Enchantment & Bridge of Dreams

by Christina Skye

  Then no more words, just two bodies crushed together, heart to wild heart, breaths raw with thanksgiving. And then, as the fear slowly ebbed, they were caught up in feelings far different…

  Driven by a need too long unassuaged.

  Driven by a need that felt two hundred years old.

  He would have taken her then, fiercely, out of a raw desperation to prove that they were both alive, with a future yet to share. But at that moment Marston tapped at the door and entered, followed by a tall, gray-haired visitor.

  The Englishman with the silver eyes smothered a curse. Not yet, it appeared, were they to have their moment of peace.

  It was a strange scene, even in this room that must have witnessed many strange scenes in its time. The golden-haired woman, pale still, propped against the flowered chintz cushions, an ice bag on her temple and a bandage wound around her forearm.

  The dark-haired man on the sofa beside her, his eyes tense on her face, full of the consciousness of how close they had both come to dying.

  The butler, stealing discreet, sidelong looks at the other two, holding back a smile, content with all he saw.

  Last of all was the irritated police inspector, who plunged a hand through his disheveled gray hair, understanding nothing at all. “But I still don’t see how you knew where they’d gone, Lord Draycott,” the inspector began, moving directly to the question that had been bothering him the last two hours. “The coast road could have taken them any number of places.”

  Nicholas’s eyes fixed on Kacey’s face, drinking in the beauty of her smile. He muttered a curse, desperately wishing the officer would go away.

  Draycott said nothing about the voice he’d heard, of course. Nothing about the swift, sharp images or the absolute certainty he’d had of her location. No, that would be for another time, he decided. Preferably after he’d come to understand it more himself.

  Inspector Jamieson muttered something beneath his breath as Draycott bent and feathered a soft but very thorough kiss across Kacey’s parted lips. The officer scratched his gray head, distinctly ill at ease, but determined to have some answers all the same. There were forms to be completed, after all. Forms in bloody triplicate! And this was one case he wanted closed—once and for all! “I’m terribly sorry to intrude, Lord Draycott, but I really must ask—”

  Nicholas sat up slightly, his lips curved in a dark smile. “I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest idea, inspector. Just a lucky guess, perhaps.”

  The officer gave an exasperated sigh. If only the man would concentrate for a moment…

  Then, as he saw the radiance that filled Kacey’s eyes, saw the blinding force of her answering smile, Inspector Jamieson began to understand exactly why Nicholas Draycott was having trouble breathing, or of thinking about anything else right now.

  But business was business, the officer told himself firmly, squaring his shoulders. “I don’t believe in guesses, Lord Draycott. It’s hard work that solves crimes.” Jamieson frowned for a moment, considering his next words. “Shall I be frank?”

  “Of course.” Just as long as you make it quick and then leave us bloody alone, Nicholas thought, his irritation growing more pronounced by the second.

  “Special Investigations knew that Trang had secured a movable fortune somewhere close at hand for a fast escape. It was there all along, hidden in the mud of your cell—an ancient Buddhist reliquary urn set with a fortune in cabochon gems. And inside was a microfilm list of all Trang’s contacts—in Asia as well as Europe. That’s what your two friends were after.” The inspector’s eyes narrowed. “They’d been involved with Trang long enough to learn about his little stash, and when the choppers came in for you, Lord Draycott, they were already scrambling for the urn. They never found it, though, because by then soldiers were swarming everywhere and they didn’t have a clear chance to look. By the time things settled down after Trang’s death, the urn had disappeared. That’s where SI came in. They found out about the contents of the jar last week and grew distinctly uneasy when…” The inspector cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “That is, just in case…”

  With a sharp curse, Nicholas jerked to his feet. “Just in case what, inspector?”

  “In case Miss Mallory might be, er…” The officer’s eyes flashed to Kacey’s face, and he cleared his throat again.

  “Go on, spit it out, man!”

