“I was wondering what happened to you.” Waving out her match, she straightened up and looked at him. “What were you doing back there?”
The candlelight restored the natural warmth of her face. Her cheeks glowed and her eyes glittered. Golden flecks lit up her hair and changing shadows played on her lips, detailing their fullness. Her mouth had felt lush against his when he’d kissed her...without considering the consequences.
He cleared his throat. “I remembered the letter and was checking to make sure I still had it in my pocket.”
“Well, I’d rather you leave it there for now.” She picked up one of the candles and stepped forward. “Why don’t we go into the parlor? I want to put some distance between the secret room and us.”
“I really should get home.”
“Now?”
The stunned look on her face pierced him with guilt, but he’d already done one thing he regretted tonight and didn’t want to give himself the chance to make things worse. Listening to the pattering on the windows, he said, “The storm seems to be dying down.”
“Don’t go yet.” She tilted her head to one side. “Please, Mark. I don’t want to be here alone.”
“Really? I got the impression you usually guard your independence pretty closely.” He knew that under the circumstances his statement was absurd--more evidence of how idiotic he could be around her.
“Not after an experience like that.” She looked away from him, gazing into the candle she held.
Watching her, he couldn’t seem to look away. The candlelight drew long shadows out from her lashes. Even with such dramatic shading, her nose looked perky and perfect. He could have spent the whole night just staring at her--or better yet, making love to her on the big red couch.
“I don’t know if I can stand being alone right now.” She twisted her mouth. The rain beat out a tranquil rhythm in the stillness. “‘Solitude may be a tranquil state, But eventually ‘tis one’s eternal fate...’“
The words brought goose bumps to his skin. “What is that?”
“Oh.” She blinked and looked up to meet his gaze. “Something your ancestor wrote.”
“Old Geoff wrote that?” The information astonished him. “I didn’t know he ever reflected on serious subjects. In the poems I’ve read, he’s usually trying to talk some poor woman into sleeping with him.”
Two dimples crinkled her cheeks. “He was in this case, too.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “It figures.”
She leaned over the table and picked up a second candle. Carrying one in each hand, she started toward the front of the house. “Your ancestor may have had a penchant for seduction, but there are a lot of deeper sentiments woven into his poetry, too.”
“Hmm.” Mark suspected she had read too much into the old boy’s verses, but he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. He grabbed the last candle and followed her to the parlor. “I’ll have to reread some of his poems. Maybe you can recommend a few of the better ones.”
“I’d be happy to.” In the large, sparsely furnished room her voice sounded hollow. Stooping next to the fireplace, she set one candle on each side of the hearth. As she knelt to arrange a pile of logs already stacked on the irons, she asked without looking up, “Does this mean you’ll stay a little longer?”
He wanted to. The more time he spent with her, the more his curiosity about her grew. She was such a paradox: a woman who refused to acknowledge any concerns for her house that didn’t fit in with her plans, yet could also give life to a piece of canvas with a paintbrush--and lend meaning to nonsensical poetry with the earnestness of her tone. He had to know more about her, to find out who she really was.
“I guess I don’t have to leave right away. Let me make sure you get a good fire going.”
“Thank you.” She glanced up at him with a somber expression. Grabbing a section of newspaper from a holder near the hearth, she began crumpling up pages and stuffing them under the wood. “While I’m doing this, would you mind bringing in some cushions from the couch in the studio? We’ll need something to sit on.”
“No problem.” He took his candle to the other room and set it back down on the end table.
The couch held six oversized cushions. When he returned with two of them, Lara was still working on lighting the fire. Since he had time to spare, he went back to the studio and got the rest.
Spread out on the floor and bathed in firelight, the makeshift seating looked like something out of a love den. With the idea of making love to her on the couch still fresh in his mind, he wondered if subconscious desires had led him to bring in all those pillows. In any case, he couldn’t very well take some of them back now. He sat on the edge of one, trying to look casual but feeling totally awkward.
When the fire began to catch, Lara moved back onto the cushions and sat cross-legged. She didn’t give the seating arrangements or him a second glance. Staring into the flames, she asked, “So...do you think that secret room is haunted?”
The question surprised him--so far separated from his own train of thought. Though the storm and the darkness had unnerved him at the time, he didn’t believe in ghosts. “Of course not.”
“Not even with the cold drafts and the lightning and--” She stopped and shook her head, still not meeting his gaze.
“And what?” He wondered if she’d heard the whispery hiss that had sounded like a man’s voice. Of course, the noise could easily be attributed to the wind. Not wanting to put ideas in her head, he didn’t mention it.
“Never mind.” She got up and went to the table. Lifting the pitcher she kept there, she asked, “Do you want some water? I know something stronger would be better right now, but last night before I went to bed I drank the only wine I had in the house.”
“Water will be fine.” As she set out two plastic cups and poured he said, “You know, lightning and cold drafts aren’t restricted to this house. I’m sure everyone in the area experienced both during that storm.”
She raised an eyebrow and handed him one of the cups. Sitting down beside him, she took a sip of hers but didn’t respond.
