by Sakwa, Kim
Alexander followed from behind. He hadn’t looked at her again, which was probably a good thing, because if he did, scowl or not she’d step right into his arms. They reached a landing at the top of the stairs and turned left up another short flight. She was led into the first room and watched from the corner of her eye as Alexander disappeared down the hallway.
Amanda was ushered across the threshold into a room that was not her usual bedroom here. Dresses were everywhere, strewn across the bed, the couches in two sitting areas, and there was even a privacy screen. The room was in utter chaos. It was decorated in hues of blue and gold with sitting areas on either side of the bed, a large full-length mirror in the corner, and two large armoires on either side of the bathroom door.
“Where did this garment come from?” the woman asked, not bothering to hide her disgust as she pulled Amanda’s sundress over her head. Amanda was about to retort when she noticed the scratches on her hands and the one on her stomach.
“Dear Lord, what on earth happened?” the woman asked in shock and Amanda couldn’t think of what to say.
Within minutes, her wounds were covered with ointment and strips of linen and covered again with a soft sheer material that matched the dress she was stepping into. Confused, she let the woman put it on her. What else was she supposed to do? By now she’d realized that something was very, very wrong, but until she worked out exactly what was going on, she’d decided to play along. It could be worse to fight back. The ties were secured behind her back and her hair roughly brushed before being plied with jewels and ribbons. Then her feet were encased in heeled shoes that buttoned on the sides.
“Check yourself, quickly,” the woman hastened. “Then choose a necklace.” Amanda walked to the mirror, looking at her reflection. The gown was beautiful. Blue and in style with those she’d seen earlier. Her hair looked wonderful pulled back, but too severe and with far too many stones set in it. It simply wouldn’t do.
She pulled the jewels from their placement and loosened the ribbons. Her hair fell gently around her face now, wavy lengths cascading down her shoulders.
“M’lady, you instructed me earlier to fashion your hair as such. I apologize ’twas not to your liking,” the woman offered, her voice shaking, almost like she was afraid of Amanda. What was going on?
Another woman came in. “Mother? Alice?” She quickly corrected herself when she saw Amanda. “Callesandra is asking for you.” The new girl, obviously Alice’s daughter, looked at Amanda cautiously. Like she was waiting for Amanda to berate her and praying she wouldn’t.
“I’ll be just a minute,” Alice called over her shoulder. “Come, Lady Rebecca. We must choose a necklace.” Amanda turned, looking at the jewelry Alice held. She was Rebecca to these women too. There was something familiar about that name now, something she hadn’t had time to realize when she was fighting for her life on the cliff, but that now tugged at the edge of her brain. Alexander and Rebecca. Where had she read those names in conjunction before? Amanda saw then that Alice and her daughter were still watching her, Alice holding out the necklace. Amanda only shook her head. She wouldn’t wear any of these pieces. Not only did they look as though they weighed ten pounds, they were truly gaudy.
“No thank you, Alice,” Amanda said, patting her arm. “They’ll weigh me down.”
Alice looked at Amanda like she’d lost her mind. Then she turned in surprise as the door opened again. “Callesandra, I’ll only be a moment. Go now. Quickly,” Alice said.
Amanda looked to the door then, too, and an angel stared back at her. The child could be no more than five and Amanda knew at once that she was Alexander’s daughter. She had his dark eyes and determined mouth, though oddly her hair seemed to be the exact shade of Amanda’s own.
The little girl bit her lip and then turned to leave. “Wait!” Amanda cried out. She didn’t want her to leave. She looked so scared. And feeling the exact same way, Amanda suddenly wanted—no, needed—to help her. Callesandra came back then, her face cast down as she approached. Her nightgown had a soft ruffle tied at the neck while another danced around her little toes. They were the sweetest toes she’d ever seen.
Callesandra stopped when she stood right before her, acting like she had no choice and bravely accepted the challenge. Amanda bent down but still the child didn’t look up. This little girl was scared—of her. Hoping to ease her fears, Amanda sat on the floor, and gasps sounded behind her as Alice and the other woman watched.
