by Beth Trissel
“Fine by me.” Will didn’t wait that long. He dove at the brash Aussie and cracked him in the mouth. His knuckles stung, but he reveled in the satisfaction of finally getting a crack in.
“Stop!” Julia flew back into the room and shakily passed the sodden jacket to Lyle. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. Please. Just go now.”
Lyle surveyed her entreating face. He wiped at the trickle of blood oozing from his bottom lip. “No worries, Ophelia. Hamlet’s a scary SOB, ain’t he?”
Will let that last jibe pass. At least he’d shaken loose some of Lyle’s maddening complacency. He waited like a panther ready to spring as his bulk passed through the door. The instant the latch clicked, he turned to Julia. “You have nothing to apologize to him for.”
She gestured tremulously at the room and the impromptu picnic she’d laid out on the floor. “But it’s my fault he was here. It was storming so hard I invited him in.”
Will clenched his jaw. “I assumed you must have. Isn’t it to me you owe that apology?”
Julia stared at him with the same bewilderment she’d had before as Ophelia. “I never meant for Lyle to stay more than a little, just until the storm eased.”
“He can fend for himself. Besides, the house wasn’t locked.”
“Even so, don’t you think you overreacted a bit?”
“Unbelievable. Now you’re saying I owe you an apology?”
Determination flooded her liquid gaze. She lifted her chin like a wounded duchess. “Yes.”
Her electrifying presence further charged the fiery haze billowing through Will. “Let me get this straight. You invited Lyle McChesney, are you hearing me––Lyle McChesney––into your apartment for a candlelit picnic, when he wants nothing more than to get you into bed?”
Eyes wide, she took a step back. “But he wouldn’t––didn’t––”
Will closed the distance between them. “Because I threw him out before he took advantage of your ignorance. And now you want me to say I’m sorry?”
She retreated back onto the couch. “You could have been more diplomatic.”
“Really?” Will sat down beside her. “What do you suppose Cole would have done if he’d happened on you?”
She darted a tearful glance at him. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I do. He would have challenged that lout to a duel. Swords, though he was equally skilled with pistols.” Will readily pictured himself with either weapon in hand and the white smoke of gunpowder curling from the pistol barrel.
Julia fixed glistening eyes on him. “How do you know that?”
Will stopped. It was incredibly difficult to think with her so provocatively near. I just do.”
“Don’t you ever wonder why?”
“Cole is the ancestor I most closely identify with. Maybe I just know things.”
“Maybe.” She sounded unconvinced.
Will explored the question in her upturned gaze. “Lately, I’ve been wondering something,” he admitted. “Exactly how Cole fell. Have you relived that in any of your dreams, or whatever these visions are?”
She hesitated as though hating to speak the words. “Perhaps that’s something I don’t want to know. Besides, I thought he was run through?”
“The story that’s come down to us is that he had a deep wound to his chest, but I don’t think it was a duel alone that killed him.”
The force of her gaze heightened. “What else, then?”
“Maybe someone snuck up on him. Think about it. He fell in his chamber, hardly the place for a legitimate duel. I wish I could remember.”
She arched her brows at him. “Remember?”
“Figure it out,” he said shortly, annoyed with how she caught him in these odd little slips.
Julia laid a trembling hand on his shoulder sending all those tiny sparks through his shirt. “Does it really matter how that ghastly deed happened?”
“It feels important somehow.”
“Then it probably is.”
Thunder resounded in menacing agreement. The storm wasn’t finished yet. Neither, it seemed, was Cole’s tragic tale.
“There’s that awful mark on the door like an omen,” Julia whispered, as though not trusting herself to speak aloud. “Oh, Will. I’m frightened.”
“Don’t be.” He couldn’t resist taking her in his arms anymore than he could forego his next breath. She tucked her cheek in the crook of his shoulder and he stroked her hair, the coppery streaks radiant by candlelight. “We’ll find our way, Julia. God willing.”
“Why shouldn’t he be willing? Swear you won’t give up?”
