by Nora Roberts
fooling around at the door, then turn on the lights and ruin what I’ve started. You have to put your hands into something you know nothing about.”
“I told you before, I wasn’t fooling around at your door.” His eyes were darkening dangerously. “I came back after the power went out and the generator switched on. The door was open, and you were lying in a heap in the middle of the floor. I never touched your damned film.”
There was ice in his voice now to go with the heat in his eyes but Autumn was too infuriated to be touched by either. “Foolish as it may seem,” he continued, “my concern and attention were on you.” Moving toward her, he glanced down at the confusion on her work table. “I don’t suppose it occurred to you that in the dark you disturbed the film yourself?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Her professional ability was again insulted, but he cut off her retort in a voice filled with strained patience. Autumn pondered on it. As she remembered, Lucas had no patience at all.
“Autumn, I don’t know what happened to your film. I didn’t get any farther into the room than the spot where you were lying. I won’t apologize for switching on the lights; I’d do precisely the same thing again.” He circled her neck with his fingers and his words took on the old caressing note she remembered. “I happen to think your welfare is more important than your pictures.”
Suddenly, her interest in the film waned. She wanted only to escape from him, and the feelings he aroused in her so effortlessly. Programmed response, she told herself. The soft voice and gentle hands tripped the release, and she went under.
“You’re pale,” Lucas muttered, abruptly dropping his hands and stuffing them into his pockets. “Dr. Spicer can take a look at you.”
“No, I don’t need—” She got no farther. He grabbed her arms with quicksilver fury.
“Damn it, Cat, must you argue with everything I say? Is there no getting past the hate you’ve built up for me?” He gave a quick shake. The pain rolled and spun in her head. For an instant, his face went out of focus as dizziness blurred her vision. Swearing with short, precise expertise, he pulled her close against him until the faintness passed. In a swift move, he lifted her into his arms. “You’re pale as a ghost,” he muttered. “Like it or not, you’re going to see the doctor. You can vent your venom on him for a while.”
By the time Autumn realized he was carrying her to her room, her temper had ebbed. There was only a dull, wicked ache and the weariness. Flagging, she rested her head against his shoulder and surrendered. This wasn’t the time to think about the darkroom door or how it had come to be opened. It wasn’t the time to think of how she had managed to walk into it like a perfect fool. This wasn’t the time to think at all.
Accepting the fact that she had no choice, Autumn closed her eyes and allowed Lucas to take over. She kept them closed when she felt him lower her to the bed, but she knew he stood looking down at her a moment. She knew too that he was frowning.
The sound of his footsteps told her that he had walked into the adjoining bathroom. The faint splash of water in the sink sounded like a waterfall to her throbbing head. In a moment, there was a cool cloth over the ache in her forehead. Opening her eyes, Autumn looked into his.
“Lie still,” he ordered curtly. Lucas brooded down at her with an odd, enigmatic expression. “I’ll get Spicer,” he muttered abruptly. Turning on his heel, he strode to the door.
“Lucas.” Autumn stopped him because the cool cloth had brought back memories of all the gentle things he had ever done. He’d had his gentle moments, though she’d tried hard to pretend he hadn’t. It had seemed easier.
When he turned back, impatience was evident in the very air around him. What a man of contradictions he was, she mused. Intemperate, with barely any middle ground at all.
“Thank you,” she said, ignoring his obvious desire to be gone. “I’m sorry I shouted at you. You’re being very kind.”
Lucas leaned against the door and stared back at her. “I’ve never been kind.” His voice was weary again.
Autumn found it necessary to force back the urge to go to him, wipe away his lines of fatigue. He sensed her thoughts, and his eyes softened briefly. On his mouth moved one of his rare, disarming smiles.
“My God, Cat, you always were so incredibly sweet. So terrifyingly warm.”
With that, he left her.
Chapter 5
Autumn was staring at the ceiling when Robert entered. Shifting her eyes, she looked at his black bag dubiously. She’d never cared for what doctors carried inside those innocent-looking satchels.
