by Candace Camp
She nodded, her face lighting with eagerness. “Come, let’s look upstairs.”
The staircase was a graceful spiral curving up from the foyer. Whoever had owned this house, Alex thought, he liked it. Clean, simple lines and elegant touches. It was the sort of house a man might want to buy...if he was considering buying a house. What might he discover if he were to pose as a possible buyer?
Sabrina went lightly up the steps, Alex following her. The first room was entirely empty, the second held several pieces of furniture, all covered except for the bed. Alex found his eyes straying to the bed. He glanced at Sabrina and found her gazing at him; she turned quickly away. The very air was suddenly fraught with tension.
All he could think of was that moment outside, when he had taken her in his arms and kissed her. The memory of it was enough to send a shiver through him. But he could not repeat it...no matter how much he might want to. He turned abruptly and left the room.
All the rest of the rooms were bedchambers. Alex went through them quickly, the tension in him rising with every room. The chamber at the rear of the house was the largest. It would be the quietest, too, far removed from the street’s traffic, so it was likely the master’s bedroom.
If nothing else, he would have realized that from the size and grandeur of the bed centered on the opposite wall. Rounded posts, carved with spirals, speared upward, capped at the top with a tester covered in dark green velvet. Curtains of the same color hung at each of the posts, so that the occupants of the bed could close them and create a cozy, warm, intimate refuge. The thought of it turned his mouth dry.
He turned and saw Sabrina standing in the doorway, gazing at him. His heart clenched in his chest. She had pushed back her hood after they had come inside, and the dark blue material made a soft backdrop for her wealth of black curls. Alex remembered how those curls had felt in his fingers, and he ached to touch them again. To caress her face. To rediscover the gentle curves of her body. Kissing her earlier had been a grave mistake; it only made him want her more.
“Sabrina...” Alex had no idea what he was going to say.
“Outside, earlier,” she said, coming forward a step. “When you—”
“I shouldn’t have,” he said quickly. “It was wrong of me. I took advantage of the, um, moment.”
A faint smile curved her lips. “It was a moment worth taking advantage of, I think.”
He wondered if she realized how seductive she looked, how much she affected him. He rather thought she did. The thought that she meant to tease him only spurred his hunger more. “Sabrina, you mustn’t... It would be wicked of me to...”
His voice trailed off. The gentlemanly thing for him to do was to walk away. The right thing. He reached out a hand to touch her hair, taking a curl between his fingers. Unable to help himself, he sank his fingers into her hair, tilting her face up. He looked at her for a moment, feeling as if he were teetering on the brink. Sabrina ended his indecision by going up on her tiptoes and kissing him.
Alex was lost after that. He had no idea how long they spent locked together, only that he was drowning in the heat, reveling in the taste of her mouth, the softness of her skin. Boldly his hands roamed her body, pressing her into him, curving around her breasts, sinking his fingertips into the fleshy curve of her buttocks, separated from him by so few clothes.
He kissed her lips, her face, her throat, then shakily unbuttoned the top few buttons of her dress to make his way down to the soft curve of her breast. Slipping his hand inside her chemise, he lifted her breast, cupped it as his mouth closed over her nipple. He felt the trembling in her flesh, but more than that, he felt, deep inside him, her thrumming excitement.
Her fingers slid into his hair, pressing against his skull, and she let out a soft seeking noise, her hips moving against him. Alex felt Sabrina’s desire surge within her, her heat flooding into him. Her passion heightened his own, so that the two of them burned with an ever-brighter flame, until he thought the fire must consume him.
“Sabrina, Sabrina,” he murmured, his lips coming back to hers. He ached to be with her, in her, to lose himself in her. And he knew, with a fierce certainty, that if he let himself go further, he would not be able to stop.
With a low noise of frustration, he broke away. Gripping one of the towering bedposts so hard that his knuckles were white, he waited for the tumult inside him to subside.
“We cannot,” he said in a hoarse voice. “You know we cannot.”
