by Monica Burns
As their kiss deepened, Patience experienced a familiar need stirring inside her. Desire flared in her veins until her blood ran hot and thick like molten lava. Julian broke their kiss and raised his head.
“I love you, mo ghràdh. Do no’ ever forget that.” The authoritative note in his voice emphasized he intended to ensure she had no choice in the matter. It was a command she would have no difficulty obeying. Patience smiled slightly as she shifted her hips against his growing erection.
“Then show me, my love,” she whispered enticingly. Passion warmed Julian’s sharp, angular features as he proceeded to do as she ordered in a way only a Highlander could.
— The End —
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Special Preview of Forever Mine
WARNING: This book contains a proper English earl, whose frozen heart hides a tortured soul, and a feisty modern-day heroine determined to make the man see things her way. With a lovable cast of characters this book will earn a place on the keeper shelf.
Thrown back to the year 1897, Victoria Ashton is mistaken for, and forced to impersonate, the spiteful, unfaithful Countess of Guildford, who's been missing for three weeks. Despite Victoria's attempts to convince the earl she's not his wife, her double's infidelity and lies make it difficult, especially when Victoria falls in love with a man who loathes her.
Nicholas Thornhill, Earl of Guildford, is plagued with rumors he murdered his missing wife. When she unexpectedly reappears, he scoffs at her latest in a long string of lies. But the changes in Victoria make him to alter his opinion as he forges a bond with her that crosses the boundaries of time.
NOTE: This book is a 125,000 words. For readers who do not enjoy sex scenes, there is 3.75% (16 pgs out of 443) of content. The F-word occurs 34 times, which 1% of a 443 page book. Men as a general rule have used the F-word long before the Victorian era, which this book is set in. Please factor this into your buying decision. If you are uncomfortable with these numbers, it is doubtful you will enjoy the read.
Chapter 1
* * *
Present Day
“I don’t believe it.”
“Which is precisely why you owe me fifty pounds, oh, ye of little faith.” From her seat on the brown leather couch behind him, Nora snorted with laughter.
Nick Barrows ignored his sister’s gloating comment as he stared in amazement at the two paintings set up on easels beneath the Barrows Art and Antiquities logo. Once authenticated, the landscapes by Constable would be the biggest pieces the shop had ever acquired.
“And you found these in Nebraska?”
“I told you unclaimed property auctions were worth the travel expense.”
“Are you telling me there weren’t any other art dealers there? “
“A few. Like other states, Nebraska puts ads in the papers about their yearly sale, but most of the time the items are jewelry, coins, electronics, and other collectibles. I don’t think anyone realized what these were.”
“I suppose you’re going to want to go back,” Nick Barrows looked over his shoulder and grinned before looking back at the paintings.
“Of course, and you know, I think this brilliant acquisition of mine deserves a raise.”
“Uncle Charles gave you a raise a year ago,” Nick chuckled at his sister’s teasing jab. A second later, he realized his mistake and closed his eyes. He was an idiot. Filled with regret, he turned to face his sister. “Damn, I wasn’t thinking, Nora.”
“It’s okay. He would have said the same thing.” She shrugged her shoulders then laughed softly. “Then the next minute he’d be waltzing me around this tiny office of yours.”
Nora was right. Uncle Charles would have been overjoyed by her find and its impact on the shop. The old man had loved this place as if it were his child. He’d always said the shop possessed a soul. Nick had never understood his uncle as well as Nora had. The two of them had often talked ghosts, past lives, and supernatural theories well into the night. It was one of the reasons Nora had taken his death so hard. She’d lost the one companion who ‘got her’ as she was fond of saying.
“Somehow I think he’d be more proud than excited,” Nick said. “We’ve come a long way from those two angry American teenagers he brought to England and took into his home.”
“I don’t know how he managed it. Confirmed bachelors aren’t poster children for parenthood.” Nora shook her head in disbelief. “And we weren’t exactly easy to live with.”
“He understood. We were grieving for mom and dad, just like he was.” Nick stared down at his shoes for a second before he looked up at his sister. “It always amazed me how he seemed to know exactly what we needed and when.”
“I miss him, Nick.” Sadness filled his sister’s voice.
“I do too.”
His gaze swung to the portrait of the Countess of Guildford on the wall across from his desk. His uncle had taken him to the Brentwood Park estate sale years ago and the moment Nick had seen Lady Guildford’s portrait he’d stopped dead in his tracks. Uncle Charles had simply squeezed his shoulder then bought the portrait and gave it to Nick with nothing more than a simple statement that the portrait was his to do with as he wished.
How the elderly Englishman had sensed how much he’d wanted the countess’ portrait, he would never know. But he’d worked hard to show his uncle how grateful he was for the extraordinary gift. Emotion pushed its way to the surface, and he swiftly buried it. Determined to lighten the atmosphere, he folded his arms across his chest and pinned his gaze on Nora.
