

Jessica wondered now how hard up he must have been for a date to have asked her to come along. At the time he’d invited her, though, she’d been too busy thinking about tea and crumpets to let the invitation worry her. It had been a university-sponsored outing. She’d felt perfectly safe.

Unfortunately, being Archie’s guest also meant that she had to speak to him, and
that
was something she wished she could avoid for the next three weeks. It was only on the flight over that she’d discovered the depth of his swininess. She made a mental note never to pull out her passport for anyone she’d known less than a month if such an occasion should arise again.

But like it or not, she was stuck with him for this trip, which meant at the very least polite conversation, and if nothing else, her mother had instilled in her a deep compulsion to be polite.

Of course, being civil didn’t mean she couldn’t escape now and then—which was precisely what she was doing at present. Unfortunately escape had meant finding the one place where Archie would never think to look for her.

The depths of Henry’s medieval castle.

She wondered if an alarm would sound if she disconnected the rope that barred her way. She looked to her left and saw that there were a great many people who would hear such an alarm if it sounded. Maybe she wouldn’t be noticed in the ensuing panic. Apparently Lord Henry funded some of his house upkeep by conducting tours of his castle. Those tours were seemingly well attended, if the one in progress was any indication.

Jessica eyed the sightseers. They were moving in a herdlike fashion and it was possible they might set up a stampede if she startled them. They were uncomfortably nestled together, gaping at cordoned-off family heirlooms,
also uncomfortably nestled together. Marcham was a prime destination spot and Jessica seemed to have placed herself in the midst of the latest crowd at the precise moment she needed the most peace and quiet. She had already done the castle tour and learned more than she wanted to know about Burwyck-on-the-Sea and its accompanying history. Another lesson on the intricacies of medieval happenings was the last thing she needed at the moment.

“—Of course the castle here at Marcham, or Merceham, as it was known in the 1300s, was one of the family’s minor holdings. Even though it has been added to during the years and extensively remodeled during the Victorian period, it is not the most impressive of the family’s possessions. The true gem of the de Galtres crown lies a hundred and fifty kilometers away on the eastern coast. If we move further along here, you’ll find a painting of the keep.”

The crowd shuffled to the left obediently as the tour guide continued with his speech.

“As you can see here in this rendering of Burwyck-on-the-Sea—aptly named, if I might offer an opinion—the most remarkable feature of the family’s original seat is the round tower built not into the center of the bailey as we find in Pembroke Castle, but rather into the outer seawall. I imagine the third lord of the de Galtres family fancied having his ocean view unobstructed—”

So Jessica and he heartily agreed with the sentiment, but for now an ocean view was not what she was interested in. If the basement was roped off it could only mean that it was free of tourists and tour guides. It was also possible that below was where the castle kept all its resident spiders and ghosts, but it was a chance she would have to take. Archie would never think to look for her there. Ghosts could be ignored. Spiders could be squashed.

She put her shoulders back, unhooked the rope, and descended.

She stopped at the foot of the steps and looked for
someplace appropriate. Suits of armor stood at silent attention along both walls. Lighting was minimal and creature comforts nonexistent, but that didn’t deter her. She walked over the flagstones until she found a likely spot, then eased her way between a fierce-looking knight brandishing a sword and another grimly holding a pike. She did a quick cobweb check before she settled down with her back against the stone wall. It was the first time that day she’d been grateful for the heavy gown she wore. A medieval costume might suit her surroundings, but it seemed like a very silly thing to wear to an afternoon tea—and said afternoon tea was precisely what she’d planned to avoid by fleeing to the basement.

Well, that and Archie.

She reached into her bag and pulled out what she needed for complete relaxation. Reverently, she set a package of two chilled peanut-butter cups on the stone floor. Those she would save for later. A can of pop followed. The floor was cold enough to keep it at a perfect temperature as well. Then she pulled out her portable CD player, put the headphones on her head, made herself more comfortable, and, finally closing her eyes with a sigh, pushed the play button. A chill went down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold stone.

Bruckner’s Seventh could do that-to a girl, given the right circumstances.

Jessica took a deep breath and prepared for what she knew was to come. The symphony started out simply. She knew eventually it would increase in strength and magnitude until it came crashing down on her with such force that she wouldn’t be able to catch her breath.

She felt her breathing begin to quicken and had to wipe her palms on her dress. It was every bit as good as it had been the past 139 times she had listened to the same piece. It was music straight from the vaults of heav—

Squeak.

Jessica froze. She was tempted to open her eyes, but she was almost certain what she would see would be a big, fat rat sitting right next to her, and then where
would she be? Her snack was still wrapped, and since it really didn’t count as food anyway, what could a rat want with it? She returned her attentions to the symphony. It was the London Philharmonic, one of her favorite orchestras—

Wreek, wreek, wreeeeeek.

Rusty shutters? Were there shutters in the basement? Hard to say. She wasn’t about to open her eyes and find out. There was probably some kind of gate nearby and it was moving thanks to a stiff breeze set up by all the tourists tromping around upstairs. Or maybe it was a trapdoor to the dungeon. She immediately turned away from that thought, as it wasn’t a place she wanted to go. She closed her eyes even more firmly. It was a good thing she was so adept at shutting but distractions. The noise might have ruined the afternoon for her otherwise.

Wreeka, wreeka, wreeeeeka.

All right, that was too much. It was probably some stray kid fiddling with one of the suits of armor. She’d give him an earful, send him on his way, and get back to her business.

She opened her eyes—then shrieked.

