by Sandra Heath
Her lips parted, and her heart almost stopped. There was no doubt about it, she and the woman in the glass were one and the same!
Chapter Four
Kathryn could still see her own hazel eyes behind those of the green-eyed stranger, as if she were trapped inside. A terrified numbness settled over her. She was two people at once! But that was impossible, there had to be a logical explanation—the reporter in her told her so. She was dreaming! Yes, of course! She’d never really awoken and left the bed. But as she continued to look at the glass, her own eyes faded, and there were only those of her new self—wide, clear, and expressive.
The initial confusion began to disperse, and new knowledge flooded in its wake. She suddenly knew the identity of this dream self! Her name was Rosalind, Lady Marchwood. More than that, she was married to Sir Dane Marchwood, one of Regency England’s most feared gentlemen, and she’d gone back in time to perhaps the most famous Regency year of all, 1815, the year of Napoleon Bonaparte’s final defeat at Waterloo. But Lady Marchwood felt little joy at the great victory. She was too frightened to be happy, because she was an adulterous wife, and her husband was a very dangerous man to cross.
But how could all this happen to a modern New Yorker? Kathryn’s glance went to the table where a wedding ring shone in the glow of the candle. For an illusion, the flame seemed very real. She felt that if she reached out, she would definitely feel its heat. And yet she was also sure this was all a dream. Yes, for what else could explain it?
Suddenly she realized there was someone else in this most vivid of dreams, for a man appeared behind her.
“Rosalind?” He touched her shoulder softly as he said her name. “You must leave Dane and come with me, somewhere he’ll never find us. We were meant to be together, and all we have to do is go to my plantation in Jamaica. He doesn’t even know I’ve purchased it.” His voice was very English and refined, reminding her of Lawrence Olivier in the old black-and-white Pride and Prejudice movie. He was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, of medium height, with tousled brown hair and warm dark eyes. His clothes were fashionable, a sage-green coat and cream cord breeches, with a pearl pin in his starched neckcloth, and he had about him a hint of the same anxiety that pervaded her.
Oddly, in spite of his dark coloring, he reminded her of Richard, although she couldn’t have said why. She knew who he was. Thomas Denham, Rosalind’s lover, the man she’d risked everything for, and the reason she’d set her wedding ring aside for a few stolen hours tonight.
Kathryn knew he was waiting for her to respond, but she didn’t know what to say. In a situation as incredible as this, the cat had more than gotten her tongue!
Her silence perplexed him. “Did you hear me, Rosalind?”
“Yes. Of course.” Her voice was no longer modern New York, but British and reserved.
“Then why don’t you answer?”
“I... I can’t.”
He turned her to face him. “Can’t answer, or can’t leave him? Rosalind, I will not believe it to be the latter. You don’t love him, how can you when you so eagerly break your vows with me? We’ve lain together this very night while he dines barely two hundred yards away with the bishop and other worthies. You wouldn’t do that if you felt anything for him.” Thomas searched her face in the candlelight. “Yours was an arranged match, pure and simple, and you should never have agreed to it. The two years since you went to the altar have been misery for you because he can’t put his first wife’s memory to rest. Every time he touches you, he still touches Elizabeth.”
The first Lady Marchwood had died ten years ago giving birth to Dane’s only son, Philip, who now attended Eton and was at present staying with friends for the summer vacation. Kathryn felt dizzy from the potent mixture of knowledge and confusion swirling through her. She knew so much about Rosalind, but was in some way aware she hadn’t completely taken on this new self. Inside she was still Kathryn Vansomeren. That’s why she was sure it was all a dream. She must have read all this in one of the historical romances she couldn’t get enough of, or maybe seen it in an old movie, and now her subconscious was recalling it in this weird dream.
