9 Ways to Fall in Love

by Caroline Clemmons

  The sullen youth sat dully in one corner, unaware of having done anything wrong, but unlikely to repeat his rash actions after the scolding Nora had given him. The threat of being banished from the play appeared to hold more terrors than another stint in Juvie or prison, for which Paul was now of age, unless he wound up in a mental ward. Will hated to send him to either place. But what was he to do, chain him to a tree like a misbehaving hound? He only hoped the addled young man had learned his lesson.

  Jon came upstairs to see Will while his wife helped Julia freshen up and change into one of Nora’s many robes. Deep concern lined the mature man’s usually congenial face. “How’s Julia doing?”

  Will pivoted in his endless march. “Not as well as I would like.”

  “She had a roughish time locked in the attic.”

  “It’s far more than that.”

  Jon gave a nod. “Charlotte told me about Cole.”

  He and Will looked around as she slipped from the bedroom and quietly closed the door. With her white cap and colonial style gown and apron, she really did look the part of an old-fashioned, devoted servant. Her pale blue eyes were anxious as she beckoned them aside.

  “Julia is calmer now, but I’m still uneasy over her,” she said in hushed tones. “I’m not persuaded calling a doctor will help, though. Her pain goes beyond the realm of medicine.”

  Jon listened in silence.

  Will strained to be of aid, wanting to reach Julia as he had when he pounded up the steps to the attic. Only now, her confinement was of a far different nature. He despised this feeling of helplessness. “What can I do? What does she need?”

  Charlotte regarded him steadily. “You, William.”

  He blew out his breath in a weighty sigh. “I’m a great part of the reason she’s in this state in the first place.”

  “You are also the cure.”

  “She insists I’m Cole.”

  “Be Cole, then.”

  He looked hard at the normally level-headed woman. “Are you serious?”

  “Deadly.”

  This was the second time tonight a fatal term had been attached to Julia, and it spooked Will to his core.

  “She’s broken. Painfully like Ophelia,” Charlotte said.

  He winced at the all too familiar imagery. “Hamlet drove that poor girl mad. Do you think I’m doing the same to Julia?”

  “Not intentionally. Circumstances are. It always seemed to me Ophelia went down without much of a fight. Given half a chance, Julia is far more resilient. She just aches to her marrow.”

  Charlotte reached into her apron where the waistband met her round middle and pulled out a scrap of paper, yellowed with age and crumbling at the edges. “Jon and I found this today when we shifted some of the furniture in Cole’s room to finish painting. It was lodged behind his dresser between the furniture and the wall. I was saving it for you to read later, but you’d better see it now.”

  “Gives you goosebumps,” Jon added.

  Will took the yellowed parchment from her and ran his eyes over the old-fashioned scrawl. The writing was barely legible and stained with dark crimson blotches, blood from two centuries ago, he supposed. He looked sharply at them. “Cole wrote this as he was dying.”

  The two nodded in grim union.

  The hair on the back of Will’s neck stood up as he softly read aloud the last words of his dying ancestor. “Julia, I am yours always. Wait for me. I will find you somewhere my love—”

  The pen had slanted off the page after that.

  For a long moment Will stared at the heart-rending message. “Julia Maury never saw this, did she?”

  “She couldn’t have. The wind must have blown the scrap out of sight,” Jon said practically.

  “But I think the girl knew how Cole felt about her,” Charlotte assured him.

  Will didn’t totally agree. “Cole would have moved heaven and earth to be with her, but I’m not sure he ever had the chance to say.”

  Charlotte shrugged wearily. “Maybe not. They weren’t together more than a few days before his untimely death.”

  “No wonder he’s haunting the house, haunting her.”

  Charlotte’s eyes misted. “It’s a tragic tale.”

  Again, Jon was sensible. “And not one you can alter. You’re worn out, woman. There’s no more you can do here tonight.”

  Will nodded, glancing back down at the tender scrawl. “Thank you for all your help, Charlotte. You two go on home. I’ll look in on Julia.”