“A house call,” she said and managed a smile. “The eighth wonder of the world. I didn’t think you’d have your bag with you on vacation.”
He was quick enough to note her uneasy glance. “Do you travel without your camera?”
“Touché.” She told herself to relax and not to be a baby.
“I don’t think we’ll need to operate.” He sat on the bed and removed the cloth Lucas had placed there. “Mmm, that’s going to be colorful. Is your vision blurred?”
“No.”
His hands were surprisingly soft and gentle, reminding Autumn of her father’s. She relaxed further and answered his questions on dizziness, nausea and so forth while watching his face. He was different, she noted. The competence was still there, but his dapper self-presentation had been replaced by a quiet compassion. His voice was kind, she thought, and so were his eyes. He was well suited to his profession.
“How’d you come by this, Autumn?” As he asked he reached in his bag and her attention switched to his hands. He removed cotton and a bottle, not the needle she’d worried about.
She wrinkled her nose ruefully. “I walked into a door.”
He shook his head with a laugh, and began to bathe the bruise. “A likely story.”
“And embarrassingly true. In the darkroom,” she added. “I must have misjudged the distance.”
His eyes shifted and studied hers a moment before they returned to her forehead. “You struck me as a woman who kept her eyes open,” he said a bit grimly, Autumn thought, before he smiled again. “It’s just a bump,” he told her and held her hand. “Though my diagnosis won’t make it hurt any less.”
“It’s only an agonizing ache now,” Autumn returned, trying for lightness. “The cannons have stopped going off.”
With a chuckle, he reached into his bag again. “We can do something about smaller artillery.”
“Oh.” She eyed the bottle of pills he held and frowned. “I was going to take some aspirin.”
“You don’t put a forest fire out with a water pistol.” He smiled at her again and shook out two pills. “They’re very mild, Autumn. Take these and rest for an hour or two. You can trust me,” he added with exaggerated gravity as her brows stayed lowered. “Even though I am a surgeon.”
“Okay.” His eyes convinced her and she smiled back, accepting the glass of water and pills. “You’re not going to take out my appendix or anything, are you?”
“Not on vacation.” He waited until she had swallowed the medication, then pulled a light blanket over her. “Rest,” he ordered and left her.
The next time Autumn opened her eyes, the room was in shadows. Rest? she thought and shifted under the blanket. I’ve been unconscious. How long? She listened. The storm was still raging, whipping against her windows with a fury she’d been oblivious to. Carefully, she pushed herself into a sitting position. Her head didn’t pound, but a touch of her fingers assured her she hadn’t dreamed up the entire incident. Her next thought was entirely physical—she discovered she was starving.
Rising, she took a quick glance in the mirror, decided she didn’t like what she saw and went in search of food and company. She found them both in the dining room. Her timing was perfect.
“Autumn.” It was Robert who spotted her first. “Feeling better?”
She hesitated a moment, embarrassed. Hunger was stronger, however, and the scent of Nancy’s chicken was too tempting. �
��Much,” she told him. She glanced at Lucas, but he said nothing, only watched her. The gentleness she had glimpsed so briefly before might have been an illusion. His eyes were dark and hard. “I’m starving,” she confessed as she took her seat.
“Good sign. Any more pain?”
“Only in my pride.” Forging ahead, she began to fill her plate. “Clumsiness isn’t a talent I like to brag about, and walking into a door is such a tired cliché. I wish I’d come up with something more original.”
“It’s odd.” Jacques twirled his fork by the stem as he studied her. “It doesn’t seem to me that you would have the power enough to knock yourself unconscious.”
“An amazon,” Autumn explained and let the chicken rest for a delicious moment on her tongue.
“She eats like one,” Julia commented. Autumn glanced over in time to catch the speculative look on her face before it vanished into a smile. “I gain weight watching her.”
“Metabolism,” Autumn claimed and took another forkful of chicken. “The real tragedy is that I lost the two rolls of film I shot on the trip from New York.”