  “Well, be working with one of those fellows from Bhanlai. Someone up in London was worried that—”

  Draycott plunged across the room toward the telephone, muttering a long and very graphic stream of curses with every step. “The bloody, interfering imbeciles! What have they got, oatmeal for brains? Someone’s head is going to roll for this, by God. Just see if it doesn’t!” His hand was on the receiver when Kacey’s breathless protest brought him to a halt.

  The inspector never did see what passed between them, as Nicholas’s back was turned. Ever after, he was to puzzle about that.

  But whatever it was, the effect was swift and totally persuasive, for a moment later Draycott ran a hand through his unruly hair and slowly came back to his seat. Silently, Kacey reached out, drawing his hand to her cheek. That much Inspector Jamieson did see, and the jolt of naked longing he’d seen on her face was enough to stun him speechless.

  His discomfort increasing by the second, the inspector plunged ahead. “By the way, the two of you were bloody lucky out there on the downs today. That’s a damn unstable stretch of cliffs. It could have given way any moment, especially with the weight of the car.” Jamieson’s brow creased. “Good God, didn’t one of your ancestors fall from the cliffs somewhere near there, Draycott?”

  A closer ancestor than you’ll ever know, Nicholas thought grimly. And luck had absolutely nothing to do with the events that took place out on the cliffs today, he added silently.

  No, love and not luck had saved them today. Love along with trust. And perhaps a little help from Draycott Abbey’s proud and stubborn ghost…

  Nicholas’s fingers tightened as he felt Kacey shudder.

  Jamieson saw, too, and that more than anything else decided him it was time to leave. His only regret was that he wouldn’t get a chance to interrogate those two ruffians in the Mini, particularly that fellow with the acrid cigarettes and the arrest record stretching from here to Brighton.

  But neither of those men would be talking to anyone—ever again. And that left the urn in limbo.

  Too bad, that. Still, someday Draycott might remember exactly what had happened to it. Until then, SI would just have to wait.

  Jamieson smiled grimly at the thought of those tight-lipped bureaucrats up in Whitehall waiting patiently for anything.

  Yes, nothing else needed tending to here, the gray-haired officer decided. “I expect I’ll be going then. Tomorrow one of my men will pop round with the Turners we recovered, Lord Draycott.” He darted a last, sidelong glance at the pair of oblivious lovers. “On second thought, perhaps next week might be a better idea,” he revised softly.

  When he took his hat and left the room, Marston, efficient as usual, was waiting to show him out.

  “Bloody strange business,” the inspector muttered, half to himself.

  “But it ended well for all that, I believe.”

  Jamieson merely frowned, cramming his hat down on his head with unnecessary force. “A lucky guess indeed! What kind of fool does the man take me for?”

  Still muttering, he walked into the courtyard. “It’s going to look damn odd on the paperwork, I can tell you that!”

  The inspector was still frowning when he got into his car and slammed the door.

  “YOU WERE SHAMEFUL WITH that poor man, Nicholas.” Kacey shot the viscount a chiding smile. “No, we were both shameful,” she added ruefully.

  “Nonsense. The bloody fellow should have left hours ago. Anyone could see we had other things on our minds than police business.”

  “The inspector was only doing his job. And we certainly didn’t give him much help.�
�� Kacey’s eyes darkened, probing his face. “How did you know—where they’d taken me, I mean?”

  Nicholas ran the pad of his thumb tenderly over her brow where a white bandage covered the lacerated skin at her temple. He gave a soft sigh. “Something told me you were going to ask that…Hmmm—let’s just say that a bird told me.”

  “Indeed.” Kacey’s brow rose in a devastating imitation of the viscount’s own arrogant gesture.

  “It’s the only answer you’re going to get from me. After all, who are you to complain? You claim to have conversed with a ghost,” Draycott growled, bending down for another kiss, this one long and devouring, not nearly as gentle as the last.

  Long minutes later, when they finally began to resurface, Kacey slanted her head back, frowning. “Ghost? I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  It was Draycott’s turn to look skeptical. “No? Very well then, let’s just drop the whole business, shall we? But one day I’ll work it all out of you, I promise. And I can be most persuasive when I wish to be, Kacey Mallory.”

  Kacey’s tawny brow arched. “Prove it,” she whispered silkily.

