“No?” She saw one dark brow lift in the moonlight. “You never considered the possibility? Not even for a second?”
When she hesitated, he turned away from her. “That’s what I figured.”
“All right, maybe I did wonder for just a second,” she admitted, remembering the dream. “But be fair—”
“Fair?” She could tell he was angry, furious maybe, but his control was almost more frightening than an outburst would have been. “I’m not exactly concerned with being fair here. I’m more worried about history repeating itself.”
“Meaning, you think I’ll let you take the blame again for something you didn’t do,” Amy retorted, her own anger building. “All these years, you’ve held that against me, haven’t you? You blamed me for what happened to you. But you don’t know what happened to me back then. No one does.”
“You’re wrong,” he said darkly. “Someone knows.”
Amy’s breath stilled. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and took his arm. When he didn’t resist, her grasp tightened on him almost desperately. “Who knows? What have you found out?”
He moved closer to her in the darkness, and Amy’s breath caught in her throat. He didn’t touch her, but she sensed he wanted to. The idea was not unappealing to her. Far from it.
But instead of taking her in his arms, he glanced over her shoulder, and Amy turned, almost expecting to see someone walking across the lawn toward them. But nothing stirred that she could detect. Amberly remained dark and silent, almost menacing in the moonlight.
“I think your disappearance had something to do with this house.”
A shiver ran up Amy’s backbone. “What do you mean?”
“This place has always evoked strong feelings. It makes people act irrationally. People develop…unnatural attachments to it. Your mother. You. And then she committed suicide, and you disappeared for nine years without a trace.”
“God,” Amy said, rubbing the goose bumps on her arms. “You make it sound almost cursed.”
“I think it is in a way. I sometimes used to think it would be better if this place just burned to the ground. That way you wouldn’t be—” He broke off, as if he’d said more than he meant to reveal.
“I wouldn’t be what?” Amy pressed.
He shrugged. “You always loved this place more than anything. Or anyone.” His voice was traced with bitterness, edged with regret, and suddenly Amy understood. It wasn’t just this house Con had been threatened by, but everything it stood for. Everything he could never hope to have, including Amber.
It’s just a house, she wanted to tell him, but as she stared at the shadowy silhouette, she felt an undeniable pull—an almost fierce sense of pride. Generations of her family had lived here, had fought and died here. Had loved here. Amberly was a part of her.
But so was Con, in a way. He, too, was a part of her past she wasn’t yet ready to let go of. She wondered how she could have ever used him, why she hadn’t wanted him for the man he must have been. She wanted him now, she realized, but it was too late. Or too soon. So much more than lost memories stood between them. His bitterness. Her uncertainty. And a marriage they’d entered into for all the wrong reasons.
She sighed deeply. “I do feel something for this house. I can’t deny that. But for the last nine years, I didn’t even know this place existed. I didn’t remember it. But I never forgot you. Your face. I used to see you in my dreams. I must have drawn your features a thousand times over the years, because I…couldn’t let go of you.”
He was stunned into silence, and Amy sensed more than saw the dark scowl come over his expression. Then, without warning, he raised his hand to her face, outlining her jaw with his fingertip, as if he were memorizing her features the way she had his.
“You’ve changed,” he murmured, his tone almost awed.
“So I keep hearing. Corliss tells me I’ve lost all my looks.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” His gaze dropped from her face as his finger trailed down her throat, whispering against the rounded neckline of her white cotton nightgown. “I definitely wouldn’t say that.”
He grazed the tops of her breasts, and Amy drew in her breath, a warm excitement spiraling through her.
When she didn’t object, he touched her more openly, more urgently, and Amy reached up quickly to put her hand over his. But instead of stopping him, she pressed his hand against her breast, closing her eyes as a storm of sensations swirled through her. She could feel the heat of him. His skin seared through the fabric of her nightgown as her heart beat a frenzied staccato against his hand.