Searching for another topic of conversation, he looked around the room. Though the space held no real furniture, the walls all displayed works of art. When he’d been inspecting the architecture, he hadn’t paid attention to them, but now he wondered if Lara had done the paintings herself.
A large canvas above the mantel caught his eye. The work, classic in style, depicted a bedroom scene. The decor of the room and the clothing lying around appeared to be Victorian. A woman lolled on a huge canopied bed, her nude body freed of the sheets down to her hips. Near the foot of the bed, a nude man stood facing her, his well-sculpted buttocks exposed to the onlooker. Both of them had an air of relaxed contentment. He got the sense they had just made love.
“Did you do that?” He gestured toward the painting, hoping the question wasn’t stupid.
“Yeah.” She sounded shy--unusual for her.
“Wow.” Knowing the artist personally made the work even more intriguing. “The scene is so...serene. The muted colors, the easy poses, the deep shadows in the folds of the bedclothes. You’ve created such an air of contentment and warmth that I wish I could walk into the painting.” Embarrassed by what his words seemed to imply, he tried to cover it up. “I didn’t realize you had any interest in the Victorian period.”
She gave him a small smile and picked up the poker, leaning forward to play with the fire. “Actually, that painting was inspired by a poem Geoffrey Vereker wrote.”
“You’re kidding.” He looked back up at it. “What one?”
“A Maiden Unmade.”
He searched his mind and shrugged. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Apparently I have some reading to catch up on. You seem to be really familiar with Geoff’s work. You must be a bigger fan than I realized.”
“I guess I am--I mean, even bigger than I realized.” She set down the poker and looked up at her painting. “It’s funny. In school I nev
er had the patience for poetry. The language always seemed too hard to interpret. But I found that little leather volume in the other room not long after I moved here, and something about the verses got to me. I felt like the words took me to another place.”
Following the line of her gaze, Mark felt the same way about her painting. The ambience of the work penetrated his mood. The soft sensuality she’d captured seemed to radiate and blend with the atmosphere in the room. He looked down at Lara, and his desire for her flared. Quietly, he said, “I know what you mean.”
She met his gaze, and this time he couldn’t look away from her. They stared at each other, eyes intent. It felt as though they shared some unique insight--some brilliant spark of mutual understanding. He got an overwhelming urge to connect physically with her.
All at once a coolness swept the back of his neck. He felt the little hairs prick up on end.
Lara broke their stare and darted looks around the room. “Did you feel that?”
“What?” he asked, trying to ignore the goose bumps rising on his arms.
* * * *
Geoff’s venture into the storm had expended most of his fury, but he scowled at his descendant’s pretended ignorance. The ghost had been drawn back into the house when the mortals mentioned his name, only to find them looking rather more cozy than when he had left. The effects of his rage, it seemed, had inadvertently drawn them together. What a fool he was.
“Another draft.” Lara looked toward the window. “These sudden chills may have to do with the changing weather, but I sure wish I’d stop feeling them.”
“A cold front has probably moved in,” Mark said. “That’s normal after a storm.”
Geoff watched with misgivings as he nudged closer to her on the bed of cushions they’d constructed while he was gone. He would have liked to give the young jackanapes a true taste of haunting, but for the lady’s sake he floated upwards until his back lay flush against the ceiling.
Mark put his arm around Lara and rubbed her shoulders. That knave, the ghost thought. I underestimated him. He truly is going to take her from me.
“How’s that?” the mortal asked her, his voice husky. “Shall we move the cushions closer to the fire?”
“No, I’m feeling warmer already.”
Geoff was in no mood to stand back and let this fiasco go further. The idea infuriated him that his worthless descendant, of all living men, should be paired with that lovely woman, while he, Geoff, a true master with the ladies, would never have a lover again.
A distant flash of lightning caught his attention, and he realized what he had to do. He had to get the lights back on and hope that the action would put a damper on Mark’s advances. Electricity had fascinated him since the advent of its common usage, and he’d taught himself some of its workings.
Moving through the nearest wall, he floated back outside. If he couldn’t have Lara himself, he’d be damned if his descendant would.
He was damned, he reminded himself and grimaced as he made for the power lines that ran from the house.
Though he felt no rain, the air was thick with moisture, and the sky held no stars. He followed the wires down the block and found a cable with one end ripped from its connection to a metal tower. A large fallen branch lying on the ground revealed how the accident had happened.
His state of high emotion gave him more physical control than he normally possessed. After several efforts and a great deal of concentration, he finally lifted the cable and restored the connection. It helped not to have to worry about being electrocuted, though the buzzing ions and flying sparks around him still proved distracting.
When the neighborhood lights ignited again, he flew back into Lara’s house. Since he’d gone she and Mark had laid back on the cushions, but the sudden brightness startled them. Now they propped themselves up on their elbows, blinking against the chandelier that hung above their heads.
Mark in particular looked bothered. Frowning, he sat up and let Lara’s hand slide from his arm. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we should be doing this.”
She frowned up at him. Her eyes darkened to the hue of stormy seas. “Doing what?”
