Draycott Eternal

by Christina Skye

  Author Note

  Do you love magic that gathers within weathered stone walls? Are you fascinated by old houses where the weight of history presses down like a physical touch?

  If so, you’ll feel right at home at Draycott Abbey.

  I’m frequently asked if my books have to be read in order. Definitely not! Each book is written to stand alone and all stories are self-contained. But many of you prefer to read a series in its order of writing, so this will guide you through the current Draycott collection.

  The tale begins with the first novella, Enchantment, finally available after over a decade. This novella begins the Draycott Abbey series with the story of Nicholas Draycott—and the abbey’s brooding ghost, Adrian. The second novella in the series continues Adrian’s haunting story in What Dreams May Come. So many of you have asked for this poignant story, and I hope you have enjoyed meeting Adrian and Gray. Two people were never more bound in love.

  Next come seven Draycott books, which may not all be in print when you read this. If you can’t find a certain volume, drop me an e-mail. I’ll steer you to the wonderful booksellers who stock signed copies of the Draycott books, new and used.

  This is the order of the Draycott Abbey books, following the two novellas above:

  Hour of the Rose

  Bridge of Dreams

  Bride of the Mist

  Key to Forever

  Season of Wishes

  Christmas Knight

  The Perfect Gift

  Enjoy! Be sure to visit www.draycottabbey.com for new abbey videos, interviews, travelogues and details of new stories in the making. If you’d like a signed bookplate to go with your book, please drop me a note at bookplates@christinaskye.com. I’m always delighted to hear from readers! (If you have a reading group, let me know that, too. I’ll send you special materials for your group.)

  I’m thrilled that a brand-new Draycott Abbey book will go on sale in September of 2008. Watch for To Catch a Thief, which brings back the mesmerizing Dakota Smith from my Code Name books. This tough hero will be working with the strongest, most enigmatic woman he’s ever met. Dakota is about to discover that there are many ways to fall, and all of them are deadly. Get ready to break the rules with To Catch a Thief.

  And in case you’re wondering, the answer is yes. I’m already at work on my next Draycott Abbey book. There are endless secrets waiting to unfold in this place of haunting beauty. Adrian and Gideon would have it no other way.

  Finally, I know that Izzy’s on your mind! You’ve made it clear you want this charming hunk to have his own book. I’m working on it, believe me, but the man is one tough customer. When he falls, he’ll fall hard.

  For a special look into Izzy’s shadowy past and his secret case files describing past and future books, log on to www.christinaskye.com/izzyfiles. If you’re among the first fifty readers to log in to Izzy’s secret files, you’ll win a limited edition T-shirt with Izzy’s signature, along with code name access to an audio story that will not be available in stores or for sale. After all, Izzy’s a techno kind of guy!

  Meanwhile, enjoy the abbey’s moonlight and the fragrance of its heirloom roses. Above all, savor its promise of beauty and unending love.

  Until your next visit…happy reading.

  Christina

  CHRISTINA

  SKYE

  is code for romance and adventure!

  CODE NAME: BIKINI

  “When it comes to sexy suspense and high-tech adventure, the Code Name series delivers big time.”

  —Romantic Times BOOK reviews

  “An imaginative yet believable romance with endearing characters and an action-packed story.”

  —Booklist

  CODE NAME: BLONDIE

  “Romantic thrills and adventure from the expert.”

  —Romantic Times BOOK reviews

  CODE NAME: BABY

  “Thrilling…fans should eagerly await the next in the series.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  CODE NAME: PRINCESS

  “With Christina Skye, it’s all about the thrill…and her hot, sexy navy SEAL is to die for!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips

  “Snappy dialogue and between-the-sheets sizzle will please

  Skye’s numerous fans.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  CODE NAME: NANNY

  “Skye is back with another sizzling adventure romance.”

  —Booklist

  Also available from

  CHRISTINA

  SKYE

  Code Name: Bikini

  Code Name: Blondie

  Code Name: Baby

  Code Name: Princess

  Code Name: Nanny

  The Draycott Legacy

  To Catch a Thief

  CHRISTINA SKYE

  DRAYCOTT ETERNAL

  WHAT DREAMS MAY COME & SEASON OF WISHES

  CONTENTS

  WHAT DREAMS MAY COME

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  EPILOGUE

  SEASON OF WISHES

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  Acknowledgments

  My deepest gratitude to all of you who have welcomed

  Adrian and Gideon into your hearts.

  For fifteen years you have joined me on a poignant

  journey, sharing the abbey’s haunting magic.

  I couldn’t have had better traveling companions than

  you have been.

  And Adrian assures me that the best is yet to come….

  WHAT DREAMS MAY COME

  PROLOGUE

  Sussex, England

  June, 1991

  RAGGED CLOUDS FLEW before a three-quarter moon.

