She had no more than unlatched the front door when she sensed that something was amiss. She neither saw nor heard anything strange, but she felt an eerie stirring in the air. Once again, she had the feeling someone was watching her. Grasping a stout umbrella from the hat rack in the hallway to defend herself if need be, she moved soundlessly from room to room on the main floor—searching, listening, feeling a presence she could not see.
All clear on the first floor, she edged slowly up the narrow stairway, her heart beating so loudly that she was sure it sounded like the tattoo of a drum in the silent house. Bedroom by bedroom, she searched abovestairs.
Nothing! No one!
On silent feet, she made her way to the end of the hallway, to her own room. She thought she saw a faint glow of light coming from beneath the door. The moon shining through the window, she told herself.
A green moon? she wondered silently.
She gripped the glass knob, then turned it slowly, ever so slowly. When she eased the door open, her heart leaped into her throat, and she let out a sharp cry of terror. Clutching at her rampaging heart, she sank down into a chair, first gasping, then giggling.
The thing she had seen when she opened her door was no more than a curtain waving in the breeze blowing in through the open window.
“You ninny!” she exclaimed aloud, taking comfort in the sound of her own voice. “You silly, silly woman—frightened by a fluttering bit of lace!”
She had almost calmed herself when realization dawned, and with it a new wave of fear. She had not left the window open! Before joining her uncle downstairs to go to the party, she had been standing at that very window. She had closed that very window!
Then she remembered the soft light she’d seen glowing under the door moments before. She glanced through the window at the night sky. The moon had set. Thick clouds obscured even the faint starlight. The night was as black as death.
“That will be quite enough!” Emily scolded.
Fumbling about her vanity to find a lucifer, she struck it to the oil lamp. Immediately, the shadows vanished in a warm, rosy glow. She took a deep breath and surveyed the room. Finding herself quite alone, she hurried to close and lock her door to keep it that way. Then she pulled down the window.
“There’s a perfectly logical explanation for this,” she assured herself. “Heatherbee was still here when I left. She probably came in and opened it, thinking I’d like my room aired.”
Even as Emily explained away the open window, she knew she was wrong. Hattie Heatherbee could not abide fresh air. The woman, a hypochondriac by nature, attributed most of the world’s ills to too much breathing of air that had not been confined properly within four walls.
Emily rubbed a hand over her forehead and found it damp with perspiration, even though the night had turned chilly.
“I’m simply tired,” she murmured, “and imagining things. Like that man at the Castines’. Of course, it couldn’t have been Jonathan Webb. Not unless I conjured up an image of him with my warped and weary mind. I need sleep! Everything will right itself by daylight.”
So saying, she slipped into the dressing room that adjoined her bedchamber. She struggled out of her party clothes, quickly shed her underthings, then pulled on a long gown of soft linen.
Moments later, she was at her vanity, thinking that she felt too tired even to remove the combs from her hair. A weariness that she had never known in her life overtook her suddenly. She was trying to make herself move when she felt a tug at one of the ivory combs. Her hand went quickly to her hair. She felt one loose wave and the comb barely caught in the tresses.
“Oh, bother! If it’s coming undone, I suppose I’ll have to take them all out.”
She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning her head down on her crossed arms. Already, she was drifting off to sleep. Halfway between waking and sleeping, she felt the other combs slide away, one by one. She sighed with relief that the task was done, never questioning in her drowsy state exactly how it had been accomplished. Next, she felt her hair being brushed with sure but gentle strokes.
Her eyes still closed, she smiled. “Heatherbee, what are you doing here at this time of night? You should have gone home hours ago. And my bedtime toilette is certainly not a required secretarial duty.”
“No duty, Emily. A pleasure,” a man’s husky voice replied.
Emily’s eyes shot wide, and she stiffened. She stared into the mirror. Behind her, she saw only a greenish glow.
“Who are you?” she cried. “And what are you doing in my room?”