Well, whatever it was, she had to go along with it, for it was real enough, or would be until she awoke. That meant getting a grip on herself and deciding what she felt right now. The real Rosalind was deeply and irrevocably in love with Thomas Denham; Kathryn Vansomeren in Rosalind’s clothing most certainly wasn’t. The real Rosalind went in fear of Sir Dane Marchwood, but her modern alter ego was curiously intrigued about him. For the moment he was a shadow on the edge of her consciousness, and she couldn’t bring him forward into the light, but hearing his name caused her a shiver of illicit excitement.
Thomas put his hand lovingly to her cheek. “Dane will still mourn Elizabeth ten years hence; to him you’ll never be anything more than the wife he took to oblige his father’s longstanding friendship with your father. You’re his property, but to me you’re everything in the world.”
“I... I know.” She was aware he was speaking sound common sense when he urged her to run away with him, but there were disconcerting gaps in her knowledge, as if her subconscious couldn’t quite recall the entire plot of whatever book or movie this came from.
Thomas smiled. “Please give the answer that will make us both happy. Nothing binds you to him anymore, but a great deal binds you to me. After what you’ve told me tonight, it’s plain we have to leave before things become obvious. We’ve played with fire and are about to be burned.”
Now she definitely didn’t know what he was talking about. He might know what was soon going to be obvious, but she certainly didn’t! She almost wanted to laugh aloud in her frustration. Was this the place she’d skipped a chapter, or switched channels? Whatever the reason, she had no idea at all what Rosalind had just told him.
He took her face in his hands. “I know you’re afraid, my darling, but I’ll take care of you. Just say yes, and I’ll make all the arrangements. We can take passage to Jamaica from Bristol within days...”
She had to stall, she didn’t know what else to do. “I... I’ll give you my answer soon.”
“How soon?” he pressed.
“I don’t know. Just soon.”
He looked swiftly into her eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re so hesitant. After what you’ve told me tonight, we daren’t delay. To stay here now will be to deliberately court disaster. Dane isn’t renowned for his sweet temper, and on the three occasions he’s called men out, he’s extinguished them all, including my brother. As for his valor on the battlefield, well, you and I both know how many times he’s been mentioned in dispatches—he could never be accused of a lack of courage. I have little doubt that the army was the ideal setting for a man of his disposition, and I only wish he’d elected to stay where he was instead of resigning his commission in order to come home once and for all. You’ve admitted it’s been a relief his army career has kept him away for most of your marriage; well, he won’t be away from now on—he’ll be here, demanding his conjugal rights.”
Suddenly Kathryn was sure of her facts again. She knew all about Dane’s decision to leave the army. She also knew that the two-year marriage had been wretched because Rosalind had always loved Thomas, but the part of her that was Kathryn Vansomeren felt a perverse desire to defend Sir Dane Marchwood. “Dane may be many things, but he isn’t quite the black-hearted villain you paint.”
Startled, Thomas released her. “Rosalind, he is a black-hearted villain! My brother William didn’t do anything to warrant being called out at dawn. His only crime was to be a Denham.”
“I concede that Dane doesn’t like Denhams any more than they like him, but even so there must have been more to it than that. Not even he would call your brother out simply because of his surname.” Kathryn didn’t know what had caused the fatal quarrel between Dane and William Denham, but this was because Rosalind didn’t know either. No one knew why the challenge had been issued, not even Thomas. The only one alive to
tell was Dane, and he’d never uttered a word.
Thomas found her attitude bewildering. “Why are you behaving like this? I admit that a simmering dislike has always existed between Dane and my family, but the only time it ever erupted into a public quarrel was over that miserable parcel of marshland on the boundary of Marchwood. Surely you aren’t suggesting that was why Dane chose to call my brother out? No, of course you aren’t, because the truth is that Dane takes pleasure in dueling, and the temptation of indulging that pleasure and eliminating a Denham at the same time was simply too great to resist. I warn you, if he finds out about us, he’ll have a much better reason for calling me out than he ever had William!” Realizing he’d raised his voice slightly, he swiftly took her hands. “I’m sorry, but I’ll never forgive Dane for William’s death—nor will anyone in my family.”