  She laid her hand on his arm. “There’s something else I noticed.”

  Will glanced up. “Yes?”

  “That coat of Cole’s Julia found in the attic. It’s slashed in two places, the sleeve and the chest.”

  “I saw, briefly,” Will said. “What of it?”

  Charlotte answered as if deep in thought. “Well, the first cut would have been the sleeve, likely his sword arm. It has a dark greenish residue around the tear in addition to blood, like an herbal poultice of some sort was applied.”

  “Why put a poultice on his arm with him still wearing the coat? He would have removed it to treat his wound, and if he’d been fatally stabbed, why bother?”

  “Exactly,” she nodded. “I think he must have taken the coat off after the first wound, and then put it back on for some reason. That was when he received the second stab to his chest.”

  Will wondered aloud, asking, “Why would he dress to go out after being slashed?”

  “That’s the question,” Jon said. “Answer that, and you’ll have your murderer.”

  “Don’t you think it was Cameron?”

  Jon lifted both hands, palms up, and shrugged. “I’m not saying it was or it wasn’t. Only that Cole thought he’d finished fighting and retired to bed. Likely everyone else had gone too. No one really saw what happened to him afterwards.”

  “No. No one,” Charlotte said with a peculiar inflection to her hushed voice, “except the killer.”

  She spoke as if she’d been there, further intensifying Will’s heightened senses. He hardly noticed the kind couple as they walked away and descended the stairs. Instead, he envisioned Cole lying in bed, a poultice on his arm, awaiting the physician’s stitching in the morning. Someone had roused him unexpectedly and he dressed to meet—who?

  Apparently, Cole never left his room alive. In the final throes of death, he’d summoned every last ounce of strength to write this missive to the woman so infinitely dear to him...the woman he was bent on being reunited with.

  Will thought how much he and Cole had in common. He would do whatever it took to win Julia. One thing still didn’t make sense to him, though. If Cole had the presence of mind to put on his coat, then that meant he wasn’t killed in his sleep. And if he were awake, how did such an expert swordsman fall so easily? Even with his sword arm injured he could still fence with his other. It was a little known fact that both Cole and Will could use either hand.

  There was still a vital piece of the story missing, and for some inexplicable reason, it mattered to Will. It mattered a lot.

  ****

  Practice was finally at an end and the players were leaving. Will had no desire to face anyone with news of Julia, but must as least bid his grandmother goodnight. He charged down the steps, nearly colliding with Lyle on the landing.

  The Aussie eyed him questioningly.

  Will shook his head in mute response.

  Tight-lipped, reproachful, as if he held Will responsible for Julia’s precarious state, Lyle strode away.

  His silent accusation was both annoying and painful in its potential truth. Paul dodged a fiery volley from Lyle’s slitted stare. He escaped with Father Seth who’d promised to see the delinquent youth home and help keep an eye on him.

  Thank God for the saintly priest. Anticipating a tongue lashing from his grandmother, Will approached her grudgingly. Millicent had helped the regal dowager to her feet and she leaned on her cane. He met his elderly relation’s watchful inquiry in mutual scrutin
y.

  She spoke first. “Well, sir, I should say we can lay that rumor of your preference for men to rest now.”

  Will rubbed a hand over the slight stubbles on his chin. “If you’ve finished thrusting suitable young ladies at me.”

  “You prefer unsuitable?”

  “I expect you’ve surmised whom I prefer.”

  She weighed him, and a faint smile curved her thin lips. “We’ll see about that. Miss Patterson is still in the running. But If Hamlet can keep the fair Ophelia afloat, I shall consider his request.”

  “Touché,” Will conceded at her play on words.

  She preened a little, and then grew serious. “But mark my words, William, that is one strange girl.”

  “This is one strange household, Ma’am, and cursed. What sin did our forebears commit to be so condemned?”

  “Likely no more than you or I. You must break the curse, sir,” she said, not debating its reality.

  “Just like that? You make it sound a trifling matter.”