  With a low growl, the Englishman did just that, leaving no weapon in his vast arsenal unused.

  When Kacey’s breath was ragged and her pulse beat a wild staccato, Nicholas slid forward and drew her head onto his lap. He twined her slim fingers through his. “I love you, Kacey,” he said huskily. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Her eyes radiant, Kacey nodded up at him, too full of emotion to speak just yet, still floating on the rich currents of the love that surrounded them.

  The brisk tapping at the door barely registered at first. When neither answered, the door opened.

  “Excuse me, your lordship, but it is nearly noon. Shall I serve luncheon now?” Brisk and correct, Marston stood just outside the door.

  Draycott smothered a very graphic curse.

  Marston’s face remained entirely impassive. “I take that for a no. In that case, will you be requiring me for anything further?”

  “Take the night off, Marston.” Nicholas’s smile widened, decidedly wolfish now. He did not take his eyes from Kacey’s flushed face. “On second thought, take the whole bloody month.”

  The butler’s lips twitched, but to his credit, he did not give way to the smile sneaking over his mouth. “Thank you, my lord. You are very generous. And may I be the first to wish you both happy?”

  Nicholas turned at that, shooting Marston a grin that was swift and lopsided, making the viscount look boyish and slightly uncertain.

  It was a smile that made Kacey’s heart ache. A smile that made her vow to see that he looked like that often.

  “Always on the mark, aren’t you?” Then, turning to Kacey, “Yes, I rather think you may wish me happy, Marston.”

  “By the way, your automobile has been repaired, my lord. I’ve taken the liberty of returning it to the garage.”

  “Ah. Thank you for the loan of your Alfa.”

  There was a decided glint in the butler’s eyes as he caught Kacey’s look of surprise. “His lordship is rather conservative when it comes to automobiles, Miss Mallory. You might as well learn that now. The Alfa Romeo is mine, in fact. The Land Rover is his—and a greater pile of junk never existed. If I may say so, my lord,” he added smoothly.

  Nicholas’s grin widened, but he still did not turn, enjoying Kacey’s confusion. “No, you may not say so, Marston.”

  The butler merely nodded. This argument was clearly one of long standing between them. “Very well, my lord. Consider the remark unsaid.” His eyes still glittering, Marston turned and left them then, closing the door softly behind him.

  “That gorgeous sports car—it’s Marston’s?” Kacey couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice.

  “Quite a first-rate amateur in the racing circuit is our Marston. Rather the ladies’ man, too.”

  Kacey could only shake her head, amazed.

  And then Nicholas shifted, bending down and sweeping her into his arms.

  “What…whatever are you doing?”

  “I’m carrying you upstairs, my heart. I find I’ve had entirely enough talking for one day.”

  “P-put me down this instant, Nicholas! I’m perfectly able to walk.”

  “Ah, but I like carrying you, Kacey Mallory from Connecticut. I plan on carrying you quite often, as a matter of fact. Up my steps. Over my threshold.” His voice grew taut. “Into my bed. And right now I have a very important question to put to you, but I mean to render you entirely mindless with lust before I risk it.”

  Kacey smiled. Her fingers eased deep into his dark, unruly hair. “Indeed.” It was a perfect imitation of his own imperious tone.

  Nicholas’s laugh was silk over steel. “You dare to provoke me? For that you’ll pay most dearly, I warn you. Do you know that my aunt has been calling all morning? I really should throw you to the wolves, you know. She’s just itching to get her hands on you—she’s got an attic chock full of art up at that ruin of hers in Yorkshire. But I told her you’d be tied up until after the honeymoon. We’ve decided on Lake Como, by the way.”

  “Have we indeed? And what else have we decided upon?” Kacey demanded silkily, her voice low and very provocative.

  Nicholas’s eyes narrowed to silver slits. The pain at his groin was growing worse by the minute. “That it must be soon.” His eyes closed as her fingers eased open the top button of his shirt. “Oh, God, very soon,” he muttered thickly.

  Kacey merely smiled, her lips following a moment later, teasing a hot, wet trail down his neck.