“Alex...”
“No. Sabrina, do not tempt me, please. I am discovering how weak I am. And it would be wrong of me, of us. I will not put you in this position. We don’t know your circumstances. You could be married. Once you recover your memory, you might regret this, regret me, forever.” He drew a shaky breath, surprised at how sharply it pierced him to think of her regretting being with him.
“I know.” Her voice was subdued. “I don’t...want that, either.” She cleared her throat, and he heard the rustle of her skirts as she moved away. “We should finish here and go home—I mean, go to your home.”
He glanced over at her. She was walking around the room, looking at the pictures, hoping for another clue to her identity. He went to the opposite wall, struggling to tamp down his emotions. He’d never felt this way in his life—so driven by need, so frustrated and, yes, even fearful of what he might find.
Sabrina continued to talk as she searched, her voice nervous and light, filling the uneasy silence. He heard her without really listening, too wrapped up in his own roiling thoughts, until suddenly her words stopped.
“Alex?” she said then, her tone odd. “Come look at this.”
He crossed the room in a few quick strides, alarmed. She was staring fixedly at a picture on the wall, a photograph this time. Alex stopped behind her, looking over her shoulder at the group portrait. A man—a little portly, hair graying—stood behind a seated woman. It was the same woman who was in the portrait downstairs, though clearly several years older. Next to her stood a girl, perhaps eleven or twelve years old. Her face was heart-shaped, her eyes large and light-colored, and her hair, held back by a ribbon, was a mass of tumbling black curls.
“Good Lord,” Alex breathed. “That’s you.”
Chapter Twelve
“THAT WAS ME, wasn’t it?” Sabrina asked. Too stunned to speak, she had been silent as they left the house and started back to the duke’s mansion. But as they walked, her mind began to churn, filling with questions. “Who was that man? That woman? Are they my parents? And what happened to them?”
“I don’t know who they are,” Alex answered, his brow furrowed with concern. “But that child—she looked so much like you. I cannot help but think that it’s you.”
“They must be my parents. Why did they leave? Where did they go? Do you think I ran away from them?”
“I don’t know their names. I told Tom to check into the property records tomorrow, and that will give us a name. Once we have that, we can hopefully locate them.”
“They looked pleasant, don’t you think? Surely it wasn’t he who—” She gestured vaguely to the bruises on her face.
“I hope not. We’ll find out, Sabrina. I am much more hopeful about it now. It was something of a shock, seeing your picture, but that was the clearest evidence we’ve had.”
“But how—” She frowned in thought. “I still don’t understand. How did you know to go to that house?”
“Oh. Well.” He shrugged, glancing away. “I didn’t know. It was just, um, something that Tom discovered.”
“What? Something he overheard in a tavern? A document he found? He must have had some evidence.”
“Yes, of course, I’m sure he did. I’m just not sure...”
Sabrina stopped. He was acting as he had the other day—not meeting her gaze, shifting about. “Alex. You’re lying to me.”
He had walked on a step o
r two before he realized she’d stopped, and he turned back to her, his face wary. “Sabrina...I’m not lying. It’s just... There are things that...” He shrugged.
“That what? That I shouldn’t know? Why? Because I am a woman? Because they are so horrid?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that.”
“I thought you were truthful with me.” Sabrina’s stomach was suddenly icy. “What else haven’t you told me? What else do you know?”
“Sabrina! I am... There’s nothing—Oh, blast!” He swung away, then turned back, his face pained. “It’s nothing to do with you. It’s just... It’s me.”
“What do you mean, it’s you? What about you? I don’t understand. What does that house have to do with you?”
“Nothing. I know nothing about that house, except what I’ve told you. It’s more, um, the way I found out.”
“You don’t want me to know how you found the house? Why? Alex, was it...criminal?”
“No! I assure you, it was not criminal or wrong. I just didn’t want you to think I’m mad as a hatter. I didn’t want you to pull back from me.”
