Oxford Shadows

by Croslydon, Marion

  The truth was that the crazy thought of a baby didn’t even scare the shit out of him. A baby with Madison. She had gone pale, and he realized she was probably giving serious thought to that possibility for the first time.

  To chase the heavy topic away, he teased, “Anyway, I wonder what Louise would have to say about your new life of sin.”

  Her glaze clouded and she bit her lower lip. Shit. He shouldn’t bring up her aunt. He knew something had happened between Madison and the nun, and between Madison and Jackson, but she refused to discuss it. And nor had she explained where she’d been the night he’d knocked at her door and she hadn’t been in her room. At almost two A.M. He wanted to know, but she’d be the one to tell. He knew she would in her own time. In the meantime, he had to trust her.

  Normally, Rupert wasn’t going to fight in Jackson’s corner. Still, if he had to choose and pick the villain in the story, it would be dear Auntie Louise. Without a doubt. He didn’t care much for that woman. He resented the deliberate hold she had on her niece. Now McCain’s accusations might be pushing the paranoia too far.

  “I have another present for you,” Madison announced, looking up at him through her thick eyelashes.

  Rupert stared back toward the paneled door of the ballroom as a quick exit way. “You started late but, good Lord, you’re catching up.”

  She slapped his torso again and threw him a reproachful pout. “Not that kind of present, you perv.”

  “You mean no more skimpy lacy number?”

  Madison scanned their immediate surroundings for any eavesdropping guests. “Hush. Seriously, someone’s going to report me to your father. I really don’t want to look cheap.”

  He wanted to argue again about her fears, but she continued. “Seeing as you liked Cajun food so much when you came to Louisiana, well, I thought I’d commit to cook you some once a week until the end of term. What do you think?” She cocked her eyebrow, waiting for him to answer.

  Looking at her, like that, so eager to make him happy in simple ways like preparing good home-cooked food … it reached places in his heart and in his soul he didn’t know existed. A lump formed in his throat and he struggled to speak.

  “I’d like that. I’d like that very much.” A smile brightened her face. “That means you’re committed to an overnight stay at my place at least once a week.”

  “Well, about that …” Her voice trailed off. “Is your offer still on?”

  “Which offer?”

  “For me to come and spend more time with you … at your place … on a more permanent basis.” Rupert failed to hide his surprise and she rushed her words. “If you’ve changed your mind about me moving in, don’t worry. I totally under—”

  His hand grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her against him, crushing his lips against hers. She tasted of champagne, of vanilla, of all the sweet flavors his senses now associated with Madison. When he released her, her face was a study in surprise. Her eyes had widened and betrayed the desire burning inside her.

  “Thank you,” he said in a rasp before he felt a grin breaking out on his face.

  “For what?”

  “For trusting me … for taking the risk … for loving me.”

  “You might be the one taking the biggest risk. I’m very messy.”

  “Bullshit. Your study books are arranged in alphabetical order on your shelves and your socks are color coded, so no worries on that front. Can you move next week?”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Hmm.” The clearing of a throat nearby interrupted their exchange.

  Rupert resented the interruption, but the man was attending a cocktail party, his birthday party, so he detached his gaze from Madison’s heart-shaped face and faked a smile. A striking middle-aged man was extending his hand toward him. Rupert took it by reflex. The man’s grasp was firm.

  “I’m happy to see you again, Rupert.”

  “So am I, sir.” When have I met this guy?

  A teasing light sparkled in the eyes of the guest. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  Rupert knew he should have. The man didn’t have a physique you could easily forget. Although he was of medium height and medium build, his confident stance radiated charisma.

  “Don’t worry about it,” the man reassured Rupert with humor. “I caught you at a busy time that day. After the boat race? In the boat house?”

  Synapses connected in Rupert’s brain. “Mr. Ball … antyne. I’m very sorry.”

  “Albert, please,” he responded, his words touched by a warm New York twang.