He met her gaze in the moonlight, watching her while he touched her, almost daring her to turn him away.
She said in a voice she hardly recognized, “It’s all right if you want to kiss me.”
He laughed, the sound low and masculine, almost unbearably intimate in the dark. “Maybe you haven’t changed as much as I thought.”
But he didn’t seem to object. He pulled her to him, fitting his body against hers, staring down at her for so long that Amy would have kissed him if he hadn’t stopped her. He put a fingertip to her lips, tracing the contours until she trembled with excitement.
“Be still,” he murmured against her mouth. He outlined her lips with his tongue, toying with her, making her ache for his kiss.
He knew what he was doing. The buildup was exquisite.
Finally, he pressed his mouth to hers, and his tongue slipped inside. Amy’s heart went wild as she kissed him back, as she thrust her tongue inside his mouth and molded her body to his. She felt wanton and sensual, a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it.
When they finally broke apart, she said shakily, “I never expected that.”
“I guess this is where the ‘it never should have happened I made a mistake’ routine begins.” He was trying to be flip, but Amy didn’t think he was as unaffected by the kiss as he would have her believe. His eyes were dark in the moonlight. Smoldering, Amy imagined, and her heart skipped a beat as she stared up at him.
“That’s not what I meant. I guess I never thought—” She broke off and tried again. “Was it always like this between us?”
She saw him frown in the darkness. “We kissed a lot that summer, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Were we…?”
“Lovers?” He wasn’t touching her, but they were still standing so close, she could feel the warmth of him. Her skin tingled with awareness.
“Were we?” Her voice sounded breathless, anxious, still excited.
Con hesitated. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me,” she tried to say lightly. “I wouldn’t like to think I left behind a string of lovers I don’t even remember.”
She saw his body tense and knew immediately she’d said the wrong thing.
He turned away from her, facing the woods. “You were the most popular girl in school back then. You had a lot of boyfriends, but how many of them were your lovers…I’m not sure that’s for me to answer.”
There was only one lover that Amy really cared about, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask again.
Con said, “It’s late. You’d probably better go in.” When he hesitated, Amy thought for a moment he meant to kiss her good-night. Instead, he said, “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
The edge of urgency in his voice alarmed Amy. She stared up at him, remembering the footsteps she’d heard in the woods. The man she’d seen in town. The truck that had almost forced her off the road. “You don’t think I’m actually in danger, do you?”
He shrugged, as if uncertain how to explain his concerns. “Think about it. Something happened nine years ago to make you leave this place, to make you forget who you were and where you came from. You don’t lose your memory because of an argument with your daddy.”
A shiver of fear ran through her. “What are you getting at?”
His expression was unfathomable in the moonlight. “Like I told you, I’ve been
doing some reading.” He’d even consulted a psychiatrist while he’d been in Memphis, but he didn’t tell her that. “The two most common causes of amnesia are head trauma and emotional shock. What did the doctors in Houston tell you?”
Amy frowned. “I had a mild concussion when Nona checked me into the hospital, but nothing too serious. They couldn’t find a physical reason for my memory loss.”
“Which leaves emotional shock,” Con said. “Something must have traumatized you.”
Amy sucked in a breath. “Are you saying…someone did something to me that night?”
His dark gaze flickered in the moonlight. “That’s what we have to find out…”
He didn’t finish his thought, but the echo of his unspoken words lingered on the air around them. Before it’s too late.
* * *
THE DOOR TO Fay’s room stood ajar when Amy slipped back down the hallway, and for a moment, she worried someone might have seen her and Con outside. She didn’t relish the idea of having to explain herself, not to Lottie or Fay or Mena, but especially not to Jasmine.
Trying to be as quiet as possible, Amy started by Fay’s door, then paused when she heard Lottie say in an urgent, hushed tone, “Calm down, Phaedra. You’ll wake up the whole house. Everything is going to be fine.”