“Callesandra?” Amanda spoke softly, coaxing her to look down at her.
“Oui, Mama?” Callesandra whispered hesitantly.
Amanda almost fainted. First Rebecca and now this? Mama? Did this child truly think that she was her mother? Obviously this child was not hers, but she most certainly was Alexander’s.
He stood in the open doorway then, filling its space completely. His formal attire was tailored impeccably, and his hair was tied back with a leather thong. The features of his face were strangely comforting, ranging somewhere between confusion and anger. At least that hadn’t changed, she mused, biting back a smile. She looked to the little girl and reached out to hold her tiny hands. “Callesandra, it seems I’m in a bit of trouble,” Amanda said quite truthfully. “Do you think you could help me?”
Callesandra looked up tentatively, her eyes barely making contact. “Oui,” she whispered.
It was then, when Callesandra looked up at her, her eyes so earnest, that everything clicked into place. Well, everything except for how Amanda had ended up in this place. As she looked around the room at the ornate furnishings, the old-fashioned dresses, at the fearful maids, she realized the significance of the names Alexander, Rebecca, and Callesandra.
Amanda had been so fascinated when her father first brought her to the rocky British coast estate, she’d researched everything she could about it. She’d found a few ledgers and journals with miscellaneous records. Some familial and some legal in nature. She’d read them over so many times, she’d committed much of the information to memory. The most intriguing story she’d found was of the original owner’s great-great-great-grandson, Alexander Montgomery. He’d been born in 1738, titled, and uber wealthy. He’d become a Royal Admiral of the White, whatever that was, and upon returning from his last commission had suffered an arranged marriage in 1767. And suffered, according to the records, was putting it mildly. From what Amanda had found, and unfortunately there wasn’t much, his wife was the cruelest of the cruel. Their first child recorded as a girl, Callesandra, and their second, a boy, not named because he’d died during childbirth. The rumor was that Alexander’s wife, Rebecca, had killed him, just to spite her husband. That’s how utterly vicious this woman was supposed be. There was never any mention of this extension of the family beyond 1774. It was as if they’d vanished, and Amanda had looked. Hard. The occupants of this estate—Alexander, his wife, and their only living daughter—mysteriously had never been written of again.
Amanda shivered involuntarily, and it was only Alexander clearing his throat that brought her back to the present. Or to the past. Or wherever it was, whenever it was she was. She turned back to Callesandra—this historically disappeared little girl—and gave her her warmest smile.
“It seems I need a necklace,” Amanda explained in a conspiratorial whisper, risking a glance toward Alexander still standing in the doorway. He was watching her carefully. “But I don’t really care for any of the ones Alice offered me.”
They all looked shocked by her statement. Apparently, Rebecca had loved expensive baubles.
“But, Mama,” Callesandra exclaimed. “You love jewelry.”
“Jewelry is not something you love, Callesandra,” Amanda corrected with a smile. She couldn’t help but care for this little girl. She felt like she knew her already, and she kind of did, given how much she’d read about her and her family. “People, you love. I do however admire jewelry, but I would prefer something a
little understated. May I borrow your necklace, please?”
Callesandra smiled then, not a full smile but the corners of her mouth lifted just a bit. “You wish to wear mine?” she asked, both awed and hesitant.
“I would.” Amanda nodded. “May I? Just for tonight. After my performance I promise to return it.”
Alexander snorted from the doorway, a derisive look crossing his face when she caught his eye. What was that about? She turned her attention back to Callesandra, who bent her head to let Amanda unfasten the simple silver chain that held a heart-shaped locket. She placed it around her neck and still sitting on the floor looked up again at Callesandra.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked.
“I think you look more beautiful than I have ever seen, Mama,” Callesandra whispered.
“May I have one of your hair ribbons too? You can tie it around my wrist.”
Callesandra reached back and gently pulled one free. “I can’t tie, Mama.” She shook her head and bit her lip as if she waited to be reprimanded. Amanda turned her around and sat Callesandra on her lap. They both faced Alexander now.
