Stardust of Yesterday

by Lynn Kurland

  “You bastard,” she said, choking on a sob. “Damn you!” She brushed past him and fled from the room. He was right behind her, pleading for her to listen, but she wouldn’t. She put her hands over her ears in an effort to drown out the voice that went straight into her mind.

  “Stop it!” she cried shrilly, bursting into his room and slamming the door behind her. She dug her suitcase out from the wardrobe and threw it on the bed. Then she reached into the trunk under the window and grabbed armfuls of clothes. She flung them haphazardly into the suitcase. Kendrick appeared next to her.

  “Genevieve, I beg you—”

  “To what? Start another life so you can ruin that too?”

  “I didn’t know you—”

  “As if that excuses you,” she cried.

  “Genevieve, damnation, will you just let me explain?”

  “Just leave me alone! And after everything I told you. How could you have been so cruel?”

  Clothes started flinging themselves out of the suitcase as fast as she could shove them in.

  “Nazir, I need no aid!” Kendrick thundered.

  Nazir was obviously not listening. If she hadn’t been so devastated, Genevieve might have laughed at the struggle she was having with Kendrick’s servant. She continued to ignore Kendrick as she fought to retrieve her clothes. Finally she just shut the lid and dragged the suitcase off the bed.

  “Genevieve, you can start over again here,” he said firmly, as if his was the only opinion that mattered. “I’ll help.”

  “I don’t want to start here,” she said through gritted teeth, giving her suitcase a mighty tug. It wouldn’t come off the bed. Nazir became visible, holding onto the handle and fighting to pull the suitcase his way.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Kendrick said, brushing aside her words as if they’d been an annoying bit of dust. “Your business will be twice as fine here. Why, we’ll use the garrison hall as a shoppe of sorts where people can come and see all types of furniture—”

  Genevieve let go of her luggage and turned to face Kendrick, hoping that her anguish was plain to see. “I don’t want to start over again here,” she said. “My life was there.”

  “But—”

  “You’re a cold, calculating bastard, Kendrick of Seakirk. I don’t know how you can look me in the face after what you’ve done. Don’t you have any shame?”

  “I did what I had to do at the time. You know I wouldn’t have done it had I known you.”

  “And that excuses you?” she retorted.

  “Can you blame me?”

  “Yes,” she cried. “It was my life you ruined.”

  “And what of my life? I had to have you here, one way or another.”

  “To kill me!”

  “Nay,” he said, shaking his head sharply. “To sign away your right to the castle.”

  “Sign away my right to the castle?” she echoed. “But why?”

  His expression tightened into a grim mask. “Because it’s the only way I can be free. Once your signature is on the deed, Matilda’s curse will be broken and I can join my family in the next life.”

  Genevieve put her hand to her mouth. “That’s the only reason you did it? The only reason you ruined my business?”

  He nodded.

  A half-sob escaped her. “Why didn’t you just ask? Why did you have to ruin my life while you were at it?”

  “I didn’t think you’d help me willingly.”

  “So, now it’s either your dream or mine, isn’t it? I give up living here in this castle and you have your freedom, or you give up your freedom and I keep my dream.”

  He wore the grimmest, most world-weary expression she’d ever seen. His answer was terse.

  “Aye.”

  “Then forget it,” she spat. “Keep it all. My dream and your chains. I’m not signing a damn thing.”

  “Genevieve, that’s not what I want—”

  “I don’t care what you want!”

  “If you would listen to reason,” he said hotly, “you would see that we can work this—”

  Genevieve turned and ran to the door. Only instinct made her grab her purse. She’d buy other clothes once she was away. As long as she had her passport and a hefty amount of Kendrick’s money, life wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Master, stop her!”

  “Let her go,” Kendrick snapped. “She won’t listen to reason anyway.”

  It was only sheer luck that kept Genevieve on her feet and not tumbling down the circular staircase. She was still weeping as she fled through the great hall. She collided with Worthington at the front door.

  “My lady!” he exclaimed.

  She pulled back and glared at him. “Did you know too? All in on this together, huh? You, Bryan and His Bastardship?”

  “In on what?” Worthington asked, genuinely confused. “My lady, what by the blessed name of St. George has happened?”

  “Let Kendrick tell you about it since he’s the one who ruined my life.”

  “Oh, my lady, you’re overwrought. Let’s have a nice cup of tea and you’ll tell me the story,” he said soothingly.

  “I don’t want any tea. I want the keys to the Jag.”

  Worthington hesitated, then nodded. Genevieve watched him go, her eyes burning with unshed tears. How could Kendrick have been so cruel? Dreams Restored was the only thing in her life that had ever worked out right for her. Her business had taken the place of her parents, her friends and a lover. It had been her life. And Kendrick had destroyed it.

  He’d been about as compassionate as Matilda.

  Worthington stood with his hands clasped behind his back and watched as Genevieve descended the steps. She looked as if everything she’d ever loved had been ripped away from her. Perhaps that wasn’t so far from the truth. And after how happy she and Kendrick had become together. Worthington shook his head again. What a disastrous turn of events.

  “You’ll call?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded.

