Eleri had been partially right about why Brynn had come. She did want to know about this place and the people she came from, but more than that she wanted to know what had frightened her mother so much she’d turned Brynn over to her grandparents.
Had her grandparents known? Is that why they’d never told her about this place, her father, her sister, why they’d even kept her mother’s letters from her?
Brynn turned away from the window and flopped back onto the huge bed on the opposite side of the room, sinking into the soft covers and staring up at the wooden frame holding the canopy. She desperately wanted to crawl under the blankets, but Reece still hadn’t shown up with her suitcase. Maybe she hadn’t been far off imagining him mugging tourists.
Eleri had gone looking for him, and if her narrowed eyes and tight mouth were any indication, the man should hope she didn’t find him.
A light tap on the open door and Brynn pushed up on her elbows. Reece stood just inside the threshold with her cases, those sea-blue eyes locked on her, his expression inscrutable. Dull warmth lit inside her and tingled into her limbs.
She dropped her gaze and scrambled off the bed.
“Sorry if I kept you waiting. I was held up,” he muttered, stalking across the room.
“Oh…you didn’t…it’s just…Eleri’s looking for you.” Why was she stammering like an idiot? But she already knew the answer. Something about the sight of him, his dark hair pushed back from those hard features—her thumb itched to trace that sharp ridge of cheekbone—he looked good, primal.
She was tired, had a bad day. Her imagination was getting the better of her.
“Wonderful.” He dropped her cases before the wardrobe with a thud, turned and started for the door, but stopped, his attention shifting to the fireplace facing the sofa. “I’ll get a fire started for you.”
“Thanks. That’s nice of you.”
He jerked his shoulder. “Save myself a trip later.”
There, exactly what she needed to hear to put the world back in perspective. She bit her lip to keep from smiling, grabbed her suitcase and hoisted it onto the bed. Once he was gone, she was going to sleep and when she woke up, things would make sense again. She unzipped the flap and dug through her neatly folded clothes for the T-shirt and shorts she slept in.
The flue clunked open and Brynn looked up. While Reece had twisted to reach into the chimney, his shirt had lifted slightly revealing a hard band of flat stomach. Nice.
A sharp rap sounded on her door and Brynn started. Sour-faced Mrs. Voyle stood in the opening holding a large tray with both hands.
What had she knocked with? Her forehead?
“I have your dinner.” The older woman set the tray on the table between the settee and fireplace. Her narrowed gaze fixed on Reece. “What are you doing in here?”
“Knitting an afghan,” he told her, without looking away from the wood he carefully stacked in the fireplace.
“Thanks for bringing this up,” Brynn said.
“It’ll be the last time, I can promise you that. I won’t be carting trays up and down stairs day and night just to please you. In future, I serve dinner at six sharp, and breakfast at eight-thirty. If you’re not in the dining room, you don’t eat. I’m leaving for the night once I finish here. If you need anything else, say so now.”
Brynn blinked, the woman’s hostility catching her off guard. “I can’t think of anything.”
She lifted the silver dome from the dish on the tray and her stomach shriveled. Gray meat smothered in lumpy, brown gravy with mushy vegetables and greasy potatoes. That rubbery chicken she’d eaten on the plane suddenly seemed gourmet.
“You’ll want to keep your door locked,” Mrs. Voyle told her, setting a large iron key on the table next to the tray.
Why? Were you thinking of bringing me more inedible food through the night?
“Thank you, Mrs. Voyle, for all your help,” Brynn said, tightly.
The housekeeper gave a curt nod and started for the door, but paused before leaving. “I don’t know what you’re after coming here, but if you’re wise, you won’t stay.”
Irritation flared, and she shot the woman an icy stare. “I’m not after anything.”
Mrs. Voyle’s small eyes flashed. “You’re not wanted here, and you should thank God for it.”
Brynn shook her head, watching the woman go. “What did I ever do to her?”
“They think you’re after your father’s money.”