  Saturn was trine Uranus. Mars was in Scorpio.

  Damn and blast, the black-clad figure thought, staring down into the darkness. No auspicious alignment here.

  Idly, he swept a fall of lace from the braided cuffs of his frock coat, watching racing clouds shadow the stark, weathered parapets beneath his feet. Before him Draycott Abbey’s one-story gatehouse lay silent, dappled with silver in the moonlight.

  A man and yet not quite a man, the tall figure stood in brooding silence, while moonbeams played over his black damask waistcoat and elegant lace cravat.

  In this world he was, yet somehow not quite of it.

  Around him drifted the scent of roses, rich and fine now in the full flush of summer. ‘Petite Lisette,’ ‘Gloire des Mousseux,’ and ‘Fantin Latour’—their names were as rich as the heritage that had bred them. Ornate and densely clustered, their velvet petals opened to the night, scenting the warm, still air with beauty.

  Far away in the distance, past the rolling downs, past the silver river, past the sleeping
village of Highgate, a bell chimed in the dead of night.

  Twelve times it rang, and then once more.

  High atop the granite parapets, Adrian Draycott turned and stared out at the lush park, the glossy waters of the spring-fed moat.

  At the shimmering mullioned windows of this ancient house that he had always loved, not wisely but too well.

  His lips twisted in a ghost of a smile.

  He sensed more than heard the low rustle of fur against granite. He turned, looked down, his smile growing to a boyish grin. “Ah, Gideon, have you come to keep me company this night? If so, I’ll thank you for it, old friend, for there is something about this night…something troubling.” He looked up, his eyes ranging over the dark, wooded fields. “Something that summons up long-forgotten hopes and dreams that are better left buried.” Slowly his smile faded and his expression hardened.

  A cat glided over the parapet, long and starkly gray, paws tipped in black. Great amber eyes glowed against the darkness, keen and intelligent.

  Too intelligent for a cat.

  Frowning, the figure in starkest black stared out toward the Channel, watching a finger of lightning arc over the wooded hills. “Yes, there is something else out there tonight. You feel it, too, don’t you, my friend? A gathering. A heaviness of spirit. And every second I sense that danger moving closer.”

  Sleek muscles flashing, the cat jumped to the top of the parapet and padded along the weathered stone face.

  His companion’s lips quirked. “Brazen as always, I see. You really must curb this impulse to recklessness, old friend. It will beget you much trouble otherwise, I fear.”

  The cat’s eyes shone as he settled back on gray haunches. His ears twitched and then he looked down, initiating a delicate toilette in brazen disregard for the granite edge only inches away.

  Beside him Adrian Draycott sighed. “So you think it’s over, do you?” He leaned out across the wall and into the wind, the white ruffles at his neck tossing sharply as he studied the dark patchwork of fields and forest below. His long fingers smoothed his damask waistcoat thoughtfully. “Because my brother is wed and the men who chased him are dead?”

  For a moment Adrian Draycott stiffened, tasting the bitter dregs of sadness. He had saved his brother from a pair of cold-blooded adventurers in search of a treasure buried far away in the mud of Thailand, where Nicholas Draycott had spent nearly a year in captivity.

  Adrian had saved Nicholas from them, and in the process he had saved one other, a woman with golden hair and sparkling eyes. A woman to whom he’d lost his heart.

  Two hundred years before.

  Ever since, there had been a great emptiness in his life, which he’d tried hard to fill with his duties as guardian of this beloved abbey. Two centuries had passed since he’d slipped away from his dying body, and over the years, Adrian had found himself missing that physical form less and less.

  1790. Yes, it had been a fine year—for wine, for women and for dying. But he still remembered what it felt like to walk in soft spring grass, to breathe the summer air and feel all the things that a physical body entitled one to feel.

  And, of course, there had been those seven short years of boyhood, when he had been Nicholas’s twin. But an accident had ended that life tragically.

  Yes, those years counted hardly at all, Adrian thought.

  But Nicholas and Kacey deserved their happiness, and Adrian was determined that they have it. His job now was simply to watch, to guard, to intervene in what small ways he could to protect this ancient place and all who resided within it.

  Which meant that he was left alone once more, with no company but Gideon and the cold stone walls. With nothing but dark memories and the sad cry of the wind sweeping up from the sea.

  But this duty was by Adrian Draycott’s choice. He’d have it no other way.

  So he’d always thought, at least.

  Until tonight.

  Until he began to remember things he shouldn’t have remembered.

  Things like the haunting scent of lavender on a summer breeze, the velvet texture of a woman’s cheek. The slow, slanting smile that spoke of pleasures soon to come…

  At the foot of the moat a small night creature rocketed from the darkness, screeching in pain as it crashed away through the underbrush.

