“Then, tell me the story!” Kate pleaded huskily.
“I cannot!”
“Why?” Kate dropped her bag to the floor, her hushed tones urgent. “Why does that woman look like me?”
O'Toole shook her head regretfully.
“I only know of the tale because I listen at keyholes, love. I overheard the tale being passed from father to son, years ago, when I was young.” She seemed saddened at the admission. “If you're to know of the fair Kaitlyn and Nathan, it isn't my place to tell you.”
“Who will tell me?” Kate demanded, becoming more exasperated with each passing moment.
“Ask the boy.” O'Toole supplied mistily, clutching at her apron. “He's the only one who can tell you.”
“My being at Colinwood,” Kate began, the words soft and puzzled. “It has something to do with the fact that Dante resembles Nathan and I look like that woman?”
“It is more than a resemblance, girl.” O'Toole provided with a growing frown, twisting the apron. “There's a feeling.” She dropped the crumbled mess of her apron and her hand came to the region of her heart. “You felt it, the moment you looked at him.”
“He's handsome, I won't deny it.” Kate attempted to scoff with a bitter semblance of shrug, the pain within her heart intensifying.
“Handsomeness has nothing to do with what you feel in your soul,” O'Toole snapped, her gaze hardening. “He's been bound to you for an eternity. You're the stubborn lass who refuses to accept the obvious!”
“He misled me!”
“Perhaps he did.” O'Toole managed a shrug, her hands falling. “How else would he get you to come to Colinwood? Beggin' your pardon, love, but we were meant for one another and I'm just pondering if you'd take your leave to be my lady love?”
Kate's face flamed at the sarcastically posed comment. “He's capable of choosing any woman he wants in the world.”
“It's always been you, from the first.” The woman responded.
“He wants the woman in the portrait.”
O'Toole heaved a hefty sigh.
“Girl, anyone can love an image. It happens every day. There isn't a lad or lass that don't love one of those cinema stars. You can always love someone from afar but, when given the chance, find you made a horrible choice. The boy adores the woman in the picture. Yes, I'll admit it, but it's you he loves.”
“I don't believe you.”
“Believe me or not, you're the only person capable of knowing what's in your heart.” The woman provided. “Otherwise, you wouldn't have fallen into his bed.”
Kate blushed crimson at the woman's blunt announcement.
“Do you love him?”
Kate felt her world shatter at the question. She nodded with deliberate slowness.
“Why leave?”
“I need peace, I need sanity. I need a world not filled with him.”
“Then leave, girl.” O'Toole ordered in her usual brusque tone. “Go and get your head screwed on straight before you come back.”
“I don't know if I can return.” Kate managed morosely.
“Nonsense.” O'Toole stated firmly. “You belong here, with him.”
“I….”
“You'll see, girl.” O'Toole whispered ominously, her dark eyes boring into Kate. “Everywhere you look, you'll see him. Something will pull you back. You're half of him, and he's half of you. You can't be separated any longer, my dear, mark my words.”
Kate shook her head, feeling the woman had dealt her the touch of an age-old curse. “He'll never know I'm gone.”
“Oh, he'll know. We'll all suffer his pain, his anguish.” O'Toole grumbled, turning as she made to leave the doorway, the heaviness of her rounded shoulders more stooped with each step.
“O'Toole….”
“Give your brother my regards, girl.”
Chapter Twenty
His thoughts as heavy as his heart, Dante stared at the wintry expanse beyond the lofty windows of the study, with unseeing and mournful eyes. He had expected her to stay, incorrectly assuming the passion they shared would convince her to linger at Colinwood until he offered her his name.
He understood why she had left. He had manipulated her, and it had been a matter of time before she discovered his underhandedness. He winced at the thought, wishing he'd the capability of retracting every deed but knew the action was futile. Without his deceit, despite any good intentions he harbored, Kate would have never been at his side.
