“Over four hundred feet. Isn’t that right, Dad?” Wes slid beside her and draped his arm over the back of her seat.
She offered him a wobbly smile. Maybe. She couldn’t be sure because her mouth was so dry her teeth were getting stuck to the backs of her lips. An embarrassing moment loomed ahead of her. She practically felt it biting at her spine—or maybe that was the tingle from Wes’s nearness. Either way, it spelled trouble.
She drew in a shaky breath and caught the slightest scent of his woodsy cologne again. Well, if he was going to be a passing acquaintance, she’d always preferred good-smelling ones.
“Four hundred feet?” Eisley’s voice squeaked and she cleared her throat. “Over water? In a glass bowl?”
“Eisley, darling, you’re not afraid of heights, are you?” Eleanor took her seat and comforted her with a gentle look.
“Well, maybe just a little bit.” Eisley drew her gaze from the closed doors—her lifeline—and forced a smile. “But I’m sure this is completely safe, right? I mean, no major accidents or deaths reported recently?”
“Relax.” Wes’s gaze softened a little more, perfectly polite from dark mane to cleft chin. No harm in handsome acquaintances, either. Easier on the vision, of course. “The view will distract you and if you want, Mum could talk to you the entire half hour without stopping.”
“Christopher Wesley,” Eleanor started, her eyebrows creased; then her expression returned to neutral. “Eisley, after this flight we’ll return to the hotel and have a few hours to freshen up for the gala.”
The gala? Oh boy, her stomach started hurting for a whole new set of reasons.
“Perhaps you could save me a dance?” Wes's voice tightened like his father had to prod the request out of him.
Painful.
Of course, when she finished dancing with anyone tonight, that description would most likely fit her partner’s reactions. The ground disappeared out the windows. “You mean if I survive this ride?”
“Lizzie mentioned that Lornegrave is key to your research,” Eleanor said. “What is the connection?”
A thrill spiraled through Eisley’s middle and pushed most of her fear right out the glass doors. Oh, if only Uncle Joe could be here. “Lizzie lives in the Ramdsen family estate, our ancestor’s home. I have a letter passed down from our family which tells of Julia’s work with the Tyndale Bible and her engagement to an Edward Lattimer, but the rest are just rumors and legends. Lizzie seems to think there is something to discover in the attic of Lornegrave, so she’s started her sleuthing up there in anticipation of my arrival.”
She grinned and Wes responded with his own smile, the kind that lit his eyes. Really nice acquaintance. Eisley glanced over his shoulder and saw nothing but blue skies. Heat drained from her arms down to her fingertips. “Oh dear….”
He dipped his head close. “You ought to take a look while you’re here, or you’ll regret it.” He stood and offered his hand. “Ready?”
A hand? Was he nuts? She grabbed his whole arm, holding tightly enough to feel the muscles flex beneath his jacket. Dizziness spun a kickstart in her head, but the confidence on his face nudged her a step forward. A shaky step. Well, if someone like him believed in her, then maybe she’d survive.
The view spread all the way to the fading horizon. Lights glittered below, reflecting millions of golden stars, while rows of buildings formed an uneven patchwork of dark and light patterns below. The Thames's fluid ‘S’ sliced through the middle, speckled with a myriad of boats and bridges.
“It’s beautiful.” She glanced over at Wes, trying to steady her gaze. A well-chiseled chin provided a good focal point. “Pete would call this a God’s-eye view.”
“Pete sounds like a smart lad.”
“Yeah, they’re all pretty smart. Emily’s type of smarts is a little tricky, though. She’s an exhibitionist.”
“What?” He offered a slight grin, the kind he displayed in his best movie, A Ransomed Gentleman, when he was guarding his laugh.
She’d replayed the final kiss scene in his movie about fifty times when it came out three months previously. If taking a year’s break from acting brought out that kind of skill, other actors could benefit from a reprieve. She pulled her attention back to the window in a dreamy daze and murmured, “She likes to run around naked.” She closed her eyes to gain her balance and take control of the heat soaring into her face. “It probably doesn’t help that she’s adorable, from bald head to bald bottom.”
