Pressing his lips to Ariana's forehead, Trenton felt a wave of gratitude that God had seen fit to bring her into his life. In a mere month this extraordinary young woman, with her fundamental love of nature and her unconditional faith in a man that had long since ceased to exist, had broken through Trenton's rigid walls of isolation, surrounded him with her goodness and her love, and penetrated deep into his heart.
A heart he had thought would never thaw again.
Thanks to Ariana, Trenton could actually visualize himself as the man she believed him to be; and he wanted to be that man, desperately, for her.
Vengeance suddenly seemed a poor substitute.
Trenton frowned. At a time when he could actually consider burying the past, looking ahead rather than back, someone was making certain that the past remained very much in the present.
Who?
Staring at the ceiling, he contemplated the possibilities. The most likely, of course, was Baxter. Unlike Ariana, Trenton regarded Baxter not only as a greedy, selfish man, but as a heartless one, as well. He'd never forgotten the bastard's odious pleasure at refusing Trenton's request to spare Richard further grief, and the perverse satisfaction Baxter had taken in evicting Trenton from Winsham. The man was indeed capable of cruelty.
But not without cause.
That was the part that nagged at Trenton's mind, made him doubt Baxter’s guilt. Vindication alone was not enough to drive Baxter Caldwell; no, not unless he had something tangible to gain from it.
Money.
In this case, money was not an issue. Mentally torturing Trenton would bring nothing of monetary worth to Baxter. Which drastically reduced Caldwell’s plausibility as a suspect.
So who had sent that book? Whoever was guilty had to be motivated by blatant viciousness, enough to pay someone to impersonate Vanessa in order to torment Trenton.
Masses of red hair and splendid green eyes.
Trenton squeezed his own eyes shut to block out the image that conjured up: Vanessa. Damn her even in death.
Rearranging the pillows, Trenton settled himself for sleep, determined to stop agonizing over that bloody book. Purposefully, he ran his hand over Ariana's soft curves, reaffirming what was real, what was important. Then, cradling her to him, he slept.
The lantern heralded her arrival, piercing the dark of night and illuminating her hair to a fiery crimson blaze. Her lime silk gown was snug, and she wore nothing underneath, clearly defining every tantalizing curve of her body.
He was unmoved.
He could hear her voice, sense the urgency that drove her. He could feel the silk of her gown as his fingers dug into her shoulders, the fragility of her bones as he shook her... Dear Lord, the venom inside him was such that he could kill her...
Kill her... kill her... kill her...
Trenton, don't ... don't ... don't ...
Bolting upright, Trenton felt sweat drip down his back, trickle along his forehead. It was a dream, only a dream. And yet, so very real.
Wild-eyed, Trenton looked down at Ariana, who had rolled onto her other side and was curled away from him, still sleeping soundly. He wanted to wake her, to crush her against him, to bury himself inside her, to forget.
He couldn't run forever.
Easing out of bed, Trenton dressed and left the room. Broddington was dark, the grandfather clock in the hall telling him that it was nearly midnight. Quietly, he slipped out into the night, inhaling long and hard.
He realized he was still shaking. That damned dream had unnerved him even more than he thought.
Strolling about the grounds, Trenton wished he were at Spraystone. His head was so much clearer there, his thoughts better able to crystallize. And heaven only knew he needed that, needed to achieve some semblance of peace.
He walked endlessly, staring vacantly ahead. Moving automatically, he let his feet take him where they would.
They took him to the River Arun.
Gazing at the deserted shore, Trenton felt that familiar chill encase his heart. Six years. It had been six years since he'd paced along this shoreline, waited for Vanessa to arrive.
His life had never been the same.
Hands balling into fists, Trenton muttered a savage oath and turned away.
It was then that he saw it.
Laying on its side, candles extinguished, the brass lantern was half buried in the sand, only its upper portion visible. Like a man possessed, Trenton walked toward it, squatting to take a closer look.