  With a sigh, the man on the parapet shook his head, his raven eyes hardening. “Aye, there is danger abroad tonight, Gideon. Great danger. I can almost feel it growing, somewhere out there in the darkness.” He closed his eyes. “Dear God, not another test…”

  At the edge of the parapet the great cat meowed.

  “Indeed, I hope not, my friend. Long have I guarded these beloved walls, these fertile fields, and it has always been my joy, as well as my duty. But now—now I’m tired. Dear God, Gideon, I’m so…tired…”

  In a dark rush the sadness returned, crushing him with thoughts of all the things he’d never have again.

  His fingers, washed with moonlight, tightened abruptly.

  Slowly Adrian Draycott turned, lace fluttering at his braided cuffs. He began to pace the abbey’s lonely battlements.

  Just as he had done every night for the last two hundred years.

  And for six hundred before that.

  Atop the sheer granite wall the great gray feline sat motionless, his body a slash of shadow against the rising moon. His amber eyes glowed keen and phosphorescent as the moon rose higher, wreathing him in a nimbus of silver. Purring softly, the cat watched his friend and liege keep a lonely vigil with dark memories and lost dreams.

  Meanwhile the night slept on below them.

  And with every passing second, the malevolence that had no name crept closer.

  CHAPTER ONE

  London

  THE ROSES WERE GLORIOUS.

  Heavy-petaled, crimson peach and palest blush-pink, they glowed through the florist’s window. Even through the glass Gray Mackenzie could almost smell their lush perfume.

  Around her the honking horns and squealing brakes of Oxford Street faded away to nothing. As if in a dream, she watched herself turn and push open the door to the neat little florist shop.

  She would buy a dozen of them.

  For herself. Just because she wanted to.

  It was a gesture totally unlike her, of course. Lingering jet lag, perhaps?

  Gray worried her lower lip. She’d arrived only last night after a hellish flight from Philadelphia, and this morning her pale cheeks showed the strain.

  “Yes, miss. ’Ow can I ’elp you?” The proprietor was short, red-cheeked and impatient to get on with his work, though he was trying hard not to show it.

  Gray pointed. “Those roses in the window. They’re—magnificent. No, not the modern hybrids. There, to the right—the old ones. The centifolia roses with the densely packed petals. ‘Lisette,’ aren’t they?” She delighted in the cluster of rich fuchsia blooms tucked in an elegant crystal vase.

  There was something sad about her, the bald-headed proprietor thought. Not like the usual Yanks who came in here, flashing their plastic, talking fast and loud. Only hybrids would do for their sort.

  But this one was different. Careful and slow in her speech, she was. And she was a rare and proper beauty, what with that auburn hair spilling over her shoulders and skin that seemed almost too translucent to be real.

  And those eyes! Purest sea-blue, they were. They put him in mind of a tropical beach at dawn.

  The florist frowned, wondering why such a beauty went about dressed in a dark skirt and a nondescript gray jacket. Then he sniffed. None of his business, after all.

  But the flowers were.

  He nodded, approving her choice. “Quite right, miss. ‘Petite Lisette.’ ‘Normandica’ over ’ere. I’ve a few ‘Fantin Latour,’ as well. You know something of roses?”

  “Not a great deal. It’s just…a hobby.” Gray knew the blooms must be terribly expensive. “I think—yes, I’ll take them. All of them.”

  The florist’s estimati
on of her soared several notches. She had good taste, this red-maned Yank. But perhaps she didn’t understand exactly what she was looking at. “That will be ten pounds each,” he murmured discreetly, just in case she wanted to back out.

  Gray’s eyes flickered. The figure was extortionate!

  She did a quick calculation, counting nearly two dozen cut stems. In one sweep she saw most of her cash going.

  But those roses would be worth every penny. Every shilling, she corrected herself, savoring the rich-veined damask of the petals, drinking in their heady scent. “I’ll take them all,” she said decisively.

  Yes, it was time she put the past where it belonged and treated herself to something special.

  The florist gave her an approving smile. “Very good, miss. I’ll just fetch some paper to tie them up.” A moment later, he disappeared into a curtained alcove.

  Behind Gray the front door opened with the tinkle of a bell. Chill air swirled through the little shop. Crimson petals dipped in the swift currents and Gray brushed a curl from her cheek.

  Behind her came the creak of a floorboard, and then the rasp of a dry voice.

  A familiar voice, even after five years.

  A voice straight out of her nightmares.

  “Lovely, aren’t they?”

  She spun about, her heart pounding. Dear God, don’t let it be him. Anyone but him!

  But the man in the shadows by the door was broad-shouldered, his skin bronzed from long hours in the sun. Bleached nearly white, his long hair feathered low over his eyes.