There, looming over her with obviously evil intent, was a knight in full battle gear. She pushed herself back against the stone wall, pulling her feet under her and wondering just what she could possibly do to defend herself. The knight, however, seemed to dismiss her upper person because he bent his helmeted head to look at her feet. By the alacrity with which he suddenly leaned over in that direction, she knew what was to come.

The armor creaked as the mailed hand reached out. Then, without any hesitation, the fingers closed around her peanut-butter cups. The visor was flipped up with enthusiasm, the candy’s covering ripped aside with more dexterity than any gloved hand should have possessed, and Jessica’s last vestige of American junk food disappeared with two great chomps.

The chomper burped.

“Hey, Jess,” he said, licking his chops, “thought you
might be down here hiding. Got any more of those?” He pointed at the empty space near her feet, his arm producing another mighty squeak.

Rule number one: No one interrupted her during Bruckner.

Rule number two: No one ate her peanut-butter cups,
especially
when she found herself stranded in England for a month without the benefit of a Mini Mart down the street. She had yet to see any peanut-butter cups in England and she’d been saving her last two for a quiet moment alone. Well, at least the thief hadn’t absconded with her drink as of yet—

“Geez, Jess,” he said, reaching for her can of pop, popping the top and draining the contents, “why are you hiding?”

She could hardly think straight. “I was listening to Bruckner.”

He burped loudly. “Never understood a girl who could get all sweaty over a bunch of fairies playing the violin.” He squashed the can, then grinned widely at the results a mailed glove could generate. Then he looked at her and winked. “How’d you like to come here and give your knight in shining armor a big ol’ kiss?”

I’d rather kiss a rat
was on the tip of her tongue, but Archibald Stafford III didn’t wait for the words to make it past her lips. He hauled her up from between her guardians—and a fat lot of good two empty suits of armor had done her—sending her CD player and headphones crashing to the ground, pulled her against him, and gave her the wettest, slobberiest kiss that had ever been given an unwilling maiden fair.

She would have clobbered him, but she was trapped in a mailed embrace and powerless to rescue herself.

“Let me go,” she squeaked.

“What’s the matter? Aren’t you interested in my strong, manly arms?” he said, giving her a squeeze to show just how strong and manly his arms were.

“Not when they’re squeezing the life from me,” she gasped. “Archie, let me go!”

“It’ll be good for research purposes.”

“I’m a musician, for heaven’s sake. I don’t need to do this kind of research. And you are a . . .” and she had to pause before she said it because she still couldn’t believe such a thing was possible, given the new insights she’d had into the man currently crushing the life from her, “a . . . philosopher,” she managed. “A tenured philosophy professor at a major university, not a knight.”

Archibald sighed with exaggerated patience. “The costume party, remember?”

As if she could forget, especially since she was already dressed à la medieval, complete with headgear and lousy shoes. Why the faculty had chosen to dress themselves up as knights and ladies fair she couldn’t have said. It had to have been the brainchild of that nutty history professor who hadn’t been able to clear his sword through airport security. She’d known just by looking at him that he was trouble.

If only she’d been as observant with Archie. And now here she was, staring at what had, at first blush, seemed to be one of her more successful blind dates. She could hardly reconcile his current self with his philosophy self. Either he’d gotten chivalry confused with chauvinism, or wearing that suit of armor too long had allowed metal to leach into his brain and alter his personality.

“I’ll carry you up,” Archie said suddenly. “It’ll be a nice touch.”

But instead of being swept up into his arms, which would have been bad enough, she found herself hoisted and dumped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“My CD player,” she protested.

“Get it later,” he said, trudging off toward the stairs.

She struggled, but it was futile. She thought about name-calling, but that, she decided, was beneath her. He’d have to put her down eventually and then she would really let him have it. For the moment, however, it was all she could do to avoid having her head make contact with the stairwell as Archie huffed up the steps. He paused and
Jessica heard a cacophony of startled gasps. Fortunately she was hanging mostly upside down, so her face couldn’t get any redder.

“I love this medieval stuff,” Archie announced to whatever assembly was there, “don’t you?”

And with that, he slapped her happily on the rump—to the accompaniment of more horrified gasps—and continued on his way.

Jessica wondered if that sword she’d seen with the armor in the basement was sharp. Then again, maybe it would be just as effective if it were dull. Either way, she had the feeling she was going to have to use it on the man who chortled happily as he carried her, minus her dignity, on down the hallway to where she was certain she would be humiliated even further.

•   •   •

She was trapped for almost an hour at the costumed tea before she managed to escape. She had Lord Henry to thank for her liberation. He’d removed her from Archie’s clutches with a firm “tut, tut, old man, don’t monopolize the girl,” escorted Jessica to the door, and brushed aside her heartfelt thanks.

“Go walk in the garden, my dear,” Henry had said with a kind smile. “I’ll occupy him well enough. We’ll discuss Plato.”

She had taken the time to find a bathroom, wash her face, and remove the wimple she’d put on earlier in the day. She studiously ignored the fact that when she’d first seen her postparty self, her headgear had been sliding off her head. That was thanks to Archie’s unruly transportation of her person; she’d been too flustered to try to adjust anything once she’d reached the party.

Just another reason to find a dull blade and whack the goon with it.

She tucked the wimple into her belt and left the bathroom. The garden sounded like a good idea. It was October and already a chilly one, but the paths were smooth
and wide and she didn’t need dozens of blooming roses to soothe her spirit.

She paused at the top of the cellar stairs and wondered about the advisability of leaving her CD player down there. She shook her head and turned away before she could give it any more thought. It was stuck behind a suit of armor and wasn’t going anywhere. Besides, she just wasn’t up to facing that dark pit again. Maybe one of Lord Henry’s staff could retrieve it for her later.