  Albert Ballantyne was an Oxford friend of Hugo’s, another banker-slash-businessman. Embarrassment made Rupert shuffle his feet. The first time he had met Ballantyne he hadn’t been pleasant. Madison had come to see him after the race to say goodbye before returning to the States and there was no way Rupert was going to lose her. He had met Ballantyne on his way to catching up with her. And now the steel-blue gaze of Albert Ballantyne had shifted toward Rupert’s girlfriend and wouldn’t budge.

  “Albert, this is Madison LeBon.” And because the man seemed absorbed in gazing at the pretty brunette at Rupert’s side, he made a point of adding, “She’s my girlfriend.”

  Madison shook Ballantyne’s hand and the man nodded while keeping hold of her longer than necessary. Rupert thought he saw a muscle twitching at the corner of the man’s eye. Would he have to kick the ass of every man who crossed Madison’s path? It was getting repetitive, and the guy was in his late forties, for Christ’s sake.

  Ballantyne shoved his hands back in the pockets of his black trousers. He was about to start talking but a waiter interrupted sheepishly.

  “Mr. Vance, your father requests your presence in his study.”

  Why Hugo paid for extravagant parties if he always ended up retreating into his cave was beyond Rupert.

  “I’m sorry, Albert. It seems like I always have to disappear shortly after seeing you. I really don’t do it on purpose.”

  “Don’t worry, my boy.”

  Rupert gave a quick bow and was about to leave Madison with the New Yorker when her hand entwined with his and she started following him. When they had reached a safe distance from Ballantyne, he couldn’t help teasing her.

  “I thought you could fend for yourself.”

  Madison tucked her head down between her shoulders. “I said hello … and I need to freshen up.” She stopped in front of the powder room. “I’ll take a quick walk outside. Come and join me once you’ve had your ‘chat’ with your dad.”

  She was holding the doorknob. He gave a last look at her bare shoulders and the swan-like line of her body in the long black evening dress. With an effort, he tore himself from her.

  The May night air was chilly but dry. Dry was an adjective Madison hadn’t used a lot since her arrival in England. It wasn’t the humidity she had grown up with back in Louisiana, but a cold wetness instead. She looked back at the dazzling lights of the party inside Magway’s ballroom. Camilla hadn’t spared any effort or cost. Whether or not the occasion had really been in Rupert’s honor, Madison was glad they had come together. But as much as she wanted to try and fit into Rupert’s world, she needed a break.

  She entered the stone path that led to the small lake in Magway’s grounds. Since her first visit here, when Rupert had taken her to research his family archive, she had wanted to admire the still pool of water. She had never had the chance, though. There were swans and ducks, Rupert had told her. Tonight the animals would be sleeping, but she could enjoy the full moon.

  Torches had been lightened around the manor and the flames eased her way through the night. One step at a time, the music and the voices of the guests faded away and were replaced by the night’s melody.

  Holding up the material of her—stupidly expensive—evening gown to avoid tripping on its hem, Madison approached the wooden jetty that extended into the waters of the lake. As she had hoped, the moonlight bathed the landscape in its silvery glitter. The view wrapped
her in a comforting blanket, as did the quiet lapping of the water on the shore.

  With abandon Madison released a heavy breath and the tension of the evening with it, only for the next breath to get trapped inside her before having reached her lungs.

  Ahead of her, standing on the end of the dock, Liliana stared straight back at her.

  25

  THE PALE MATERIAL of Liliana’s nightgown clung to her body as if gusts of wind were blowing in the night. But there was no wind. The air was still.

  Madison shut her eyes and rapidly opened them again. The woman hadn’t moved and her gaze kept drilling through the mental defenses Madison had erected around herself. She wasn’t ready to see this, to meet her. Not tonight.

  The thought of Camilla and the baby sprang in front of her. They were running out of time. And there, ten feet away from her, Madison had the answers to all her questions.

  “Who are you?”

