Cathe picked up the box of books she’d gotten the day before and set it on the counter to price them before putting them on display.
What is it about romance novels that women find so appealing? She plucked one from the box, grinning at the gorgeous guy on the cover. That would explain it.
The day went by in a flurry of people looking for their next literary fix. Cathe could sympathize. She’d been addicted to reading since childhood, and it had stuck with her throughout her adult life as well. She read everything from memoirs to paranormal and a few other genres in between.
Thunder rolled in the distance followed by a web of flashes that streaked across the sky, signaling the impending arrival of the weather channel’s predicted storm.
Cathe decided to close up early, hoping to make it out of the store and arrive home ahead of the rain.
The chime sounded on the door just as she made it to the thermostat on the back wall. “One second!” Cathe yelled out, hoping to be heard over the thundering outside.
She switched off the heat and hurried back to the front. An elderly lady stood at the counter wearing a long wool coat that had seen better days, a tattered knitted hat, and a pair of thick glasses with lenses so dingy Cathe wondered how she could see out of them. Her shoes were well worn, and a piece of duct tape hung from the side of one.
Cathe’s heart went out to her. “Sorry about that. May I help you?”
“Just returning a book,” the elderly lady rasped, keeping her head down.
Cathe cleared her throat. “The library is two blocks over, ma’am. This is Fisher’s Bookstore.”
The ancient old woman glanced toward the door. “I’ll never make it there ahead of the rain. You’ll see that it gets to the library?”
Cathe peered down at the book and ran her fingers over the lettering on the light brown cover. A raised brass key symbol rested just below the title, giving it an ominous appearance. “Turn the Page,” she read aloud. “How clever.”
She carefully opened it to the first page and pulled out an old, faded library card. There were at least two dozen names written there, each one crossed through with ink. She glanced at the last name and the date listed next to it.
“Oh, wow, ma’am? Maybe you should just return it when you can. It was due back twenty-seven years ago.”
When no answer came, Cathe looked up in time to see the woman exiting the store. “Wait!” she called, rushing around the counter and out the front door only to find the sidewalk empty. The tiny old lady had disappeared.
Cathe clutched the book to her chest and carried it back inside, carefully depositing it into her purse before shutting down the register. She grabbed her keys and switched off the lights on her way out. It would be dark soon, and with it another temperature drop. She made a mental note to return the book to the library on her way to work the next morning.
Catching another cab, Cathe rode home in silence, staring out the window at the gathering clouds. How ironic that it would storm on the day of Jeff’s death, exactly as it had all those years ago. She hugged her purse to her chest The heavy feel of the book inside felt oddly comforting.
A sprinkling of rain had begun to fall as Cathe arrived home. She quickly paid the driver before jumping from the cab and sprinting to her door. A cup of hot tea and a nice long bubble bath were just the things she needed.
* * * *
Cathe stepped from the tub and briskly dried off. She grabbed her favorite robe, wrapped herself in its fluffy softness, and trailed off to her bedroom to fall across her bed. The electric blanket she’d turned on before her bath assured her of its warmth.
The phone rang, but she ignored it, pulling the old book free of her purse and crawling under the covers to scope it out. It was probably her older sister calling to check on her, anyway.
As far as families went, Cathe had a good one, and on any other day, she would have answered the call. Not today. Her emotions were riding too close to the surface, and the last thing she wanted to hear was, Happy birthday.
She took a deep breath and fought back the tears, well aware she should have stayed in therapy as recommended. Normal people moved on with their lives after the death of a loved one, but not Cathe. She grieved still, almost thirty years later.
Perhaps it was her fault for not letting go as she knew she should, yet something deep inside refused to do that very thing. Her relationships had always suffered. It was as if she couldn’t give what was needed, always holding back a part of herself, the part where pain was created and born…her heart.
The dream of settling down and having children had been taken from her years ago, along with any notion of a happily ever after. No one could replace Jeff, and no other child could ever take the place of the one she’d lost.
It wasn’t that there weren’t plenty of wonderful men in the world, Cathe thought with a sigh. They just didn’t deserve to be saddled with someone that couldn’t give them children or any kind of happiness.
She glanced around her room, admiring the antiques and expensive furniture. She’d worked hard for everything she had and obviously didn’t need a man to take care of things for her. No, she’d done just fine on her own…hadn’t she?
Cathe shook off her thoughts and opened the book, skimming over the acknowledgements and publishing information to the first chapter. She was determined to lose herself in someone else’s story for the night, no matter how briefly.
Two hours and many eye-watering moments later, Cathe found herself lost in the tale of the legendary, Lord Bryne Adair, Earl of Hallensberg.
Originally from Westminster, London, Lord Adair had recently married Maria Alontra, Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz’s lady-in-waiting. Maria died of diphtheria shortly after giving birth to Adair’s first-born son, and the child had passed not long after his mother.
Adair had been ordered by George William Frederick, King of England, to surrender his lands in exchange for a sizable castle in St. Augustine, Florida for the questioning of his allegiance.
When Adair refused, he’d been put on a ship with his belongings, and his castle had been burned to the ground.