Wes chuckled beside her. “Is everyone from Appalachia like you?”
Eisley’s gaze zoomed back to his. “Oh gee, I hope not.” She gave her head a little shake to dislodge the dizziness. “Other people have to make better personal choices than me, Appalachian or not. And I’m certain both of my sisters are less homicidal in heels.”
His full laugh, so free and unreserved, shocked her and settled into a double dimple on his face. A strange flutter like hummingbird wings twittered to life in her stomach. What a great sound! She had a feeling it didn’t happen as often as it should. A teeny bit of pride wiggled up her spine. There was something incredibly satisfying about bringing a smile to Christopher Wesley Harrison’s face. A huge success in her book – and that was saying something.
He was just being nice, though. One day some woman would find a fairy tale in him, for sure.
She turned to the window to break her stare and gasped as the sunlight hit the golden tip of one of the most recognizable buildings. A white dome rose from the shadows and caught the last few rays of sunlight. “Isn’t that St. Paul’s Cathedral?”
“Pardon me.”
Eisley turned to see a woman staring at Wes as though she might fall prostrate any minute. Brown hair curled into a pleasant fluff around her face. Her rounded eyes glowed in wonder and Eisley held her laugh in check. That’s probably the same expression she had on her face about five seconds ago when she was pondering his Superman appeal.
“I absolutely adored you in Wuthering Heights, and your most recent role in A Ransomed Gentleman was quite splendid, really. Your best movie yet.”
Wes bowed his head in humble acceptance of her compliments. “Thank you. It’s nice to hear after my sabbatical, so to speak.”
She offered a timid smile. “Might I trouble you for”—the woman’s voice dropped so Eisley barely heard—“an autograph. My daughters are over by the glass there.” She tilted her head to the left where two teenagers tried to ignore their mother. “And they’re a bit narked over their mum’s behavior at the moment.”
Wes lowered his voice to match hers. “I’d be happy to oblige, Mrs…?”
“Markson, Charlotte Markson.” She pushed a magazine and pen in his hands. “I saw your photo in The Post this morning and never imagined I’d have a chance to meet you.” She glanced down at the newspaper, now in his hands. “I was so delighted to see you and Ms. Barry back on. You make a splendid pair.”
Ms. Barry? Eisley looked more closely at the magazine. The center of the page displayed a glossy photo of Wes embracing a dark-headed beauty. The heading read: A Rematch of Romance? After two years of uncertainty, are Christopher & Vivian taking the next step? Did their recent excursion to Venice reignite their relationship?
Reality hit. Her entire body relaxed from the effort to ignore the tingles of attraction surging through her like a seizure. No need to worry. She could just enjoy his company for now and save her twitterpated heartbeat for the safe distance of a movie screen.
His composure and suspicion proved he wanted distance. After all, he was an actor. She had plenty of experience with actors. Her ex-husband played the role like an Emmy Award winner.
“Thank you.” A look of sadness curled his lips into a frown as Mrs. Markson walked back to her daughters.
Something was definitely wrong. She placed her hand on his arm. “Are you okay?"
He pulled in a deep breath and met her gaze. “Part of the job.”
Was he saying that more for himself or for her? “
Well, you handled it like a gentleman, like you’ve been about everything today.”
A twinkled resurfaced in his gray-blue eyes. “Right. When I criticized your footwear, and accused you of trying to harm my father?”
She hitched up one shoulder and turned back to the observation window. “We’ll take that as a commercial break in your otherwise pristine gentlemanly behavior. Besides, I’m a redhead. We send off all the wrong first impression vibes.”
A lovely dimple peeked from his cheek and pierced a vulnerable place in her heart. Her breath hitched. Ignore the glitch. Ignore the glitch. She turned away and looked straight down hundreds of feet into the black waters of the Thames as two boats passed underneath, and her stomach waved like the trail of bubbles behind them. Her vision kept moving even when the boats passed from view. She touched her head in a vain attempt to slow the spinning and pressed a hand to her stomach to keep the trifle securely in place.