“I mean, I shouldn’t still be here, now that your electricity’s back on. I really should get back to my place and see how the apartment has weathered the storm. One of the windows in my living room tends to leak.”
Geoff smirked to himself. How he wished he could have served as a living rival to this fool. If he’d been in Mark’s stead, he would have stayed the night with Lara. Couldn’t he see that the lady was ripe for the picking?
She looked down at her fingernails, rubbing her thumb against them. “I see.”
Mark stood and brushed off his jeans. “I hope you’ll be okay. You should keep the candles lit and the fire going, in case you have any more problems.”
Her face paled. “Don’t even mention the possibility.”
He had shame enough to cast his gaze to the floor. “Don’t worry. You’re not likely to run into trouble now. The storm’s well past. And if the lights do go out again, you can always give me a call.”
“Assuming the phones aren’t dead, too.”
He just stood there hanging his head, and Geoff felt disgusted by him. He decided he would stay himself and watch out for Lara. If she had any more trouble, he would fix the electricity again.
His mortal counterpart walked into the adjoining library. When he returned he held the portable lamp he’d carried earlier. “Here. Keep my flashlight. The batteries are fresh, so it should be reliable. I’m sorry I can’t do more.”
She let out a sigh but took the light. Rising, she said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll check the forecast now. If there’s even a hint of another storm in the area, I’m sure I can go to my friend Diane’s house for the night.”
He nodded, then paused, as if reluctant to leave. Geoff found his indecision even more annoying than his chastity.
Lara pursed her lips, apparently impatient with him, too. “I’ll walk you out.”
She went to the foyer, her back stiff.
Mark trailed behind her. When she opened the front door, he stopped and patted his back pocket. “I’d better give you the letter back.”
“Keep it.”
He frowned. “It really belongs in this house.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think a letter like that belongs anywhere.”
He hesitated, while the damp night air drifted into her house. A moth fluttered through the doorway. He swatted at it, but the creature flew into the parlor.
Lara shut the door again. She moistened her lips. “Mark, I was wondering, since you seem so interested in the letter, would you like to come back sometime and help me look through my attic? There are dozens of boxes up there full of old letters.”
He looked down at the one he held. “Wow. I don’t know. I have a lot going on at the moment. For now, I’ll just borrow this. When you feel ready to take it back, call me and I’ll bring it back immediately.”
She nodded and stood back as he reopened the door.
This time he stepped out onto the porch. “I’ll see you.”
“Good-bye.” She closed the door and stood watching through the window while he walked to his motorized carriage. Bolting the lock, she murmured, “I know exactly what you have ‘going on’--that willowy redhead, Karen.”
The ghost raised an eyebrow. Evidently his descendant had a betrothed, if not a wife. Geoff had seen him in the company of a redhead several times but hadn’t detected any close connection between them. If Mark were engaged to the woman, he seemed to be even colder toward her than he was to Lara. Perhaps the arrangement was one of convenience. Unfortunate for him, if that were the case, but the ghost wasn’t entirely convinced his descendant deserved sympathy.
Posture wilting, Lara drifted back to the cushions. She sat before the fire and stared into the flames. A veil of sadness dulled her blue eyes.
Geoff felt an uncharac
teristic stab of compassion. She truly seemed to care for his descendant. Though her taste was questionable, that did nothing to diminish her pain.
He longed to approach her and try to comfort her, but any attempt he made would only frighten her. Hanging near the ceiling, he reflected that the lady and he had both had a difficult night.
The image of Mariah’s face in the hearth returned to him, emaciated and pitiful. Her expression had been much like the one Lara wore now.
Exhausted by the evening, he couldn’t muster up the fury he’d felt on first learning of his late lover’s treachery.
Mariah had looked so miserable.
Had he truly brought about her pain?
Chapter 9
After Mark left, Lara had no more problems with the electricity. Over the next twenty-four hours, she didn’t notice any strange drafts, either. She avoided going near the secret room and had trouble getting to sleep, but most of her worries centered around her feelings for Mark. He might have been moody and unpredictable, but she found him interesting...and she had really liked kissing him.
So what was she going to do?
During her second night in a row of tossing and turning, she thought she would burst if she couldn’t talk to someone about the situation. She hadn’t spoken to Di since lunch on Tuesday, because she had too much to hide from her. Now she thought it might be time to lay everything out in the open.
When she got up the next morning, she showered and dressed quickly. Too anxious to wait till lunchtime, she set off to visit the store where her friend worked.
“Wow, what a story,” Di said, after Lara had spilled the tale to her between customers at the register. “I can’t believe so much has happened since I saw you. Now aren’t you glad I told you to take the manuscript to his place?”
“Glad?” Lara gaped at her. “Overwhelmed is more how I feel. Have you heard half of what I said?”
“Yes. You found out that Mark is getting over an ex-girlfriend, which confirms that he’s single. He stopped by your place and helped you check out the secret room, so now you don’t have that hanging over your head. And, best of all, he kissed you, so you know he’s interested--which is great, because you seem to like him, too.”
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