Sources later revealed that Bryne Adair was thought to be the King’s illegitimate brother, but the accusations couldn’t be proven, and the only evidence in existence was assumed to have been destroyed along with Adair’s family home.
Bryne’s father, the Marquess of Hallensberg, had taken his own life not long after Bryne’s deportation to the Americas, leaving his title and legacy of shame to his only son.
Cathe yawned while blinking to keep her eyes open. She wondered how much of what she’d read was actually fact or fiction. The thought of losing a family home that had been passed down through generations on some bogus allegiance charge astounded her, but the loss of his wife and child was felt to her soul.
Her heart fluttered with the very description of the man as she continued to read. Why hadn’t some other available female swooped in and claimed him after his wife’s death?
There had to be more to the story, she concluded, turning the page…
Chapter Two
Cathe jerked awake as the crack of lightning exploded somewhere nearby. She peered into the darkness, shivering against the cold. The power must be out.
Climbing from the bed, she glided her feet around in a circle in search of her slippers, only to come up empty. She’d obviously left them in the bathroom.
While holding both hands out in front of her, she inched across the room toward her dresser, hoping to find the candles she’d always kept in the top right-hand drawer.
“Damn it,” she cried, hopping around on one foot after slamming her toe into an immovable object. There shouldn’t be anything in the middle of her floor.
More lightning struck, temporarily illuminating the room.
Cathe froze. Her heart began to pound, and an overwhelming feeling of confusion paralyzed her brain. She wasn’t in her bedroom or anyone else’s that she recognized, and the woman star
ing back at her from an antique mirror…was far too young to be her.
She lifted trembling hands to her face, tracing her fingers over soft, smooth skin. How had she erased twenty years from her life in one night?
Panic took hold, making it hard to breathe. Her hands continued to shake as she wandered aimlessly toward a giant door she’d caught a glimpse of during the brief lightning strike.
She must be dreaming, she decided, feeling her way along a rough wall. That was it. She’d fallen asleep while reading the book the old woman had left in the store and was now in the throes of strange dream where she’d traveled back to her youth.
“Move, and I will gut you like a pig,” a man’s voice growled in her ear. Something sharp pressed against her throat, and she bit back a scream.
This sure doesn’t feel like any dream I’ve ever experienced. “Please don’t hurt me.”
The voice rumbled again. “Who are you?”
“I’m lost, I swear. I have no idea how I came to be here, and if you will point me in the right direction, I will be out of your way this instant.”
“What gibberish do you speak?” He pressed the sharp object more firmly against her skin.
“Gibberish?” She couldn’t place his accent. It was prominently English with an American undertone, if that made sense, which it didn’t. Maybe she imagined gibberish as well as spoke it.
“Move.” He gave her a shove, pushing her forward, never easing up with his sharp weapon.
“I…I can’t see. Look, there’s been a huge mistake. I don’t understand how I got here. Please, if you can just call me a cab, I’ll be out of your hair and we can forget this ever happened.”
The pressure suddenly disappeared from her throat, and she nearly dropped to her knees in relief.
“What is this cab?”
Cathe blinked. “Seriously?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “You know…a taxi. The yellow car that transfers people from one place to another.”
“What manner of speech is this? I do not know what taxi you speak of.”
What manner of speech? “It doesn’t matter. I can get a ride home if you’d be so kind as to show me to the door.”
A light from an oil lamp suddenly flickered and came to life, illuminating the room in a warm glow. Cathe turned to face the man whose bed she’d awoken in, and her breath caught.
His dark hair hung in waves, resting on the biggest pair of shoulders she’d ever seen. Full, sexy lips were twisted into a frown that didn’t deter from their sexiness in the least. But it was his gunmetal-gray eyes that held her attention the most.
Too bad he happened to be the world’s biggest asshole. “Where am I?”
“In my home,” he growled, his beautiful eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I’m not dreaming?” She glanced down at her smooth, young hands. This couldn’t be happening to her, but it was. The evidence of it stared back at her in shocking affirmation.
“How did you get into my home?”
“I don’t know how I got here or even who you are, for that matter.”
“I am Lord Bryne Adair.”
Cathe’s heart stuttered. “Did…did you say Lord Bryne Adair?” She had to be dreaming or at the very least the star of someone’s joke.
“Who sent you?” He leaned in close, and his sweet, warm breath fanned across her face.
“Please, listen.” She gripped the lapels of her robe and pulled them together, effectively covering the upper swell of her breasts. “I fell asleep in my bed while reading this book about you. I don’t know how I came to be here. You have to believe me.”
“Trickery,” he barked, gripping her arm. “I will deal with you in the morning. Now, walk.”
“Where are we going?” His clean, fresh scent suddenly surrounded her, engulfing her in its unique essence. He smelled incredible.
“Tonight, you sleep with Ansel.”
“What’s an Ansel?” When he didn’t answer, she tried again. “I don’t want to sleep with Ansel. Please, there’s been a mistake.”
