Wandering Soul (3 page)

Dante stared at her for a very long time. She could practically see the thoughts churning in his mind like the waters of a stormy sea.

“Miss Sinclair,” he said. “Where exactly am I?”

Elsa glanced to the front of the limo to make sure the partition was still closed. It did little to reassure her. She scooted closer to him and leaned in close.

“You're in America,” she said, her voice as low as she could manage. That part wasn't so hard to share. “Florida, precisely.”

“Florida…”

Dante looked out the window, though at this time of night, nothing was visible except a dark horizon and stars overhead muted by the tinted glass. Elsa could see his mask reflected back at her. It was surreal.

She had been working for years on bringing him to her time and still had trouble believing he was here. How hard must it be for Dante?

He picked up the book, holding it up as he faced her again. “That does not explain this.”

Elsa took the book from him and opened it to the imprint page. She traced down the printing information until she reached the copyright date. Her hands trembled as she lifted it for Dante to see.

It was right there for him in black and white, but apparently he needed to hear the words to believe them. In a hushed voice, he said, “Copyright 2015.”

Chapter Three

“You cannot be suggesting that the year is two thousand and fifteen.”

Dante might have laughed, if not for the way Elsa clutched his arm, her gaze darting to the front of the cabin. She shifted toward him in her seat, till there was no space left between them. His breath quickened as he felt the softness of her breast pressing against his arm.

“Please keep your voice down,” she whispered in his ear. Her entire body trembled.

He lowered his voice to match hers. “Are we in danger?”

She stared at the front of the cabin, though all he saw was a solid wall. A solid wall in a vehicle more advanced than any from his time. Was he actually considering that what she said might be true?

“Not exactly,” she said. “But it's important that no one finds out about where you're from. I mean,
when
you're from.”

He found neither her tone nor her demeanor reassuring. “I take it that I am not supposed to be here?”

“You
are
supposed to be here, Dante.” She turned to him at last, all traces of her uncertainty vanishing. She took his hand in hers once more. “I wouldn't have been able to bring you forward if it wasn't meant to be.”

The tremor in her slight frame ceased, as if punctuating her words. Dante was certain she absolutely believed this to be true. But could he believe the rest of it?

His mind was still full of the images from the book she had shown him. Automobiles of all manner were described and pictured within, a variety so great and complex, it was staggering in its implications. If he dared to trust its contents, cars were common. Even a century seemed not long enough for such advancements to have taken place.

If he believed what the book contained, what his own senses told him, what of the rest of it? It would mean that Elsa had somehow transported him through time. She had pulled him from a fire that would certainly have killed him and carried him through that icy void of darkness. And now they were in America and the year was two thousand and fifteen.

“This is a bit difficult to believe.”

Elsa let out a short laugh. “I'm having a little trouble with it, myself. I wasn't sure I'd be able to get you here. I'm so glad it worked.”

“Given the alternative, I find myself in agreement.”

She paled and turned her face away from him. “I couldn't…” Her voice came out low and stilted. “I couldn't let you die like that.”

“I was not the only one who perished in the fire.”

“You were the only one I could save. I'm sorry I couldn't do more. I'm sorry about the others.”

Dante's throat constricted as he thought of Klaus and Heinrich, even Giselle. He turned his face so that his mask was toward Elsa and closed his eyes, shielding him from her view while he collected himself. He felt her touch his shoulder, her skin cold through the thin fabric of his shirt.

She slid her hand behind his back and pulled him closer. Though it seemed he was taking liberties, he could not resist her offer of comfort. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his head in the nape of her neck.

“This is a new start for you. A new world. I'm right here with you and will help you through it.”

A new world. Yet he was still himself. Being in a different time did not alter his appearance. He doubted people had changed so much.

And yet, there was Elsa. He had yet to see fear or revulsion or pity in her gaze when she looked upon him. She did not shun his touch or avoid touching him, as if she thought his scars were catching.

“I am forever in your debt,” Dante said.

Apparently, that was not the best turn of phrase. Elsa stiffened, slowly releasing her hold on Dante as she slid toward the other side of the carriage. She smiled politely, but it held sadness instead of warmth. Somehow, his words had pushed her away.

“You aren't in my debt. You never will be.”

