by Marie Morin
The loving amusement was followed almost immediately by a wash of anxiety. He would have kept memorabilia from his previous marriage, she was suddenly certain, even if he hadn't been madly in love with his wife.
She began searching from the stairs outward. She was looking, primarily, for pictures and she wasted little time looking at anything else. By the time she'd made it to the back of the attic, she was almost ready to give up. There was everything under the sun, except pictures.
She saw the frames then, tucked behind an old chiffarobe. She didn't have to look at them to know what they were, but she moved toward them anyway, just to be certain.
It was the portraits of the unknown woman, the one from Thor's office and the one from the master suite. There was no damage to either of them.
She felt a strange hollowness. Why had he moved them? Why had he lied?
Abruptly, she moved away from the portraits. She'd had some kind of strange psychic spell before. She didn't want to faint now and be found in the attic, but it disturbed her that he'd moved them and then lied about it.
She stubbed her toe on the trunk on the way out. Covered in a sheet, one corner stuck out in the walkway just far enough to catch her unwary tread. Stifling a yelp, Cassie grabbed her foot, flopped down on the trunk and rocked, cursing under her breath until the pain began to subside. When she was able to move again, she shoved the sheet off the trunk and looked it over.
It was old, very old. The materials used to make it, the design—everything indicated very early cabinetry. There was no lock on it and after a moment, she lifted the heavy lid, allowing it to fall back on its leather hinges.
To her surprise, she saw the trunk was full of costumes. Frowning, she began lifting the folded articles and examining them more closely.
Not costumes, she realized. Antique clothing. Very old, antique clothing.
Seeing a faded patch of blue, she caught hold of it and dragged the gown up to look at it. It was a lady's gown. Ball gown? It was hard to say. It looked like it might have been rich enough at one time to have been a formal gown, but on the other hand, the wealthy families of Europe had displayed their wealth in their clothing. It could have been an every day dress.
It looked unnervingly familiar.
Dragging the gown from the trunk, she moved back to the portraits and dragged the one from Thor's office out so that she could look at it better.
The woman in the painting was wearing the gown she held in her hands.
Chapter Twenty One
Cassie was a firm believer in self-deception if it made the world a better place for you. She figured she faced reality enough. If she could actually carry it off, and convince herself that something wasn't as bad as it seemed, she was a few points ahead in the game of happiness versus life.
Unfortunately, this wasn't one of those times when she could convince herself. It wasn't a coincidence that Thor had the dress the woman was wearing in the painting. She didn't know what it was, but the odds of it being a coincidence had to be so astronomical as to be beyond calculation.
The scenario that came to mind was almost as difficult to swallow.
Had his wife's portrait been right under her nose all the time?
It looked ancient, but was it possible it was something like those wild west photos where the person dressed in costume to have an authentic looking western photo?
She decided that it was one possible explanation. It was certainly on a much more elaborate scale but hardly impossible.
She didn't know how probable it was.
She moved back to the trunk and sat down, staring at the picture, studying the gown. The dress was an antique. She didn't have to be an expert to know that. So what? They'd found the dress, had a copy made of it and then had her portrait done wearing the replica?
Maybe it wasn't his wife at all? Maybe Thor had bought it from a collector who'd managed to find the original dress? Or maybe the portrait had still been in the hands of the family that had originally commissioned it and they still had the dress and they'd sold both together?
That sounded good. Actually, she thought, feeling better, it seemed the most likely scenario now that she thought about it.
She was very carefully folding the garments she'd dragged out and putting them back in the trunk when she saw the other dress. The flash of color just sort of stabbed her in the eye and once she saw it, she couldn't look away. She just stood staring down at it, wanting to pretend she hadn't seen it, trying to convince herself that it was a common color, really, and it could be anything. If she picked it up, she'd see she was just letting her imagination run away with her.
It was the dress. The dress the woman was wearing in the other portrait, the portrait that had supposedly been damaged.
It could still be like she'd thought. The family had had two portraits of the woman and both dresses.
Her head hurt from trying to figure it out.
She turned to look at the smiling woman again.
Except for the eyes, she didn't really see anything about the woman that resembled her at all. Thor had mentioned the habit she had of sucking her upper lip when she felt faintly embarrassed about something, or uncertain, but she couldn't see that the woman's mouth looked anything like hers.
What was she thinking?
Either the portrait was his wife, or it was really a very old original piece of art.
Maybe they'd found the dresses, had them carefully reproduced and then had the portraits done and made them look antique? There were art forgers who knew how to make copies of originals. It stood to reason that it was possible to commission something new and make it look like an antique, for whatever reason, maybe just because they happened to like antiques and had the money to blow on such an expensive project.
She didn't know why she decided to put the dress on. Somehow, she supposed, in the back of her mind, she thought it would prove something if the dress fit her, and disprove something if it didn't.
She should've just folded them back up very carefully, pushed the portrait back into the corner and left. Instead, she searched the trunk until she'd found everything she thought would have been worn beneath such a gown and she put them on, layer by layer.