She tried to pull away, but something had a firm grip on her hair—so firm that her scalp tingled. Pleasantly so, in spite of her fear.
“Answer me!” she demanded.
Slowly, as she continued to stare wild-eyed into the mirror, the vapor dispersed, and she found herself gazing at Jonathan Webb. Yes, it was he, she had no doubt this time. His tall, muscular frame, his longish rusty-blond hair, and the handsomest face she had ever seen. Deep lines of concentration etched his wide forehead as he centered his full attention on brushing her long, black hair.
Her fear fled on a wave of relief. “Jonathan!” she said, gasping to catch her breath.
When he didn’t answer, she reached back and caught both his wrists. Their eyes met in the mirror. Those were Jonathan’s blue eyes, all right, but they had an odd greenish shimmer.
“Jonathan, what are you doing here? And why did you leave the party when I went to get help?”
“No help,” he replied with a lopsided smile. “No need. I have recovered now, you see. I am almost myself again.”
She turned then and stared at him directly. “I want to know exactly what is going on. The way you talk…that strange green glow in your eyes…Are you Jonathan Webb or aren’t you? Are you even real?”
In answer to her final question, he touched her face—only a gentle touch, a slight caress—but it was more than enough to set Emily trembling.
“I am Jonathan from the water,” he answered cryptically, obviously concentrating very hard on every word he spoke.
She kept staring into his eyes; she couldn’t help herself. His gaze never wavered. Whoever he was and whatever he meant by his strange answer, he obviously believed he was telling her the truth.
“Do you mean that you are not Jonathan from the ship, from the Union Star?”
He seemed to consider this for a moment, his brow wrinkling again. Then he answered, “I am from a star and from a ship, but not from your Union Star.” Then he nodded and smiled for the first time, obviously pleased with his confounding answer.
His smile—so boyish, so tender—made Emily burn to reach out and touch him. But she forced herself to remain calm and rational. She had to think. She had to make some sense of all this.
“Then you are not Jonathan Webb?” she said. “But you look exactly like him. Why, you’re even wearing his clothes.”
“I am,” he answered, frowning again, but looking disturbingly handsome all the same. “You are fond of Jonathan Webb, so I am he.”
Emily paused to collect her thoughts. This line of questioning was getting her nowhere. She was more confused now than ever. And probably she should be afraid. But she wasn’t. She decided to try a different approach.
“Where did you come from?”
He turned and pointed to the window—the one that had been open when she arrived home.
“Before you came here to my house, I mean. Where do you live?”
Again, he offered her a slow, boyish grin, and the shimmer of his eyes flashed almost luminous green. Then with one finger, he pointed up to the ceiling.
“Are you saying you live on my roof?” Emily had heard tales of roof-dwellers. Not in Washington, but in London. Could this strange, mesmerizing man be one of those people who lived in a world all his own between earth and sky?
“Above,” he answered at length. “Far above. Far away.”
Emily shook her head until her long hair flowed about her shoulder
s like dark waves. “This is all too baffling. Can’t you give me a direct answer to anything?” She looked into his eyes, studying their deep, gleaming turquoise. Then she asked bluntly, “Should I be afraid of you?”
At this question, his face fell. She saw as much pain there as if she had struck him a fierce blow.
“No, Emily, no,” he whispered, shaking his head vigorously. “Have no fear of me. I am here for you. You are my mission.”
As he had done in the grove, he reached out and caressed her cheek, his eyes speaking sweet, silent volumes. “I come only to love you, Emily. My time is short here. Then I shall return and leave you to your own ways, to your own life.”
She sat stunned, facing him, puzzling over his words. Suddenly, she realized his gaze had left her face to drift downward. He was unabashedly staring at the dark rosettes of her nipples pressed taut to the thin linen of her gown. She watched, fascinated, as two narrow beams of light radiated from his eyes toward her breasts. Suddenly, a warm wave of pleasure washed over her. Her nipples puckered as if they had been caressed.