His touch disturbed her. The real Rosalind would have trembled with delight but Kathryn was unmoved, a fact he’d surely perceive at any moment. She began to pull away before he realized, but he slipped an arm around her waist and drew her close to press his parted lips over hers. It was a passionate kiss, designed to dispel what he saw as her inexplicable reluctance to take the wise way out of a deep scrape, but she found everything about him suddenly so eerily like Richard that she might almost have been with her blond, blue-eyed New York husband instead of this dark-eyed Englishman from an earlier century.
Suddenly the dream took on a much more sensuous tone. His mouth moved over hers, and she felt the flick of his tongue between her lips. He stroked her breast through the thin stuff of her gown, teasing her nipple between his fingertips. Part of her wanted to respond to the memory of happier days with Richard, but the greater part held back. He pressed her body tightly against his, and she could feel him becoming aroused. They’d already made love tonight but he was ready again, pressing eagerly toward her.
To her relief, another voice interrupted them, an elderly female voice, frail, with a strong Gloucestershire accent. “Sir Dane will be here in a few minutes.”
Kathryn turned quickly. An old woman had just entered the room. She was bent and gnarled, with a wizened face and hands like claws, and she walked with the aid of a stick. There was a knitted shawl around the shoulders of her simple gray linen gown, and she might have been taken for any old woman if it hadn’t been for her eyes, which shone like those of a quick and clever raven. She was Rosalind’s beloved old nurse, Alice Longney, and the wisdom of ages seemed to wrap around her like a cloak.
Alice addressed Thomas. “You must go, Master Thomas, but not by the courtyard, for you may encounter him.”
He nodded, and then looked at Kathryn again. “Please give me your answer now, my darling,” he begged.
“I’ll tell you at the ball tomorrow night; there’ll be many opportunities for us to speak then,” she replied. The ball entered her head as much without warning as everything else. It was to be held at the Royal Well ballroom in Cheltenham to celebrate the victory of Waterloo. She was back to the original book or movie storyline again; how else did she know about the ball? Or the Royal Well ballroom!
He gave her a curious look. “At the ball? But you know I’m not going.”
For a moment she was blank, but then remembered he’d already told Rosalind he couldn’t attend the ball because of a prior dinner engagement. Why had she made such a blunder? Hastily she tried to smooth the moment over. “Forgive me, I... I’m so worried about everything I can’t think properly. I’ll send word to you soon, I promise.”
He searched her eyes. “Rosalind, there’s no time to delay, not after what you’ve told me tonight. I wish to God you’d told me before, but there’s still time. We daren’t tarry if I’m to make the necessary arrangements to sail from Bristol. Every hour you delay means we run the risk of Dane’s finding out, and I don’t relish the prospect of being the second Denham to die at his hands.”
Alice was increasingly anxious. “Please, sir, you must go now! If Sir Dane should actually catch you here...!” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.
He took Kathryn by the arms and gazed urgently into her eyes. “If we remain here in England, you may be sure it will mean shame and ruin for you, and death for me.” Then he was gone, striding swiftly past Alice to the narrow landing.
His steps sounded on the staircase, a door closed, and there was silence. Almost immediately the clatter of a carriage disturbed the night, and Kathryn saw it pull up at the end of the alley. It was a gleaming maroon-colored vehicle drawn by four grays, and its lamps shone brightly in the poorly lit street. The door was flung open, and two gentlemen alighted.
Both were in their mid-thirties, and dressed in formal evening clothes. One man was short, with red hair that shone in the light of the carriage lamp as he clapped his companion amiably on the shoulder and then strode swiftly away toward the cathedral. Kathryn knew him to be Dr. George Eden, who came from a wealthy local family and possessed an elegant town house in the cathedral close. He was a much respected man, and one of the few who could count Sir Dane Marchwood among his close friends. It was Dane from whom he’d just taken leave.