The corset gave her a problem. She finally managed to tie it snugly behind her back, however, after a brief, sweat inspiring, wrestling match. Feeling a little lightheaded, she dragged the blue dress on over her head and carefully arranged it around her. When she'd finished, she looked down at it.
It didn't fit. She didn't know whether to be relieved or not. After a moment, she went back to the old chiffarobe, moved the things in front of it and studied her reflection in the mirror.
The only place the dress really fit her was in the waist. The woman had had a fuller bosom. In fact, she'd just plain been bigger, broader through the shoulders, taller by probably five or six inches if the fabric and the underskirts were anything to go by.
The first wave of deja vu hit her while she was staring in the mirror. Disoriented, she put her hand to her head, thinking, at first, that she'd just gotten overheated. When she heard a sound near the stairs, however, and turned instinctively to look, her world caved in, dissolving like a watercolor picture thrown into water. Everything blurred, blended, distorted.
She found herself looking around at a great hall filled with excited, happy ... falling down drunk people.
Because it was her wedding day, she sat in a place of honor at the high table, watching the crowd, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves.
He touched her hand and she looked up at him, feeling shy, thrilled, feeling disbelief to realize that he was her husband and tonight they would begin their life together as husband and wife.
Why, she wondered for perhaps the thousandth time, would a man like Francois want someone like me? I'm not beautiful, not wealthy, and my family is certainly not powerful. Why does he want me when he's so handsome and wealthy and influential he could have anyone at all?
He lifted a han
d and brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “Are you ready to go up, my love?"
She blushed, partly from the endearment, but partly because she felt doubtful suddenly. What if, when they were bedded, he found her unappealing after all?
He leaned close. “Don't think, Cassie. Don't begin to imagine things I haven't thought of,” he whispered. “I married you because I love you, far more than life itself."
The sensation of having a huge boulder slowly pressing down on her brought Cassie to jolting awareness. She was gasping, but this time it was from distress, not from a sense of suffocation. It was from her own grief, not an extension of the woman's anguish.
She was looking up at the rafters. Thor's concerned face swam into view and her misery magnified tenfold. “I dreamed,” she gasped in a voice raw with unshed tears. “I dreamed...."
He pulled her close and held her. “It's too hot up here. You fainted."
A sob escaped her. “I didn't. I saw ... something. I don't know what it was."
“I need to get you down from here but I don't think I can negotiate those stairs with you in my arms. Can you walk?"
She nodded, but she couldn't seem to stop crying. When he helped her to her feet, she collapsed against his chest, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. “I'm not her. I'm not like her!"
“Shhh,” he crooned soothingly. “Let's get you out of this."
She hadn't laced or tied the dress in the back and when he saw, he dragged the dress over her head and tossed it aside. Untying the ribbons that held the dress form and underskirts, he pushed them down to her feet and lifted her out of them.
He crushed them under his feet as he strode to the ladder and, despite his doubts, managed to get down the steep stairs with her in his arms without sending them both crashing to the hall floor below.
She discovered she was still wearing the pantalets and corset when he sat her on the bed and left to get a cool washcloth.
She lay down on the bed, curling onto her side, and crushed a pillow to her face to muffle her wails.
She felt the bed dip as Thor joined her. He tugged at the pillow. She held on. He pulled it from her hands anyway. “Cassie, what is it?"
She sniffed, trying to curb her tears. “I don't know. I just feel ... so lost."
He stroked her hair until she'd regained some control and then handed her the cloth to wipe her face. “Tell me, Cassie. What did you see?"
She sniffed, fought the urge to burst into tears again. “I can't remember. It's like before. The moment it disappears, I only remember little bits and pieces, almost like ... like moving past a scene and only catching glimpses and little snatches of conversation.
“It looked like medieval times, I guess. I was in a huge room and everyone was celebrating. I think it was a wedding. And I was happy and excited, but a little afraid, too.
“And then I felt this ... terrible sense of loss. I felt like I lost something, someone."
Thor sighed. “You shouldn't have gone up there."
She glanced at him guiltily. “You didn't say I couldn't."
“I'm not saying you can't now. I'm just saying you shouldn't.” Leaning down, he kissed her forehead. “Are you going to be OK?"
She nodded.
“I need to get back outside and check the progress."
She watched him, feeling a question burgeon inside of her until she couldn't contain it any longer. “What happened to your first wife?"
He stopped. He didn't turn to look at her, though. “She miscarried, and then she bled to death."
Cassie gasped in shock. “She died having your baby?"
He turned his head to look at her. “It wasn't my baby."
Chapter Twenty Two
Cassie didn't want to go back into the attic, not even to return the garments she was still wearing, or retrieve the her own clothing that she'd left there, but when Thor left, she did. She changed back into her own clothes, carefully packed everything away, then pushed the portrait back into the corner.
She didn't know what she thought or felt about what had happened, except that she wanted nothing more to do with it. Something tugged at her every time she came near anything closely associated with that woman. She didn't know who the woman was, but she was fairly certain she didn't want to.