“I imagine you’re going to be impossible to live with for the next month or two.”
“Oh, you can count on that.” His sister’s forced laughter revealed how close she’d been to tears. “Especially since a certain someone said my trip would be a waste of money.”
Nora eyed him with a scowl, and he released a rueful sigh. She was going to make him pay dearly for having questioned her unusual gift at finding extraordinary pieces.
“Truce.” He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “From now on, your word is law when it comes to acquisitions. Satisfied?”
“It’s a start.” This time her laughter wasn’t filled with tears, and she waved a hand at the portrait hanging on the wall behind the couch. “What about her, are you going to start listening to me about the countess as well?”
A familiar tension slid through his muscles, tightening his chest. His amusement disappeared in an instant. His gaze flitted back to the portrait of Victoria Thornhill, Countess of Guildford before he frowned at Nora.
“That implies I need advice, and I don’t. The woman’s been dead for more than a hundred years.”
“But you have to admit your attachment to her portrait is a little extreme.”
“It’s not unusual for an antiquities dealer to have art work hanging in their office.” His comment made Nora snort.
“Artwork yes, but not a portrait you’ve drooled over ever since we were teenagers.”
“You’re exaggerating again.”<
br />
“Am I?” She eyed him intently for a long moment. “Then prove me wrong. Sell it.”
“No.” Tension charged the air with electricity as he glared at his sister.
“That’s what I thought.” Her matter-of-fact tone rubbed him the wrong way.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“If I tell you, you’re just going to tell me to fuck off.”
She was right. He knew what Nora believed, but he just wasn’t buying it. The notion that he’d known the Countess of Guildford in a past life was just as crazy an idea now as it was every time Nora broached the subject with him. Nick saw her sly look, and he clenched his jaw as he refused to take her bait.
Without a word, he turned away from her and picked up several invoices off the top of his desk. The figures were a blur as the image of Lady Guildford filled his head. What if his sister was right? What if he was—Christ, if Nora could read his mind right now, she’d hound him until the day he died. Who was he kidding, she’d do that anyway. He blew out a harsh breath of annoyance. At the sound, Nora scrambled to her feet.
“Oh for Pete’s sake, Nick. Isn’t it time you took a really hard look at yourself and that portrait?”
“Is there a point to this line of conversation?” he asked as nonchalantly as possible, while continuing his pretense of studying the invoices.
“Yes. The point is—you’re in love with a ghost.” Nora had never confronted him so bluntly before. He scowled at her over his shoulder then returned to his feigned review of the paperwork in his hand.
“Don’t look at me like that, Nicholas Barrows. That bloody portrait is what keeps you from leading a normal life. When was the last time you had a date? Even a one night stand?”
“My sex life isn’t any of your damn business,” he said through clenched teeth. The invoices in his hand crackled in his tight grip.
“Right. Sorry.” The tense atmosphere hung between them for several seconds, before he released a noise of frustration. Dropping the papers onto his desk, Nick turned around to face her. Leaning back, he rested his hips against his desk then folded his arms across his chest.
“Look, you and Uncle Charles have always believed that old family legend. I never have.” He didn’t flinch as his sister glared at him. “That damn necklace is a myth. Even if the earl gave his wife those sapphires, they were either sold or stolen a long time ago. My money’s on the sold theory. And I sure as hell don’t believe Lady Guildford is coming back from the dead to reclaim the damn thing. It’s a story. Nothing more.”
“All right, if you don’t believe the legend, why do you keep the woman’s portrait on the wall?
“For Christ’s sake. I like the painting. It gives me pleasure, how is that an issue?”
“It’s an issue because you’re pining after a dead woman.”
“God damn it, Nora. It’s just a portrait.”
“All right, then answer me this. Why is it you only date women with auburn hair and blue eyes like the countess?” The accusation in his sister’s voice made Nick rolled his eyes, while scrambling for an excuse that would stop her inquisition.
“I don’t only date women with auburn hair.”
“Oh please,” Nora snorted. “Shall I list them by name? Vivian, Viola, Veronica, Virginia, and my personal favorite, Vickie. Notice a pattern here? And isn’t it ironic their names all start with the same first letter as Lady Guildford’s name. Victoria.”
“Coincidence,” he snapped, glaring at his sister.
“The landscape painting? What about that?” Nora eyed him with that unnerving shrewdness that always made him think she could see through him or anyone else she talked too.
“What of it?”
“It’s taken you almost twelve years to agree that we put it up for sale. Why don’t you ask yourself why you’ve not been able to part with it or, for that matter, the portrait of the countess?”
“Fuck,” he snarled. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.
“And the third painting?” Nora narrowed her gaze at him. “The one Uncle Charles kept stored away? The moment you discovered it in his things after the funeral, you took it home.”
