Midnight Bayou

by Nora Roberts

  She smelled the lilies first, the good, strong scent bringing the garden indoors. He’d bought a lovely old table, a couple of straight-back chairs and, she saw with a grin, an enormous ceramic cow for the foyer.

  Some would call it foolish, others charming, she supposed, but no one would call the entrance to the old hall sterile any longer.

  “Declan?” She wandered in and out of the parlor, noting the few new additions. She circled into the library and found herself crossing to the mantel and the heavy candlesticks standing on it.

  Why did her fingers tremble? she wondered as she reached out to touch. Why did those old tarnished candlesticks look so strangely familiar?

  There was nothing special about them, really. Expensive perhaps, but too ornate for her taste. And yet . . . her fingers brushed down each of them, lightly. And yet they looked right here, so right she could imagine the slim white tapers they were waiting to hold once more; she could smell the melting wax.

  Shivering, she stepped back and walked out of the room.

  She kept calling his name as she started up the stairs. When she reached the first landing, the hidden door in the wall opened. She and Declan choked back simultaneous screams.

  With a gasping laugh, she clutched at her heart and stared at him. He had cobwebs in his hair, dirt smeared on his cheek and hands. The flashlight he carried bobbled.

  “Lord, cher, next time just shoot me and get it over with.”

  “Same goes.” He blew out a breath, dragged at his hair and the cobwebs lacing it. “You scared five years off me.”

  “Well, I called out a couple times, then decided I’d just hunt you up.” She peered over his shoulder. “What’ve you got here, secret passages?”

  “No, servants’ access. There are doors on every level, so I thought I’d take a look. It’s kind of cool, but a real mess.” He looked down at his filthy hands. “Why don’t you go fix yourself a drink or something? I’ll clean up.”

  “I might be persuaded to fix us both a drink. What’re you in the mood for?”

  “Could use a beer.” But he was studying her face now that he’d recovered from the jolt. “What’s wrong, Lena?”

  “Nothing, other than you frightening the wits out of me.”

  “You’re upset. I can see it.”

  She tried a suggestive smile. “Maybe I’m sulking ’cause you don’t bother to kiss me hello.”

  “Maybe you don’t trust me enough yet, and figure all I’m looking for with you is a good time.” He used one knuckle to lift her chin, stared into her eyes until hers began to sting. “You’re wrong. I love you.” He waited a beat, then nodded when she didn’t respond. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  She started down the steps, then stopped, speaking without looking back. “Declan, I don’t think you’re looking for a good time, but I don’t know as I have what it is you are looking for.”

  “Angelina. You’re what I’ve looked for all my life.”

  He didn’t press. If she needed to pretend she wasn’t upset and skittish, he’d give her room. They took a walk through the rear gardens as dusk crept in.

  “This place. All these years, people come, people go. Mostly they go. And here you are, doing more in a few months than anyone’s done since before I can remember.”

  She turned to study the house. Oh, it still needed work. Wood and paint. New shutters here and there. But it no longer seemed . . . dead, she realized. It hadn’t just been abandoned, it had been dead until he’d come.

  “You’re bringing it back to life. It’s more than the money and the work.”

  “Could you live here?”

  Her eyes, startled, even panicked, whipped back to his. But his gaze stayed calm and level. “I have my own place.”

  “That’s not what I asked. I asked if you could. If you could be comfortable here, or if the idea of sharing the place with . . . ghosts or memories, whatever you’d call it, would bother you.”

  “If it bothered me I wouldn’t have come over tonight so you could feed me. Which reminds me, what are you feeding me, cher?”

  “I’m going to try my hand at grilling tuna.” He pulled his pocket watch out. “In a bit,” he said after checking the time.

  She was mesmerized by the watch in his hand. Her stomach jittered as it had done when she’d seen the candlesticks. “Where did you get that?”

  “I found it at a shop today.” Alerted by her tone, fascinated by it, he held the watch out. “Look familiar?”

  “You just don’t see many men using that type of watch anymore.”

  “I knew it was mine as soon as I saw it. I think you bought it for me,” he said, and her head jerked up. “A long time ago.” He turned the watch over so she could read the inscription on the back.

  “Lucian’s.” Because her instinct was to curl her fingers into her palms, she made herself reach out and touch the engraving. “Very strange. Strange indeed, Declan. You think I was Abigail?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t you think that’s a little too neat and tidy—and self-serving?”

  “Murder, despair, suicide, a century of wandering souls?” He shrugged and slipped the watch back in his pocket. “Not very tidy, if you ask me. But I think, Lena, that maybe love is patient enough to wait until its time comes around again.”