Fighting back a moan of sheer ecstasy, she quickly crossed her arms over her breasts. He had touched her! But how?
“You shouldn’t do that!” she snapped. “You shouldn’t even be here!”
“Why?” It was an open, honest question. He obviously hadn’t a clue as to the answer.
“Because!” Emily said, as annoyed at her own inarticulate explanation as she was at his obviously feigned innocence. Surely, he knew the impropriety of invading a lady’s boudoir.
“Because is not a reason,” he answered logically. “I am meant to be here, so here I am.” He knelt down before her and placed his hands on either side of her, not quite touching her thighs, but close enough so she could sense his heat. “I am here for you, Emily.”
“Who sent you? Is this another outrageous scheme cooked up by my matchmaking uncle?”
He shook his head slowly. “No. You might say I was sent by your father.”
Emily drew back with a gasp, real fear registering on her face and in her heart for the first time. She had never known her father, but she remembered his story well. He had gone away to fight for the Confederacy during the War Between the States. When he didn’t come home, he was assumed killed in one of the battles. For years, his wife had waited, never giving up hope. Then, one day, long after the bloody war was done, Arthur Middleton had walked up the lane to the old house in Bryantown as if he were only coming in from a day’s labor in the fields. Emily’s mother had told her many times of their joyous reunion. Shortly after her husband’s return, Mary Elizabeth Middleton had become pregnant with her one and only child, Emily. Then, a short while later, Emily’s father had once more disappeared, never to return home again.
“My father is dead,” Emily murmured in a stunned whisper.
The man before her shook his head slightly and offered her a reassuring smile. “Not dead, only gone back as I will go soon.”
Emily experienced a sudden sadness and deep sense of loss at his mention of the parent she had never known. Lowering her head, she felt tears trickle down her cheeks. She sniffed softly.
Once again, the stranger’s warm hands touched her, cupping her face and raising her eyes to his. She felt caring and consolation radiate from his flesh, his touch soothing away her tears.
“Do not cry, Emily. Your father is a great and much respected man. A Prime Commander of the Starwanderers.”
Emily caught her breath when she heard that word for the second time this evening. Her uncle had said that her mother had spoken of a Starwanderer. The odd-shaped pieces began to fall into place in Emily’s mind. But could it be? Could some alien from a far-off planet have come down to father her after her mother’s husband was killed in the war?
“Tell me who you are,” Emily demanded, her narrowed eyes insisting upon the truth—the whole truth. “Why are you here?”
“I am a Starwanderer from the planet Uruzia. We have been coming here since the very beginning,” he explained. “From our ships in the heavens, we watched your Earth take shape and form. From above, we watched as it cooled from a glowing ball and became solid. We saw the first beings come to life on your planet. We want Earth to continue as a vibrant, living world. But long ago, we figured out what is destined to happen to the human race. You are doomed unless we provide assistance. We are stronger, more able to resist disease and disaster. And human blood grows thinner, more diluted as humans become inbred.”
Emily could hardly believe her ears. “Humans? Inbred?” she cried. “What other choice have we? Whatever can you be suggesting?”
“That my race must blend with yours if humans are to survive.”
“Your race? Blend!” Emily blinked once and then again as the full meaning of his words sank in. “Blend as in marry, you mean?”
He was staring at her again with those wonderfully hypnotic eyes, caressing her, fondling her intimately with his strangely charged gaze.
“No,” he whispered. “I have come to make a child with you, Emily, but marriage, as you call it, is not part of the mission. As I said, I must return soon, and then you will go on with your life and I with mine. It is the only way. You must understand this from the start.”
Emily rose abruptly from the vanity and strode across the room to the window, trying to make sense of all this. “No!” she said, after a moment. “This is crazy!” Then turning back to the Starwanderer, she asked, “What if I refuse?”
