Resplendence

Through Traitor’s Gate By Melinda Barron

Resplendence Publishing, LLC http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

Resplendence Publishing, LLC 2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349 Daytona Beach, FL 32118 Through Traitor’s Gate Copyright © 2011 Cindy Spencer Pape Edited by Andrea Grimm and Venus Cahill Cover art by Rika Singh Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-427-7 Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Electronic Release: November 2011 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

For Anne, who read the early (very early) versions of this story, and urged me to continue and finish. I hope this version meets with your approval.

Prologue

The Tower of London May 1, 1533

The room was cold and damp. Through the small window, the prisoner could see daylight slipping from sight. It was hard to believe it was a vision he would never again enjoy. Behind him, a door opened, emitting a small amount of candlelight as a man slipped through. Compared to the room’s occupant, the man was short, and his face was clouded with hate. The visitor held his candle high and looked around the room in disgust. “I had hoped these surroundings would be a little more dismal,” the man said in a low tone, “but it seems Henry decided that losing your head was punishment enough. I would prefer to know that you suffered for a few days living with the Tower rats. But…” the man shrugged his shoulders and sighed, “I suppose it is enough to know that you will die in the morning.” The prisoner refused to be baited. He sat at the desk, his eyes fixed on the cruel stare of his visitor. “How much did you pay for the evidence against us? And what do you think the King will do when he finds out it was made up from your imagination?” The man laughed. “He won’t find out; he is too busy with his whore. It’s funny, really. That whore Anne Boleyn is the reason that you and your cousin are dying. I hadn’t anticipated your arrival, of course. You almost ruined my plans. But the whore distracted the King just enough that he really didn’t examine the evidence. He took the advice of his counselors, and I have paid them well. Besides, I had a little extra insurance just to make sure things worked the way I wanted.” His evil smile made the room feel even more dismal.

“I want you to think about something, think very hard,” he continued. “My insurance has made sure that after tomorrow no current members of your family, or your descents, will ever find joy at Waverly Court again. Think upon that as the ax relieves you of your head in the morning. I will be living in Waverly Court. I will have deprived your family of your lands, your home. You and your cousin will go down in history as being disloyal to the King after having made a final trip through Traitor’s Gate. Your head will sit on a spike and decorate Tower Bridge. A fitting end for what your uncle did to my mother.” Do not answer him. Don’t give him the satisfaction. The condemned man merely shrugged, which caused his visitor to sneer. For a moment, it seemed as if he would charge across the room and slap him. Instead, he straightened his clothing and sighed. “I have to stop and visit your cousin.” He turned toward the door. “Say hello to the headsman for me.” He chuckled, shutting the door firmly behind him. Silence settled around the doomed man; he had only his thoughts for company. The idea of dying was hard, but harder still was the thought that she wouldn’t know where he was or that he was gone, never to return. He thought of her lips and the way they had eagerly lifted up towards his face that day at Hampton Court Palace. They had been so young, and he had loved her so. But he had ruined it, ruined her love and ruined their lives. “What I wouldn’t give to see her beautiful green eyes and taste her lips,” he said to the air around him. “To hold her in my arms. To tell her that I love her still.” He shivered, the cold enveloping him in its sharp embrace.

Out in the hallway a short, dark-headed woman placed her hand against the wooden doorway. She could feel the man’s pain, feel his longing for a woman far, far away. The sensations brought tears to her eyes, and an empty aching feeling took hold of her heart. She could feel similar feelings coming from the room upstairs. She had made a mistake, a huge mistake. She had been tricked into using her magic to destroy a family that had never done her harm. She tried to think of a way to rectify it, but nothing came to mind. Raised voices came from the stairway and broke her concentration, and the short man made his appearance again, laughing as he pulled on his gloves.

The smile disappeared from his face when he saw the woman standing there. “What are you doing here?” She could feel the fear griping his insides. Good, he should know she was not someone to be trifled with. She cast him an evil glare. “You lied to me.” The man snorted out a low laugh. “Who cares? I have what I want, and you have a lot of money. What do you care, anyway?” “Destroying evil is one thing. Destroying love and goodness is another. I cannot undo what I have done now, but I can make it so that you suffer for your actions.” The man took a step backwards. “Stay away from me, witch. Cross me, and you may find yourself tied to a stake.” The woman turned to leave. “Don’t worry, Milord. You will not see my revenge for your lies coming, but when it happens you will feel it, and you will be sorry for what you have done here today.” ****