A groan escaped his throat.
The lantern was unique: a gazebo cage exterior with space for three candles within, ornate, intricate, unchanged.
It was the lantern Vanessa had carried the night she died.
With trembling hands, Trenton lifted it from its sandy bed. Had it been here all these years? Impossible. The police had searched every inch of this beach when they'd scoured the waters for a trace of Vanessa's body-and discovered only her bloodied gown.
Then where the hell had it come from?
The wind whistled through the trees, and Trenton lifted his head slowly, with the sudden, eerie feeling he was not alone.
From fifty feet away, a woman beckoned him. She wore a tight-fitting lime silk gown with a low, square-cut bodice reminiscent of the 1860s. Her hair, a lush mane of flaming red, billowed out around her, catching the moonlight and reflecting it back.
Suddenly she extended both arms in his direction and uttered a single word. "Trenton..."
"No!" Trenton shook his head violently, staggering to his feet, unsure whether he was running toward the apparition or away.
It didn't matter.
For when he looked again, she was gone.
Chapter Twenty
Trenton wasn't sure how many hours he blindly walked the beach; but the sky’s harsh cloak of black was softening to a muted gray, signifying the oncoming dawn, when he found his way back to Broddington.
He had traversed shock and denial and moved into self-censure by this time, contemplating the possibility that he was indeed losing his mind.
"Trenton?" Ariana appeared at the foot of the stairs, wearing only a nightgown and robe, her auburn hair tumbling about her shoulders. "Are you all right?" She followed him into the drawing room, where he proceeded to pour himself a healthy portion of brandy. "Trenton!" She seized his arm, frightened by his disoriented, disheveled state. "What's happened?"
Trenton stared blankly at her over the rim of his brandy glass. "Hello, misty angel. I've returned from hell only to find it again."
Ariana snatched the glass from him and slammed it onto the table. "I've been worried sick about you-you've been gone all night! And while I was agonizing, you were out drinking, of all things?"
"I assure you, I am completely sober. That brandy you just wrenched from me is the first drink I've had. However," and he picked up the bottle with a hand that shook violently, "I intend to finish every last drop until I am so soused I can hardly move, let alone think."
"Why? Where did you go? What happened to reduce you to such a state?"
"Vanessa happened." He lifted the brandy bottle to his lips, taking a long swallow.
"Vanessa? Oh, Trenton, is this about that book again? I thought I'd helped you understand-"
"It's not about the book." He dragged his hand across his forehead. "At least not the book alone." He stared broodingly at the bottle he held, emotions racing across his face. "Dammit!" he exploded suddenly, hurling the brandy bottle against the marble column with all his might, sending a spray of shattered glass and brandy throughout the room.
"Dear Lord..." Ariana was truly frightened. "What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?"
Trenton's head snapped around. "Because I, apparently, am insane. Did you know that, misty angel?" He raked long, unsteady fingers through his hair. "I've lost whatever little portion of my mind I had left. So if your brother told you I was crazy, he didn't lie."
"You are not crazy." She frowned. "Is that where you were? With Baxter?"
"Hardly. No, I was walking."
"Why?"
"I couldn't sleep. I went out to clear my head."
"Where did you walk?"
A pause. "To the River Arun."
"Oh, Trenton." Ariana touched his wrist tentatively, afraid to send him into another rage. "Why do you insist on torturing yourself?"
"I didn't. She did."
"She? Who?"
"I told you: Vanessa."
Slowly, Ariana clasped his fingers in hers. "Vanessa is dead."
"Yes, I know that. But apparently her ghost doesn't."
"Her ghost?" Ariana paled.
"Ah, I see your confidence in my sanity is ebbing."
"What is it you think you saw?"
"I don't think, Ariana... I know." He slapped his palm on the table. "I found the lantern she used that night; it was buried in the sand."
"The lantern? But the authorities checked thoroughly-"
"I'm sure they did. It wasn't there before, but it is now. I was examining it when I sensed someone watching me. I looked up. That's when I saw her."