“I think I need to sit down.” She turned toward her seat and saw Eleanor moving. For a proper older British lady, she could move fast. No wait. Eisley was the one moving, falling.
Arms tightened around her. Her voice thickened, like her thoughts. “I’m sorry, I don’t think a God’s eye view of London is the thing for me.” She tried to straighten but only fell back against something solid and warm. It felt nice after all the spinning. She collapsed into her seat and kept her eyes closed, partly from necessity and partly from humiliation. The familiar warning tingle of a migraine buzzed across her forehead. Oh, no.
“Dear child, are you all right?” Eleanor’s voice came from her left.
She slowly opened her eyes and peeked to her right. That nice soft landing involved the strong arms of a movie hero. Perfect. Swept off her feet took on a whole new meaning, in an embarrassing shade of country charm. From one calamity to another.
But he did smell really nice. Earthy and spice, and everything nice. Oh, good grief, Eisley, pull yourself together.
“Eisley?”
Her foggy brain focused back on Eleanor. “I think the heights induced a migraine. Usually, my headaches follow barometric pressure changes, but after a full seven-hour flight in an airplane today, plus this little taste of London space travel, I might need a nap after all.”
“Eisley dear, why didn’t you tell us?”
“It only started now.” Eisley tried to reassure Eleanor with a smile, but since her lips were going numb she couldn’t be sure. “They’re worse in winter, for some reason, and they usually mean snow is coming soon.”
Mr. Harrison’s eyebrows shot high. “Snow, is it? You’re an adventurist, amateur sleuth, world traveler, and meteorologist, are you?”
Eisley tried not to laugh. Movement encouraged the newborn pounding in her skull. “And astronaut, if we include this little tour.” She waved a palm around the capsule. “I’m really sorry about all this.”
“It’s quite all right, Eisley,” Eleanor said, her cool fingers wrapping around Eisley’s hand. “Daniel took me to a festival once and forced me to ride some monstrous spinning machine.”
“I never forced you,” he interrupted, and Eisley could imagine his fluffy brows shocking north.
“Hmmm, as I recall, you lowered those attractive eyes of yours, offered your most tempting grin, and asked if I’d like to join you. Yes, quite forced.” Eisley peeked through her lashes at Eleanor, whose manicured brow shifted in challenge. “Of course, I was ill-prepared for such a ride and ended up getting sick all over his shoes.”
Eisley sniggered, the world coming back into focus, but the unpleasant sparkle of aura made everything look kind of fairy tale-ish. She tried to ignore it. “And you married her anyway. It had to be love.”
An endearing look passed between the older couple and Eisley’s heart replied with a pang much sharper than the one crossing her line of vision—the same wistful longing she felt each time she caught her parents in an affectionate moment. Such a deep part of her craved a love like that, but at what cost? No reward was worth the risk. And she’d proven she had no business trying to pick a happily-ever-after. She’d failed so miserably the first time.
She drew out of Wes’s arms and blinked him into view. “Isn’t that sweet?”
His eyes twinkled, or maybe it was the aura. Who could be sure? “Getting sick on Dad’s shoes?”
“No silly.” She gestured toward his parents. “The way they look at each other. That forever kind of look.”
“You mean the kind that doesn’t exist anymore?”
“Your parents and mine are a dying breed. Everybody’s into fast food consumerism. Give it to me now and it better make me happy or I’ll get a cuter, younger upgrade.”
The sudden awareness in his expression sent her thoughts into replay mode. Daggone it. She’d slipped up and mentioned too much again.
“Hmm.” As he examined her face, something beyond the well-honed politeness inched into his expression. An understanding. “I don’t sense a hint of bitterness hidden behind those freckles, do I?”
Eisley forced a grin, thankful he didn’t probe any further. “A hint? Gee, I thought it was an entire color spectrum.”
He let her sentence disappear into silence. Thankfully, Mr. Handsome Harrison lived in a realm all his own and much too far for her glass slippers to travel. Whether in fairy tales or baseball, she had learned the hard way: three strikes and you’re out. Marshall used up two. Eisley wasn’t interested in a strike number three.