Lionsgate, England Off the Strait of Dover Present time

A cold chill passed through the room, and she sat bolt upright in bed. He had done it, passed through Traitor’s Gate. The whole thing was happening again. Why hadn’t he listened to her? Why was the man so stubborn? If he had only paid heed, she would have found a way to put things right without him going back. She had failed. The instructions left by her ancestor had been very specific. The evil was trapped. When the time was right, it needed to be vanquished before Traitor’s Gate opened again and sucked its unwanted visitor back in time. But she hadn’t vanquished the evil, and the gate had opened. She got up and opened the doors to the patio. Cold air from the Strait passed in through the windows and swirled around her ankles, threatening to pull her down. Why, oh why, had it happened now? Why did she have to face the menace that was left behind? She wasn’t strong enough.

The frigid air moved from her ankles to her calves and up her thighs, ringing around her, causing her to shiver violently. It wrapped itself tighter, drawing out her warmth, trying to take over. “I’m not afraid of you.” I am strong enough. I can fight it. I can win. The cold moved up, clinching around her waist. “I will fight you and I will win.” It continued up, causing her breath to come in short gasps. “You may have won a battle, but the war is lost to you. This time you will be gone, forever. Do you hear me? Forever.” She clenched her fists, and an evil laugh filled the room. Then the cold drifted down and out the door. The battle had begun.

Chapter One

Waverly Court Near Waverly, England Present time

“Murder! This is ridiculous. You can’t arrest someone for murder when you don’t have a body! You can’t prove anyone’s dead.” Sydney Davis’ voice reached a fever pitch as she watched the Scotland Yard detective place his hand on her best friend’s arm and lead her toward the doorway. “Ms. Davis, please lower your voice. Ms. Brompton is not under arrest; she is simply going to London to help with our inquiries into the disappearance of her brother. He has been missing for more than a month now, and yes, we presume that he is dead.” His words sent a chill through Sydney’s body. She looked at Suzanne’s mother, Elise, who was sitting on the couch, softly crying. The housekeeper, Mrs. Simmons, was trying to offer her comfort. “You don’t know that he’s dead.” Sydney stepped in front of the officer. “The man is a moral degenerate! For all you know, he’s drunk and shacked up in Paris with some blondeheaded bimbo who doesn’t know how to read the newspapers and let him know that people think he’s dead! Please, officer, don’t do this, I’m begging you!” “Miss, you need to get out of my way. Right now.”

She could hear the warning in his voice, but that didn’t stop her. This was wrong on so many levels. Sydney took a step toward the officer and was quickly warded off by Sean Holling. Since he was Geoffrey’s best friend, she hoped he’d try to help keep Suzanne out of jail. Sidney shot him a dark look, and he shook his head slowly. “Sydney, stop.” Sean’s voice was harsh. “I know that you and Geoffrey have had your differences in the past, but you need to know that we are only doing our job. Geoffrey may be a womanizer, but he is not a moral degenerate. He is my best friend. I don’t want to think that he’s dead but we have to face facts. We have checked with every one of his former…” he stopped and searched for a word, “friends.” Sydney scoffed. “Well, Sean, you know that I’m one of those former friends and you haven’t asked me anything.” The first man, who had introduced himself as Detective Inspector Wells, placed his hands on his hips and went on in a calm voice, as if Sydney had not even spoken. “Ms. Davis, I assure you we have checked all the hotels in London, Paris and other major cities where Mr. Brompton has been known to hide while writing one of his novels. No one has seen him.” The policeman punctuated the words with a poignant stare at Sydney. “In addition,” he continued quickly, noting that Sydney was ready to protest again, “I don’t think that a novelist of Mr. Brompton’s reputation would be in a seedy hotel with a woman who ‘doesn’t know how to read’.” Sydney’s green eyes flashed angrily. “That just proves that you don’t know the man.” Her voice was rising in pitch. “Let me assure you, Inspector, that I know Geoffrey Brompton, and he has the morals of an alley cat. I just hope you’re prepared to eat crow when he shows up tomorrow with a huge hangover.” Sean crossed the room and placed himself between Sydney and Wells. “Syd,” he said softly. “Suzanne will be back tonight, I promise. We don’t have evidence to charge her yet, but she was the last one to see Geoffrey before he disappeared. Her story sounds ludicrous. We just want to get some other facts for our records.” Wells led Suzanne from the room, and everything was silent, except for the quiet sobs of Elise Brompton. Sean shook his head sadly and followed them out, trying to shut the door. Sydney pushed past him and ran to the car, gathering Suzanne in her arms before Wells could place her inside. “You’ll be back tonight. I’ll find him, I promise.”

