Christmas at Draycott Abbey (5 page)

“Exactly.”

“Nice to know. If the police who might not be police come back, they won’t know what hit them.” Izzy flashed a cold grin. “Someday maybe you and Nicholas Draycott will tell me the
whole
story about your friend from Scotland.”

Ian walked to the door. “Some day perhaps.”

But it was a lie. Ian would never speak of what he knew about Calan MacKay. Calan’s story and tangled secrets were his own, to share or not to share.

Right now Ian had a different set of secrets to untangle.

Clouds raced before the ragged moon. Wind banged at the old casement windows and lightening flickered over the rooftop.

One shadow, darker than the rest, slowly took on shape. Polished boots gleamed beneath darkest velvet and white lace that fluttered at wrist and collar.

Danger stalked the abbey this night, and Adrian Draycott saw that danger clearly. The threads of memories trailed back for centuries. Not by accident did the players find themselves within the abbey walls again.

Fate had brought them here. Or love.

He had tried to help them centuries ago, but they had been betrayed. His eyes gleamed in sudden fury against the shadows.

He watched the sleek black car race through the rain toward the abbey’s gate.

Now the betrayal had come again....

Ian wasn’t sure what he expected to find.

She might have been pacing. She might have been exhausted and withdrawn.

Either way, he was going to keep her in that bed, safe and immobile for the rest of the night, just as Izzy had ordered. He nodded to Marston, clearly taking his guardian duties seriously. “Why don’t you go have a rest now, Marston? Things are quiet and our police friends are gone. If they come back, Izzy will pick them up on the security cameras.”

Marston nodded and stood up, rubbing his back as if it ached. “I won’t sleep, but a spot of tea would be nice. Can I bring you something while I’m in the kitchen, Commander?”

“No need. I’m going to try to rest here. If anything changes, I’ll use the house line to buzz you and Izzy.”

“Very well. I will be available, as always.” The butler nodded gravely and strode away to the back stairs.

Marston is too old for this kind of thing
, Ian thought. But tonight they had to use all their resources at hand.

As he touched the door, Ian caught the sudden smell of roses. Rich and perfumed, the fragrance spilled around him, as if from a glorious summer afternoon.

He shook his head, fighting the old abbey’s tricks, and walked inside.

Firelight flickered over antique carpets and fine chintz furniture. Velvet curtains covered the tall casement windows. But Ian saw none of that. His whole focus was locked on the woman in the big bed, her hair a dark cloud on the white pillows. Her eyes were closed, but she stirred restlessly, whispering.

Ian moved closer, hoping for some kind of clue to help Izzy in his search.

“T-told you. Don’t go, Nina. Not yet. Wanted to meet him. Do some research. It all seems too fast.” Her voice broke. She stretched her hands out to the darkness and sat up sharply. “
No. Don’t hurt her
.”

In the silence her eyes blurred.

Suddenly she saw Ian, sitting in the little chair beside the bed. Her mouth opened in surprise. “Where am I?”

“Draycott Abbey.”

The woman frowned. “I remember that.” Her questions stopped when she reached up, feeling the outline of the bandage at her forehead. She winced as her fingers touched the corner of her eyebrow.

She was too pale, Ian thought.

She looked exhausted.

“Who are you?”

“Commander Sinclair. Metropolitan Police Service, ma’am. I found you wandering on the abbey grounds in bad shape. You’ll be safe here. The roads are hellish tonight, with the storm getting worse, but if you need something, let me know. Marston has come up twice with soup and tea. He takes it as a personal affront that you’re not well enough to eat his specially made food.”

“Marston.” She said the word slowly. “Yes, I remember. He brought me here earlier. But there was something else. Something I needed to do—“ She blinked hard, frowning as if in pain.

“It can keep. Why don’t you lie back and get some sleep? I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

“It’s so beautiful, this room. It’s been so long since I felt safe...”

Her breath eased out in a husky sigh as she studied the carved fireplace and the elegant portraits. “I’ve always loved this house.” Her voice was a mere whisper now. “Adrian—he told me that I should paint here in summer, with all his roses abloom. I finished the painting, but never had time to show him. We waited, he and I. But you never came back…”

“I?” Ian leaned down, frowning. There it was again, this odd delusion of hers that they had met before. “Who is it that you mean? I’m certain we never met.”

“Oh yes, but it was long ago. You don’t remember that afternoon, on the river near Oxford? My parasol snapped. You jumped into the water to retrieve it. You were the perfect gentleman.” Her lips curved, as she closed her eyes. “But you were less than a gentleman that night, in my coach as we returned to London. Your kisses were most ardent, as I recall, my love.” Her voice broke away in sudden coughing.