“What?” She stared at him, nonplussed. “Why would I think that? I wouldn’t.”
“Don’t be too sure. Most people would.” He sighed, then, looking like a man swallowing a bitter draft, he said, “I can sense things sometimes by touching an object.”
Sabrina stared at him blankly. “I don’t understand.”
“It doesn’t happen with everything. But if there’s enough emotion attached to it, enough importance, enough horror or love or violence, I can sense it. Sometimes I can put a face to it or I know what happened there. I... Once, when I was about fourteen, I leaned against a mantel in a room, and suddenly I knew someone had been killed there. I felt the rage and saw the blood spilling from someone’s head.”
Sabrina drew in her breath sharply at his words. “No! What did you do?”
“Well, it scared the devil out of me, I’ll tell you. It was at an inn. Fortunately, I was with Reed and Anna. They believed me. You see, it’s not just me. My whole family is...” He shrugged. “The Morelands aren’t just eccentric. Uncle Bellard is eccentric—he loves history, especially military history, and he has the time and money to indulge that interest. But my grandfather was given to peculiar notions about health and was always chasing some cure or other, although in fact, I don’t think there was anything to indicate that he was actually unhealthy at all. Until he managed to kill himself following some quack regimen of wrapping wet sheets around himself in the middle of winter.”
“Many people are obsessed with their health and always looking for some miracle cure. That’s not that odd.”
“What about talking to one’s deceased friends and relatives?” Alex asked drily. “My grandmother did that. She claimed to have regular conversations with my grandfather after he died, which is probably more than she had when he was alive. Also, she talked to her dead mother and one of her cousins.”
“Well, no, I don’t suppose that’s very common.”
“My sister Olivia used to expose spiritualist charlatans. She’s the one who opened the agency years ago. She caught them at their tricks and debunked them. But then, one time when she was in the midst of one of her investigations, she herself saw a ghost. Not one, but two. Saw what had happened to them—in the Middle Ages, mind you—and, to top it off, had a struggle with some evil power that had lingered there.”
“Is your sister given to delusions?”
“No! Not at all. Normally she’s the most skeptical of persons. I think she really did see them. Then my sister Kyria came into possession of a huge black diamond that had supposedly belonged to some ancient goddess. She had strange dreams about someone who died long ago in a temple, a worshipper of that goddess. She saw things, knew things that there was no reason for her to know. My brother Reed had dreams that his future wife, Anna, was in danger. Anna herself has visions of the future. My brother Theo saw his future wife in a dream ten years before they met. Not only that, she gave him a medallion, an actual physical object, in that vision. The thing is, I believe them. I know it all happened. Which I suppose means I’m as mad as everyone else in my family.” He stopped, letting out a deep sigh.
Sabrina looked at him for a long moment, then said, “Or perhaps it means that all those things happened.”
“You mean, you believe me?”
“Were you lying to me?”
“No!”
“Then I believe you.” Sabrina had to smile at the astonished look on his face. “Alex.” She stepped forward, taking his hand. “I remember nothing of my life. My world is a blank slate. I have no evidence that such events can’t occur. You, on the other hand, have evidence that they do. I trust you.”
“I can scarcely believe it.” He smiled faintly and moved closer, taking her other hand as well, his fingers interlacing with hers. “I feared you would run from me screaming.”
The look in his eyes warmed her all through. “No more than you ran screaming from the woman who came into your office, dressed up as a man, and told you she had no idea who she was.” He smiled at her words, and she went on, “Many people would have labeled me mad, but you did not. What you’ve told me is astonishing. Amazing. But it’s not insane.”
He leaned down and pressed his lips softly against hers. “You are astonishing. Amazing.”
“Now I will not feel so odd when I tell you that, even though we’ve never met and I can’t remember anyone, when I first saw you standing there in the hallway, I thought I knew you.”
His hands tightened on hers. “Knew me?”