“How can you say that, Mama? Everything is going to hell now that she’s come back. I saw her in Jimmy’s office today. She was asking about Miranda’s will.”
“How do you know? Did he say she was?” There was an odd, anxious note in Lottie’s voice. “How do you know he didn’t call and ask her to come?”
“Because he doesn’t still care about her,” Fay said angrily. “I know he doesn’t.”
“He’s never married in all these years,” Lottie said softly. “And God knows, it wasn’t for want of you trying.”
“Thank you for pointing that out, Mama. For your information, he was about to propose to me before she came back. I know he was.”
“And now?” Lottie sighed. “Nine years is a long time, Phaedra. Don’t you think it’s time you moved on?”
“And let her have him?” Her tone was so contemputous, a shiver of fear ran up Amy’s backbone. “She hasn’t changed, you know. That amnesia bit doesn’t fool me. She still thinks she’s the little princess, and can have any man she bats her eyes at. God, how I hate her!”
Amy stood outside Fay’s door, knowing she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but fearing she would be detected if she moved or even breathed. She knew they were talking about her, and the animosity, the hatred, in Fay’s voice was startling.
“She’ll never let us stay here. You know that as well as I do. She’s never thought we belonged here.”
“She’ll go back to Houston soon,” Lottie soothed. “And then everything will be fine.”
“How can you believe that? We got lucky once, but now that she’s back, Amber will never leave this place again. Not of her own free will anyway. You know how she felt about this house. She’s starting to feel that way again. I can tell.”
“I don’t think so,” Lottie murmured. “She has changed. There’s nothing here for her anymore.”
“Don’t count on that. What about Conner Sullivan?”
Lottie gave an uncharacteristic snort. “He’s nothing but trailer trash. She won’t take up with him again.”
“He’s got money now, and besides, she was wild about him back then.” Fay’s voice became strangely subdued.
“Only because he was forbidden,” Lottie insisted. “He’d have no appeal to her now that Emmett is dead.”
“I don’t know about that,” Fay said slyly. “Maybe you ought to ask Mena about his appeal.”
Silence. Then Lottie said in a shocked tone, “Mena and…Con?”
“I’m surprised she never told you. She was in love with him all through high school. Of course, he didn’t look at her twice when Amber was around, but I don’t think Mena has ever gotten over him. I’ve seen the way she looks at him since he’s been back. I know she’d like to get in his pants, but whether or not they’ve actually done the dirty deed is anyone’s guess.”
Amy’s breath came in sharp little spurts, and her heart pounded so hard her chest hurt. She stood trembling in the hallway, not wanting to hear any more but unable to stop herself from listening.
Mena and Con. Mena and Con. The two linked names were like a mantra inside her head. She put a finger to her lips, remembering his kiss. Remembering his promise to help her.
Lottie said stiffly, “There’s no call for that kind of vulgarity, Phaedra. I’ll speak with Mena when she gets home.”
“Don’t tell her I said anything,” Fay said, her voice suddenly anxious. “You know how she feels about me.”
“That’s ridiculous. Mena loves you. She’s been a wonderful sister to you.”
“Oh, please. Spare me the litany of Mena’s saintly attributes. I’ve heard them all my life, and, frankly, they’re starting to bore me.”
“Phaedra—”
“I’m sorry to be the one to break this to you, Mama, but your dear, precious Philomena isn’t quite as dear or as precious as you’d like to believe. One of these days, you’re going to have to face up to the truth—about her and about this house. Mena’s not the person you think she is, and there’s no damn way this place is ever going to be ours.”
After a moment, Lottie said primly, “Of course this house will be ours. Once Amber is gone, Jasmine won’t be a problem. She hates it here. She can’t wait to be rid of Amberly.”
“That may be true. But there’s still one teeny tiny little problem. Even if we can somehow get rid of Amber, how are we going to come up with the money to buy this place from Jasmine?”
“I’ve got a little nest egg put away,” Lottie said proudly.
