Carousel (18 page)

It broke Jaci's heart to hear Amanda's request, and from the look on Nicholas's face, she knew Cameron would probably not make it home for the holidays. She didn't understand why he would rather captain sea-going vessels than live at Wildwood with the rest of the family. She did, however, fully understand Amanda's wish for her father to be home for the holidays.

She closed her eyes to keep the tears from falling, a flood of Christmas memories forming behind her eyes. If only Mandy was here, she wished. Her heart pounded as she realized she had wished her sister to Wildwood, instead of herself back to her own time in Texas.

Chapter Ten

Nicholas choked on his champagne when Jaci entered the Wildwood ballroom. Her hair, pulled back from her face into little ringlets, capped the proud tilt of her head and exposed her slender throat. She had chosen the blue velvet after all, and it set off her coloring to perfection.

He didn't know who had designed the dress, but it broke every rule of fashion. Soft velvet hugged her curves, the draped material cascading down her back while leaving most of it bare. The only acknowledgment to propriety was a bow in place of a bustle and the long train which was standard on women's evening attire.

Now he quizzed her as they danced. "While I personally applaud your choice of style, doesn't your dress somewhat inhibit your movement?" To test his theory, he danced her into a graceful turn, his own steps sure, his hold tightening when he felt her miss a step.

She leaned into him, her soft breasts brushing against his chest. He whispered into her soft, blonde curls, "On second thought, perhaps the style has more merit than first appears."

She recovered her step, but he didn't loosen his hold. "It's not the dress at all, though I thank you for noticing. I happen to have two left feet when it comes to dancing," she chattered gaily. "As for the dress, the only concession to style I would allow is the train, though why it's necessary is beyond me. All I've done the entire night is carry it around by this little loop." She wiggled her wrist, and his gaze moved from the soft circle of velvet on her wrist up her gloved arm to a practically bare shoulder--a shoulder he longed to caress with his lips.

"You do have good taste, Nicholas, for I like the blue velvet you chose." She paused then added, "It's very soft against my skin."

This time, it was Nicholas who missed a step. Jaci, however, looked at him with such wide-eyed innocence, he thought he must have misunderstood. But then she smiled, and her lips taunted him and her gaze seduced him as surely as her dress had when she first stepped into the room.

At times like this, he questioned her appearance at Wildwood. She didn't dress or act like any woman of his acquaintance. Her outspoken attitude put her in a class by herself. He knew nothing about her, and the Pinkerton man checking her background still had no leads. Perhaps he should be more hesitant, but somehow from the moment she had appeared with her soft southern drawl and wide eyes, he had been captivated.

The music's tempo increased, and although she appeared hesitant over the intricate steps, she laughed brightly as he turned her round and round again.

"You are like no other lady I have ever known."

Her smile deepened. "Perhaps I'm simply a scandalous woman."

Normally, he held his own in any conversation, but the sexual bantering with Jaci taxed his logic to the extreme, not to mention his libido. "Perhaps I should keep you behind locked doors to make sure tongues don't wag."

She shook her head and clicked her tongue. Her eyes glittered in merriment. "Whatever would your fiancée think, having a
kept woman
in your house?"

He scowled. "I don't have a fiancée, officially, but if I did, perhaps I would choose to keep the woman and not the fiancée."

Her eyes widened at his pronouncement and he was pleased to see he had shocked her. Damn, but he wanted to tell her; wanted to get it out in the open and finished. "Listen, Jaci, we must talk. There are things--"

"Good evening, Miss Eastman; Nicholas."

Nicholas turned to the sound of Thomas's voice and inwardly groaned to see that he had Lycinda on his arm.

"Since the music has ended and another dance about to begin, I thought I would request the pleasure of Miss Eastman's company. Do you mind?"

Though Thomas asked the question, Nicholas knew there was but one response. "Of course not."

He handed Jaci over with a bow and circled Lycinda's waist as the music began. Unfortunate timing, for the orchestra played another slow tune, which meant he would have to make conversation. He opened his mouth to comment on her appearance, but she never gave him the chance.