“Yes. As if you were a friend, a... I don’t know, someone I knew and trusted. Until I saw it was obvious that you had no idea who I was.”
“I felt it, too.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “I knew we hadn’t met. I could never have forgotten your face. But I felt somehow that we are connected. Before you came into the building, I...sensed you.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t, either, really. But I knew someone near the office was in trouble, frightened. The next instant, you walked in the front door, and I was certain it was you whom I had sensed.”
“Has that happened to you before?”
“No. Never. I have always had a certain link, I guess you’d call it, with my twin brother.”
“I had heard that twins do.”
“I don’t know what he’s thinking or feeling or doing, but I know if he’s nearby, and I know if he’s in trouble. It was like that...only different.”
Sabrina chuckled. “Well, that’s clear.” The thought that he had never had this connection with anyone else—with another woman—probably should not warm her, but it did. She looked intently into his eyes. “Tonight, when we... Did you...”
“Sense what you felt?” Heat flared in his eyes. “Yes. Did you?”
“Yes.” Sabrina nodded, uncomfortably aware of how much she had felt—her own desire burgeoning in her, fed, it seemed, by the passion flooding from him. She looked away, unable to keep his gaze. “Alex...I fear that what we feel is dangerous.”
“I know.” He sighed, released her hands and turned away. “For all the reasons I said earlier in the house, we should not act on what we feel.”
Sabrina fell in beside him, and they walked on. She didn’t want to think about what they should not do—or what they felt. “So how exactly did you find that house? Did you see it lurking about in my mind?”
“No. I can’t read anyone’s mind, for which I am eternally grateful. I got it from holding the things that you had with you.”
“You mean, when you touched that ring or...or something, you knew the address?”
“If only I could! No, I didn’t know where it was located or even what role it played in your life. When I held the pocket wa
tch, I saw that house. So I drew it and gave the drawing to Tom to find.”
Sabrina’s eyes widened. “No wonder it took days.”
“Well, from the look of it, I had some idea the areas where he might find it, but yes, it was quite an undertaking for poor Tom.”
“Is that man in the picture the owner of the watch?”
“I don’t know, but it seems likely. I couldn’t tell much about him from the watch. I could sense love and pride. It’s hard to explain, but there was a certain sense of him, his being. And in the study there, I felt traces of that same presence. I think he must have lived there.”
Sabrina nodded, sorrow settling in her chest. “He must be dead, I think. Don’t you? Why else would I be in possession of his watch? And you told me the neighbors said he’d been gone from there for years.”
“I rather think he is, yes.” Alex’s gaze was kind. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” She half smiled. “It’s odd. I didn’t recognize him—I have no feelings for him. But it makes me sad. Perhaps he was my father. But whatever he was to me, I’ll never know him now.” After a moment, she added, “If he is dead, that means he couldn’t have been the one who hit me, so I’m glad for that.”
“We will find out who he is and what happened to him,” Alex said firmly. “I promise you. Soon you’ll know everything about yourself.”
Knowing how badly Alex wanted to reassure her, Sabrina smiled at him. But it had been so long...in her heart she was beginning to wonder if she would ever know herself.
The next morning, Alex and Sabrina went to Uncle Bellard’s room as soon as breakfast was over. He hadn’t come down to eat, so Alex grabbed a plate of food and Sabrina a cup of tea for Alex’s uncle, and they carried them up to him. Sabrina was worried that perhaps the fragile-looking man was ill, but Alex assured her that despite his appearance, his great-uncle was as strong as an ox and had no doubt merely lost track of the time.
When they opened his door, she saw that Alex was right. Bellard was sitting at one of the tables, hunched over an open book on the only surface not covered with models of battles. He was dressed in the evening clothes he had worn the night before at supper, indicating that he had never gone to bed, and his wispy white hair stuck out all over his head in all directions, as if he had been tugging it with his fingers. This surmise was strengthened by the fact that his hands were plunged into his hair right now, holding his head, as he read.