Suzanne raised her head, her dark hair trailing down her back, her brown eyes defiant and scared at the same time. “I’m fine. Don’t forget what we talked about on the way here, right Syd?” Sydney nodded her head and took a step back. Oh, she wouldn’t forget the conversation for a long time. Sydney had told Suzanne that she was crazy to believe such a thing could happen, but Suzanne had said she had evidence that Geoffrey was alive…in the year 1533. Sydney started to tell her once again that she’d lost her mind when Suzanne’s eyes flashed a warning and traveled toward the Inspector, who was trying to eavesdrop on the conversation. “Take care of Mum,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “And try to believe me. I need you and so does Geoffrey.” Sydney bristled. “I’ll help for your sake, but not for Geoffrey’s.” Before Suzanne could reply, the Inspector placed her in the car and shut the door. Sean appeared beside Sydney and smiled. “Syd, I can’t believe some of the things you said about Geoffrey’s morals.” His voice was soft, but his meaning was clear. “Geoffrey told me last month that the two of you were getting along again, talking about trying to patch things up. Was he wrong?” Sydney turned toward him and shook her head. “We were trying,” she said, her voice full of sadness. “But this little stunt has proved to me that he hasn’t changed. He’s shacked up with a woman somewhere and look what’s happening.” Sean patted her on the shoulder then took his place in the driver’s seat without saying another word. Sydney smiled at Suzanne and stood outside the house until the car disappeared down the road. When she went inside, she stood in the huge hallway and listened as the soft cries of Elise Brompton, mixed in with the soothing voice of the housekeeper, filtered through the sitting room doorway. It was a dream, Sydney thought to herself. Then she corrected herself, not a dream, a nightmare. Sydney had been wary when her former fiancé had called out of the blue six months ago. He promised her that he had “changed”, that he “wanted to make things right with her.” “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Syd. You have to believe me,” Geoffrey had said. “I treated you badly, and I know words can’t make it right. But I don’t think I can live without you anymore.”

They’d been talking during that time, getting along better and better. Then she’d been unable to get a hold of him for two weeks. Then three weeks. Then a month. After a month’s worth of silence, Sydney had been furious. He’d played her for a fool again. He was probably lying between the thighs of a blonde right now, laughing at how he’d played her. But when the phone call came from Suzanne, Sydney had been stunned. “Geoffrey is missing, and they think I killed him. You have to come. Please come help me!” Suzanne had boarded the next plane out of Oklahoma City, and fourteen hours later had landed at Heathrow, where Suzanne had met her. On the way to Geoffrey’s home, Waverly Court near Waverly, England, on the Strait of Dover, Suzanne had filled her longtime friend in on the details of what had been happening. “At first we were able to keep it quiet,” Suzanne had said. “Then, a tabloid found out, and all hell broke loose. The reporters have been awful. Camping outside the gates to the house, as you’ll see in a moment, calling on the phone. We had to hire guards at the gates of Geoffrey’s house to keep the beasts out. No offense to your profession, Syd, but it’s truly been awful.” Sydney, who had left the hectic life of a large-city reporter to become editor of her hometown paper in Chickasha, smiled. “No need to apologize. Why do you think I went home, where the biggest story is who was elected president of the Rotary Club?” Suzanne shook her head. “What I wanted to tell you, before we arrived at home, is the truth about what happened. Geoffrey had started on a new project, one in the vein of the Josephine Tey book called Daughter of Time. You’ve heard of it, right?” Sydney nodded. “Isn’t that the book where the inspector is laid up in the hospital and bored to tears, so he reads all he can about Richard III and the two princes? He comes to the conclusion that society was wrong, and Richard did not murder his nephews to gain control of the crown.” “Right,” Suzanne answered. “That’s the one. Well, Geoffrey decided to write a story in that vein, using members of our family as the main characters. Mother can tell you more of the story, but it seems that when King Henry VIII was trying to marry Anne Boleyn, he had many nobles killed who opposed him taking over the church to marry ‘the whore,’ as many people called her. One of those people, it seemed, was our ancestor, the Earl of Waverly. Waverly Court

