“What?”
She kept her gaze forward though he appeared in her peripheral vision.
“The emotions these walls have absorbed. The sadness and regret…”
“The greed and jealousy.”
She faced him at the unsympathetic contribution, surprised by the sardonic twist of his lips.
“That’s rather cynical.”
A single fine, dark eyebrow arched at her accusation.
“Turns out it’s a rather cynical business.”
“Is it? Well, it doesn’t come across in your writing.”
“Maybe you’re not listening as well as I thought.”
“No.” She swiveled, looking up at him. “Something’s wrong. What is it? Did I do something? Say something?”
He had the good grace to look uncomfortable, at last taking his hands out of his pockets. He leaned forward as if he might reach for her, but then seemed to think better of it, lowering his arms to his sides.
“No. It has nothing to do with you, Ephie. It’s me. I—”
A fluttering over David’s shoulder caught her attention.
“What’s that?” she blurted.
“What?”
Craning her neck to get a better look, she lifted her hand and pointed.
“Is that a curtain? There, on that wall?”
She tried not to gasp when he took hold of her fingers, the contact all the more shocking because it had been so long in coming. Slowly, he lowered their arms between them. She lifted her gaze to find him staring, his head almost imperceptibly moving from side to side. With no further explanation, David turned, weaving his way through the sea of chairs in waiting, Ephie tripping along, stunned and silent, behind him.
Chapter 7
DAVID brought Ephie to a halt directly in front of a set of velvet drapes. Their color so closely matched the rose wallpaper surrounding them, they’d been difficult to discern from across the room. Instead of adorning a window, though, they cloaked an archway.
“There’s a stubborn draft,” he explained. “I expect it’s from the—Well, here, I’ll show you.”
He let go of her hand, then stepped close behind her. His body pressed against hers as he reached around and parted the heavy material. Carefully, he arranged each side over a carved holdback, the play of his elegant fingers a singular distraction. Not until he straightened, his hands slipping from view before settling on her shoulders, was she able to shift her attention to what had been revealed.
Ephie gasped in delight. The semi-circular alcove, no bigger than a coat-closet, boasted a wall of recessed oak shelving brimming with silver-framed photographs, porcelain knickknacks, and a surprising number of books. A built-in cushioned bench ran the width and took up two-thirds of the depth of the space. She could easily imagine curling up among the abundance of throw pillows, a cup of tea steeping on a lower shelf, and whiling away a rainy afternoon.
David leaned over her, nudging her cheek with his chin until her gaze found a round of filtered light in the center of the bowed wall.
“There’s your culprit.”
“Culprit?”
“The source of the draft.”
The leaded glass depicted a flower, its yellow pistil surrounded by five white petals which were, in turn, circled by five red pedals. Three green leaves pointed north, southeast, and southwest. The design lay on a milky-white background trimmed by a band of royal blue.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It is. A Tudor rose. Do you know the history?”
She’d be hard-pressed to recall her own name with him curved around her, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke.
“Not really,” she admitted, far too breathy for her liking. “High school history class, maybe? Something about the Wars of the Roses?”
“Yes.” His nod of approval gave her a rush. “It’s thought to have been created to symbolize the joining of the house of York and Lancaster through marriage, calming the rivalry between the two clans.”
“Is it original to the house?”
“Absolutely.”
“Isn’t it a bit odd for an early American home?”
Ephie pressed both hands over her stomach, trying to calm the kaleidoscope of butterflies released when he’d smiled against her.
“Very. But great-great-great-great-great-granddad Hector had an excellent reason.”
“Did he?”
“Mmm-hmm.” The buzz of his assent resonated in her bones. “But I should warn you. This is what I’m writing about for our next class. Will it bore you to hear it twice?”
“I don’t think so.”
“All right, then. The woman who would become Hector’s wife was, by all accounts, lovely. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed with fair skin and a gentle disposition, Chastity was the quintessential English beauty. She turned quite a few heads when she arrived in the colonies, but none so far as Hector’s.”
A pang of jealousy distracted Ephie. How would David classify her own dark coloring and complexion, not to mention her less than mild temperament? Did she turn his head? She doubted he’d find her indecent obsession worthy of equal reverence and admiration. With effort, she forced her attention to his story.
“But she was also young, just seventeen. Hector, more than twenty years her senior, knew he’d have a difficult time wooing her alongside the younger, more handsome suitors who would surely be vying for her hand. So, he started a correspondence with her family. It only took a few letters and a hearty recommendation from an English business associate for them to be convinced Hector was the wealthy husband they’d sent their daughter to America to find.”
Ephie spun around, nearly bumping her nose on David’s breastbone.
“Are you telling me a teenage girl was pimped out across an ocean by her own parents?”
He put his hands up in surrender, his sexy grin almost making her forget her sympathetic outrage.