"Really, Nicholas, I don't say much about how you handle things," Lycinda stated as soon as the music began. "At least not yet."

"But...?" He knew there was more.

"It's not at all proper for a governess to attend a party of this sort. It's simply not done."

"Why not? Amanda is present as well. I didn't realize new social rules were in play, Lycinda, but since this is my home, I don't believe it concerns anyone else." His tone had an edge of steel which caused Lycinda to lower her gaze. He hoped that would be the end of it. She had never questioned him before, and he didn't like having to defend his actions.

When she glanced at him again, the demure look was back, and for some reason, that made him edgy. He understood why at her next comment.

"Papa thinks spring would be a good time for a wedding--before your sale and all the races, you know."

Nicholas had a mental flash of Mason Edwardson counting the prize money as each race was won and then keeping it all while he sat by and watched. Or worse, that something would happen to Nicholas and the greedy bastard would take over Wildwood on behalf of Lycinda, his grieving daughter. Both pictures were too horrid to contemplate.

"I've been meaning to speak with you about that," he stated.

"Yes?" Her voice held a note of hopefulness.

He surveyed all the neighbors, friends and acquaintances who had come to his home for a festive party. He winked at Amanda, who enthusiastically waved from Thomas's side as he danced her around the floor. His gaze found Jaci talking to George Eastman and sipping a crystal glass of punch. She laughed at something the man said and Nicholas's gut twisted.

Lycinda lightly tapped his shoulder, reminding him of her presence. "You were saying, Nicholas?"

"I think it's something we'd best leave for discussion until after the holidays." Appropriately, the music ended at that precise moment and he was excused from explaining further.

He escorted Lycinda to the edge of the dance floor, leaving her with her father. As he made his way across the room, pausing often to visit with friends, he inconspicuously looked for Jaci. Before he reached her, he saw her eyes widen and face turn ashen at something George Eastman said. She bit her lip as she gathered her skirts and turned away, hurrying out the wide door to the foyer.

Nicholas cut behind the enormous Christmas tree, bumping into a servant with a laden tray before making his way out the furthest exit. Once out of the ballroom, he turned this way and that trying to locate her. "Did you see which way Miss Eastman went?" he questioned a servant.

The young woman shrugged, and Nicholas took off down the hall. He'd have to do it the hard way and search room to room.

* * *

Jaci paced back and forth in the dark library, unable to focus on anything. Stopping before the small secretary in one corner, she tried to strike a match to light the lamp, but her hands shook far too hard. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms trying to get warm. No fire had been lit in this room since the festivities were to be held in the ballroom and adjoining dining room.

She quit pacing and took a steadying breath, closing her eyes. The door remained slightly ajar, but the music muted the many conversations from across the giant foyer.

Oh, God, what had she done?

She couldn't believe it when Thomas had introduced her to the famous, or soon-to-be famous young George Eastman. In every photography course she had taken, his name had continually cropped up, being synonymous with Eastman Kodak.

They spoke of photography, and their identical last names, but she had found it an extremely taxing situation. She wanted to talk about high speed film and developing processes that he hadn't invented yet. She finally settled for asking questions but giving little information away for fear she might tell too much. In the course of their conversation, he mentioned a wife and baby daughter.

"I'd love to meet them some day," Jaci had responded politely.

"Alas, my wife doesn't socialize anymore; not since poor Richelle's death." A shadow had crossed his face, as a fist suddenly squeezed the life out of Jaci's heart.

"I'm...I'm sorry. Your daughter; her name was Richelle?" At his nod, she had swallowed, praying the answer to her next question would not give credence to the terror she had felt welling up inside. "When did she die?"

"This past October fourteenth."

Oh, dear God.
She had squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, before excusing herself to dash out of the ballroom.

Now, as she stood in the library, which was cold and silent as a tomb, she wondered how it had happened. It didn't make any sense at all, yet it made
perfect
sense. Richelle Eastman had died on the exact day Jaci had been thrown through time.