Reece’s low voice jerked her attention away from the door. He knelt on the floor next to the hearth, feeding small bits of wood into the flickering blaze.
“Who does?” The sister who begged her to stay? The father who may have tried to drown her when she was three?
“Mrs. Voyle, Warlow, probably most of Cragera Bay, by now.”
“Perfect,” she muttered, dragging her fingers through her hair. “Is that what you think?”
Not that she cared one way or the other.
He shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. You’ll want to bank this before going to bed, and it should last the rest of the night.”
“I don’t want his money,” she told him, not sure why it mattered he believe her.
“As I said, it’s no concern of mine.” He stood, pinned her with an icy stare. “She’s right, though, about this place. The sooner you’re away from here, the better off you’ll be.”
* * *
Brynn stood on the bank of a pond, the glassy waters still and dark before her. Huge trees rose up on all sides, their snow-laden branches reached into an indigo sky. Black fear uncoiled inside her like an icy snake. She tried to step back, but the tangle of trees closed tighter, trapping her at the water’s edge.
Her heart pounded fast in her chest. Cold sweat dribbled down her back. Her gaze locked on the fathomless pool and she couldn’t look away.
The oily waters rippled, bubbled as something floated to the surface.
Her blood ran cold.
Run! A voice from somewhere inside her screamed, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t even look away. A man’s face emerged from the black water, flesh bloated and gray. His wide, dead eyes stared milky opaque.
Finally, Brynn stepped back, but the slippery bank gave out beneath her feet and she stumbled into frigid water. Icy fingers curled around her ankles, pulling her deeper…
* * *
Brynn jerked awake, gasping. She sat up and pressed a hand to her pounding chest. Where was she? She blinked, eyes stinging, and waited for them to adjust to the darkness, then glanced around the unfamiliar room.
The dark outline of furniture was little more than odd shapes in the black. Her gaze settled on the glowing coals in the fireplace, and the day’s events washed over her.
“Damn,” she whispered and flopped back onto the bed, closing her eyes. Images from her nightmare filled her head. Not much chance of falling back to sleep after that.
She groaned and pulled the covers over her head. Despite the heavy duvet and blankets cocooned around her, she shivered. The temperature in the room had dropped since she’d gone to sleep. And what the hell was that smell? She wrinkled her nose at the thick, mossy stink seeping through the sheets with the cold. Pushing back the blankets, she sat up and froze. Her stomach dropped.
A huge shape lumbered between her bed and the fireplace, blotting out the glow of the coals like an eclipse.
With wide, staring eyes, her gaze traveled the length of the massive shadow, from the hem of a long coat, to broad, masculine shoulders, to the outline of a wide-brimmed hat.
A man. There was a man in her room!
A scream burned up the back of her throat and lodged there. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She could scarcely breathe.
Instead, she stared into the black void where a face should have been. Then, like tiny beacons from hell, two red eyes appeared.
Chapter Four
Brynn stared into the glowing eyes like a bird caught in the thrall of a snake. Hate and rag
e emanated from the man-shaped thing, a tangible force wrapping around her and squeezing the breath from her lungs.
Run!
But she couldn’t move. Every muscle had seized under the burning red glare.
A dream. Some rational part of her brain tried desperately to convince the rest of her. It had to be a dream. She squeezed her eyes shut and started to count.
One, two…
When she opened her eyes it would be gone—
…three, four, five…
—and she would laugh at how crazy real it seemed.
…six, seven…
Whatever she thought she saw was probably just stress.
…eight, nine…
Some remnant of her nightmare.
…ten.
She opened her eyes. The shadow loomed beside her bed, black delight radiating like a living pulse from its murky form.
She tried to swallow, but her throat had shriveled. Icy sweat coated her skin. Drawing a trembling breath, she eased her hand out from beneath the blankets, eyes locked with the two glowing orbs, afraid that breaking contact, even for a moment, would somehow allow the thing to pounce. Her fumbling fingers bumped the porcelain lamp, sending it teetering sideways.