“Perhaps we’re in for a series of accidents.” Helen’s voice was as hard as her eyes as they swept the table. “Things come in threes, don’t they?” No one answered and she went on, fingering her own bruise. “It’s hard to say what might happen next.”
Autumn had come to detest the odd little silences that followed Helen’s remarks, the fingers of tension that poked holes in the normalcy of the situation. On impulse, she broke her rule and started a conversation with Lucas.
“What would you do with this setting, Lucas?” She turned to him, but found no change in his expression. He’s watching all of us, she thought. Just watching. Shaking off her unease, Autumn continued. “Nine people—ten really, counting the cook—isolated in a remote country inn, a storm raging. The main power’s already snuffed out. The phone’s likely to be next.”
“The phone’s already out,” Steve told her. Autumn drew out a dramatic “Ah.”
“And the ford, of course, is probably impassable.” Robert winked at her, falling in with the theme.
“What more could you ask for?” Autumn demanded of Lucas. Lightning flashed, as if on cue.
“Murder.” Lucas uttered the six-letter word casually, but it hung in the air as all eyes turned to him. Autumn shuddered involuntarily. It was the response she’d expected, yet she felt a chill on hearing it. “But, of course,” he continued as the word still whispered in the air, “it’s a rather overly obvious setting for my sort of work.”
“Life is sometimes obvious, is it not?” Jacques stated. A small smile played on his mouth as he lifted his glass of golden-hued wine.
“I could be very effective,” Julia mused. “Gliding down dark passageways in flowing white.” She placed her elbows on the table, folded her hands and rested her chin on them. “The flame of my candle flickering into the shadows while the murderer waits with a silk scarf to cut off my life.”
“You’d make a lovely corpse,” Autumn told her.
“Thank you, darling.” She turned to Lucas. “I’d much rather remain among the living, at least until the final scene.”
“You die so well.” Steve grinned across the table at her. “I was impressed by your Lisa in Hope Springs.”
“What sort of murder do you see, Lucas?” Steve was eating little, Autumn noted; he preferred the wine. “A crime of passion or revenge? The impulsive act of a discarded lover or the evil workings of a cool, calculating mind?”
“Aunt Tabby could sprinkle an exotic poison over the food and eliminate us one by one,” Autumn suggested as she dipped into the mashed potatoes.
“Once someone’s dead, they’re no more use.” Helen brought the group’s attention back to her. “Murder is a waste. You gain more by keeping someone alive. Alive and vulnerable.” She shot Lucas a look. “Don’t you agree, Mr. McLean?”
Autumn didn’t like the way she smiled at him. Cool and calculating. Jacques’s words repeated in her mind. Yes, she mused, this was a cool and calculating woman. In the silence, Autumn shifted her gaze to Lucas.
His face held the faintly bored go-to-hell look she knew so well. “I don’t think murder is always a waste.” Again, his voice was casual, but Autumn, in tune with him, saw the change in his eyes. They weren’t bored, but cold as ice. “The world would gain much by the elimination of some.” He smiled, and it was deadly.
They no longer seemed to be speaking hypothetically. Shifting her gaze to Helen, Autumn saw the quick fear. But it’s just a game, she told herself frantically and looked at Julia. The actress was smiling, but there was none of her summer warmth in it. She was enjoying watching Helen flutter like a moth on a pin. Noting Autumn’s expression of dismayed shock, Julia changed the subject without a ripple.
After dinner, the group loitered in the lounge, but the storm, which continued unabated, was wearing on the nerves. Only Julia and Lucas seemed unaffected. Autumn noted how they huddled together in a corner, apparently enthralled with each other’s company. Julia’s laughter was low and rich over the sound of rain. Once, she watched Lucas pinch a strand of the pale hair between his fingers. Autumn turned away. Julia ran interference expertly, and the knowledge depressed her.