was our family home. It was taken away after the Earl’s execution, when his widow and children fled to France. Geoffrey bought it two years ago, with profits from his novels. “Anyway,” Suzanne continued as she drove off the highway and onto a back road. “Geoffrey became obsessed after he started doing research. He was convinced that our ancestor had been framed, and he was determined to clear his name. He visited Hampton Court Palace, Windsor Castle and the Tower of London. After visiting the Tower, he became moody and sullen. One day I couldn’t stand it anymore. We had a huge row, screaming at each other. That’s when he told me, he had found his name in the Tower’s execution logs, right next to Anthony Brompton’s in 1533. I told him he was crazy, and he showed me the copy he had made. We argued more, me saying that the name was probably one of our ancestors. But he said he could not find a birth record for that person.” Suzanne had taken a deep breath as the car rounded a bend and came upon a group of people standing in the roadway. Cameras flashed and people screamed questions at the women as Suzanne pushed the car through the mob. Once she’d neared the gate, four armed guards kept people from following the vehicle through the opening. “My lord,” Sydney said, staring back at the crowd as the gates closed. “Has it been like this for the last month?” “For the last two weeks, yes,” Suzanne answered. “Mother and I moved out here to get away from the reporters in London. They were coming up and ringing the doorbell and trying to knock on the windows of the flat. It was terrible. “But, I want to finish before we reach the house,” Suzanne said. “We had that terrible row, and we both said things we didn’t mean. Then, he showed me a letter, one that he said was…” the word hung in midair, followed by a soft, “oh my,” from Suzanne as the house came into view. Sydney had turned from her friend and taken in the sight of the huge, stone home in front of her. But what had really caught her attention were the four police cars parked outside, and the uniformed policeman waiting to escort them inside. Now, Suzanne was gone, and Sydney was alone in the hallway, wondering what she should do next. As a journalist, Sydney wanted to rush to the two women in the next room and pepper them with questions to try to solve the mystery. Most of all, she wanted to ask about Suzanne’s idea that Geoffrey had traveled back in time, but the last thing Suzanne had said

before they exited the car was, “Please don’t say anything to Mum about the time travel idea. She thinks I’m crazy. If she hears I’m still spouting that story, she’ll try and have me committed.” At this point in time, Sydney wasn’t sure that was a bad idea. Anything, she mused, was better than jail. Turning toward the weeping sounds, Sydney threw her shoulders back and whispered, “You’re the cause of this, Geoffrey Brompton. How I could have ever thought I loved you, I don’t know. But I will find you, and make you pay for the pain you’ve put your family through.”

Chapter Two

Sydney toyed with the warmed-up shepherd’s pie on her plate as she sat at the kitchen table. She’d been in England for seven hours, and jet lag was setting in. She wondered when Sean would bring Suzanne back. She needed to talk with her, get more information on her last conversation with Geoffrey. She shivered. The house was freezing. No, a better word was frigid. “Is it always this cold in here?” she asked, bringing a bite of food up to her mouth. “It feels like there is a foot of snow outside.” Mrs. Simmons, the housekeeper, smiled. “Well, the house is very old, you know. Geoffrey has talked of putting central heating in, but right now the only heat is the fire.” She motioned toward the roaring blaze in the corner. “However, it does seem to be colder than usual.” Mrs. Simmons sniffled and turned toward the sink. Elise was sitting at the end of the table, her eyes red from crying. She hadn’t said a word since Suzanne had left. They’d finally convinced her to take a nap in the afternoon, but she hadn’t slept, just lay on the couch. Now, she pushed her plate away and stared at Sydney. “Those were terrible things you said about Geoffrey.” The sorrow in her voice tugged at Sydney. “I know that he treated you badly, but he has changed in the past few years. You should give him another chance. He loves you, you know, and has been with no one else since you left.” Sydney stood to take her plate to the sink only to have Mrs. Simmons grab it away, shooting her an irritated look. It seemed Sydney was persona non grata. Geoffrey had disappeared, and everyone now thought he could do no wrong. She knew better, though. “Look, I’m trying, okay?” Her voice was sharp. “It’s hard to get over him playing with blonde after blonde after blonde.” Sydney tossed her dark hair as if to make a point. Sure, it was