  Her eyes deepened to a somber blue-gray. “It will take some doing, no doubt, but it seems the task has fallen to you and Miss Morrow.” She grew brisk again. “See that the girl is at practice tomorrow. The show must go on.”

  “Come hell or high water,” he muttered.

  She angled her head at him. “It’s important, William.”

  For some peculiar reason he couldn’t define in sensible terms, he sensed the truth of her assertion. “I know.”

  She nodded her approval and then limped across the hall on the beleaguered Millicent’s arm. A pang touched him at the heaviness in her gait. This play took all her strength.

  “Ma’am?” Will called after her.

  The erect figure paused. She turned stiffly. “Yes?”

  “Do you know how Julia Maury died?”

  “Drowned, it’s said, soon after returning to England.”

  Her quiet reply sank in his gut like lead. “She didn’t long outlive Cole.”

  “No. Poor soul. She took to wandering along the riverbank in her grief and lost her footing, or so the story goes. Her father blamed the Wentworth family.”

  Will could imagine all too well. “Julia was his favorite daughter.”

  “I never heard that.” Giving Will a peculiar look, she limped from the hall.

  He stared after his grandmother. It only stood to reason that Julia had been a favorite. How could she not be?

  The departing actors left the house unnervingly empty, perhaps because, somehow, it wasn’t altogether vacant. No. Something or someone still lingered. Will sensed an almost palpable presence in the great hall, as if he—somehow Will knew the spirit was masculine—would show himself at any moment. A finger of dread ran down his spine. Coldness encircled him like mist, the eerie sensation almost more than flesh and blood could endure. He wasn’t waiting beneath the portraits of his ancestors for an apparition to appear with a request like Hamlet’s father.

  Without a backward glance, he sped up the steps to Julia and slipped into his darkened room. Pale light from the hall illuminated her slender figure curled beneath pink satin. She appeared to be soundly asleep. How beautiful she looked lying there and infinitely vulnerable. Had Will even truly lived before she came to Foxleigh?

  It would be a mere shell of existence if she left. Reluctantly, he turned on his heels.

  A low moan escaped her.

  He swiveled to see her toss drowsily onto her back, her lovely face drawn in pain.

  She crushed the coverlet in her fingers. “Cole—”

  The quavering plea plumbed Will to his depths and he could bear no more. Any remaining jealousy of his illustrious cousin fled before all-consuming pity. He could do nothing for the ill-fated lovers except to ease Julia’s suffering. Perhaps, that was even Cole’s intention.

  Surrendering his demand that she love him only for himself, Will determined to become the man she yearned after.

  “Julia,” he said, lowering himself to sit beside her.

  She roused slightly.

  He slid his arms beneath her, gathering her against him. He pressed his lips to her cheek and drifted to her ear. “I love you always.”

  She stirred in his tender hold, still not fully awake. A sniffle sounded.

  “Don’t cry. I’m here, Jules.”

  She lifted her head, exploring him tremulously. At first she couldn’t even seem to move or speak, and then she flung her arms around his neck and nearly cut off his wind.

  “Dear God. It’s really you.”

  Her profound gladness filled Will with relief and a tinge of guilt. He was playing a part, but a vital one.

  She lightened her grasp, a hitch in her voice as she said, “Julia, I am yours always. Wait for me. I will find you somewhere my love.”

  A shock wave jolted through Will. He pulled back to stare into her brimming eyes. “You read the note?”

  She nodded. “Then the world collapsed. It’s about to collapse again.”

  “We won’t let it.”

  “The worm is in the lily,” she warned.

  “We’ll squash the worm, Jules,” he promised, covering her upturned mouth with his. Sweetness beyond anything he’d yet tasted flowed from her into him.

  “No one except Cole has ever called me that,” she whispered against his lips.

  How had Will come by the pet name? Maybe Cole put it into his mind. He didn’t know, didn’t care. Still possessing her honeyed mouth, he drew her down onto the bed, ready to do what Cole had longed to and Will hadn’t dared.