No, no, no. Please don’t break.
She grabbed the shade and caught the lamp before it went over, then pressed the switch. Brilliant light flooded the darkness. She squinted against the sudden glare. When she turned back to the shadow man, he was gone.
“What the hell?” She kicked free of the blankets and slid from the bed. Frigid air wrapped around her like a shroud, seeping through her thin shorts and T-shirt. Goose bumps stippled her skin.
Where did he go? He couldn’t have just vanished.
She hurried to the door. Locked, just as she’d left it. She turned the latch, pulled back the door and poked her head into the hall. Darkness spread out on either side of her like black curtains, leaving her unable to see anything past the faint pool of light spilling from her room. She shut the door and turned the lock once more.
So what exactly had she seen?
Had there been a man in her room? A man with glowing red eyes? Not likely. So what did that leave? A ghost? Of course not. She didn’t believe in ghosts. Whatever she’d seen, the real question was, where did it go?
She glanced around the bedroom, her gaze falling on the wardrobe. No way. She didn’t actually believe someone was hiding in her closet, did she? Of course not. Still, she crossed the room, closed her trembling fingers around the brass handles and yanked both doors wide.
Ha! Empty. Just like she knew it would be.
Oh, yeah? Then why is your heart ready to burst out of your chest, and your legs like rubber?
She closed the doors and leaned back against them. She was being ridiculous. She must have imagined…
Bathroom!
Brynn hurried to the en suite, pushed open the door and slid her hand up the wall until her fingers found the switch. The small space filled with light.
Nothing.
She looked behind the bathtub, then behind the door.
No one. She was completely alone.
* * *
A sharp jab just below his left kidney dragged Reece up through layers of sleep. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shifted on the lumpy mattress and rolled onto his side, willing himself to drift off again before he woke fully.
Dull stabbing bloomed at his hip.
“Bloody hell.” That blasted spring was like a medieval torture device especially designed to drive him mad. With a muttered curse, he threw back his thin blankets and glanced at the clock next to his bed. Five-twenty. Well, he’d managed ten minutes longer than yesterday. He should be glad for that, at least.
He padded across the cold wood floor and snagged his jeans from the chair next to the window. As he tugged them on, he peered out into the pre-dawn darkness. Stonecliff stood out like a black lump against the brightening sky. Stark and austere, in its day the manor’s stone walls, peaked windows and sheer size had made it a work of gothic grandeur. Some might still see it that way despite its aging facade, but not him.
He hated that house. He shouldn’t. There were no voices here, no apparitions. Stonecliff was the one place he could let down his carefully trained guards and only silence greeted him. But the quiet was unnatural, like the swelling pressure that built in his head just before his ears popped.
Goose bumps studded his skin and his insides tightened. There was something wrong with this place. Malevolence hovered like a dark cloud. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear there was a presence here. There wasn’t, of course. He’d know if there were.
Reece tugged a long-sleeved T-shirt over his head. What the hell did it matter? He should be glad of the peace for a change. It was the only good thing to come out of this mess.
He left the cell-like bedroom, clicked on the lamp next to the worn settee and crossed to the kitchenette. The L-shaped bank of cupboards didn’t offer much in the way of meal preparation. Three square meals provided at the main house were among the perks of working at Stonecliff. Still, the toaster oven, half-sized fridge and coffee maker left him with enough options he could avoid Mrs. Voyle’s cooking for the most part.
The kitchen opened to the rest of the flat. Not that there was much more. A settee with fraying orange flower-patterned fabric, a couple of scratched faux-wood tables and a black-and-white telly all that furnished the small space.
He missed his own flat, quiet and filled with his things. He wasn’t a rich man, but he’d created a comfortable den for himself. There were times when the voices would come, the figures would appear, but he could usually hold them at bay. And when he couldn’t, there was no one to see anyway.
Reece took the coffee tin from the cupboard, ready to begin his morning ritual, but set it down on the counter instead. Frustration hummed beneath his skin, leaving him restless, edgy. Agreeing to this ridiculous plan, he’d merely traded one prison cell for another.