“I apologize. I merely meant—”

“It's okay. I just don't want you to feel like you owe me anything.” Elsa brushed her fingers against the ceiling of the compartment, extinguishing the light.

How could he not feel indebted to her after she had saved his life? And she seemed to be taking a great risk by bringing him to her time. The journey had been harrowing enough for Dante. He could not imagine it had been any more pleasant for Elsa.

“We're here.” She lifted the cloak and turned to him. “I hate to ask this of you, but could you wear this until we're inside?”

“Of course.” He fastened the cloak around his neck, then pulled up the hood. She handed him the book, chewing fretfully on her lower lip as she stared past him out the window.

The carriage—
automobile
—turned onto a narrow lane lined with palms. The trees' dark silhouettes blotted out the stars in fingerlike patterns that spread only from the very tops of their trunks. Dante felt the vehicle stop, and glanced through the window to see a large mansion.

Bright lights flowed out from the latticed windows, painting stripes of green on the otherwise darkened lawn. The walls were stone, the design reminiscent of many buildings Dante had seen in London in his time. He was a bit disappointed at the familiarity of its appearance.

The coachman—no, driver—came around to open the door and stepped aside as Dante exited the automobile. Dante turned back to help Elsa emerge into the balmy night. She thanked the driver, then threaded her arm through Dante's as they walked the stone path to her doorstep.

She opened the door and ushered Dante into a large foyer. Two rooms flanked them—a dining room and a library, from what he could see. A large staircase wrapped around the wall to their left, ending in a landing on the next floor.

A long hallway straight ahead ended in a dark room, its black and white tile flooring only visible from the light of a beautiful crystal chandelier above. Dante could hear the sound of running water and dishes banging against the sides of a sink from the unlit room.

“Winston,” Elsa hissed.

Dante was uncertain who Winston might be, but from Elsa's deportment, he assumed the man was in some sort of trouble.

She shook her head and sighed, then turned to Dante. “I'll take your cloak.”

Before he could act, she reached up and unfastened the cloak. Her hands slid along his arms, following the descent of the fabric. Having more of his wits about him, and with the benefit of the bright lights above, the effect of her proximity was much more immediate.

His heart quickened, his skin tingling where her hands had paused just above his wrists. He could well imagine those delicate hands removing more of his clothing in a similar fashion. Dante tried to think of something else, anything besides the sweet smell of roses that surrounded her.

He cleared his throat, and said, “Thank you.”

Elsa stared up at him, her eyes wide as if she was feeling something akin to wonder. His imagination must be running wild again, projecting his own emotions onto her.

Her lips parted slightly, and he had a strange impulse to run his thumb along their satin surface. Her chest stilled as his gaze strayed to her décolletage. The black fabric of her dress accentuated the golden tint of her skin, which gleamed with a pearl-like cast. Dante was certain if he kissed her neck, she would taste of honey.

She finally stepped back, folding the cloak over her arm. “I should hang this up.”

A flush rose to his cheeks. At least she could only perceive half of it. He willed his body back under control, holding the book about automobiles before him to hide his state. Dante was relieved when she walked away, and used the opportunity to take a deep breath and calm himself.

Where were these errant thoughts coming from? He had long since given up on having a physical relationship with a woman. But Elsa was awakening longings and desires he had no right to direct toward her.

“Winston!”

Elsa called out sharply enough that Dante started. There was a commanding edge to her tone that he had not heard before. She hung the cloak in a closet near the front door, then returned across the foyer, her heels clicking on the floor.

A man stooped with age appeared in the darkened doorway. “I thought I heard you come in.”

Elsa crossed her arms and let out a sigh. Winston shuffled toward them, one hand tracing the wood paneling along the stairs.

“Now, don't be starting with that.” A thick cockney accent slurred his words. “If I decide to wait up for you to be home safe, that's my business.”

“And if you're so tired in the morning that you burn the toast, that's mine.” There remained an edge to her tone, but she was smiling playfully now.

“I can always make more toast, and the squirrels won't fault me for the mistake.”

She laughed and stepped forward, uncrossing her arms so she could hug the old man. If he was a servant, she was certainly not treating him as such. She kissed his cheek, bringing a rosy flush to Winston's face.