Dante writhed with a secret and burning agony. He had broken her trust with the secret of the paintings. When confronted him, he'd not know how to react except to love her. He closed his eyes as he recalled the sensation of her body curved into his and expelled a heavy breath.
Mindlessly, he focused on the bit of paper he held in hand. He crushed the paper into a small ball, a mutinous frown marring his features. Beyond the closed door, the persistent hum of voices droned, the pitch intensifying as people trailed past the seclusion offered by his private refuge. Dante wished everyone would leave, craving an all-consuming silence.
He longed to whisper her name again. His hands ached, the palms burning with a sensation unlike any other. He assumed it was the desire to touch her skin that troubled him. He missed the sound of her trilling laughter and the way her face lit as she stated her opinion of the day.
Dante closed his eyes as her image came to him, leaping into his mind as easily as if he summoned her into the room. He shook his head, attempting to dispel the pain that intensified with each passing day. All that remained was silken memories.
Kate.
Raggedly, the tender caress of her name broke from him. Dante's eyes lifted toward the arched ceiling, the familiarity of her haunting scent enveloping him. He clenched his burning eyes tightly shut, vainly willing the tantalizing sensation to ebb. The action proved a wasted as a burning tightness threatened to burst from his chest. A hint of a salty moisture seeped from the corners of his eyes, the dampness dancing on the thick fringe of his dark lashes.
“Papa?” Anne's concerned voice, the gentle pressure of her hand on his clenched fist, snapped him harshly from his reverie.
At first, he stared blankly at his daughter, his passion darkened eyes envisioning another. He blinked, reluctantly willing Kate's image to vanish as he stared into his daughter's concerned features. Her questioning formation of his name failed to register above his thoughts and he felt a surge of guilt. She addressed him again, her tone gentle as she took firm hold of his fist, ignoring the wad of paper in his grasp.
“Are you not well?”
“I'll be fine.” He supplied after a brief hesitation, his frown intensifying with the demonic tilt of his brows. “Why do you ask?”
“I'm a Ravensmoor, damn it all.” She cursed beneath her breath, hoping for a reaction from him. When her comment failed to summon forth the familiar dimple, she shook her head. “You've haven’t left this room for the last few days and I’m beginning to worry.”
“I'm fine.” He stressed emphatically.
“Don't snap, Papa.” The chastisement was gentle and she moved her hand from his fist, biting her lip at his pained expression. “I was making an observation.”
“It was a long night,” Dante responded with the semblance of an apologetic smile and flung the ball of paper into the waste receptacle. His hand rose to his forehead and his fingertips massaged his tense brow as he spoke.
“As if I had failed to realize that, as well,” she grumbled, knowing her father's night had been tediously long.
She had listened to the light tread of footsteps as he walked the halls until the wee hours of the morning. The change that had overcome her father, since Kate's departure, was conspicuous. He didn't sleep, eat, or focus on his normal diversions. Instead, he remained in this room, the carafe of yet untouched brandy before him. Every moment she looked into his sanctuary, his attention was riveted to the view beyond Colinwood.
“Christmas is tomorrow, Papa.” Anne realized her words were superfluou
s. The manor house was scented with sachets of pine, clove, and cinnamon by her father's diligent staff. The seasonal fragrance was overlaid with the tempting aromas of freshly baked delicacies, confections more familiarly served during the month.
“I may not be very effective with the crowd or the holiday.”
“Crowd, Papa?” She scoffed, standing before the windows. “There's our inattentive Aunt Cynthia and a few others. They aren't precisely a crowd.”
“I'm not up to company.”
“It's not company, Papa.” She insisted, using the words he'd used when she was a child. “These people are, by one ill-conceived standard or another, our family.”
“Especially,” Dante grimaced before he lifted his magnificent gaze heavenwards in soundless appeal. She sighed, delighted as the fleeting glimmer of his former self.
“I hope you know you're as eccentric as the rest.” She accused with a small laugh, savoring the return of color to her father's handsome features.