“I’ll teach you,” Amanda said, hugging her against her chest. “Just a simple loop,” Amanda explained. “Would you like to learn?”
Callesandra nodded and Amanda patiently helped Callesandra tie the ribbon until she got it right. Then she wrapped her hands around Callesandra and hugged her tightly. “You did it!” she praised. “Thank you, Callesandra. I’ll return them to you later, I promise.”
Alexander came forward then, giving Amanda another curious look. At least she understood it now; her behavior must be terribly strange to him. Based on what she knew, Amanda was nothing like his wife, Rebecca—someone who she apparently looked very much like. Peculiar circumstances aside, her fear of Alexander subsided. Perhaps she could fix this.
“Come, sweet,” he said, taking her in his arms. “Papa shall tuck you in.”
Amanda watched Callesandra wrap her little arms around Alexander’s neck. Then she gifted her a smile as she peeked over her father’s shoulder. A real smile. My God, the most amazingly sweet smile she’d ever received. Amanda blew her a kiss, then laughed as Callesandra caught it.
Alexander came back a few minutes later, presumably after settling Callesandra into bed.
“I don’t know what you were thinking!” he snapped. “But you will not play games with Callesandra. She’s but a child.”
My God, he was furious. And what had she done that was so terrible? Made Callesandra smile? Ooh, capital offence, Alexander! At the end of her rope, Amanda snapped back, “I’m not playing games, Alexander! And I would never do so with a child. Any child!”
He snorted in disgust. “Come. You’ve kept your guests long enough. I know you wish nothing more than to give your grand performance.”
To be honest—which she was so not doing—Amanda really didn’t enjoy grand performances and almost told him so. Instead she kept telling herself to play. Just play, Amanda, and then it’ll all be over. You obviously hit your head harder than you thought and this is just some weird hallucination or dream. Serves you right for being so obsessed with reading about mysterious disappearances!
But somewhere in the back of her mind, Amanda didn’t want it to be over. Toying with Alexander, watching him vacillate between hating her and kissing her, was remarkably entertaining. Okay, if she was being honest, she wanted to at least stick around until he kissed her again.
Oblivious to her thoughts—thank God—Alexander led her into a ballroom. He looked down in surprise as she latched her hand around his forearm. She narrowed her eyes in return, warning him silently and in no uncertain terms that there was no way she was letting go of him. If she’d ever needed an anchor it was definitely now as she stood in the entrance to the ballroom, an enormous high-ceilinged room ablaze in light from exquisite candlelit chandeliers. The woodwork was painted to a high shine, the walls decorated with gold leaf and breathtakingly lush draperies. Tables filled the room, covered with flowers and candelabras, and the dance floor was alive with people as they moved to the music an orchestra played to perfection. French doors lined the back wall, open and leading to the marble veranda she’d seen earlier, couples stepping back and forth between them.
“My God,” she whispered under her breath.
“Not what you expected?” Alexander returned, glaring down at her.
Amanda looked up then. She was getting used to that stare of his, that “I’m your superior keeper and you’re my inferior subject” look. Irked, she glared back for just a second, then her features softened, and she rubbed his forearm beneath her fingers. It was an unconscious gesture, almost like she was trying to put him at ease instead. She held his gaze and answered him honestly. “It’s not at all what I expected, Alexander.” And neither are you.
He regarded her a moment before the anger returned. Then he cut her to the quick. “Life is seldom what we expect, Rebecca. As you well know.” He stared at the spot on his arm where she was still brushing her fingers against him. Then turned his face away and dismissed her. “Go. Have your amusement, Rebecca.”
“I don’t want to go, Alexander,” Amanda whispered, meaning it. She was in no way prepared to play for these people, hallucination or not.
Alexander sighed before turning to her again. “You make no sense tonight, Rebecca. Go,” he said again, this time more firmly. “Have your performance. Dance as you love too. Just remove yourself from my arm. Now!”