They entered a large hall made of stone, with sconces attached holding small oil lamps that burned every fifteen feet along the wall.
“Is this some kind of joke? Because if it is, it’s not funny,” Cathe whispered, taking in everything with a quick glance.
“You will return to William in the morning with a message.” He squeezed her arm for emphasis. “The next witch he thinks to send here will be sent back without a head.”
“You’re hurting me,” she ground out between clenched teeth. “The only William I know is my ten-year-old nephew, and I’d rather pass on becoming acquainted with your Ansel, thank you very much.” Anger was quickly replacing her fear.
He turned her around and crossed his arms over his massive chest. “Where is this book you speak of?”
“I was reading it in bed before I fell asleep.”
He grabbed a lamp from a holder on the wall and moved back into the bedroom, stopping at the foot of the bed. “There is no book.”
Cathe followed close behind. “That’s because this isn’t my bed. Look. I don’t know how I came to be here or even what this place is. All I know is that an old lady dropped a book off this evening in my store. There was a raised key on the cover beneath a title that read Turn the Page. That book was a two hundred and fifty-year-old story, and it was about you. You have to believe me.”
He leaned down until their noses nearly touched. “Lies.” Gripping her arm once more, he propelled her forward.
“Wait!” she cried, digging her heels in. “Just hear me out. My name is Catherine Grier, and I live at 2201 Santa Rosa Street in Pensacola Beach, Florida. I own Fisher’s Book Store and my telephone number is 850-555-3003. Call the cops; they can verify who I am.”
“I know not what a cop is or these numbers you refer to.”
I’m in the Twilight Zone.
“I don’t know what is going on, okay? I only know that I went to bed last night in the twenty-first century, reading that book, and I awoke to this.” She threw her arms out in a wide arc. “I’m freaking out as much as you are.”
He led her back to the hall and gave her a little shove. “Walk.”
Cathe wondered if maybe she’d died in her sleep and was now in purgatory. “Am I dead?”
“Not yet, but that could change depending on Ansel’s mood.”
“Listen. You don’t want to do this Ansel thing. If you will show me to the door, I’ll find my own way home.”
He didn’t answer, just continued to shove her forward.
They reached a flight of precarious-looking stone stairs with no handrails, and the drop off the side had to be at least twenty feet in height.
Petrified, Cathe froze. She’d always been afraid of heights. “I can’t.”
He spun her around, bent, and threw her over his shoulder.
The wind rushed out of her on impact as his shoulder slammed into her abdomen. “Put me down,” she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to block out the visual of the floor below.
He disregarded her plea and practically jogged down the incredibly steep steps.
“I’m going to be sick,” she moaned, gripping his shirt for support.
The sting of his palm against her rear jerked her out of her nauseous state.
“That hurt!” she yelled, slamming her fists against his back.
“Keep your mouth shut and do not think to be sick or perhaps I will change my mind and keep you in my bed for a time before giving you to Ansel.” He gently squeezed her behind for emphasis.
Cathe stilled. The feel of his warm palm caressing her bottom felt better than it should have, and it thoroughly pissed her off. “Take your hands off me this instant, you Neanderthal. And you can go on knowing that I will be pressing charges.”
The deep rumble of his laughter further enraged her, but she kept it to herself. There would be plenty of time later to watch him suffer behind bars.
They arrived at the bott
om of the stairs, and he set her on her feet. “In there.” He pointed to a half-open door with a fireplace burning in the back.
“Please listen to—”
“Go!” he roared, cutting her off.
Cathe ran into the room without a backward glance, jumping at the sound of the door slamming behind her. She spun around and reached for the doorknob, only to find a strange contraption resembling a brass spoon resting above a skeleton keyhole.
She drew back her fist, preparing to pound the walls down if necessary. Hopefully she could make enough noise to draw someone’s attention. Anyone other than asshole Adair.
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you.” A nasally voice drifted from somewhere nearby. “The master don’t like that sorta thing.”
Cathe sucked in a breath and spun to scan the room. “Who’s there?”
A tall, lanky man came limping from the shadows, holding a candle in one hand and a rope in the other. “Get away from the door.”
Nausea rolled once again as she caught a whiff of his stench. The guy obviously didn’t believe in bathing. “If it’s money that you want, I have plenty of it. I just need to run to my house and get my purse. I can write you a check or—”
“Shut up,” he snarled, moving closer, setting the candle on a lopsided table.
“Please. You have to help me. I’m not supposed to be here. There’s been some kind of a mistake. I—”
He gripped the back of her head with one hand and covered her mouth with the other. The rope he held dug into her scalp while his putrid scent invaded her senses, triggering her gag reflex.
Her sudden bout of dry heaves forced him to take a step back. “What’s wrong with ya, woman?”
She couldn’t answer as another heave caused her eyes to water and her mouth to tighten with the effort of holding onto her earlier dinner. She shook her head instead.
He grabbed a wooden chair from nearby and forced her to sit as he jerked her wrists behind her back and bound them with the rope he held in his hands. “What he send ya down here for? Catch ya stealin or somethin?”
Midnight Secrets Page 13