“Far from it,” he denied with a forced vehemence, sparing her a briefly skeptically glance before curiosity overwhelmed him. “Pray tell, how did you arrive at that astounding conclusion?”
“I believe a phobia of crowds and pining over potentially lost loves must rank somewhere with dentures, roving hands and blatant, all-encompassing nosiness.”
“Perhaps I should have heeded Kate's example and left the insane lot to their devices.”
“You should follow her and have an absolutely ripping holiday.” Anne offered with forced lightness. She ignored the damning scowl he dealt her and, threw herself into the worn divan.
“Kate opted not to remain,” her father grumbled, his scowl darkening. “I don't believe she would savor the interference.”
“Despite the simply enchanting ring you have had waiting for her?” She posed the question with the slightest tilt of her brow, her features set in the same mutinous image.
“That doesn't matter.” He answered indignantly, his stubborn chin shooting up. He exhaled deeply and forced his expression to lighten. He looked at the pile of paperwork he'd brought home from his office, despite the facility's closure.
Anne heaved an exasperated sight.
“It doesn't matter?” She shook her head in disbelief, stunned at his words. “Kate doesn't matter?”
Dante's hands rose and covered his face, concealing his expression as he pressed at his eyes. He lowered his hands to his desk, his expression grim.
“She left Colinwood without a word.”
“As Kaitlyn did,” Anne provided easily.
“She isn't Kaitlyn.” His tone caused her to wince.
“No, she isn't, her name is Kathleen, granddaughter of Howard Bennett/Burnett. She’s great-niece to the woman who has succeeded in throwing the men in this family into turmoil for more than two hundred years.” She remarked caustically. “You're Nathan's grandson. Whether you'll accept the obvious or not, doesn't matter.”
Dante snorted.
“You're a Ravensmoor, and she's your lady.” Anne managed with a low but harsh whisper. “Nathan knew a semblance of his lady would return, eventually. I had never believed my father to be the sort to dash the romanticism of the Ravensmoor curse.”
“I'm not dashing the blasted tale, moppet.” He responded with a softness she had never before detected. “I can't force the woman to love me.”
Anne snorted ungraciously. “I believe all men may be dense. The woman does love you!”
Dante's brows rose in disbelief. “I find that doubtful.”
“Oh, listen to yourself!” His daughter chastised in the same tone as the American woman. “I wish you'd put a halt to the proper behavior. Revert to the Dante Burroughs of your youth, the man who broke the rules with absolute glee and total perfection!”
“Anne.” He murmured her name warningly.
“She haunts you, Papa,” Anne continued, her voice lowering as she dealt him a harsh glare. “Kate has been your ghost for more years than you can recount.”
“You don't know….” He began.
“Oh, I do know,” she hissed, her expression mirroring his. “I know how every heir has been tormented by her image.”
“The Raven's Lady is a fable.” He insisted stubbornly.
“Is it?” Anne inquired with a haughtiness deeply ingrained within her.
“You know it is!”
“I know of your dreams, of my very grandfather's dreams, of your Kaitlyn.” She erupted with a derisive laugh. “For a fable, the woman certainly delights in tormenting this family!”
Dante's grimaced, his lips drawing together in a fine line of displeasure.
“Nathan knew her spirit would return to Colinwood, given time.” Anne continued, far more gently. “She has, Papa. You love her, you need her, but you've done the same mistake!”
“Anne!” Her name was issued with a throaty rasp of censure.
“Do you wish to suffer in the same manner?” She didn't wait for his response, tears stinging her eyes. She flung her hands up in the air, her exasperation intense. “Damn it all! Would you wed the woman before she decides to leave England?”
“She'll not have me.”
“No?”
“I….”
“You love her. Everyone can see it!”
Dante immediately bristled. “She feels I've unjustly used her.”
“Kate was meant for you. She's your lady.” Anne corrected. “She has always been your lady, from the moment of her birth.”