  “And you’ll be home soon.” He tried to make it sound like an inescapable eventuality.

  How bloodshot were those sweet hazel eyes. Worthington’s heartstrings were pulled uncomfortably taut.

  “I don’t know, Worthington,” she said in a whispery voice, rough with grief. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”

  Worthington nodded, knowing there was nothing else he could say. “Drive carefully.”

  She smiled grimly. “I won’t wreck His Lordship’s toy.”

  “The car be damned.”

  Genevieve walked to the low-slung Jaguar. She stopped and looked up suddenly. What she saw evidently grieved her, for she hastily turned away and slid in under the wheel of the car. She started it up and it purred sweetly, just for her. Worthington watched with moist eyes as she drove down the road and through the inner curtain gate. He walked down the steps, then looked up, wondering what she had seen.

  Kendrick stood at the window, with his hands pressed against the glass.

  “What a mess you’ve made of things, my lord,” Worthington said, shaking his head sadly as he reentered the house.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kendrick stood on the battlements in his usual place, hoping against hope that the waves would soothe him. He’d been standing on the roof for a solid week, hoping for the same thing. But how could the waves comfort him when he had never more in life or death deserved misery? He wiped his hands over his face, sucked in a deep breath and looked up into the heavens. God help him, he should have told her about the deed to the castle. He should have shouted out the words as he was trying to frighten her into leaving. That would have sent her packing in record time.

  But nay, he had given in to the selfish desire to keep her near him. Instead of letting her go as he should have, he had plotted and schemed to keep her close. And what had it earned him? A week of bliss immediately followed by the most hellish week he had passed in over seven hundred years.

  Keeping her close wasn’t what he’d done that was so te
rribly wrong. His offense lay in not being honest with her. He should have curled up in bed with her one night and gently told her of the curse and how he could be freed from it. She might have shared in his relief that after seven hundred years of haunting, he had finally come up with a legal means to break the malediction that had bound him to the stone of the castle only for so long as it did not belong to him in truth. She would have understood his motives for having treated her so poorly, and then she would have listened to him give her the most sincere apology of his life. Assuming she accepted it, he would have then looked deep into her eyes and told her the words that had gotten stuck in his throat that disastrous afternoon in the blue room when he had revealed his role in the scheme of things.

  He didn’t want her to sign the deed.

  He groaned, a sound that came from deep within his soul. Not even those words would have ever compensated for what he’d done to bring her to England. He had ruthlessly and methodically destroyed her reputation. Aye, he was a fine warrior indeed. He’d identified his prey, scrutinized her perimeter, then systematically destroyed the walls that surrounded her, all with the precision and detachment of a seasoned mercenary. She might have forgiven him for other things, but she would never forgive him for that.

  How he wanted her to! He looked down at the stone under his fingers, remembering how Genevieve had leaned against that very stone and poured out the deepest dreams of her soul. And somehow, beyond reason and beyond hope, he had become a part of those dreams. How he had adored her then! And how earnestly he had made his vows, vows to make her happy, to see that she lacked for nothing, to do everything in his power to keep her safe. Useless vows now. She would never accept anything from him, which meant he had nothing to give her.

  Except restitution.

  “My lord?”

  Kendrick turned a weary look on his steward. “Any word?” “Nay, my lord. I was hoping Nazir would have followed her and returned with a report.”

  “Nazir said, and I quote, ‘I don’t like you very much at present, Master. I think I will shadow the Mistress for a time.’ He won’t come back unless she does.”

  “Do you want her back?”

  “Merciful saints above, Worthington, have you gone daft?” Kendrick bellowed, feeling his anguish coat every word as if with blood. “Of course I want her back!”

  “Perhaps it would not be inappropriate for you to search.”

  Kendrick turned a stone-faced expression toward the sea. “Don’t be cruel, Worthington. It doesn’t become you.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you try to leave the keep, my lord. What is that commercial they have in the Colonies? Let your fingers do the walking?”

  With that, Worthington turned and walked away.

  Kendrick clapped his hand to his forehead and cursed himself for his stupidity. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He turned and sprinted toward the battlement door.

  “Damn you, Worthington, wait! I can’t dial the bloody phone myself!”

  Genevieve lugged her shopping bags over to a taxi and gratefully allowed the man to help her. Once her purchases were settled, she collapsed into the back seat and groaned at her protesting muscles. Shopping was backbreaking work.

  After giving the man a tip that made him grin from ear to ear, she had her purchases sent up, then made her way to the small tea shop. She’d never been particularly fond of tea back in the States, but she’d definitely acquired a taste for it in England. The only thing she didn’t like was that it relaxed her enough to allow her to think. Thinking was hardly her favorite activity as it invariably led to remembering and that led to pain. At least it had initially.

  When she’d arrived in London a week ago, she’d been bitter and hurt. Not even spending thousands of pounds on clothes and jewelry had made her feel any better. As the hours had trudged by, she’d become first numb, then thoughtful. For the first time, she thought she understood a bit of the pain Kendrick felt. Hadn’t Matilda ruined his life just as he’d ruined hers?