"Her?" Ariana's heart lurched. "You don't mean Vanessa?"
"The very same. Looking exactly as she had that last night, right down to the gown she wore." He laughed hollowly. "So you see, misty angel, I am indeed insane. Because no matter how hard I try to convince myself that there is some logical explanation for all this, that I didn't really see a dead woman...hear her call my name... I cannot. Because I did. And so did she."
Ariana clutched the lapels of his coat. "Trenton, anyone could have placed a lantern on the beach, and we already suspected that someone was impersonating Vanessa."
Trenton shook his head vehemently. "No. Impossible. The lantern was the exact one she carried that night; I've never seen another like it. And the woman I saw was no impostor, Ariana; it was Vanessa."
"Stop saying that." Ariana shivered. "You're frightening me."
"I'm terrifying myself."
"Trenton." She raised her chin and looked him straight in the eye. "I refuse to believe that you're insane."
"Then how do you explain it?"
Frantically, Ariana's mind raced. "Remember that last night at Spraystone? The way you reacted when we set Odysseus free?"
"At the water's edge," he said slowly.
"Yes. You were looking at me but seeing Vanessa instead. Something triggered that: my resemblance to her, my proximity to the water, my lantern... perhaps all of these. The point is, you were visualizing Vanessa, right?"
"Right, but-"
"You didn't actually see her, you saw a memory of her." Ariana paused to catch her breath. "When was the last time you visited the River Arun?"
Trenton was silent.
"You haven't been there since the night Vanessa died, have you?"
"No."
"Then of course you were shaken. That, combined with the mysterious delivery of that book and your raw nerves, would be enough to prompt your brain to play tricks on you. You didn't really see Vanessa. Maybe you saw someone, but it wasn’t Vanessa. My guess is that it was the same person who bought you that book and who obviously went to the trouble of duplicating Vanessa's lantern."
"Do you really believe that's possible?" The agonized hope on Trenton's face tore at Ariana's heart.
"Of course." She slipped her arms about his waist, resting her head against his chest. "I won't allow you to think you've lost your mind."
"He thinks he's lost his mind." Vanessa bit into her warm scone and gave Baxter a triumphant smile.
"I'm sure he does. But I don't like the risks you're taking." Baxter paced back and forth across the small room in Winsham's rear wing, the one-time servants' quarters.
"I'm not taking any risks, Baxter." Finishing the last flaky crumb, Vanessa dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and leaned back in her chair. "I stay cooped up in Winsham all day, crammed into these tiny quarters like a damned insect. No one in England knows I'm alive, except you."
"And that bloody merchant at the bookstore," Baxter reminded her grimly.
"Wiltshire?" Vanessa threw back her head and laughed. "The man is old and near-sighted; that's why I chose him. The hat I wore concealed most of my face, and my mantle was so loose-fitting, it completely concealed my body. All Wiltshire saw was what I wanted him to see: my hair, which I intentionally wore down, and my eyes, which are vivid enough to make an impression on any man." She inclined her head. "So what are you worrying about?"
"Aren't you forgetting one minor detail?"
"Which is?"
"Trenton Kingsley."
Vanessa poured herself another cup of tea. "I assure you, my dear brother, Trenton Kingsley is one detail I never forget."
"He saw you last night, at the river."
"Correction: I displayed myself for him last night at the river. The whole scene was carefully planned and brilliantly executed, if I must say so myself. As far as Trenton is concerned, he saw a ghost."
"How can you be so sure, Ness?" Baxter's brow furrowed. "Kingsley is a very clever man. Don't underestimate his cunning."
"Don't you underestimate mine." Vanessa lowered her cup to its saucer. "I’m sure because I saw Trenton's face, his eyes. He was horrified, white with shock. There's not a doubt in the world that he believed me to be some apparition created by his slowly deteriorating mind." A triumphant smile touched Vanessa's lips, then froze in place, an odd, faraway light dawning in her eyes. "Time has only improved Trenton Kingsley's incredible magnetism. Not only has he gone from marquis to duke, but from handsome to magnificent. Our sister must be receiving quite an education in her bedroom."