  “You already know.” Liliana’s voice was clear of any Italian accent. She spoke in plain English.

  “Your name, yes. But I don’t understand what happened to you. He never came back for you? Henry?”

  Her question hit the olive-skinned woman harshly because she startled. “He didn’t. In that lifetime. He married another, the only one he really loved.”

  “But then you found each other again. You had a child together.” Hope seeped through Madison’s question.

  “We did … but that wasn’t meant to be. Again.”

  “You got married. I know that. In Oxford, not that long ago.”

  The ghost joined her hands tightly in front of herself, while the nonexistent wind kept ruffling the dark mass of her hair. She looked exactly like the young Florentine girl Madison had seen in her visions of Henry. Not one day older. How Liliana had looked in her other lifetime, Madison couldn’t say. And in her vision of the couple in twentieth-century Oxford, Madison had only seen the blurred features of Henry.

  “You must not get involved, child.”

  The order unsettled Madison. Surely Liliana would want to keep Henry from hurting another woman. “I have no choice,” she said. “He threatened people I know, an unborn child, a baby girl. I’ve ignored warnings like that in the past. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Don’t you value your own life?” Liliana’s words fell harshly between them.

  The woman didn’t understand. “Please help me. They’re innocent.”

  A thick fog rose and whirled around Liliana. Madison smelled the putrid stench of tepid waters, and disgust made her nostrils flare. Liliana rotated her body slightly as if to start retreating.

  “There are so many questions I want to ask you. Please stay,” Madison pleaded.

  “Save yourself while you still can. That is not your story.” Liliana turned her back on Madison and vanished into the heavy mist.

  A cry of despair erupted from Madison. “Liliana,” she begged.

  Desperation burst out of her heart and propelled her toward where the woman had stood. Madison rushed into the fog, her sight blurred. Fear replaced anger and her mouth turned dry. Ignoring her weakness, Madison ran forward, calling after the ghost again.

  “Come back. Please, come back.”

  She hurried forward, breaking into a run to reach the place where Liliana had stood, struggling with the hem of the dress dangling at her feet. She tripped on it and collapsed forward. She expected to crash against the surface of the ground. She didn’t. The freezing waters of the lake swallowed her instead.

  The Tower of London ~ 19 May 1536

  Henry hid within the bloodthirsty crowd. The people weren’t aware of his presence, at least not as their king. His disguise kept him unnoticed. He had to come. He had to witness her death. There was no choice for him since the madness had taken possession of him. He could not control the brutal waves of emotion that dictated what his next action would be. Perhaps it was God whispering jealousy in his ear, murmuring the accusations. Adultery. Incest.

  Or perhaps it was Satan.

  Or perhaps it was her, that beautiful Florentine whose innocence he had stolen. Her memory haunted him.

  Anne knelt upright and Henry was close enough to hear her last prayer. “To Jesus Christ I commend my soul.” Then, “Lord Jesus receive my soul,” she repeated without faltering.

  Most of his council stared at her last show of faith. Cromwell, Brandon, even Henry’s own son, Fitzroy. They did not seem affected by her tragic beauty. Why would they be? His order had been clear. Henry was not the one holding the hatchet today, but he was the one who had sought her execution with a fervent fever.

  Anne’s ladies removed her headdress and necklaces, then blindfolded her. He noticed that the executioner was shaking, probably impressed by her dignity and faith. However, the man did not fail in the grim task that had been assigned to him. With a single stroke, he severed her head.

  Blood splattered over the people standing at the foot of the platform. Henry was spared but felt drenched nevertheless. Anne’s blood was on his conscience, if he still had one. He stared down at his trembling hands. Guilt fell over him like a stained, filthy drape. It was not the first time such an emotion had overpowered him. Three years ago he had felt it for the first time, when he had been told about her death. Liliana’s death.

  He had never recovered from the news. Not because he still loved her. There had been so many women after her. There had been his beautiful Anne. No, it was not grief and sorrow that had taken possession of his soul. It was guilt, and since then he had not been master of his own destiny.

