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, cuppin
g 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.”
Ian waited impatiently, his eyes on the glowing hands of his watch. Teague would be in place soon. But waiting was a torment.
Outside Ian heard a thud. And then the keening cry of a dog.
Churchill.
Damn them, they had the dog. He must have gotten out earlier, maybe past Marston and out through the kitchen.
His face carefully masked, Ian pushed open the heavy oak door.
The supposed Inspector and his assistant stood in the high beams of a Range Rover. Another car was angled in the drive behind them. Ian saw them toss a heavy fishing net down on the ground before them.
The net moved. He heard Churchill whimper.
Damn them to hell.
He was careful to betray no emotions. “Back so soon, Inspector? I’ve nothing to report, I’m afraid.”
“Your act was quite convincing, Woods. Or should I say Sinclair, Commander Sinclair of the Royal Protection Squad?” The taller man nudged Churchill with his boot, and the dog snapped vainly, trapped in the tight network of fibers. “I’ve no more time for games. Where is the woman, damn it?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Beyond the two parked cars, Ian saw a wisp of movement. Izzy would be in place now, and Calan moved somewhere out in the darkness, missing nothing.
He raised the shotgun slowly. “Unwrap the dog. Let him go. Then we’ll talk.”
“Such loyalty for a brute animal.” The ‘inspector’ shrugged. “No, we’ll talk after you bring Clair Haywood outside. Then of course I’ll release your dog.”
Ian knew it was a lie. They would all die out here in the ice storm if he wasn’t careful.
“Very well. I’m putting down my weapon.” Out beyond the moat he saw a rush of muscle and the glint of fur. But Ian kept his eyes on his whimpering dog as he slowly leaned down, placing the shotgun on the ground. Without waiting, he inched closer to Churchill, reaching for the knotted cords.
A bullet slammed into the ground beside his foot.
“Not so fast, Commander. Call the woman outside. Do it now.”
Ian saw Churchill wheeze in pain. The thought sent a wave of fury boiling through him.
But he forced his face to stay calm. “I’ll have to go inside. I warned her not to come out, no matter what she heard or saw.”
“A wise injunction. But now you are going to break it.”
But before Ian reached the first step, the door opened slowly.
Clair stood in the light from the hall, his jacket around her shoulders. “Of course you came. You couldn’t stop, could you? Nina wasn’t enough. But you’re too late.” She smiled coldly, her hands clenched. “I’ve already called the inspector in London. He knows your name and all the rest of your plans.”
“Most unwise of you.” He raised a squat Browning and motioned her closer. “Move away from the house. Otherwise I will shoot the Commander and his dog. I doubt you would care for that.”
Clair moved as if in a trance.
She took in the men silhouetted in the bright lights of the Range Rovers. She saw the dog, struggling weakly in his bonds. Most of all she saw Ian. His eyes warned her away, but Clair ignored his silent command.
“I can hardly harm you. It seems that you have all the weapons now. But you always were afraid, weren’t you? Always a gun beneath your pillow. Nina told me that.” She smiled thinly. “She also told me where you keep the keys to that safe. You thought she didn’t see you, but you were wrong.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Clever little fool. Not that it did her any good. Nor will it do you any good.”
His Browning rose as Clair moved closer.
She had no time to process the shadow that exploded from the bank of roses beside the moat. She sensed more than saw a powerful body and burning eyes.
The man standing behind the inspector fell and his weapon flew through the air. Scrambling, Clair caught it up as it hit the gravel. With a snarl the man in the black raincoat aimed his gun at the dog, already tearing through the net. Clair didn’t think. Her hand tightened, squeezing the trigger.
Her target rasped a curse and looked down in disbelief as his right leg gave way, his kneecap shattered.
Car doors opened. Two men leaped outside.
Clair felt a heavy weight at her shoulders as she was knocked to the ground. Dark fur pinned her when she would have stood. She saw Ian running now, saw a man at the low door to the gatehouse at the far side of the drive.
A bullet sang past her ear and grazed her head. She tried to stand, but something seemed to hold her fast. The perfume of roses drifted around her as she watched a powerful shape bound away toward the men fighting under the single wreath at the abbey’s great door.
Your work is done here. Leave the rest to them. You will not be betrayed this night.
Clair felt the weight of memories that came in the same instant as the brush of phantom fingers.
Adrian? Is that you?
Of a certainty. Always too stubborn and too brave. Then as well as now. But you must trust him. He will put things all to right.
And maybe, once all this is done, you’ll show me that painting you made of my roses…all those centuries ago.
If it was a dream, it felt clearer than any reality. Clair shivered and could have sworn she saw dim lace flutter against a black velvet sleeve.
&n
bsp; Then the lights swam around her. She was so cold.
And then only darkness.
Ian fought with cold, clinical accuracy. Two men fell. From the corner of his eye, he saw Izzy take down two more. Calan was nowhere to be seen, but the muffled groans up the slope told Ian that his friend had hunted well.
He stood up, watching the man whom Clair had shot crawling through the mud, moaning.
Ian made no move to help him, moving down to free his dog instead.
Churchill gave a clumsy wag of the tail and tried to stand. He shook himself hard, nudged Ian’s leg and then bounded into the darkness.
More men waiting, Ian thought.
But where in the hell was Clair?
You must allow me my small vanities, old friend. She is well. Not that she needed the help of either of us. Guard her close.
And think well on the path before you. Do not lose her again as you did before.
Ian shoved away the odd, disjointed words that filled his mind. He saw the shape near the banked roses and knew somehow that it was Clair.
But her eyes did not open. Her hands were limp.
“Clair,” he said hoarsely, pulling her against his chest, willing her to move.
He did not release her until Izzy crouched beside him and forced his hands away.
London
Metropolitan Police Department
Two weeks later
Ian Sinclair walked through the crowded corridors, past whirring fax machines and banks of desks. No one hailed him or stopped to talk.
Eyes were averted except for the occasional glance at the black band around his arm.
His eyes were hard as he walked to his desk and methodically cleared out its contents. For a job that had spanned nearly a decade, there was precious little to show. He looked at the single Christmas card on his desk and shoved it into the dustbin.
After shoving the pens, notebooks and a single file into his canvas satchel, he stood up and glanced around the room. Silence fell. The man at the closest desk glanced up at him and cleared his throat. “Sorry about the news, Sinclair.”
Christmas at Draycott Abbey Page 5