“Don’t judge the Horsfals too harshly.” He chuckled. “It was common practice at the time. The pipeline of riches flowing into America when many British families were watching their fortunes dwindle to nothing was a temptation difficult to resist.”
“But to send her so far away, and then promise her to a man they hadn’t even met.”
“Wait,” he told her. “There’s a happy ending. I promise.” His gaze lit on her mouth before returning to hers. “Apparently, Hector was completely open and honest with Chastity, a rarity for the time, to say the least. He explained the situation, but then told her if she opposed the marriage after getting to know him, he would withdraw his offer, taking full responsibility.” He lifted his hands as if offering evidence. “Obviously, he won her over.”
“How do you know she wasn’t forced into it by her parents?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt her family’s wishes were a factor, but women of that age had a more practical sensibility.”
“You can’t know that.”
“No, I can’t, not for certain. But I do have some compelling proof. The letters they wrote to one another throughout their courtship and the early years of their marriage. There may not have been love in the beginning, but there was certainly affection. And this”—he indicated the nook behind her with a nod of his head—“is rather concrete evidence of Hector’s consideration for his young wife.”
“A closet for her to read in? In exchange for her life? Come on.”
“Now who’s being cynical?”
“Not cynical. Practical.”
“Like Charity.”
She shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Ah, but you don’t have all the facts, Ms. Jones. You see, along with beauty and refinement, dear Charity was also painfully shy. Considering her husband’s standing in the community, she would have been expected to host social gatherings throughout the year, and it would have been torturous for her. In my opinion, Hector worked the alcove into the plans for his new wife as an escape, filling it with things that would give
her comfort and remind her of her English roots.” He returned his gaze to the stained-glass window. “As well as a symbol of the possibility of enduring unions between even the most unlikely parties.”
“Well.” She softened. “That’s certainly a lovely thought.”
He looked at her, appearing almost bewildered to find her standing in front of him.
“Yes, lovely.” He lifted his hand, cupping her cheek. “So now you know my deep, dark secret.”
“I do?”
He nodded gravely. “The cynical funeral director is actually a hopeless romantic.”
Her heart flip-flopped in her chest.
“There are worse things.”
“Yes.” He inhaled sharply and then closed his eyes for a moment. “There are.”
His gaze tracked the path of his thumb as it traced the curve of her bottom lip before lifting to hers. This is it! She held her breath, waiting for the kiss which would bring her wicked dreams to life. But it didn’t come.
Instead, David let her go, uttering four little words Ephie least expected.
“We need to talk.”
Chapter 8
EPHIE recognized the small sitting room as soon as she entered. Resting her hands on the back of the seat closest to the door, she turned toward David.
“This is where you met with me and Lillian…to make the arrangements for Gram.”
He nodded.
“Would you prefer we go back out into the foyer?”
She would prefer the kiss she’d been cheated out of, but judging by David’s demeanor, whatever it was he needed to discuss with her would have to be addressed first.
“This is fine,” she reassured him, skirting the wingback chair she’d been standing behind to settle into its cushions. “What’s different? I can’t seem to put my finger on it.”
“In here?” He looked around as he moved to the small sofa facing her and sat down. “Not much. The chairs were reupholstered about six months ago.”
“Hmm,” she allowed. “I suppose that could be it.”
“Jamais vu, perhaps?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Jamais vu,” he repeated. “It’s the lesser known companion phenomenon to déjà vu. Seeing something, or someone, familiar but having difficulty recognizing it, like bumping into your doctor at the grocery store…or being in a funeral home for a reason other than a funeral.”
“That is what it feels like.” She smiled. “I had no idea there was a phrase for it. How do you know these things?”
“Some people meditate.” He shrugged. “I do research.”
“Like at the library?”
He nodded. “Not as much as when I was younger, but occasionally, believe it or not. There’s something about physically turning pages to get to what I’m after. Pressing a few keys just doesn’t give me the same satisfaction.”
“Mmm,” she concurred. “You know, I would have been your friend.”
“I’m sorry?”
“When we were kids,” she explained. “In school, I definitely would have been your friend.”
“I’d be willing to bet you were friends with everyone.”
“You’d lose that bet. Don’t forget, I was the sad little girl with the dead mommy, kind of a tough image to shake.”
“You’re right.” He huffed. “We would have been perfect for each other.”
“Perfectly morbid.”
He laughed.
“Well, you’re obviously not a sad little girl anymore.”
“No. Gram made sure of that.”
“You were fortunate to have her.”
“Very.” She looked at him, tipping her head. “Did you? Have someone like Gram to help you through?”
Something shuttered closed behind his eyes.
“No. My father and brother had their own issues to deal with.”
“You have a brother?”
“Yes. Daniel.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Why would you? He’s been in California for close to twenty years.”