  “God, you are so . . . appealing. And it’s irritating that I have to be the sensible one around here. I like being with you, Declan.”

  She toyed with the key on her neck chain as she spoke. A habit, he thought, she was probably unaware of.

  “I like your company, I like your looks. And I like making love with you. That’s all I have right now.”

  He took her into his arms. “I’ll take it.”

  14

  Lena rolled over, slid along one pillow to the other. She heard singing—a deep, male voice in a dreamy refrain. And sighing, she ran her hand over the sheets.

  He wasn’t beside her in bed, but his warmth was.

  Opening her eyes, she blinked against the misty sunlight. She hadn’t meant to stay the night. But with Declan, her intentions often twisted around to meet his wishes. More, somehow his wishes circled until they ended up being hers as well.

  Clever man, she mused, yawning as she burrowed into the pillow. He rarely seemed to push, never appeared to be unreasonable. And always got his way.

  Damned if she didn’t admire him for it.

  Even now, though she’d have preferred waking in her own bed, she was glad she’d stayed. Her mood had been heavy, and a bit prickly, when she’d arrived. Seeing her mother usually had that effect on her. For a few hours, she’d forgotten about it, and had just enjoyed being with him.

  That was enough—and would have to be enough for both of them for as long as it lasted. Seeing Lilibeth was a stark reminder of the promises Lena had made to herself.

  To succeed, on her own terms. To live, precisely how she chose to live. And never, never to place her hopes, her needs, her wants in the hands of another.

  Declan would move along sooner or later. Everyone did. But she cared more this time, and would make a genuine effort to be and to remain friends.

  So, she’d would be very, very careful not to fall in love with him. Very careful not to hurt him while he believed he loved her.

  Her brow creased. She did hear singing. In the shower, she realized, Declan’s voice over the drum of water.

  “Long years have passed, child—I’ve never wed, true to my lost love, though she is dead.”

  An odd tune for a man to belt out in the shower, she thought, and found herself singing the refrain with him in her mind. After the ball is over, after the break of morn.

  Puzzled—where had those lyrics come from?—she rose and went to the bathroom door. She knew the tune, but more, she knew the words. The sad story of lack of faith, of death, melded to the romantic melody.

  And her heart was pounding. She felt the pulse of it jump in her throat.

 
Dancing in the moonlight with the house a white beacon against the night. A girl in faded muslin, and the young man in elegant black tie. The smell of lilacs. Heavy and sweet.

  The air’s thick with flowers. So thick it’s hard to breathe. So thick it makes you dizzy as you spin around and around through the garden, along the bricks with the music playing.

  Dizzy, dizzy from the dance. Dizzy, dizzy from the fall into love.

  She swayed, reaching out to brace a hand against the door. But it opened, and steam poured out as she fell forward.

  “Whoa!” Declan caught her, scooped her off her feet. Still wet from the shower, his hair dripping onto her face, he carried her back to bed.

  “I’m okay. I just . . . lost my balance.”

  “Baby, you’re white as a sheet.” He brushed her hair back, rubbed her chilled hand between both of his. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Torn between confusion and embarrassment, she nudged him back to sit up. “I got up too fast, is all. Then I lost my balance when I reached for the door and you opened it. I’m fine, cher. Ça va. It’s just a little early for me to be up and around.”

  “I’ll get you some water.”

  “Sweetheart, don’t fuss. Simones aren’t swooning sorts.” She ran a finger over his chin. It was all fading away now, the song, the scent of lilacs, the giddy sense of reeling. “Though that handsome face of yours does take my breath away. You leave any hot water for me?”

  “Probably not.” He eased down to sit beside her. “I’ve got to replace that water heater. If you give it a half hour, it should come through for another shower.”

  “Mmm. Now what could I do with a half hour?” Laughing, she pulled him into bed.

  Now that, Lena decided, was a much better way to start the day. She lingered over her first cup of coffee at the little table Declan had set up on the gallery outside his bedroom. As his breakfast pickings were slim at best, she’d settled on a bowl of Frosted Flakes and had watched him load his down with sugar.

  “Cher, why don’t you just have yourself a big old candy bar for breakfast?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  He grinned over at her, and damn it, he did take her breath away.

  “You’ve got yourself a nice spot here,” she told him. “Good morning-contemplation sort of spot.”

  “It’ll be better when I get some of the boards replaced and it’s painted. Needs more stuff, too.” He glanced around. “Pots, you know, flowers and things. A glider or a swing.”

  She spooned up some cereal. “You’re just a homebody, aren’t you, cher?”