  Nicholas’s fingers tightened on her hips. “I’ll never get enough of you, Kacey, I warn you here and now. In fact, I probably won’t let you out of my bed for a week.”

  The smile she gave him was instant and breathtaking. “Promises, promises.”

  “And just in case you change your mind at the last minute, I have a little bribe for you, my dear Miss Mallory. It’s upstairs in the long gallery. Would you care to see it?”

  Kacey nodded dreamily, thinking the only bribe she needed was him—the things he did to her, the cherished way he made her feel.

  He carried her upstairs, then lowered her gently to the ground before the door to the long gallery, frowning. “That’s odd. I could have sworn I left that door closed this morning…”

  He glanced quickly through the room. The curtains were drawn now, as Kacey had instructed, to protect the fine old tapestries and Oriental carpets from the damaging effects of the sun. The quick inspection told Nicholas everything was as he’d left it.

  With a faint shrug, he took Kacey’s hand and led her to the canvas propped on a chair by the far wall. “It’s yours, my love. That’s the least I can do. Without it, I might never have found you. Although sometimes I wonder…”

  A startled protest broke from her lips. “Nicholas! You can’t! I couldn’t—it’s far too valuable for—” Kacey’s breath caught. “It’s genuine, you see. I should have told you yesterday, but—”

  He stopped her with one finger soft upon her lips. “All the better, my heart. The perfect bribe, isn’t it? My only condition is that it not hang in our bedroom.” His eyes darkened. “I want neither distractions nor onlookers when I have my way with you, woman. Or shall I take you back to the stables, perhaps?”

  Kacey decided not to argue with him about the canvas now. Instead, she slanted her head and studied him through half-lowered eyelids. “Indeed, your lordship? The way I remember it, you were the one sizzling like a lit stick of dynamite back there in the stables.” Her hands climbed slowly to the buttons at her collar. “Maybe I should…” The first came free, and then the second. Her fingers slipped lower, freeing a third. “And what about when I have my way with you, my lord?” she purred.

  Nicholas’s eyes darkened, shot through with molten specks. “Promises, promises,” he whispered thickly.

  Clear laughter spilled around them, dispelling the gallery’s lingering shadows, along with any ghosts that mig
ht have haunted that ancient room. Nicholas pulled her to him, easing her between his taut thighs until she felt the hard evidence of the passion she had so skillfully provoked.

  Kacey’s hips shifted against his thighs, restless and sweetly urgent. Her eyes darkened, fixed on his hard mouth.

  It was a silent plea, and one which the Englishman resolutely ignored. This time he would make her wait, Nicholas vowed, firing her need until it was just as great as his.

  His hand dropped, gliding over her ribs until his fingers skirted the full swell of her breast. He didn’t even try to resist the urge to move higher and palm her rich, seductive curves. Fire shot through him when he heard her breathy sigh, saw her eyes close, felt the nipple bud sweetly beneath his touch.

  “God, Kacey…”

  “Please, Nicholas…”

  Fingers laced, hearts meshed, they moved unsteadily to the door. They were almost at the threshold when Kacey stiffened, staring at the massive portrait that hung beside the entrance. “Do you see it?”

  “See what, love?”

  “There—the portrait!”

  Draycott studied the gaunt figure of his ancestor impatiently. Clad in velvet and lace, the eighth viscount wore a faint, sad smile on his proud lips. “Am I supposed to see something?”

  “Adrian…” Kacey seemed to hear a faint humming in the air around her. With it came the drifting scent of roses. She frowned, trying to place something—something about that smell. Something that seemed very important.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I could swear there’s something different about it. The face…the stance, maybe.” After a moment more, she gave up, shrugging. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just imagining it. This house has always done strange things to me.”

  “I was hoping you’d say it was the house’s owner who did strange things to you,” Draycott muttered, oddly jealous of the portrait that had captured all her attention.

  Suddenly with a little cry, Kacey pointed lower. “There—that’s it! The rose. He didn’t have a rose before, I’m sure of it. I worked here for a whole day and I never before saw that rose!”