The Spicers, without Julia as a distraction, sat together on the sofa nearest the fire. Though their voices were low, Autumn sensed the strain of a domestic quarrel. She moved farther out of earshot. A bad time, she decided, for Jane to confront Robert on his fascination with Julia when the actress was giving another man the benefit of her attentions. When they left, Jane’s face was no longer sullen, but simply miserable. Julia never glanced in their direction, but leaned closer to Lucas and murmured something in his ear that made him laugh. Autumn found she, too, wanted out of the room.
It has nothing to do with Lucas, she told herself as she moved down the hall. I just want to say good night to Aunt Tabby. Julia’s doing precisely what I want her to—keeping Lucas entertained. He never even looked at me once Julia stepped in between. Shaking off the hurt, Autumn opened the door to her aunt’s room.
“Autumn, dear! Lucas told me you bumped your head.” Aunt Tabby stopped clucking over her laundry list and rose to peer at the bruise. “Oh, poor thing. Do you want some aspirin? I have some somewhere.”
Though she appreciated Lucas’s consideration in giving her aunt a watered-down version, Autumn wondered at the ease of their relationship. It didn’t seem quite in character for Lucas McLean to bother overmuch with a vague old woman whose claim to fame was a small inn and a way with chocolate cake.
“No, Aunt Tabby, I’m fine. I’ve already taken something.”
“That’s good.” She patted Autumn’s hand and frowned briefly at the bruise. “You’ll have to be more careful, dear.”
“I will. Aunt Tabby . . . ”—Autumn poked idly at the papers on her aunt’s desk—“how well do you know Lucas? I don’t recall you ever calling a roomer by his first name.” She knew there was no use in beating around the bush with her aunt. It would produce the same results as reading War and Peace in dim light—a headache and confusion.
“Oh, now that depends, Autumn. Yes, that really does depend.” Aunt Tabby gently removed her papers from Autumn’s reach before she focused on a spot in the ceiling. Autumn knew this meant she was thinking. “There’s Mrs. Nollington. She has a corner room every September. I call her Frances and she calls me Tabitha. Such a nice woman. A widow from North Carolina.”
“Lucas calls you Aunt Tabby,” Autumn pointed out before her aunt could get going on Frances Nollington.
“Yes, dear, quite a number of people do. You do.”
“Yes, but—”
“And Paul and Will,” Aunt Tabby continued blithely. “And the little boy who brings the eggs. And . . . oh, several people. Yes, indeed, several people. Did you enjoy your dinner?”
“Yes, very much. Aunt Tabby,” Autumn continued, determined that tenacity would prevail. “Lucas seems very much at
home here.”
“Oh, I am glad!” She beamed at her niece as she took Autumn’s hand and patted it. “I do try so hard to make everyone feel at home. It always seems a shame to have to make them pay, but . . .” She glanced down at her laundry bills and began to mutter.
Give up, Autumn told herself. She kissed her aunt’s cheek and left her to her towels and pillowcases.
It was growing late when Autumn finished putting her darkroom back in order. She left the door open this time and kept all the lights on. The echo of rain followed her inside as it beat on the kitchen windows. Other than its angry murmur, the house was silent.
No, Autumn thought, old houses are never silent. They creak and whisper, but the groaning boards and settling didn’t disturb her. She liked the humming quality of the silence. Absorbed and content, she emptied trays and replaced bottles. She threw her ruined film into the wastecan with a sigh.
That hurts a bit, she thought, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Tomorrow, she decided, she’d develop the film she’d taken that morning—the lake, the early sun, the mirrored trees. It would put her in a better frame of mind. Stretching her back, she lifted her hair from her neck, feeling pleasantly tired.
“I remember you doing that in the mornings.”
Autumn whirled, her hair flying out from her shoulders as quick fear brought her heart to her throat. Pushing strands from her face, she stared at Lucas.
He leaned against the open doorway, a cup of coffee in his hand. His eyes locked on hers without effort.
“You’d pull up your hair, then let it fall, tumbling down your