It was a potpourri of strange notions that her mind had somehow gotten mired in, repeatedly projecting her psyche into this loop of imagery.
She knew this, and so didn’t cry out when the flames sprouted up out of nowhere and the lush gardens of the beautiful mansion disintegrated into hell before her eyes.
Black smoke scratched at her lungs, choking off her air supply, and fear gave way to determination. She was desperate to learn what these scenes meant. This time she would stay until she found out what they had to do with her. But the question remained unanswered as she felt the inexorable pull on her consciousness.
She was moving up out of the blazing inferno, up into the light where she could breathe again. Far below, she heard the dragon roar…
Sacha sat up in bed, choking. Instead of reaching for the water glass, she picked up the pencil and pad on the nightstand.
A king, the mansion, gardens. She quickly jotted down these things on the pad, her hand jerking with each cough, but she couldn’t get any further. Just like that, the images slipped away from her consciousness. Gone.
She dropped the pad in frustration and picked up the glass.
What is my subconscious trying to tell me?
Sacha got up, moving to the bureau where there were scribbled notes from other unsolved fantasies she’d recently experienced. A king was involved, but she didn’t know who he was or what country he was from. Period clothing, she remembered this. Gowns and ermine-trimmed robes from an earlier century.
There was nothing to do but to wait for another dream. Maybe next time she would solve the mystery.
Her bedroom had become a portal to some other world she couldn’t comprehend. She needed to get out of this room, maybe go for a swim.
Sacha found a swimsuit, but then realized Armand might be swimming. The last thing she wanted was to run into him in the poolroom. She settled for a shower.
When she came out of the bath, Mum was waiting for her, but she tried nevertheless.
“Would you please ask Cook to send a tray up?”
Mum ignored her and held out a green satin cocktail dress with a studded belt. “This will take the focus off those bags under your eyes.”
She didn’t know how she would get through dinner with Armand, but held her hair up while Mum zipped up the back of the dress.
“What’s wrong with the bags under my eyes? They match the dress.”
Her mother turned her around and pulled her along to the vanity. “This is no laughing matter. And I won’t let you sleep this joyous occasion away.” Frowning, her mother examined her face. “Your nap doesn’t seem to have done you much good.”
For some reason, she couldn’t tell her mother about the dreams. First, her claustrophobia and now, she might be going crazy. She couldn’t bring herself to give her parents the news.
Her mother erased the bags under her eyes with a cover pencil and down to the formal dining room they went.
Cook prepared a feast for Armand’s homecoming, but dinner was anything but warm and fuzzy that night at St. Clair Manor. Mum frowned at her, Dad was Armand’s best mate, and Miles was, well, Miles.
“Armand, will you extend an invitation to your mother to attend the symphony when you return to Italy?” Judging from the look in his eye, Dad was asking much more than that.
Miles’s chuckle had her waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Armand was watching her with that hunger in his eyes, although they were well into dessert now. “Angel, I think it’s time we head back.”
“I’m not going…”
“That is a great idea. After all that’s happened, I will feel so much better knowing that you are with Armand.”
Sacha gaped at her father. His complete turnabout of shielding her from the world to literally handing her over to the assassin known as Falcon was just as disconcerting as the way he emphasized the word ‘with’ in his statement.
“At least until we can join you for the symphony, ma petite.”
Sacha glared across the table at Armand. What have you done to my parents?
He met her eyes with a resolute look of his own. “Our flight leaves in the morning.”
“But you’ve only just arrived.” Leif, who had just come in from London, strode into the dining room. He went straight to the empty chair next to Armand. “Am I too late?” He sat down, oblivious to the tension hovering over the table. “Caro, is there any more of that cake with the strawberry drizzle on the sides?”
The only sound in the room was the clink of china as Caroline served him.
Chapter Thirteen
They arrived in Naples two days later.
At the Casa di Città on Piazza Avellino, Sacha struggled with her feelings for Armand.
The meeting with her parents the morning she’d left England was very strange. Her mother was uncharacteristically firm, adept at the role her father typically handled in his commanding manner.
“Do you love him?” her mother had demanded to know.
“Yes.”
“We all make mistakes, sweetheart. Armand was just doing his job.” Her father made his point with that smile. “Besides, you were not entirely honest with him, isn’t that right?”
“Why are you on his side?”
“Because he is the one, chérie.”
“Stay with him. One day it will all become clear,” her father promised.
What was he, a shaman?
She had never heard her no-nonsense father wax poetic before. It disturbed her because his words carried the ring of truth and she couldn’t explain why.
There was Armand, who was no help at all in her indecision. He seemed to always be around. He insisted upon walking her to the Conservatory in the mornings and met her after classes at the end of the day for dinner.
There was something he wanted to talk to her about, but she didn’t want to have another serious discussion. She had asked him to wait, fearing the worst, that he would ask her to marry him.