“Oh. And what about your father? Does he still live here?”
“God, no. He joined Dan in the sunny west as soon as he retired.”
“When was that?”
“About five years ago.”
“When you took on the business.”
“Yes.”
“And your mother?”
Ephie hadn’t thought it possible to feel so utterly cut off from another human being, especially one sitting just a few feet away.
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t understand. What does that mean?”
“She abandoned the family when Dan and I were young.”
He’d said it matter-of-factly, but his body language told another story. There was no mistaking the tension coiling through him. Bristling hair was the only thing needed to complete the illusion of a cornered animal preparing for a fight. Ephie had no wish to tread into territory in which she so obviously was not wanted. Leaning back in her seat, she folded her hands in her lap.
“I’m sorry,” she offered quietly.
“It was a long time ago.” He shook his head slowly as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “And I didn’t bring you in here to give you an overview of my tragic family history.”
“Hey, I’m just tryin’ to make conversation,” she said in her best New Jersey accent.
She earned a crooked smile before he dropped his gaze.
“Ephie.” Another sigh. “There are things—There are things I need you to understand…about me…about getting involved with me.”
He paused, seemingly engrossed in watching the slow meeting and parting of the tips of his tented fingers.
“David?”
A self-deprecating grin curled his lips as he met her gaze in a side-eyed glance.
“I don’t know how to say it without sounding like an arrogant ass.”
“Well, would it help to know I’m already beginning to think of you that way?”
His laughter sang over her skin, leaving her tingling and lightheaded.
“Damn, but I like you, Epiphany Jones.”
“I know.” She angled toward him, leveling her best sultry stare, but stopping short of actually batting her eyelashes at him. “So why are we still talking?”
“Do you remember when I told you about it being difficult for me to make friends?”
“I do.” She grimaced, settling back in her seat. “Vaguely.”
A delicious chuckle. “How was your head this morning?”
“A little fuzzy,” she admitted. “But I do remember you saying that.”
“Well, my experiences with women have been worse, much worse.”
“But it doesn’t bother me.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Your work. In fact, I admire you for it.” She wondered if she’d said something wrong when his gaze drifted from hers. “It’s just”—she hurried to explain—“I can’t imagine how difficult it is, being so intimate with death. And you handle it so well.” He looked at her. “I remember, when I was here for Gram. You knew just what to say, and when not to say anything.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“It’s more than practice, David. You have…well…it’s a calling, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He edged closer, filling her view. “One I’ve decided it’s best I answer on my own.”
“On your own?” she echoed, confused.
“Would it surprise you to know Stranger than Fiction isn’t my first adult education class?”
“Oh?” Disoriented by the sudden change in topic, Ephie did her best to keep up. “What else have you taken?”
He shrugged.
“Cooking classes, mostly.”
“You can cook?”
Could the man get any more perfect?
“That’s not the point.”
“Okay.” She dre
w in a deep breath, doing her best to relax her shoulders as she slowly exhaled. “Then what exactly is the point, David?”
“I take classes to meet women…certain types of women.”
“And what type is that?”
“Ones averse to the complications of a relationship.”
“Complications? Are you talking about married women?”
“God, no. I couldn’t imagine anything more complicated.” He shook his head before returning his bemused gaze to hers. “No, I’m talking about women who are looking for physical satisfaction without emotional entanglement.”
“And you actually believe these women exist?”
“I know they do.”
“All right, then. I’ll bite. Who are these mythical creatures?”
“Generally? They’re in recovery. Sometimes it’s after divorce. Sometimes they’re just struggling to get over your typical disastrous relationship. The point is, whatever the circumstance, they’re not looking for a man as much as they’re trying to rediscover themselves.”
“And you help them do that?”
He nodded.
“How?”
“Basically? I remind them how desirable they are.”
He wasn’t kidding about the arrogant part. Though, to be fair, she had been uncharacteristically forward with him last night. She’d thought it had been the alcohol. Could she have been reacting to an unspoken promise of pleasure? It would certainly go a long way toward explaining her fascination with the man. Tilting her head, Ephie viewed David from another angle, taking in the intensity suggested by his dark stare. The potent strength intimated by supple hands. The power implied in every flex of his thighs. Perhaps a rare sexual prowess truly did lurk beneath those custom-tailored suits of his.
“So you’re…what? Some kind of superhero? Rebound Man.”
Another laugh and Ephie worried if he didn’t make his point very soon she would not be liable for her actions.
“I don’t know how super I am, but there haven’t been many complaints.”
“I’m sure.” Mirroring his self-deprecating grin, she asked, “And what do you get out of these, ah, arrangements?”
For a moment, she thought he might not answer. He’d narrowed his eyes, the same tension she’d felt when asking about his mother crackling through the air. But then he relaxed, leaning back in his seat and considering her openly.
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