How in the hell had he wound up in this mess? But he already knew the answer. He hadn’t really believed he could lie and cheat people and get away with it, had he? The wheel of karma turned slowly, but it turned all the same. Now, here he was, at last paying for the things he’d done. Caught in some crazy scheme with a man driven half-mad by his own obsession.
The same man he’d stood up last night thanks to Brynn James.
How had she managed her first night at Stonecliff? Unease gnawed at his insides with jagged little teeth. What if she’d disappeared through the night, vanished like the others?
Cold settled low in his gut and he shoved his hand through his hair. She wasn’t his problem. Lord knew he had enough of his own.
Still, he thought of her last night, stretched across her bed, that deep copper hair spread out around her head, eyes dark and sleepy when they met his. A surge of lust had slammed into him like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him.
Bloody hell, he was thinking like some sex-starved adolescent.
No wonder, really. He hadn’t been with a woman for nearly six months. He wasn’t cut out for long-term relationships, uncomfortable making promises he wasn’t capable of keeping. He’d had a pleasant arrangement for a while with a woman who worked at the shop down the road from the boatyard. Newly divorced, she was in no hurry to get seriously involved with anyone, just looking for a bit of fun while her kids were with her ex. Or so he thought until she’d suggested he meet her children, forcing him to put an end to their arrangement.
He doubted Brynn would be content with just sex. She’d certainly want someone stable, a house in the suburbs, a couple of kids. For some reason the image annoyed him.
He left the kitchen and made his way to one of the dormer windows that faced the house, ducking so he wouldn’t crack his head off the sloped ceiling. Outside, the sky had lightened to bleak gray.
If Brynn wanted to put herself in harm’s way to get something out of her dying father, it was none of his business. Still, someo
ne should tell her what was happening at Stonecliff, warn her of all the wicked things her sister had done.
Of course, if he warned Brynn and she told Eleri, or Eleri overheard, he’d be out on his ass and very possibly facing a prison cell.
Could that bastard really see him locked up? Even if he couldn’t, the charges alone would assuredly destroy the life he’d built.
Through the glass, Mrs. Voyle’s small, blue hatchback pulled into the courtyard and parked near the kitchen entrance. Now, there was opportunity knocking if he’d ever heard it. Mrs. Voyle enjoyed few things more than a good rant about her employers, and from what he’d overheard, the housekeeper had her suspicions about Brynn’s timely arrival and Eleri’s motivations for bringing her here. If he pushed just the right buttons…
Reece pulled on his jacket and shoved his feet into his work boots. He’d go down for his breakfast. Maybe dig up something for his blackmailer, and if he could catch Brynn alone, warn her about Eleri.
Surely, he could tolerate the housekeeper’s cooking long enough to get what he needed.
He thudded down the stairs and out the side door of the coach house. Wet wind off the sea slapped his hands and face as he hurried across the courtyard to the back door. Drizzle clung to his hair and jacket, cold settling into his bones.
Three days of frigid rain and wind. He’d never be warm again at this rate. If he stayed here much longer, he wouldn’t have to worry about prison, or his past destroying his present, or a madwoman murdering him. He’d be dead from pneumonia first.
He pushed open the back door and stepped into a small utility room. The smoky scent of sausage wafted in from the kitchen. His stomach growled despite the revulsion welling inside him. The food might smell good, but he knew from experience the meat would be charred on the outside and raw in the middle.
As he entered the kitchen, Mrs. Voyle’s shrill voice stopped him midstride. “You get those boots off, Reece Conway. I’ll not have you dirtying my floor with mucky footprints.”
He looked down at his feet. His boots had already left wet tracks on the gleaming checkerboard tile.
“Sorry,” he muttered, toeing off each boot, “I forgot.”
Shivers Box Set: Darkening Around MeLegacy of DarknessThe Devil's EyeBlack Rose (Shivers (Harlequin E)) Page 30