“Like some sort of quest? I swear it.”
“Tell me more about Mr. Cameron, the Scotsman Cole argued with,” she urged.
“I should have thought you could tell me.”
“Don’t make fun. Not now,” she chided.
“I wasn’t.”
“Oh. I haven’t dreamt of him yet.”
An unlikely chuckle rose in Will’s chest and rumbled in his throat. “Cole is keeping you apart from Cameron even now.”
“You think so?”
“Hell. I would.”
Julia lifted endearingly puzzled eyes. “But how will I know what happened?”
“Ask my cousin the next time you see him,” Will said huskily, cupping her cheeks and bending his head to cover her soft full mouth.
Dear Lord. His senses swam with the touch of her lips against his, the divine supplication of lovers in an ancient rite that never lost its near holy power.
“Julia...sweet Julia.”
If only he dared make love to her. Every part of him pulsed with desire. As a man battling a strong current, he couldn’t hold out much longer under her incredible draw. Not without aid, and she wasn’t any help.
“Will.”
Dear Lord, had she actually whispered his name? His, not Cole’s? Was she finally getting them straight, or did she just see no difference between them?
Will was almost beyond caring.
“Stay with me,” she pleaded.
He broke from her mouth and staggered to his feet, wondering if he ought to be shot. “I can’t. Not yet.”
She stared up at him as he stood there breathing like a winded runner.
“The time has to be right, Julia.”
“You mean you have to be certain I’m not crazy.”
That, too. He’d better bolt while he was on his feet. “We’re both tired, not thinking clearly. Let’s make an early night of it. I’m going to go get a shower. I still have lime dust on me from old Joe.”
“The water will be cold with the electric out.”
“Good.”
****
A faint melody sounded in Julia’s ears, or was it her mind? Stronger the music grew, haunting and beautiful. Was the melody real, or the stuff of dreams? Did it matter? The dream world also held a kind of truth.
On and on the song played, carrying her with it, and then a man’s low voice whispered, “Jules.”
Her wounded heart swelled. “Cole.” The one man in the entire universe who didn’t regard her as anything but cherished. Julia felt weirdly as if she were having an affair with twins, yet somehow they were the same person. If she were going insane, Cole would understand why.
She opened her eyes to blackness. She must’ve fallen asleep on the couch and the candle had burned out. “Where are you?”
“By your side.”
That was where Will had last been. No light shown through the storm-shrouded windows and she blindly reached out her arms.
Cole didn’t disappoint her. His strong arms reached back, drawing her close to his solid chest, and again, masculine fingers stroked her hair. Like Will had. More...Cole pressed his lips over the curve of her neck eliciting tingles too rapturous for words.
“Are you really here, or half a world away?” she murmured.
“Here, always.”
“Are you only you, or also another?”
“How can I be other than I
am?” he answered.
“Are you in Will?”
“Only he can answer that.”
She nuzzled her cheek against Cole’s. “He can’t, or won’t.”
“Are you happy with him?”
The truth welled in her. “Yes. But I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”
Cole’s breath was warm in her ear. “You’ve found me.”
Her spirits soared...a bird in flight. She struggled through love-heightened emotion to remember what else it was that she had to ask him...something important.
The clash of swords echoed in her mind. “Cole, what happened before? How did you fall? I can’t remember.”
“No. You wouldn’t.”
“But I must know. I fear evil threatens again.”
“It does. Beware the skulking stranger. His fangs have death in their bite, like the bane of the wolf.”
Desperation grew in Julia and she strove to understand. “What do you mean? What do I watch for?”
“What you know best.”
“Please. Tell me more.”
“Shhhh...my love, we have so little time.” With infinite tenderness, he circled his hands around her face as Will had done. “Kiss me, sweet Julia.”
She stared wonderingly at his faint outline in the inky blue shadows. “I thought you couldn’t do anything left undone?”
“No. But you can.”