"Stop it!" Baxter ordered. "It sickens me enough to think of Ariana with that bastard. I don't need you to remind me of it-especially after what he did to you!"
Vanessa's features hardened and she raised her chin defiantly. "Don't worry, Baxter. Trenton will pay. I guarantee you, Trenton will pay."
*****
Ariana scribbled a change at the bottom of the page, then held it away to assess it critically. Her face fell. It was no use. Her sketching ability was beyond redemption.
Tearing out the offending page, she tossed it to the floor, disgusted with her pathetic attempts. Evidently, Theresa had been doing her a favor by hiding her childhood sketchpads. Her self-image would only have suffered irreparable damage had she continued her futile efforts.
Ariana rose from the chair, squinting at the bare walls and meager furnishings. Instantly, her imagination broke free of the sitting room’s barren limitations. In their stead, a vision erupted in her mind, vivid in detail, rich in dimension; a vision not of the sitting room as it was, but as it would be when she'd completed it.
When she'd made it Trenton's.
She could envision it all, right down to the needlepoint on the wall. The problem was, she couldn't draw worth a fig.
But she could write.
A detailed journal-keeper, Ariana had long ago learned to capture her every thought, her most minute concept, on paper. That way she could recreate in words what she was unable to do in pictures.
She opened her notebook again, ignoring her feeble struggles to capture the room visually, skipping right to the written section of notes in the back. There. With a satisfied smile, she read through her intricately outlined pages, certain that she had described the room precisely as it was meant to look.
Now all she needed was the right architect to implement her plans. And Ariana knew just the man for the job.
Tyreham was nestled in the hills of Surrey, just a few hours' drive from Broddington and, not surprisingly, close to Epsom Downs, where Dustin could race his Thoroughbreds to his heart's content. Ariana arrived there just afternoon, having left careful instructions with Jennings that His Grace was to know only that she had gone into London to shop.
"Ariana, what a wonderful surprise!" Dustin came out to greet her himself, arms open wide. After giving her a huge hug, he stepped back to survey her carefully. "You look radiant," he decl
ared with smug satisfaction. "Evidently, my brother has mended his ways."
"Somewhat," Ariana returned impishly. "Never completely."
He chuckled. " Touché. " Curiously, he glanced at the Kingsley carriage. "You've come alone?"
"Yes. Trenton has no idea that I'm here. But fear not," she hurried on, seeing the worried scowl on Dustin's face, "my reasons are sound, my motives are sincere... And my husband trusts me," she added softly, a tender glow in her eyes.
Dustin's expression gentled. "A major accomplishment indeed." He gestured toward the door. "Come. You've succeeded in arousing my curiosity. I’ll arrange for some tea and we can talk."
"So you see," Ariana concluded, leaning excitedly toward Dustin, "I know the room would suit Trenton perfectly; it would keep your father close in mind and heart and be the final link in Trenton's metamorphosis. He'll become the man he once was... the man he always has been... and Broddington will be a home." She paused to catch her breath. "It's just the balm Trenton needs to soothe the jagged edges of his life and..." Seeing the twinkle in Dustin's eyes, Ariana broke off. "I'm babbling again, aren't I? I seem to do that a great deal around you."
"You're nervous."
"Is it that obvious?"
Struggling to keep a straight face, Dustin gestured toward the tea table. "You've put six lumps of sugar in your tea and eaten four scones in five minutes."
Ariana looked mortified.
Dustin chuckled, leaning forward to squeeze her hand. "You're charming when you’re nervous," he assured her. "But I wouldn't like to think that I'm the perpetual cause."
"You're not. It's only that I seem always to be turning to you for help."
Echoes in the Mist Page 26