“I suppose you've forgiven me, then?” He patted her arms and laughed as well. “But what's this? Smells like you stood too close to a campfire.” He started sniffing the air, then said, “Elsa, what on earth have you brought home with you?”

“Not what, Winston.
Who
.”

Winston stared blankly at the door, seeming to look right through Dante. Only then did Dante realize that Winston's pale gray eyes had the unfocused stare of the blind.

“I believe I am the one who requires forgiveness,” Dante said. “I am in a bit of disarray.”

Winston stiffened when Dante spoke, his arm tightening around Elsa.

“Winston, this is Dante. He's the guest we've been preparing for.”

“Oh. Well, then.” Winston scowled in Dante's direction. “You've got an accent on you there. I can't quite place it.”

“Dante was born in London and raised abroad. And that is the end of the interrogation for tonight.” She kissed Winston's cheek again, softening the scowl on his face.

Apparently it was not merely with Dante that Elsa was affectionate. He struggled to suppress a strange surge of jealousy.

She had rescued Dante in London, but how did she know of his other travels? He added that to the list of questions he must eventually ask.

“We'll just get cleaned up and then go to bed,” Elsa said. “I mean, he'll be in his room, of course.”

She corrected herself so quickly that she stumbled over the words. Her gaze darted toward Dante briefly, and her face turned bright red, the flush spreading down her neck and chest.

Winston's mouth twitched into a grin. It must be for Winston's benefit that she had reacted that way. Winston could not see Dante, and might consider the worst—Elsa bringing a man home in the middle of the night.

Winston patted her arm. “I'll bring up a pot of chamomile tea after a bit.”

“Only if it's no trouble,” she said.

“How's this trouble? It's my job.” Winston laughed and waved his hand behind him as he headed down the hall, leaving them alone once more.

Elsa's smile was more subdued when she turned back to Dante. It was just as riveting.

“Come on. I'll show you your room.”

She led him to the stairs, the light gleaming off her bare shoulders where her hair fell aside. He was too distracted to notice the flash of black fur that darted in front of him until the very last minute.

“Leo!” Elsa stopped abruptly.

Dante was only able to avoid stepping on it by throwing off his own footing. The book went tumbling onto the stairs.

Elsa ducked beneath his arm, catching enough of his weight that he did not fall. His shirt was still open more than was proper, and her palm landed directly upon his chest. The chill of her skin took his breath away.

“You are so cold.”

“Am I? I didn't notice.”

Dante grasped her hand, lifting it to his lips to breathe upon. After a moment, he pressed it back against his chest to warm it further. He watched her reaction carefully, looking for signs of revulsion. Instead, her eyes darkened like smoldering embers.

Once more, his body responded to her closeness, only this time, he did not know if he had the strength to pull himself away.

What would she do if he lowered his lips to hers? If he tilted his face to the right, she would not even have to gaze upon his mask.

His mask.

Picturing it felt like being doused in an icy stream. What was he thinking? She was beautiful, intelligent, kind and obviously well off. All of time was at her disposal. She could have her pick of lovers. Why would she ever choose him?

Dante stepped away, releasing his hold on Elsa's hand. A delicate crease appeared between her brows, but only for a moment.

“There is a cat in your house,” Dante said.

“Yes. That's Leonardo.”

She clicked her fingers at the sleek black cat licking its paw at the top of the stairs. It looked up as she said its name, sitting straight and gazing down upon them. Its eyelids lowered after a moment, and the little creature sighed as if they were beneath its notice.

“Leonardo, mind your manners.” Elsa walked up the stairs and picked up the cat, then began scratching under its chin and along its neck. It purred loudly as she cuddled it to her chest. “You'll have to forgive Leonardo. He likes to try to trip people. Winston treats it like some kind of game, but I worry.”

Dante thought of suggesting she keep the cat outside, but something in the way she was holding it made him think better of that. He stooped to pick up the book he had dropped. As he rose, he inspected it for damage and was relieved to find none. He followed Elsa up the stairs, watching her carry Leonardo along with her as she led Dante down a hallway that continued from the landing.

“I'll be close in case you need anything.” She stopped at the first door on their right. It was carved of a deep walnut that matched the rest of the house. “My room is right here.”