  “Looks like.” And it delighted him. “Who’d’ve thought?”

  “And what does the homebody have planned for today?”

  “I want to finish the first section of the exterior stairs. If the weather holds through the weekend, I’ll have a good start on the front of the house. I’ve got guys coming in to start on the other bathrooms. Got some more shopping to do. Want to come with me?”

  “I’ve never seen a man so crazy to shop.” It was tempting to give in to the charming image of hunting with him for treasures. And to have some part in selecting pieces for the house.

  And wouldn’t that go toward forging another link in making them a couple instead of two people just enjoying the moment?

  So she shook her head and denied herself the pleasure. “Unless this shopping involves looking at shoes or earrings, you’re on your own, sugar.”

  “I could probably fit that in, between hunting up drawer pulls and hardware. In fact . . . hang on a minute.”

  He rose and went inside while Lena stretched back and, cupping her mug in both hands, looked out over the gardens to the pond.

  She’d distracted him, she thought. Or at least he was pretending to be distracted from what had happened that morning. She’d damn near fainted, and that would’ve been a first.

  Something in the house, she mused, was affecting her, just as it did Declan. One side pulling her in, another pushing her out, but she was determined to stand firm.

  Was it possible he was right after all? Could it be so perfectly neat? He had been Lucian in a past life, and she his doomed Abigail?

  Had they danced in the moonlight to that old, sad song?

  If it were true, what did it mean to them now, in this life?

  Her face was clear of worry when he stepped out again. And put a small box on the table beside her bowl.

  “Cher, you keep picking up presents like this, what’re you going to do when my birthday rolls around?”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  “Well, I don’t think you’re going to top my salt and pepper shakers, but . . .” She opened the box, expecting to see some cute and foolish pin or silly earrings. Then just stared down at the pair of ruby and diamond hearts.

  “They caught my eye.”

  “You—you can’t give me something like this.” For the first time since he’d known her, she stuttered. “You can’t just—just give me earrings like these. These are real stones. Do you think I’m too stupid to recognize real diamonds?”

  “No.” Interesting, he thought, that she’d jump from fluster into temper at the gift of diamonds. “I thought they’d look good on you.”

  “I don’t care how rich you are.” She snapped the lid back down on the sparkle of blood and ice. “I don’t care how much money you’ve got stuffed away in your portfolios and your bank accounts. I don’t want you buying me expensive jewelry. If I want diamonds and rubies, then alors, I’ll buy them for myself. I’m not sleeping with you for baubles and profit.”

  “Well, these were a big hit.” He tipped back in his chair to meet her furious eyes, as she’d leaped to her feet as she’d shouted at him. “So, they’d be okay with you if they were glass? Let me get the ground rules clear. If I see something I’d like to get for you, it has to be, what, under a hundred? One-fifty? Give me a ballpark.”

  “I don’t need you to buy me things.”

  “Lena, if you needed me to buy you things, I’d buy you groceries, for Christ’s sake. These were pretty, they made me think of you. And look at this.” He picked up the box, ran his free hand around it. “No strings attached.”

  “Something costs as much as a decent secondhand car’s got strings, cher.”

  “Wrong. Money’s relative. I have a lot of it, so deal. You don’t want them, fine.” He shrugged, picked up his coffee. “I’ll give them to someone else.”

  Her eyes went to slits. “Oh, will you?”

  “They appear to upset your moral balance, but there’s no point in them going to waste.”

  “You’re trying to make me sound like an idiot.”

  “No, you’re acting like an idiot. I’m just playing my part in your little drama. I’d like you to have them, but not if you’re going to think they’re payment for services rendered. That’s just as insulting to me as it is to you, Lena,” he said when her mouth dropped open. “Your telling me you don’t want payment for sex is telling me I’m willing to buy it from you. They’re just goddamn rocks.”

  “They’re beautiful rocks.” Damn, damn, damn! Why did the man constantly throw her off balance?

  And wasn’t it just like him, just exactly like him, to sit there, calmly watching her flash and burn?

  She took a deep, steadying breath while he looked at her with both patience and amusement. “I was rude, and I overreacted. I’m not used to men handing me diamonds and rubies over bowls of cereal.”

  “Okay. Want me to wait and give them to you over a nice steak dinner?”

  She gave a weak laugh, dragged her hair back. “You’re entirely too good for me.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” he demanded.

  But she shook her head, then picked up the box. She studied the earrings against their bed of velvet for a long moment before taking them out, putting them on.

  “How do they look?”

  “Perfect.”

  She leaned down, kissed him. “Thank you.
They just scared me a little, but I’m getting over it pretty quick now.”