Chapter Four
Eisley wasn’t in Pleasant Gap anymore. If the accents and expensive food didn’t convince her, then the white Christmas lights sprinkled about a magical fourteenth century manor house clued her in. She stopped in the doorway and closed her eyes to steady her nerves. Lord, don’t let me embarrass Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, or fall flat on my face, or have another stupid migraine…
She sighed and stepped across the threshold.
Voices murmured in a quiet hum with the music from a string quartet, crystal and silver tinkled like Christmas bells, and the soft breeze from the dance floor whispered against her warm cheeks, carrying the scents of cinnamon and berries. Magical. A smooth parade of couples glided across the dance floor, moving to the music like a misty dream. A rivulet of envy spliced her middle. She’d practically lamed poor Mr. H during his brief dance instructions before the gala, proving one thing: Two lessons doth not a dancer make.
The couple in the middle of the room caught her attention. Wes danced with a goddess to match his Adonis persona. Long, smooth legs. Thin freckle-free arms. A Scarlet O’Hara look-alike wearing a red…towel? From the flow of it, it couldn’t really be a towel. Maybe an oversized red scarf.
Vivian Barry in the flesh—enough visible, wrinkle-free flesh to model for Victoria’s Secret. If possible, Vivian was more stunning in person than the magazine photos. Oh, to have curves and a waistline like that! Eisley sucked in her stomach and stood up a little straighter. No use. She groaned. Chocolate ice cream was such a traitor.
Daniel Harrison nudged Eisley out of her stupor and whispered, “Would you care to dance, luv?”
She pressed into his shoulder with her own, curbing a touch of homesickness with his camaraderie. “No thanks, you sweet man. I’ll just stand here and do my dad’s kind of dancing.” Eisley pointed to her black heels. “Tap my toe, nod my head to the beat, and smile as if I know something no one else knows. Believe me, it’s less catastrophic this way.”
Daniel chuckled. “I’ve a mind to like this family of yours.”
Eisley pushed a mock shudder through her body. “And you think I make a lasting impression? Just wait until you meet my dad and brothers.” She whistled low. “You’ll never be the same.”
Her attention drifted back to the couple on the dance floor. Wes’s hand rested on the small of Vivian’s back, the awareness of it sending sparks skidding up Eisley’s spine. Stupid hormones. Vivian’s palm touched Wes shoulder, their poise a perfect match. They looked beautiful.
“Like the cover o
f a storybook.”
“Pardon?” Daniel asked, leaning closer.
Eisley nodded toward Wes and Vivian. “The two of them look perfect together, like a fairy tale.”
Eleanor made some noise resembling a growl and murmured something that sounded suspiciously like “wicked witch.”
Eisley bit the inside of her lips to keep from asking, but curiosity unlocked her jawbone. She reached for a glass of water, feigning indifference. “They’ve been together a long time, haven’t they?”
Eleanor closed her eyes, wearily. “I’ll not deny they’ve had a past, but I certainly hope he’s outgrown her shallow ploys. If he doesn’t have wits enough to steer clear of her, he deserves a sound slap.”
The thought of Wes Harrison receiving a sound slap tickled a grin and teased her attention back to the dance floor as the music drew to a close. Just then, Wes’s gaze caught hers. His smile started from one crooked corner and spread all the way across to a dimple on the other side.
Oh, what a smile. The kind to send embittered women out of their self-imposed spinsterhood. The kind to shatter the singleness of the resolute celibate. The kind that made her knees a little too shaky to ever consider dancing.
He walked toward her, his James Bond appeal growing with each step. Open-collared white shirt and black slacks added to the pure attraction. She pinched herself to make sure her imagination hadn’t gotten the better of her. Tall, dark, and dreamy belonged to the lady in the red-towel, right?
A trail of model look-alikes littered his past, and the glamour of brilliant stardom glittered in his future. He lived totally out of her league and danced with a past which mocked hers. But why didn’t the man from the papers match the guy she’d hung out with all day?
She released her clutched breath and offered him a smile. A shared smile for a friendly acquaintance. And only a nice safe acquaintance, with swagger.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Barrett.” Wes took her cool hand into his warm one. “Are you feeling better?”
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