Her heart drummed out the primal beat of all women desperately in love as unbelievingly, she pressed her lips to his waiting mouth. He answered with a soft caress, like the brushing of gossamer wings. Then, bursting all bounds, he pulled her to him in throbbing urgency. Sublimely powerful, every bit as hard as Will had kissed her.
All hurts, wants and wishes...the deepest longing of her soul spoke through the press of their impassioned lips, a sacred joining. What were two centuries? Love endured.
She ran her fingers through his thick hair, as black as night in the velveted darkness. “Can I do more?”
The pale moon shone through the parting clouds. A single beam of light slanted over his handsome face as he drew back with a sigh of unspeakable satisfaction. “You have given me all you know to give. Thank you, dearest Jules.”
“But Cole, I love you. I’ll follow wherever you lead.”
“I can’t lead you now.”
Agony tore through her as she felt him fading like moonbeams in her grasp, slipping silver through her fingers, until she was left only with a soul-rending groan.
Chapter Twelve
“MMM––Mr. Wentworth?”
Paul’s stumbling summons caught Will’s attention. The ungainly youth stepped out from behind the hedge wearing the ever-present drab cap. The morning light shone in his tawny eyes. Feral eyes, Will thought, like the mangy kitten he’d taken in from the dump, but Mr. Tibbs had grown into a sleek calico.
Despite Will’s best efforts to help Paul, he still had that wild, pinched look. As usual, he held hedge trimmers in his grimy hands to sheer the endless boxwood. The shrub’s spicy scent helped offset the smell of unwashed body that clung to his grungy olive clothes and, no doubt, to him.
“Yes?” Will said.
“CCC––Can I be in your ppp––play?”
Will’s conscience chided him, but he pictured his grandmother’s reaction if he enlisted this backward juvenile who lacked an elementary grasp of hygiene and couldn’t utter a single clear sentence. “It’s not my play. It’s Mrs. Wentworth’s, and all the main parts are cast.”
A glare crossed Paul’s yellowish-brown stare. “BBB––But that Lyle’s a no ggg––good bbb––bastard.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Still, Mrs. Wentworth approves of Mr. McChesney’s acting.”
Spiting fury, Paul insisted, “SSS––She ddd––don’t know nothing. SSS––She’s old!”
“Hush. She can’t help her age. Show some respect.”
Paul beckoned Will closer with a dirty finger as if to whisper in his ear. He bent nearer the frowning youth who stood more than a head shorter.
“WWW––Watch out. Lyle www––will steal ppp––pretty Julia.”
The warning pierced Will and he jerked back. “Don’t worry. I’m watching.”
“MMM––Me too.”
Such venom made Will a little uneasy. Paul sometimes fired off in unpredictable directions like a science experiment gone wrong. “Don’t attack Mr. McChesney or do anything foolish. He’s a big man and could pummel the life out of you.”
A conniving twist curled Paul’s thin lips. “NNN––No. NNN––Not that. I’m nnn––not a stupid bbb––boy.”
“Of course not. You’re eighteen now,” Will agreed, as he strove for some means to distract Paul from whatever ill-advised scheme his peculiar mind was hatching.
“Nineteen.”
“That old? Tell you what, we’re hurting for an able carpenter to help Dave with the props. We have some left from past productions but need several new pieces. Extras are also needed for the crowd scenes. How does that sound?”
The fire in Paul’s glare cooled to a subdued glow. “OK,” he mumbled.
“Finish up this portion of the hedge, then go to the blacksmith’s shop, the building with the forge and tools,” Will reminded him. “Dave’s at work on the set now. Get him to help you wash up and change into clean clothes before you go to the hall this evening. You want to be tidy for Mrs. Wentworth. We’ll see about a minor role.”
Paul nodded and resumed that empty stare.
Poor fellow. He really was terribly slow. Will patted his slack shoulders and continued past him down the walk toward the garden.
Through the trees, he spotted Lyle and the other brick mason, Ron Brown, hovering over the ground at the end of a length of wall. They’d reached an impasse and couldn’t figure out where the sinewy structure had wound in the past. The whole project was growing tedious, to say the least. It had brought Lyle to Will, for one thing.