He moved toward her, but made no attempt to touch her again. “I am here now,” he said gently. “I will not allow you to refuse.”
“You mean you’ll force me?” she cried, horrified and more than a bit frightened.
He shook his head and smiled almost sadly, looking so very much like Jonathan at the moment of their parting. “Forcing is not part of my mission. Convincing is.”
With those words, he took her gently into his arms, his hands touching tender points on her body that craved his caress. She went weak with pleasure—sighing softly, moaning with a sudden desire she tried desperately to suppress. But it was no use. He traced the delicate shell of her ear. He fondled the back of her neck, then let his hands glide up through her hair. Her eyelids, the sensitive spot to the left of her lips. And, finally, he cupped her aching breasts. He knew her every wish and granted it.
Again, he kissed her, but this time it was far different from the times before. This kiss held a promise of so much love and rapture to come that Emily felt herself trembling against him, almost ready to beg for what he was offering. Her head spun dizzily. Her heart pounded a frantic tattoo inside her quivering breast.
The kiss went on and on. And as he kissed her, he continued touching her—brushing an open palm over the thin fabric that clothed her breasts, playing with her hair, sliding his fingers down the curve of her hip, pressing the small of her back until her thighs met the heat of his loins.
When he released her at last, Emily was quivering burning with pure, rampant need. She sank down into a chair and stared at him through the rosy light of the coming dawn.
“I would never force you, Emily.” His voice was a husky whisper that sent a shiver of longing through her. The very simplicity of his words and their loving delivery banked the fires burning deep in Emily’s heart.
I don’t think you’ll have to, she admitted, though only to herself.
Still, there was much she wanted to know about this other Jonathan Webb.
6
“You saved me,” Emily said, trying to sound composed while her heart continued to thunder in her breast. “I suppose I do owe you.”
“You owe me nothing. I saved you for myself.”
“How long will you stay here?”
He motioned toward the lightening heavens. “At the first dawning of May, the window in the sky will close. Before then, my mission must be accomplished, so that I may depart.”
“That’s only six days. What happens if you don’t leave then?”
He paused thoughtfully, the blue of Jonathan’s eyes overlaid with the Starwanderer’s shimmer of green as he stared at her intently. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Disobeying orders to stay beyond the limit has never been discussed.” He shrugged, then stated matter-of-factly, “I would probably cease to be.”
“You mean die? Oh, no!” Emily cried, truly distraught that harm might come to him. “Why?”
“Your atmosphere here on Earth is different from that of my planet. Perhaps I could adjust, perhaps not. Then, too, I am unused to this borrowed human form.”
Emily shuddered slightly. “You borrowed Jonathan’s body?”
His eyes pleaded with her to understand. “He had no further need for it. There was little time to consider my actions, Emily.”
She gasped. “Why, that’s beastly!”
He looked away, unable to meet her accusing gaze. “I’m sorry. But it is all part of my mission. There is no other way that we can blend properly. You would find my natural form unnatural, I’m afraid.”
Emily had turned away from him, fighting to control her tears. He touched her arm, and the warm tingling returned. Suddenly, she understood and accepted all that he had told her.
“You were drowning,” he continued. “Jonathan could no longer help you. I had to save you, even if it meant my own end.”
“You risked your life for me?”
“I would do it again, Emily. I would do anything to be with you.”
His statement brought other questions to mind. “Where did you go after you rescued me? That was two weeks ago. Have you been here all that time?”
He shook his head and offered her an embarrassed, boyish grin. “No. I was recovering, as I told you. Assuming human form is difficult.” He flexed his shoulders, then stretched his arms. “These flesh suits are tight. They make breathing difficult. Once I got you to safety, I went back to my ship. There were repairs to be made, since I crashed it into the sea. But first I shed Jonathan, so that I could enter him more slowly. I had hoped that would help, but for days I was disoriented—neither myself nor Jonathan. I’m only beginning to feel normal now.”
Stars in Her Eyes Page 5