“Christ almighty, Nora. I deal in art and antiques. What’s wrong with me admiring the work of a man who painted two different portraits of the same woman as well as a landscape?”
Nick strode toward the window that overlooked the showroom. The second portrait of the countess had been far more intimate than the one he kept in his office. Although discreetly covered with a sheet, it was still a seductive, enticing portrait, one he’d not been willing to share with anyone. Even allowing the framer to see the portrait had filled him with a possessiveness he found confusing. Hands braced against the waist high window sill, he stared down into the gallery. There were a few customers studying various items, but they were nothing but blurred images in his head.
“Fine.” Nora’s voice echoed with irritation at her failed attempt to persuade him that he was obsessed with the Countess of Thornhill. Deep inside, he knew it was a true assessment on his sister’s part, but admitting that to Nora would open up doors he wasn’t willing to go through.
Nick fought to focus his gaze on the people in the gallery, but instead, the lovely features of Victoria Brentwood Thornhill, Countess of Guildford filled his mind as clearly as if she were alive and in front of him. Dark auburn hair framed around an oval face. Full lips curved in an inviting, sensual smile. Brilliant sapphire eyes sparkling with mischief.
Nick tightened his grip on the window ledge. Nora was right. He was in love with a ghost, or at least the image of one. A shrink would tell him he was avoiding personal relationships because of some trauma in his past, but it went deeper than that. There was a knowing that filled him every time he looked at the countess’ portrait. He couldn’t explain it, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell his sister about it either.
About to turn away from the window overlooking the gallery, Nick’s gaze caught sight of a woman standing in front of their collection of English pastoral scenes. When she tilted her head to study one of the canvases, the muted light from the ceiling’s track lighting set her auburn hair on fire. In the next moment the woman turned to face one of the sales clerks, and he inhaled a sharp breath.
Almost immediately, his chest constricted and his heart slammed into his ribs. Only twice before had he ever experienced this sensation, and each of those times it had been when he’d found a portrait of the countess. Transfixed, he stared down at the woman.
“God, Nick, are you okay? You look like you’re ready to pass out.” Nora joined him at the window. The moment his sister’s gaze landed on the woman, she gasped loudly. “Holy crap.”
Without a word, Nick brushed past Nora. As he headed toward the door, her hand caught his arm. He paused to meet her gaze and shook his head in a silent order not to stop him. Reluctance visible on her face, his sister released his arm. Nick wanted to run down the steps to the showroom, but he forced himself to descend the stairs at a slow pace. He was insane to think this was anything more than a coincidence. As he approached the woman, her distinct American accent floated through the air as she spoke to the salesclerk.
“I don’t know—thirty-five hundred pounds is a little more than I can really afford.”
“Think of it as an investment, miss.”
“An investment in the exchange rate you mean.”
The dry note in her voice forced Nick to cough as he stifled a chuckle. She turned at the sound, an impish smile curving her full mouth. But it was her eyes that made him stare at her. They were the same sapphire blue as the countess’. Again, he marveled at the resemblance. Without warning, she queried his opinion.
“What do you think?” she asked.
Nick met the brilliant blue gaze twinkling up at him. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn Lady Guildford had stepped out of the portrait hanging in his office. The woman tipped her head back as she returned his stare with equal in
tensity. In an absent-minded gesture, her long fingers brushed a stray strand of auburn hair off her cheek. A quickening surged deep inside him like the sudden stirring of a long lost memory. The sensation swelled.
Stunned by the force of the emotion, he realized somewhere in his past he’d experienced a moment similar to this one before. The sensation grew in strength. The smile curving her full mouth faded as confusion furrowed her brow. Mentally shaking his head, Nick forced himself to answer her question.
“Like Robert says, art is an investment, but I like to think of it more as an investment of the heart. Ask yourself if you can live without it.”
“No, I don’t think I can.” She turned back to the painting. Under the track lighting her auburn hair shone like lustrous silk. She sighed. “There’s something so familiar about it.”
For the first time, he looked at the canvas she was interested in purchasing and went rigid. He’d been so focused on her, he’d not even bothered to look at the painting she was standing in front of. It was Lockwood’s oil painting of Goodman Cottage at Brentwood Park. The landscape depicted a pond glistening in the afternoon sun as it played host to a pair of swans. Not far from the water’s edge, the thatched roof cottage sat nestled in the warm embrace of a small grove of trees. The sparsely covered trees with red, gold, and purple leaves indicated it had been close to the end of fall when the artist had painted his picture.
Nick had found the landscape in his uncle’s bedroom after the man’s heart attack. A little known artist, John Lockwood had painted both portraits of the countess as well as the landscape. The barely legible inscription on the back of the Goodman Cottage canvas, for my wife, Victoria. Nicholas – Christmas 1897, indicated the landscape had been a gift from Lord Guildford to his wife.