Dante shook his head in disagreement. “She's her own woman and I can't force her.”
“Damn!” Anne threw her hands up. “I can see it as plain as the nose on my face. She's the Raven's Lady. You're the Raven. If you choose to wait for her, you'll damn our family, forever.”
“Perhaps my family line isn't what's at stake here.”
“No, but what of your sanity?” Anne probed relentlessly.
Dante bit his lip and turned his face away from her.
“Bring her home.” His daughter heaved an impatient sigh. “You're lost without her, admit it.”
“You ask the impossible!”
“Is it? Is it impossible to tell her the truth?” Anne countered with a brutality that reflected her heritage, a dark brow lifting. “Have I been wrong in assuming you love her?”
“No.” Dante admitted candidly.
“Until Kate came to Colinwood, I didn't understand how fortunate I was.” Anne began, her mouth twisting. “She never bemoaned the fact she lacked her other parent.”
Dante nodded, clasping his hands together and placing them behind his head as he examined his daughter's downcast features.
“I hadn't realized how much you had given up, tending to me.” She continued. “I was thrust on you without a by-your-leave and you did the upstanding thing.'”
“You're my daughter, Anne.”
“How many men, let alone an eighteen year old, would tend an infant?” She posed, her inquisitive eyes searching his face.
“You think too much.” Dante attempted to scoff.
“Perhaps I do.” She admitted with a grimace.
“You're my daughter, Anne.” He repeated heavily, dropping his hands. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the scarred desktop. “I would never abandon you,”
“Despite the hell you received from your father?” She questioned, flushing lightly at the familiar endearment.
“I wouldn't alter a single moment.” He admitted honestly. “I would never change my past, no matter how sordid or unsavory, if it meant I would have lost having you in my life.”
Anne gave him a brilliant smile, the sheen of happy tears evident in her bright eyes.
“Thank you.” She blinked back the betraying moisture and self-consciously ran an unsteady hand through her hair, attempting to regain her composure. “You sacrificed much for my benefit. Perhaps it's time you did something for yourself.”
“Anne….”
“She's with Adam, in London.” Anne provided softly.
“He's on winter break and decided to grace every historical site in England before returning home.”
Dante stifled a weak chuckle. There weren't enough days in a century for the boy to accomplish the task he set before him.
“Bring Kate home, Papa.”
“We've guests.” For the first time in his life, he appeared uncertain.
“I'll manage, if that's keeping you.” Anne sighed with exasperation, an easy smile quirked her full lips “Haven't I handled you, all of these years?”
“You've done more than that, moppet.” Dante admitted with a rueful grimace.
“If I'm fortunate and have the same graceful tact of my father, I'll have the lot out of here in a couple of hours. They'll never realize they've been evicted.”
Dante shook his head, unable to respond, causing his daughter to press on ruthlessly.
“Don't give history an excuse to repeat itself, Papa.” She stressed. “You'd be a fool for making the same mistake as our ancestor.”
A deathly sense of foreboding clutched at his heart. Dante rose from his seat and, without a word, left the room.
Chapter Twenty-One
From the corner of his eye, Adam glanced at his sister. Kate wasn't herself that much was obvious. She had traveled with him for the last week, for which he was selfishly pleased, enjoying the familiarity of her company and their unspoken bond.
The pair decided, unanimously, to abandon London on Christmas morning. They traveled north, Adam seeking historical sites he researched on the Internet. Kate trashed her battered suitcase for a more comfortable backpack and encouraged him. On the outside, she was her normal self, rattling on as she always did, excited and breathless. She was a wealth of information and amazed, equally eager to pound the cobbled streets, tour guide in hand.
Despite her outward behavior, Adam was concerned about Kate's well-being. He found it odd that, when she sat down to dinner, her eyes would hold a faraway look before becoming misty with unshed tears. He respected her silence and unwillingness to speak and dared not ask what she didn't care to reveal.
My Lord Raven (The Ravensmoor Saga) Page 23