Will’s navy dress slacks, blue Oxford shirt, and striped tie wasn’t at all the right outfit to go crawling around the ground in to search for indentions from old bricks and whatever fragments might be left behind. But he’d just given a talk on the history of Foxleigh to an eager crowd with a number of women sighing at him, hungering for more tidbits about Cole. He felt mentally undressed, nibbled on, and virtually licked by the ogling visitors.
Still, Grandmother Nora insisted on these appearances from time to time, like royalty greeting the masses, and he had another talk to look forward to early this afternoon. He’d be fortunate to get any lunch at all.
Never mind lunch. A ribbon of desire ran through him as he spied Julia conducting an herbal tour for an enthusiastic assembly. He stopped in his tracks, the sight of her momentarily banishing all other thoughts or wants.
She or Charlotte must have revisited the costumes in the attic judging by the long white dress draping her graceful figure. She could safely bend in the high-waisted, early nineteenth century styled gown. The capped sleeves left her slender arms free. She’d tied a wide satin sash tied beneath her curved bust and wore her hair up in a tumble of curls. The peach ribbon tying her auburn lengths matched the sash under her breasts and she’d tucked creamy roses into both.
What glorious, innocent seduction. Will wanted nothing more than to catch her fresh loveliness to him and carry her off to his chamber––any chamber––and make passionate love to her for hours, days, interrupted only to lie in each other’s arms and sleep. And eat. But duty beckoned, damn it all. Hamlet had it easy, the whiner. Surely, Will was the most tortured of men.
Seething with need, he maintained his careful composure and waved at Julia.
Women of various ages and descriptions, from matrons in ankle length skirts to teenagers in short minis, mistook his gesture and eagerly waved back. “Mister Wentworth!”
He’d nearly started a stampede in his direction. But he lingered, yearning for Julia as she lifted a silent hand in return. The animation in her expression that accompanied her fe
rvor for heirloom plants faded, and poignant pain took its place. He’d hurt her last evening, again, though his intentions had been good. Honorable, even. She seemed disturbingly more like Ophelia than ever.
What was it with this play, with Cole, and with Julia?
Strange happenings were at work. And why had he used the term ‘chamber,’ instead of bedroom, in his thoughts?
“‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’” Will said under his breath, quoting the melancholy Dane.
At a loss to do more for Julia now, Will forced himself to walk on to the brick layers. He feigned a casual facade. “Any signs of the wall yet?”
Lyle scrunched up his tanned face, his lower lip still swollen and jaw bruised from their short-lived fight. He had the nerve shoot Will a sardonic look. “Oh, yeah. It’s all laid out. We’re just down here scouting for bugs. I’m starting an ant farm. How about you, Ron?”
Will only just refrained from giving Lyle two fat lips.
The local man exhibited more tact. Rocking back on his heels, he lifted his cap to scratch his thinning hair. “No, sir. Odd, how it disappears.”
“It’s got to be here somewhere,” Will said.
Lyle reached for his water bottle. “Brilliant, mate.”
Will unknotted his tie, looped it over a shady branch, then unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s get to work.”
“In those fancy duds?” Lyle scorned. “Save yourself for the adoring throng. You’re like a bloody rock star.”
“It helps to have a legendary ancestor.”
“And to look spookily like the dead guy. Hell, Julia ought to be an easy lay. She’s all about that dude.”
Ron narrowed shocked eyes at the loud-mouthed Aussie.
Will quelled Lyle with a glance that promised immediate action with his next quip. “You ought to be a standup comic, McChesney, only no one’s laughing.”
Lyle raised and lowered his broad shoulders in a shrug. “Good one, mate.”
Crouching on the grassy earth, Will ran his eyes over the uneven ground seeking any trace of a disturbance that might stem from ages past. A sweaty half hour later he still hadn’t found anything and the knees of his slacks had suffered from the search. His shirt clung to him and was streaked with dirt. He’d have to change. For now, he stripped it off and tossed it up beside his tie.