  Chapter 17

  Cole, or was it Will, slowly rolled with Julia over and over on the bed, kissing her lips, swollen against his in irrepressible desire. She’d loved him for so long and never had even this much of his sacred touch...their time together so short, yet steeped with endless wanting.

  The mist parted and the centuries faded. At last, they were coming together, though all the forces of Hell had prevailed against them. Miraculously, Heaven won out, at least for now, rapturous now.

  The faint spice of Cole, Will’s, cologne mixed with his unique scent and drew her in a lovers’ bond. She would have known him in utter darkness before he’d even brushed her with a single caress. Forgoing his uncertain name, she let deepest sighs speak for her as he pressed his lips over her face. She quivered as his mouth traced her neck in sensuous circles...the feel of him tasting her bare skin, unspeakably divine. Savoring each second, she drank him in as if to hold onto this moment forever.

  She prayed she wasn’t dreaming, or if she were that God wouldn’t ever let her awake. A loving Creator couldn’t, wouldn’t, be so cruel. All she’d ever wanted, time out of mind, was this man in holy union.

  “Cole, Will,” she whispered, running her fingers through his luxuriantly thick hair. Was she making love to them both or were they truly one?

  “You are beautiful, Jules. So beautiful.”

  His words slipped around Julia in silken softness as Cole...Will...slid her robe down over her nakedness. Pale light shone over her, giving her a marbled look like a Grecian statue. They could have been in Greece for all she knew, or cared.

  “Ummmm, jasmine,” he breathed in. “You smell as luscious as you look.”

  “I found the perfume among Nora’s things,” Julia managed breathlessly.

  “She never smelled like you. Trust me, I’d know.”

  Julia giggled, glorying in his fervent admiration and in his lips as they followed the descending cloth, pressing her incredibly responsive skin. His strong hands stroked her shoulders, her arms, gliding down her smooth sides as if every curve were carved for him. Surely, she had been.

  Tingles rippled through her and she trembled as he spread his cupped palms over her breasts. No longer a painfully thin, flat-chested girl, she filled his hands perfectly, even spilling out the sides with a little left over. Her nipples firmed like sun-ripened buds under his light caress, and she gasped as he closed warm lips over one, then the other. He tugged lightly on her
breasts, sliding back and forth, suckling each nipple.

  Powerful sensations rippled through her. She thrilled to every wondrous wave, wanting only more.

  Cole and Will seemed to meld together, not only in her mind, but in spirit, so that she couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. Ebbing and flowing together in a heart-pounding tide.

  Will still wore his shirt, but not for long. Their short pants sounded in the still room as she pulled the blue polo up and he slipped it off over his head.

  He tossed the shirt to the blackened floor, and drew her against his bare chest. She sucked in her breath at the feel of skin against skin, and the seductive tickle of his dark hair on her breasts. There was nothing boyish about him. The masculine energy he exuded surrounded her in a lofty swell, carrying her above the raw pain in her soul.

  Please, God, let her remain in this blissful place.

  She pressed her questing mouth over his firm neck and shoulders. So muscular, and yet smooth beneath her lips. She caught his hand, the hand she loved to hold, and brought it to her lips. “Stay with me always.”

  He answered by cupping her face in his palms and covering her mouth again and again with his, pressing her lips harder and harder until she was winded, wanton, and wonderful, like a foaming, frothy, sea of desire. She almost tore his jeans off.

  He chuckled. “Innocent virgins aren’t to know what follows. At least, not strictly brought up nineteenth century ones.”

  “Pure instinct.” Her heart drummed in her ears.

  He undid the zipper and his pants went the way of his shirt. His briefs swiftly followed and she saw the shadowed silhouette of his hardened organ for the very first time.

  She stifled a gasp. Almost.

  “I heard that,” he whispered, burying his lips in her tingly neck. “Still certain you want me?”

  “Certain.” She circled her arms around his shoulders and drew him down on her. His solid body pressed hers.

  “Not yet,” he breathed against her quivering skin, and trailed one hand down across the curve of her hip.