The orchestra stopped then and feeling as though she had no choice, Amanda released his arm. “Should I play now?” she asked.
“It’s what you love most, Rebecca,” Alexander said, shaking his head, looking almost like he was repulsed by her. She’d have to work on that. “Play to your heart’s content.” He made a sweep with his arm in a grand gesture to encompass the room.
Amanda shrugged and headed toward the musicians to his left, paying no attention to the guests as they spoke to her. One person at a time she could handle, but pretending to be the evil Rebecca to dozens? No, she’d rather lose herself in the music. When she reached the pianist, Amanda tapped the man’s shoulder, whispering in his ear that she’d like a turn. The pianist bowed as he stood, ceding her the bench. A hush came over the entire crowd and she began to play.
This was more like it. This she could do. Amanda let go as her haunting music filled the room, nearly forgetting where she was. She continued until she could play no more, keeping her eyes closed until the last note had disappeared into silence. When the room erupted into applause, she opened them and looked through the crowd, fixing her gaze upon Alexander. The intensity of his stare gave her chills. The good kind this time.
She stood and walked through the expanse of the ballroom, ignoring every compliment called her way. She looked only at him, holding his eyes until she stood before him.
“My performance is over,” she said firmly, quietly, and with a deadly seriousness. “Good night, Alexander.” Then she left the room.
Glancing back, she saw him shake himself out of his stupor. Just as he turned and made a move to follow, Amanda hurried forward. She heard him behind her, but he didn’t reach her until she entered her room. Grabbing her arm, he twirled her to face him. He studied her closely, shaking his head as his hands gripped her arms.
“Who are you?” he whispered in question and accusation.
Amanda, ready to wake up from this hallucination, decided now was the moment for honesty. It’s not like any of this was real, anyway, no matter how real it felt. All of her obsessive reading about the Montgomery estate had apparently manifested in this crazy way in her subconscious after hitting her head. Entirely because that selfish idiot Robert had tried to kill her. And then physically being on the estate must have been the reason she’d imagined Alexander saving her life, not once, but twice. Thanks to her penchant for authoritative, powerful men for
conjuring this vision of a man. Exquisite, elegant, masculine. Maybe also why being kissed by him may have been the single most enjoyable event of her life. And Callesandra. Amanda had always wanted children, but never found the right person to have them with. Had Callesandra been hers she would have cherished her. Such a sweet girl. It broke her heart that they both had been treated so poorly by Rebecca, that the stories she’d read had been true. For a moment, Amanda felt a strong pull toward this life, wishing it were real, for Alexander to be her husband and Callesandra her beautiful daughter. Wanting to touch him one last time before this was over, Amanda fingered his lapels before flattening her hands against him.
“Tonight, I am your wife, I suppose…and the mother of your daughter. But I have never seen any of you before in my life.”
“All I see, Evan, are flashes of my estate in the British Isles.” Amanda shrugged, reluctantly turning back from the sun warming her face. It had been the first moment of real calm in the weeks since she’d returned home. “Callie and I leaving. Sam. Stan.” She opened her eyes and looked down. Scratch-like scars marred her ring finger and the top of her left hand. Her wrist was another story. She’d obviously had surgery but couldn’t remember any of it. She turned then and saw him as he came through the French doors.
Montgomery. Mr. Montgomery.
He stared right at her. Rooted her to the spot, actually. He had that effect on her, unlike any other man she’d ever known—or could remember knowing, at least. With barely a nod to Evan, he walked over to her and looked into her eyes. Deeply, penetratingly. This level of scrutiny was a bit uncomfortable, but she liked the seriousness in which he watched over her and her family. She’d never experienced anything like it in all her years of fame and stardom, any of the years she’d needed to hire protection, yet something about it felt right. She couldn’t explain it and honestly wasn’t sure she wanted to. Amanda chalked it up to a karmic tie because nothing else could explain the deep sense of connection she felt with him. For what could have been the hundredth time now, as she was obviously counting, she knew what he asked without him saying it aloud.