Her gaze moved to Rosalind’s husband. He was tall and arrestingly handsome, with almost-black curls and a penetrating glance she could perceive even from a distance. His lean, athletic physique was perfectly suited to the tight fashions of the day, and few things could have become him more than his close-fitting black velvet coat and superbly cut white silk breeches, except perhaps the dashing military uniform he’d so recently set aside forever. The jewel in his lace-edged neckcloth caught the lamplight as he turned to speak to his coachman, and Kathryn’s heart tightened within her as she gazed at him, for the feelings that surged through her now were unlike anything she’d ever known before.
He walked down the alley toward the courtyard, and the closer he came the more clearly she could see his eyes. She knew they were gray, and that there was something in them that hinted at dark secrets; something that was immeasurably exciting. He was the perfect hero, with looks to melt the hardest female heart, and a commanding air she found both arousing and intimidating. Each step he took brought desire and hazard nearer, and the blend was exhilarating. On the one hand she found him more sexually attractive than any man she’d ever seen before; on the other she could sense the alarm the real Rosalind would be feeling now on being so nearly caught with her lover. But the latter feeling was only fleeting, for Kathryn Vansomeren found him devastatingly desirable, a man in an entirely different league from the dull and rather ordinary Thomas Denham, and certainly a world away in every sense from someone like Richard, or even Harry Swenson, for whom she’d so briefly but tellingly thrown caution and common sense to the winds. Everything about Sir Dane Marchwood drew her like a pin to a magnet.
He reached the courtyard and seemed to sense she was at the window, for he halted and toyed with the spill of lace at his cuff as he looked directly up at her. The hint of latent power surrounding him was like a beacon in the darkness, and when their eyes met, she couldn’t look away. He cast an electrifying spell over her, as if he knew her thoughts and all about the affair with Thomas Denham.
But it was Alice who knew what she was thinking. “No, Kathryn, as yet he only suspects.”
Startled, Kathryn looked swiftly around. “You know my name?”
“Of course.”
Kathryn’s eyes cleared. “Ah, but this is a dream, isn’t it? So you would know, wouldn’t you? I’m aware that this is all some old plot I’ve read or seen, and that it’s all mixed up with the real me!”
“Some old plot? I don’t understand you.”
Kathryn was suddenly less sure of things. Something about the intensity of the old woman’s eyes conjured thoughts of sorcery and ancient magic. No, that was stupid. This was still a dream, probably brought on by jet lag, stress, and British food! Why couldn’t her subconscious light on a story she remembered properly? If she’d turned into someone like Jane Eyre or Scarlett O’Hara, she’d know what happened next!
Alice smiled. “Don’t look for answers now, my dear, for the rest of tonight could bring you more passion, excitement, and gratification than you’ve ever known before. Sir Dane Marchwood is the lover you’ve always longed for, and he’s within your reach because for this one night you are his wife.”
“If I am, I’m supposed to want Thomas Denham instead,” Kathryn pointed out swiftly.
“Then let me put it another way. For this one night, you are Kathryn Vansomeren in Lady Marchwood’s body. Dane suspects his wife of infidelity, but he doesn’t know for certain, and if you wish to enjoy his caresses, you must convince him of your faithfulness and love.”
“Lie to him, you mean?” Kathryn replied flatly.
“No, my dear, for although Rosalind has betrayed her vows to him, you haven’t.”
Kathryn had to look away as Harry Swenson came to mind again.
Alice smiled. “Oh, I’m not talking about the fleeting affair before you came here.”
“You know about that, too?” Kathryn gasped.
“Yes, and when I say that Rosalind has betrayed her vows to Dane but you haven’t, that is precisely what I mean. You, my dear, have never betrayed Sir Dane Marchwood, and that’s what matters.”
“You’re talking in riddles.”
“Am I? It’s very simple, Kathryn. Do you want to lie in Dane’s arms tonight?” Alice asked quietly.
Kathryn glanced down into the courtyard. “Yes.” What point was there in pretending? Just looking at him filled her with desire!
The nurse’s walking stick tapped as she went to the table and picked up the wedding ring. “Then you must not be without this symbol of wedlock, Kathryn, for when he placed it on Rosalind’s finger, he swore it would only be removed if the marriage should be at an end.”