Ian sat on the edge of the bed and took her hands. “Your coach? In London?” None of it made any sense. It had to be a delusion from her state of shock.

But as Ian looked down, his hands seemed to move. His long fingers entwined with hers in a way that felt painfully familiar. He brought their linked hands to his lips and kissed the curve of her wrist.

So precious.

So achingly familiar.

And in the sudden flare of the firelight, Ian saw a different world and a different time. Bright carriages raced by moonlight, carrying women with powdered hair and crimson lips. Jewels glittered in the candlelight of an elegant London ballroom.

Ian felt his heart hammer as her fingers tightened.

“I waited so long….” She drew his hand to her cheek on a shaky sigh. “My love.”

As her eyes closed, memories spilled over Ian like smoke.

In the candlelight her violet eyes gleamed, more beautiful than any jewel.

His heart was full almost to breaking with the love he felt for her. Tomorrow they would be married. Tomorrow the joy he had hoped to bring her would finally come.

Then he would have to break the cold news. His orders had just come, calling him to Goa on East India Company business. He refused to take her with him to that place of bad weather and illness. She would wait for him here, in the protection of her family, since he had no family of his own. He had already asked his old friend Adrian Draycott to keep a protective eye on her while he was away.

He had not told her any of this yet, knowing it would break her heart. She would rail and demand to go with him, no matter the danger or inconvenience.

The journey was out of the question. He would not see her dead from one of the strange miasms that felled so many travelers in the tropics.

He heard her turn and give a sudden laugh of pleasure. A dark figure loomed up from the candlelight. White lace fluttered at black velvet sleeves.

The fourth viscount was always elegant, but tonight he outdid himself. A different beautiful woman graced his arm. He never seemed to keep the same woman for more than one night.

A pity. Had Adrian found luck in love, his life would be so much richer.

“Glorious, as ever, my dear. Are you quite certain you mean to have this scapegrace friend of mine? If not, I’ll sweep you away to the altar this night. I have a Special License at hand, should you agree.”

“You are the veriest rogue, my lord. But no, my heart is given.” She turned, her eyes shining.

Ian felt the force of her love strike him and knew he was the luckiest of men.

Now, in the quiet room, the memory of her love reached out to him across the centuries….

They had been lovers once, centuries before.

The force of the knowledge made Ian’s body tighten and his blood stir. Who was she? And what was this damnable fantasy that seemed to capture them both?

Her hands trembled against his. Almost without conscious thought, Ian brought them to his face, struck by how much they had lost.

None of it made sense. Yet he did not move. As she slept, he kept a lonely vigil with images that felt like memories.

Clair sat up, disoriented, listening to hail hammer at the windows. A gray cat studied her from the bottom of the bed, its long tail twitching. The great animal seemed possessive, as if he was well accustomed to claiming this bed.

Had she seen a cat here before?

She couldn’t remember.

She stood up slowly and winced as the floor spun beneath her. With a gasp she caught the back of the wingchair, closing her eyes until the waves of dizziness passed.

Still too weak.

She rubbed her head, wincing at the sudden stab of pain. She had to try the inspector again.

As she walked to the desk, the door opened.

“You shouldn’t be up.” A tall man with charcoal eyes and broad shoulders crossed the room. Clair recognized him from her flight at the moat.

She shrank back.

“No need to be frightened. You shouldn’t be on your feet. You need to rest,” he said roughly. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

“Who—are you?”

“Ian Sinclair. Metropolitan Police Service. “How do you feel, Ms…..”

Clair watched him prowl the room and pull the curtains closed, his focus almost palpable. She didn’t answer his question. “I’m tired. I was going back to sleep. You don’t need to stay, Mr. Sinclair.”

“Ian. I’ll help you back to bed.”

Her hands tightened. “I’ll be fine. You can go.”

With a shrug he sat down in the wingchair beside the door. “Not tonight.”

“You can’t be
serious
. You’re staying here in my room?” Clair ran a hand over her forehead, frowning as the pain continued to build.

“Two men have come looking for you tonight. I’d like to know why they are so interested.”

Her hands trembled. “I knew they would. I—I have to get to London. I need to call—“

“You
need
to rest,” Ian said flatly.

Clair didn’t move. “Where are they now?”

“They drove off.”

“They won’t go away. They can’t afford to.” Her voice shook. “Not now.

“Why? What makes them so interested in you?”

She closed her eyes, trying to sort out whether he was telling the truth. If he was with the police, surely she could trust him?

“Will you call someone for me?”

“Of course. But first tell me your name.”