She didn’t have an answer for him. He’d finally agreed that they should get to know each other as Armand and Sacha. He gave her the space she requested, remaining in his apartment three doors down from hers.
Now she was virtually in hiding in her apartment.
One night Armand took her to il Ducato. Sacha was so happy to see Aunt Maria, Zio, and their two children together, Julie and Leo that it took her a while to realize the family was acting as if she and Armand were already married.
They were planning the next family vacation during Julie and Leo’s spring break. Kauai would be nice. She didn’t have the heart to tell them she wouldn’t be going on the trip if Armand went, so she remained silent.
“Why so quiet?” Armand whispered in her ear while Aunt Maria told Julie and Leo about the big island.
“If you’ve stayed away from me all these years because of your missions, they are far too important to miss for a family vacation, which you have obviously lost interest in.”
“Bella, when are you going to stop fighting this?”
“Fighting what?”
“Us.” His gaze dropped to her lips and he leaned closer.
Sacha sat back in her chair, away from his lips. “I’m just staying focused on the job. You know, the one where you watch over the violin until the symphony is over.”
Armand placed his hand over hers on the table. “It should be a crime to enjoy a job this much.” He rejoined the vacation discussion.
Although she allowed herself the comfort of his hand covering hers like a warm glove, she was all too aware that he had followed her to England to ensure the Strad’s safety. She had no intention of sleeping with him again. It would only make his violin watch that much sweeter.
A week before the symphony, they sat together in the living room practicing a complicated modulation of Opus 6:12 Concerti Grossi.
Armand knew the Corelli pieces as well as she did. Despite her determination not to have personal contact with him, she loved to play with him.
In the middle of the chorus, she stopped playing. “Don’t you hear it?”
“Hear what?”
“The piano, a baby grand, I think.”
Armand got up from the digital piano and came to sit beside her on the couch. “You hear another piano?”
“And another violin. Sometimes I hear it when we play together.” She felt silly admitting it, but she was relieved to talk about it finally, and she wanted Armand to know in case she was going a little bit crazy.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Since the first time we played together. Do you think I’m mad?”
“No.” Armand’s expression was thoughtful, and then he grinned. His dimpled chin made her stomach drop to the floor. “I think we’ve been working too hard tonight.”
He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and watched her put away the violin. “I should go.”
She fingered the small metal latches on the violin case, aware that he was staring at her.
The apartment felt like solitary confinement and it was Armand’s fault. Before she’d met him, she had been obliged to spend hours alone with her music. When he left her in the evenings, she ended up either playing the violin or reading the Maestro’s music books until sleep triumphed.
She had acquired an appetite for Armand. He was in her blood, and the knowledge of him made her restless with longing. Although he was the reason for her troubled thoughts, his presence was comforting. She should do something about it. No one should be so dependent on another person.
“Would you keep me company for a bit longer?”
Armand took her hand and led her to the sofa. “Let’s watch the game.” He turned on the television and she settled next to him. He gently pushed her head back against his chest as they sat down to watch football.
* * * *
“Will you marry me?”
“Oui, mon cher. I will marry you.”
He took her in his arms. His kiss stirred her soul’s memory, and she wept.
“Amore mio, why do you cry?”
“We are one, do you not feel it?” Her joy knew no bounds. She belonged to him.
“Sì, Bella. We are blessed.” His kiss was like fire. It consumed her.
Red, fiery eyes shimmered through the fire.
She was no longer kissing her beloved.
The dragon roared and engulfed her in flames. All around her were burning, blinding flames, and screams. Someone was wailing in agony…
“Angel! Wake up!”
Someone held her. “No! Get away!” She could not free herself.
“Angel! Baby, calm down. It’s a dream. Angel, it’s a dream.”
Sacha looked up at Armand, and then flung herself against him. He had pulled off his T-shirt at some point in the night. She clutched that hard chest, grabbing at him, needing to feel that he was real.
“I won’t let you go.” He was here. He hadn’t left her.
Choking on the horror of the dream, she couldn’t speak. She kept her face in his chest, breathing him in.
The last thing she remembered was the close game on television and Armand coaching from the sofa. He must have carried her to bed where he held her now in the dark.
“You’re shaking. Come here.” Armand sat up against the headboard and pulled her onto his lap.
She sat with her face buried in the crook of his neck, trying to forget. She did not want to remember this nightmare. The heat so intense she could not breathe. The lancing pain of the flames washed over her skin before they finally consumed her.
And the smell of her own burning flesh.
“What is happening to me?”
Armand turned on the bedside lamp, bathing them in a golden circle against the pillows. He held her tighter. “You’re safe now.”
Exhaling, she fell back against him. The soft light chased away the remnants of dread, which had followed her out of the nightmare.
“Tell me.”
“It was terrible. I was on fire.”
Armand tensed, and she turned, catching his pained expression. “I wasn’t alone this time, you were there. But then there was nothing but fire, and I couldn’t wake up.” She started shaking.