"What are you doing here in the dark?" Nicholas's voice made her turn to where his shadow loomed across the floor when light spilled from the doorway.

"Nicholas." She ran to him, flinging herself at his solid bulk, knowing he would help her understand what had happened. He was, after all, a very rational man, not given to imagination and fantasy.

"Whoa, wait a moment. I can't see a thing." He kept her tucked in the crook of his arm as he led her over to the secretary. With one hand, he expertly struck a match and lit the lamp--the lamp she couldn't light earlier.

He turned her around, ducking his head to see her more clearly. "I saw you speaking with George Eastman. What did he say that upset you so?"

She gave him a watery smile, not sure if she wanted to share her thoughts with him now. After all, since he didn't believe she came from a different time, how was she to explain?

"George's baby daughter died in October, on the exact same day I appeared at Wildwood. And it's all my fault."

"What? That's nonsense," he chided. "You didn't even know his baby. What was her name?"

Jaci looked at him in anguish. "Richelle. She had the same name as me."

He shook his head in disbelief. "There are more than two people in this world with Eastman as a last name."

"Jaci
Richelle
Eastman," she countered, tears welling up despite her efforts to blink them away.

Nicholas had moved away from her during the course of their conversation, and now he stood, arms crossed and legs braced, in the center of the room. He had swung the door shut when he had entered the library and the only illumination was from the lamp. Shadows played off his high cheekbones and broad shoulders, and she thought again about the fluke which had landed her literally at his feet.

If her assumption about George Eastman's daughter was true--that one person died when another passed through time--then she couldn't continue hoping to ever return to her own time. Not if it meant someone else had to die.

Looking at the man across the room, she didn't think she would mind staying at Wildwood, if she had him by her side. As though her thoughts were transparent, he smiled at her and crooked his finger.

Without hesitation, she moved into his arms. Instead of kissing her senseless, which she would have preferred over thinking too much, he simply held her. She laid her head against his chest to hear the steady beat of his heart. His arms securely pinned her to him.

"Sweet, sweet Jaci. Why must you try so hard to explain everything? Life is full of unusual coincidences. Is it not enough that you are here, with me, at Wildwood? Do you have to dissect every word a person says, every action taken, trying to discover hidden motives? You're simply overwrought with the emotion of the party." He patted her back and she knew that although his tone was gentle and loving, he didn't understand.

At that moment, she almost saw things from his point of view. The cold reality of her own life had left little room for faith. She had questioned actions, and with good cause, knowing some of the deviants living in Texas. But here in 1874, words were taken at face value, and as he had pointed out to her on numerous occasions, words were taken as truth.

He tilted her chin up. "Will you return to the party?"

"I must see to Amanda."

"Amanda has already been taken up to bed--exhausted, I might add." His humor touched Jaci's heart.

"It would be best if I retire, too." She couldn't bear his kindness. She knew her eyes were probably red from crying, and the thought of conversing with anyone else at this point was beyond reason for her.

"I'm afraid I'm not as lucky as you. As host, I won't see my bed until the last guest has gone. It is probably fortunate I don't decide to do this more than once a year." He let her go and moved to extinguish the lamp.

He walked her to the bottom of the stairs where she told him good night. She had stepped onto the first stair when his hand at her elbow stopped her.

"Soon, Jaci, very soon. Will you allow me a little more time?" She didn't know to what he referred, but his voice begged her for this moment.

"It seems I have nothing but time, Nicholas. I don't suppose it will hurt to grant you some. Good night." She didn't wait for a response but walked up the stairs and down the hall to her room, the orchestra music fading behind her.

She had never felt so alone in all her life. Even when her parents had died, she had Mandy and her friends to see her through difficulties. Here at Wildwood, there was no one. Oh, Nicholas had given her a job, and she had a roof over her head, but she couldn't talk to anyone about her problem because no one understood. All her training and experience, all her hard fought independence and self-esteem meant nothing in this century.