She felt as if she'd been burned. She didn't think that she was any closer to understanding Thor's past, but she felt like she couldn't face it at the moment, that it was best to distance herself from it as much as possible.
There was a darkness there that she would never have suspected. She wasn't certain she could understand it or figure it out unless Thor decided to explain it to her and she didn't think that he would. He'd said his past was his own, not to be shared, and it had nothing to do with her.
She couldn't agree, not in this case. If it had had no effect, and no bearing upon their lives together, then it wouldn't have anything to do with her, but he'd seemed to indicate that it did.
It was easier to set it aside than she'd thought it might be. Thor acted as if nothing had passed between them and they became so involved in preparations for their dig that they had little room in their thoughts for much else.
A change did come over him the closer the time came for them to leave, but it seemed to have little to do with her. She might've simply put his preoccupation down to the dig, except that he didn't seem to share the enthusiasm of the students who would be going along. He seemed strangely unruffled about the trip itself, concentrating on all the last minute details and the arrangements that had to be made to transport everyone and all of their equipment to the ship they would be taking south to Chile.
He had a lot of responsibility, of course, and he'd been on digs before, but his lack of excitement seemed oddly out of place nonetheless for an archeologist who, one would think, would consider himself on the verge of an exciting discovery.
It was more than stress over the tightening schedule, the problems that arose and had to be worked out, the last minute arrangements that had to be made. He was anxious, but she had the sense that it was only indirectly related to the dig itself.
The night before they were to leave, he dropped a bombshell.
Cassie had collapsed on the couch and fallen asleep halfway through the afternoon. She woke up to find Thor standing over her, a strange look on his face.
“What is it?"
“I've got something I need to go over with you before we leave."
Cassie yawned and sat up, thinking it must be something to do with the travel arrangements. “Why don't I go fix us something to eat first?"
He shook his head and settled on the couch next to her, pulling her back against his chest. “I had this drawn up, for you, in case anything happened. I should have done it weeks ago, but I've been busy."
Frowning, Cassie took the envelope he was holding, opening it and pulling the folded papers out.
It was his last will and testament. Cassie dropped it as if it was a snake, whirling her head to look up at him. “There's something you're not telling me,” she gasped fearfully. “Don't ... don't just hand me something like that and not tell me what's going on!"
Sighing impatiently, he pushed her away and leaned down to pick the papers up. “It's a precaution, Cassie, nothing more. We're going on a long trip, and into a potentially volatile situation. It's the responsible thing to do ... just in case, not because I expect it."
She studied his face for any sign that he was lying to soothe her anxieties, but she could see nothing in his eyes to support her fear. She sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder weakly for a moment. “Don't do that to me! Scare me like that!"
Turning on the couch, she straddled his lap, looped her arms around his neck and snuggled her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent and allowing the sense of warmth, and safety, and belonging that she always felt around him to wash through her. “I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. I don't want to think about it. I don't care if it's just being
practical. It feels like bad luck."
Dropping the papers onto the table beside the couch, he encircled her with his arms, squeezing her tightly for several moments. “It's for me, Cassie. I love you. I need to be certain that I've done all I can to see that you're safe, for my own peace of mind."
Cassie pulled away and looked at him. “What did you say?"
“I said it's for my peace of mind."
She shook her head. “The other part."
His eyes flickered over her face, settling on her mouth. “I've forgotten.” His eyes were twinkling with suppressed laughter when he met her gaze again.
She leaned forward and nipped his chin with her teeth. “Tell me!” she commanded.
He kissed her instead, slowly, caressingly, until she was breathless, warm with burgeoning desire. “I love you,” he murmured huskily when he broke the kiss.
She smiled against his lips, nipping at them with her own. “Tell me again."
He kissed her again, with more intent, probing her mouth with his tongue, stroking her tongue, stoking the growing fire inside of her. “I tell you every night when I make love to you,” he murmured as he dragged kisses from her mouth, to her chin and then down her throat.
“You've never said it,” she complained without heat.
“You have to listen with your heart,” he murmured, only half teasing as he drew away from her and pulled her shirt off. Spilling her off his lap and onto her back on the couch, he dragged his own shirt off, then grasped her zipper. Tugging her jeans and panties off, he dropped them beside the couch, pushed her thighs apart and settled over her, explaining his view of the subject with tantalizing kisses from her neck to her belly.
When he rose over her once more, she unfastened his jeans and pushed them down his hips, grasping his cock eagerly and engaging it with her own body. He held himself away from her, watching her face as he claimed her body inch by excruciatingly marvelous inch.
She caught her breath when he had filled her deeply. “I love you, too,” she whispered.
He expelled a harsh breath, as if she'd knocked the wind from him. His face twisted, his arms shaking. Dropping down against her, he kissed her deeply, thrusting his hands beneath her hips as he set a discordant rhythm that spoke of unbridled need and thrust them both into ecstasy within moments.