His arms tightened around her. “Shh-h, it’s over now.” He brushed away the bangs clinging to her forehead and kissed it. “I’m sorry, baby. You’ve dreamed of this before, haven’t you?”
“The night I was kidnapped I dreamed I was trapped in a room. I couldn’t get out. The blaze…” It was cathartic to talk about it now. She told him what little she remembered of her dreams.
“Where do the dreams take place?”
“I don’t know, but there is a river nearby and it is not the Wharfe. I don’t think it is in England.” She sighed. “They’re all just vague impressions now.”
Armand pulled her back down on the bed, his arms encircling her. “Sleep.”
“Will you stay with me?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
That was all she needed to hear. Sacha turned in his arms, nestling her back against his hard warmth, and fell into an exhausted sleep.
* * * *
Asnieres-Sur-Seine
“This land was once owned by Comte d’Avril.” Falcon looked down towards the moat where an ornamental lake was set like an emerald on the first level of the gardens. Statues of Greek gods encircled the lake, set in niches cut into the hedges. “He and his family were killed here.”
Angel touched a lush bloom as they walked where roses in every hue vied for attention. “What happened?”
“The French Revolution. The commoners tore through the countryside, burning title deeds. It was called La Gran Peur. The Chateau de Vaujours was burned to the ground with the family in it.”
“God, that is horrible.” Angel stared up at a carved stone balcony with French doors overlooking the wide parklands. Margaux’s suite, at least where it would have been if the original building had not been gutted.
Angel turned, pulling him along. “Look at the plane trees.”
Falcon could barely hide his disappointment. He’d hoped the chateau would prompt a memory.
Her claustrophobia stemmed from that terrible fire in the past. If she were to remember this place, maybe she would remember what they were to each other in the past. Maybe it would help stop the visions that haunted her. But none of this struck a chord in Angel.
Unable to give up, Falcon took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “A few years ago, I was on a narcotics investigation and tracked the target here. During the drug lord’s interrogation, my team and I searched the suite. I opened those balcony doors.” He pointed to the doors she’d been watching, “and could only stare out across the green. I was drawn to the sunset. At the time, I didn’t know why, but I decided to stay a few days. I come here every now and then.”
“It is beautiful,” she murmured. “So tragic, what happened to them.”
“Angel, do you know this place?”
“No.” She frowned. “Should I?”
“I thought you might have heard of it. It’s a popular tourist spot.”
“No.” Angel shook her head. “Thank you for bringing me to Asnieres-Sur-Seine, letting me into your past, even just a little bit.” She took his hand and swung it in hers.
He couldn’t manage a smile, but kissed her before she could move away.
Angel was hanging onto her anger, undoubtedly confused about what their next move should be, but even in that, she wanted to be with him. It was a start, anyway.
He would wait on her. If it took a lifetime, he would see to it that she remembered.
“Come, let’s go.”
“To the Seine?” Angel pulled him along to what was just another scenic tourist location to her.
They walked along the quiet banks where Margaux and her sister Jacqueline had ridden their fine Arabians.
Falcon watched her follow the geese gliding among the tall reeds in the swirling waters, and heard Margaux’s trilling laught
er.
When Angel was ready, he took her back up the terraced green to what was now an exclusive getaway in the French countryside, preserved in the tradition of the Ancien Régime. Chateau Jeune, a weathered sandstone mansion with its elegant Corinthian columns and mullioned windows stood like a tombstone on their past.
“Well, come on then.” Angel tugged on his hand and he started walking again. “I want to see our rooms.”
“You know it wasn’t easy getting in during the season. I’m afraid there was only one room available.”
Her smile faltered. “Two double beds?”
He shook his head. “One bed. King size.”
“Armand, I…”
“You should see your face. You look terrified.”
She punched him on the arm. “You’re worse than Muddy!”
Falcon laughed. “You’re wrong there. Miles would have reserved the honeymoon suite.”
Chapter Fourteen
Naples
“She doesn’t remember Asnieres-Sur-Seine,” Falcon said. “She dreams of fire but knows nothing of the tragedy.”
“They are the worst memories, of death by fire. Mon dieu.” Amelie turned to Roman. “She would not be going through this if she had escaped with us to England.”
Falcon looked from one to the other. “What do you mean? Weren’t you there? I thought that Margaux’s sister was trapped in the chateau with the rest of the family when the rioters attacked, and Captain Cardiff was en route to England.”
Roman’s solemn blue eyes looked through Falcon, to the past. “Jacqueline and the captain were not in the chateau. The captain was helping the footman load the carriages, trying to get everyone out before the rioters attacked. He went looking for Jacqueline but she wasn’t in her room. He found her on the banks of the Seine. They would have been in the chateau if she hadn’t wandered off.” He met Amelie’s eyes, and wiped a tear from her cheek.
Amelie closed her eyes. “I can still hear them screaming.”
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