“Clair.” She looked down, surprised to feel the gray cat press against her leg, purring loudly.

“Clair what?”

She hesitated. Since Nina’s death, she had learned to trust no one. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I need to know
why
these men are so interested in you. I need to know who you are and why you are running away. They assured me you were a dangerous criminal and that I should phone them if I saw you.”

Clair spun around angrily, regretting the sudden movement that left the floor spinning all over again. “That’s a
lie
. I’m no criminal. They can’t—”

“I know it’s a lie. Now sit down and rest,” the man said curtly. “I believe you.”

“You do?” Clair sank down slowly on the bed. “Why?”

“Hell if I know.” He glanced around the room, frowning. “Are you cold?”

“A little.”

She froze as he pushed her back gently against the pillows and spread another blanket over her. She took a deep breath, studying his eyes. She had learned to read expressions over the last months, but she couldn’t seem to read this man’s face. And yet…

“Have we met before?”

“Outside. I pulled you out of the moat,” he said grimly. “Half dressed and more than frozen.”

No.” Clair shook her head slowly. “Before that. Somewhere else.”

“Not likely. I’d remember.” He cleared his throat and then leaned down to stir the fire. “You should sleep now.”

“I need to get to London.” Clair lay stiffly. Her vision seemed to blur. She blinked hard, trying to stay awake. “It’s—important.”

“Why?”

“I can only tell the inspector.”

The man named Ian frowned. “You can tell me. What is this important information you have?”

Clair wriggled away from him on the bed and felt the room blur. “Stop asking questions. I’ve had enough questions for a lifetime. They never stopped their questions. They took me and they watched me.” Her voice broke as she stood clumsily. “No
more
….”

She stared at the flowers that danced wildly over the rug. “I have to tell him—“

Her thoughts tangled. What was so important for her to convey? Clair rubbed her head, forcing her body forward with jerky steps. “I have to be sure he knows.”

“Damn it, Clair, sit down. You’re sheet white.”

Ian gripped her shoulder, and she shoved him away. “Get out of my way. You can’t
stop
me.”

With a raw oath, he pulled her around, locking her at his chest. Their bodies met and Clair flinched. In her struggles the dress spilled from her shoulder, and she felt the heat of his arm against her chest. His muscles clenched.

She heard his breath catch sharply as her breast brushed his hand.

His fingers seemed to lock. Then they opened slowly, cupping the curve of her warm skin.

Clair closed her eyes, trying to breathe.

Fear. Then fear gave way to need and driving heat.

His thumb stroked the aching point of her nipple and she shuddered with need. She reached out slowly, her palm to his angular jaw. “Who—are you?” she whispered. “Why do I know you so well?”

Her skin burned where he touched her, but she wanted more. She wanted him to remember, just as she yearned to remember.

Because the memories were all that mattered now.

Only by remembering could she trust again.

“I am someone you can trust. Believe that if nothing else.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “You
must
begin to trust me now, Clair.”

A muscle moved at his jaw. He looked at her naked skin, hot against his hand. “I knew you would feel like this. Somehow I knew you would be warm like this, so soft against my hand….”

She felt his words drift against her skin, as gentle as his touch. Need choked her. He had to
stop
.

But she couldn’t find the will to push him away. Need left her blinded. She had waited for him so long….

“Hell.”

Ian took a long, angry breath.

Then he shook his head, slowly pulling her dress back up over her shoulder. “I’m—sorry. You should be sleeping. I promised Izzy you would not be disturbed.”

“Izzy?”

“Someone who has come to help you. We will be close tonight, Clair.”

She nodded. Her lips curved in a tentative smile. “My name—it’s Haywood,” she said, trusting him for reasons she still could not understand. “My sister was Nina Haywood. They killed her.”

“We’ll find them.” He slid a blanket around her trembling shoulders. “No matter what it takes.”

Clair jumped at the sound of a car motor out in the darkness. She heard the muffled howl of a dog.

Ian’s eyes were hard as he glanced toward the window. “I have to go. Stay here, no matter what you hear. You will be safe inside the abbey.”

Clair gripped the blanket, suddenly afraid. “Be careful.”

“Always.”

Ian ran down the steps as Izzy emerged from the library.

“Two men outside.” Izzy shrugged on a Kevlar vest and tossed another to Ian. “A second car just stopped at the gate. Three men in that one.”

“Calan?"

“Tracking.”

Ian nodded as Izzy held out a shotgun, then drew another from the case at his feet.

“Georgian furniture, at your service,” the security operative said grimly. “I’ll go around to the gatehouse. Give me two minutes before you open the door.”