  But was her life truly ruined? At least she still had a body—and what a precious blessing that was! She could still travel, see new places, taste foreign foods, smell strange and marvelous fragrances. Kendrick could do none of those things. Perhaps Kendrick had destroyed her dreams, but hadn’t he, in his own way, restored them? He’d shared his home with her. He had taught her about football. He’d even offered to fund her business ventures.

  But he’d given her more than that. He had made her feel beautiful. He had looked at her with love in his eyes and offered to be her champion. He had teased her, sung to her, ordered her around arrogantly. Wasn’t that worth a bit of forgiveness?

  And after all, he hadn’t known her, had he? If he had, he would have known a mere smile would have brought her to him. It was only out of ignorance that he’d ruined her life. If she were to be completely honest with herself, she had to admit that he hadn’t really done even that. He’d ruined her business, yes, but not her life. Her life was far fuller now than it ever had been before.

  She set her teacup down and pushed it away from her. In a few more days, she would go home and if he wanted her to sign the papers, she would. If not, she would hug him as best she could and tell him just how much she loved him.

  She made her way up to her suite. It was a beautiful room. She’d have to take the brochure with her so Kendrick could see. He’d be surprised at what a change it was from the inn where the bawdy wench had swiped Royce’s mail.

  The phone rang.

  Genevieve looked at it, knowing without even picking it up who was on the other end of the line. She wiped her hands on her jeans and took a deep breath. There was no reason to be nervous. It was just Kendrick. She’d talked to him before. She could handle this. Except that she felt as if she were on the verge of something very momentous. She walked over to the bedside table and looked down at the phone.

  It continued to ring.

  She reached out and snatched up the receiver.

  “Hello?” she said breathlessly.

  “Do you have any idea how many bloody hotels, inns, youth hostels, boardinghouses and rooms for let there are between Seakirk and London?”

  She sank down on her bed, her knees not up to the job of keeping her standing.

  “I don’t, but I have the feeling you do.”

  “Genevieve, I hardly know—”

  “Kendrick, there’s no need—”

  “Please,” he said, hoarsely, “let me finish. What I did to you was unforgivable. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again. If I could leave Seakirk, I’d give it to you and never darken your door again.”

  “Kendrick, really—”

  “I’ll buy you whatever you need to start over again. Pick a city, find a house and all the trappings and I’ll see that it’s yours. I’ll spread your reputation far and wide as the most marvelous of restoration experts. You’ll have so much business, you’ll need a garrison of assistants to help you. I think New York might be best, but if you want to go back to San Francisco, I’ll see that you have your old home back. Or I’ll find you a new one if you like. Whatever pleases you.”

  Genevieve felt numbness start at her hairline and work its way down. This wasn’t what she had been expecting to hear. He was supposed to want her back, not want to send her further away.

  “I see,” she said, tonelessly.

  “It will never replace what I took from you, but unfortunately there are limits to the restitution I can make.”

  “I see,” she repeated, wondering why she couldn’t say anything else. “Then you want me to move back to the States.”

  “I know you don’t want to come back here.”

  She was silent. Her hurt was like bitter bile in the back of her throat. He didn’t want her back. She blinked furiously to keep her tears from falling.

  “I’ll send your things along if you wish it. I know you don’t want to come back to get them—”

  “Well, you don’t know everything now, do you?”
she snapped and slammed the receiver down. Damn him to hell! He was supposed to apologize, then promise her undying love, tell her he couldn’t bear life without her, that the thought of facing another day without her by his side was just more than he could take. He wasn’t supposed to call to tell her she didn’t have to bother coming back to get her things. Why didn’t he leave them out by the moat while he was at it?

  The phone began to ring again. She let it ring a good twenty times before she yanked the receiver up.

  “What?”

  First there was silence, then the sound of a deep voice echoing in her ear. “Come home.”

  No request, no please, just a demand.

  It was the sweetest demand she had ever heard. Genevieve let out her breath slowly.

  “Of course, my lord.”

  More silence.

  “I love you.”

  “Oh, Kendrick,” she said, fumbling for a Kleenex, “I do too.”

  He cleared his throat gruffly. “I don’t hear you packing yet.”

  Genevieve hugged herself. What did she need with flowery phrases when she had a demanding, arrogant, impossible knight waiting for her at home? She laughed, feeling wonderfully cherished.

  “I have a bit more shopping to do yet.”

  “More?” he choked. “Genevieve, I’ll have to start robbing unwary travelers if you don’t take pity on my funds.”

  “Liar,” she said as she lay back on the bed, smiling up at the ceiling. “Where are you?”

  “Face down on the table in the kitchen. Worthington was good enough to dial and then lay the receiver down where I could lean my ear on it.”

  “Why didn’t you just put your voice in my mind, like you do at home?”

  “You’re past Seakirk’s boundaries. And I don’t like that, by the way. I’ve given the term restless spirit an entirely new meaning the past fortnight.”

  “Is Worthington ready to quit?”

  “I wouldn’t know. He’s been spending most of his time down at the pub. What have you been doing? Besides spending my money,” he added darkly.

  “Looking in antique shops,” she said. “I wish you could see some of the stuff. I got a few catalogues to bring home.”