“A nest egg?” Amy could almost picture the redhead perking up with interest.
“I’ve been putting away a little something for years. Plus, I still have the money Emmett left me.”
“That’s nowhere near enough to buy this house. Besides, if Amber gets wind of what’s going on—”
Lottie’s voice, usually so gentle, took on a dark tone. “That girl will not mess things up for me this time. It took me years to repair the damage she caused between Emmett and me. There was a time when I thought he might actually ask me to leave Amberly. I don’t know what I would have done if he had, but thank God it didn’t come to that.” She drew a long breath. “Don’t you worry, Phaedra. I haven’t worked my fingers to the bone since his death to have Amberly ripped away from me now. This house belongs to me. To us. We’re not leaving here again.”
Trembling, Amy backed away from Fay’s door. She’d had no idea of the depth of Fay’s hatred for her, or the strength of Lottie’s obsession with Amberly.
She’d never once suspected Mena’s feelings for Con.
Did he return those feelings? Were his words to Amy earlier just empty promises? Maybe he’d never had any intention of helping her. Maybe he was merely…toying with her.
The same way you toyed with him nine years ago, a little voice whispered inside her.
Because after all, that same voice taunted her, isn’t revenge a dish best served cold?
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN AMY GOT UP the next morning, she had dark circles under her eyes. Sleep had eluded her after she’d overheard the conversation between Lottie and Fay. She’d lain awake thinking about the night’s events, and wondering if James Birdsong had been right to warn her. Was there something sinister at work here?
Was there no one here she could trust?
For a moment, she considered calling Reece. She even went so far as to pick up the phone in her room and listen for the dial tone. He’d offered to help her two weeks ago, but that was before she’d broken their engagement. Could she swallow her pride and tell him he’d been right? She couldn’t handle this alone. There were too many dark secrets in Amber Tremain’s past. Too many people who had wanted her to leave and never come back.
Replacing the phone in the hook, Amy went into the bathroom to shower and dress. Emerging from her room a little while later in jeans and a blue sleeveless shell, she stood in the hallway, listening to the silence of the house. It was still early, but Lottie was usually up by dawn. Today, however, there were no sounds of clanking dishes, no vacuum cleaner running, no soft hum as she went about her household chores. Amberly was almost ominiously quiet.
Pausing on the second-floor gallery, Amy stared up at an oil painting she’d been told was of her mother. The woman was delicately beautiful, lovelier by far than either Amber or Jasmine, although both daughters bore a striking resemblance to her.
In the portrait, Miranda Tremain stood at the top of the stairs, her hands clasped around a magnolia blossom she cradled against the bosom of her misty green ball gown. Her blond hair was swept back and up, showcasing her exquisite features and a magnificent emerald pendant that nestled in the smooth hollow of her throat.
But it was her eyes that were her most arresting feature. They tilted at the corners, just as her daughters’ did, but the color was a deep, mossy green. Dark and mysterious, her eyes seemed to hold untold secrets, a melancholy mixture of sorrow, longing and ennui.
What had made her so sad? Why had she felt desperate enough to believe her only recourse was to throw herself into the river? Did her suicide have something to do with this house? Or was it because of her husband’s betrayal?
“I see you’re staring at Mama’s portrait again.”
Amy jumped at the suddenness of Jasmine’s voice. She turned as her sister walked up beside her at the top of the stairs. “I didn’t hear you come down the hallway. You startled me.”
“Sorry. Lottie says I’m like a cat. Personally, I think if she didn’t have such a guilty conscience, she wouldn’t startle so easily.”
“I don’t have a guilty conscience,” Amy pointed out.
Jasmine’s smile was cryptic. “How do you know? Maybe you just forgot.” Before Amy could respond, her sister turned to stare up at their mother’s portrait. “Wasn’t Mama beautiful?” Jasmine looked very fresh and pretty this morning in her shorts and tank top.
Her Secret Past Page 11