  His father introducing Rupert to the owner of one of Britain’s largest media groups wasn’t what Rupert had expected from this “chat” with Hugo. He knew he should cut his father some slack for showing support for Rupert’s fledgling career in journalism. Still, Rupert wanted to make it on his own, without his family’s name as a trampoline.

  He didn’t rejoin the party but instead stepped outside to look for Madison. His fingers itched for the thin paper of a cigarette. Nicotine withdrawal was the only downside of his relationship with Madison. He had promised to respect the smoking ban. A promise was a promise. And to Madison a promise was sacred.

  She was moving in with him. Maybe not totally full time, but he would have her next to him most mornings. The fact that he had just turned twenty-two could have made the moving-in-with-your-girlfriend plan freak him out. But it hadn’t. What he had with Madison was so gut-wrenchingly good, Rupert knew he could only give it his all.

  He scanned the grounds immediately around Magway. Between the burning torches and the party lights, he had a clear view. Madison was nowhere to be seen. Concern settled in the pit of his stomach. His feet moved more quickly when he headed toward the lake and the woods beyond. He knew she had wanted to visit that part of the park ever since her first trip to Magway. Hopefully she hadn’t chosen this evening for a walk there. On her own.

  In the near distance, he heard a splash. A few seconds passed.

  A male voice echoed through the night. “Help!”

  Rupert rushed toward the lake and the jetty. A man was running toward its edge while removing his dinner jacket. Rupert accelerated, fear now squeezing his heart tight. He caught up with the man, who he recognized right away. Albert Ballantyne.

  “I saw her running blindly. She must have tumbled over her dress. Or something.” Ballantyne’s voice was strangled with worry while he scanned the surface of the water.

  Rupert had already dropped his dinner jacket and cast away his shoes. “Who?”

  “Madison … your girlfriend.”

  Rupert dived in straight away. The frozen slap to his body punched his breath away. A gulp of air exploded out of his mouth when he made it back to the surface. That and a loud “Oh!”

  “To your right. Three o’clock.” Ballantyne pointed at a floating form.

  The sound of water splashing confirmed the presence of someone alive. Rupert crawled toward it. His hand grasped at a slithery form and he
pulled it toward him. The reaction was a cry and limbs struggling in all directions. A knee met his groin and he groaned in pain.

  “Madison, Madison, it’s me.” He pulled her body against his. “Don’t fight. I’m taking you out.”

  Rupert jerked backward so that Madison could lie on him. His arm circled her upper chest and slid underneath her armpits. With his free arm and legs he started to propel their bodies toward the shore. When his feet finally touched the ground, he lifted Madison with both his arms and started walking up the shore. The effort of the swim in the frozen lake had him panting when he finally reached Ballantyne, who was waiting at the edge of the water.

  “Lie her on my jacket and I’ll put yours on top of her,” the man said, his quavering voice hardly hiding his relief at seeing Madison.

  Although Rupert wanted to collapse on the muddy ground, he kneeled so that Madison landed gently on Albert’s jacket. The material of her evening gown stuck to her flaccid skin like a shroud. In the silver moonlight, she had never looked so pale. Rupert shivered, not out of cold but out of raw fear.

  He started applying pressure on her sternum, remembering a vague notion of first aid. He didn’t know how much strength he should apply to her ribcage. The bones felt so fragile against his palms. But it paid off.

  Madison started coughing and he slid his hand underneath her neck to sit her up. Water erupted from her mouth. Almost immediately, she started shaking. Rupert brushed the hair off her face and kissed her frozen lips. They felt like ice. Albert wrapped Rupert’s dinner jacket around her shoulders. She sent him a vacant stare.

  “Put your hands around my neck,” Rupert said. “I’m taking you back inside.” Then to Albert, “Call an ambulance.”

  “No!” Madison shouted. “No, just take me to your room. I’m fine.”