only one blonde. But it was especially hard when she’d been the one to walk into a hotel room and find him, literally, in the middle of that blonde. She kept that thought to herself, not wanting to upset Elise any more. “Did the police take all of Geoffrey’s papers?” She turned to Elise, who was again wiping tears from her eyes. “They took his personal papers,” Elise said. “They left his research and notes for his latest book.” His latest book. Sydney tried not to think about what Suzanne had said. Time travel, avenging an ancestor. Ridiculous. I should try to get another perspective on things. Obviously, Suzanne had a different opinion of time travel, and even though Sydney trusted her friend’s opinion, it still sounded…ridiculous. “Suzanne said she and Geoffrey were fighting. What were they fighting about?” Sydney asked the two other women in the kitchen. “They fought over his new book, they did,” Mrs. Simmons chimed in. “Miss Brompton saying as how he was getting way too involved in his research, and it was causing him to lose touch with reality.” “That’s the book on your ancestors, right?” Sydney questioned. Elise placed her fork down beside her plate, where she had been moving her food from one side to the other without taking a bite. “That’s right. You see our ancestor, the Sixth Earl of Waverly, died during the reign of Henry VIII, at the time of the Reformation. If you remember your history, Henry wanted to marry Anne Boleyn, but he was still married to Catherine of Aragon. He wanted Rome to grant him an annulment, so he could marry Anne in the church. Rome refused and Henry eventually named himself head of the church in England. Anyone who opposed him, whether he were nobility or commoner, was liable to lose his head. “The Earl was reportedly loyal to Rome and was executed for it. It is said they took him from Traitor’s Gate in the garden.” Elise’s voice strengthened as she spoke. “Traitor’s Gate?” Sydney interrupted. “Isn’t that the porthole at the Tower of London, which allowed for the transfer of prisoners from the Thames River to the Tower?” Elise nodded. “Yes, dear, but it is also the name of an arched sitting area in the garden here at Waverly Court. It is said that Anthony Brompton was in that sitting area when Henry’s

guards came to collect him for imprisonment. He is reported to have said, ‘I go for my country but know this: I have been falsely accused for these alleged wrong doings against my King by someone in this household. I will walk through Traitor’s Gate here and at the Tower, knowing I am innocent of any wrong doings. May God save the King’.” A blast of cold filled the room, and Elise gasped. Mrs. Simmons turned toward the window and frowned, pushing it shut firmly. Then she added another log to the fire. Sydney glanced around questioningly. She looked at Elise who had a puzzled expression on her face. Just an old drafty house, Sydney thought. “Very moving speech,” Sydney finally said. “He could have used it to make himself look innocent, you know, if he were a cunning man.” “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Elise said. “But he was convicted of treason and lost his head on Tower Green. The lands and house were given to someone else. No one really knows whom. Soon after the new owner took possession, he disappeared from history. Elizabeth I reportedly gave the lands to landed gentry, and it changed hands numerous times before standing empty for more than two hundred years.” All three women gasped as the back door blasted open, bringing in the cold air from the sea. “I knew I should have locked that door,” Mrs. Simmons said, moving toward the portal. The room became even more frigid, and Elise stood up. “Geoffrey?” she whispered. “Is that you?” Sydney gasped and Mrs. Simmons stopped in her tracks. They exchanged uneasy glances. “Elise, what’s wrong?” Sydney put her hand on the older woman’s arm. “Do you see Geoffrey?” She looked around the room. The cold seemed to permeate her, running straight to her bones. She looked questioningly at Elise, and then at Mrs. Simmons, whose eyes widened like saucers. “Someone’s here,” Elise said. “Can’t you feel him? The cold, the terrible cold. It’s death, he’s dead.” Sydney frowned as Mrs. Simmons and Elise shuffled their feet as if they were considering running from the room.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sydney said. “It’s nothing more than air off the sea. It may be March, but the winter is still here.” Elise shook her head sharply. “No, the cold has been here since Geoffrey disappeared. It’s death, it’s evil.” She sat back down and began to sob in earnest. The icy feeling held the room in its grip, despite the fire. Mrs. Simmons helped Elise up, saying it was time for bed. Sydney stared around the room; the frigid air seeped through her sweater. Cold, death, evil. She could hear Elise crying as the older woman moved up the stairs. In the kitchen, a low, evil laugh came out of nowhere. Sydney gasped and looked around. The sound came again, and she realized it wasn’t coming from the room, but from right outside the door. She moved away from the room, stopping in the hallway and looking back. The air seemed to warm up. Maybe the cold came from what Elise was feeling. Sydney had heard of things like that, people’s intense feelings affecting the environment around them. Of course, she really didn’t believe it, but at this point, she was willing to grasp at any straw that didn’t contain the words death and evil. Whatever she’d heard just moments ago was gone. Or so she hoped. **** Sydney sat in the living room a half hour later when Sean brought Suzanne back. It was close to ten p.m. and her friend looked haggard. Sydney decided not to mention the incident in the kitchen. Sean gave her a tentative smile. “I’m sorry for all this,” he said. “We’re just trying to put the pieces together.” Suzanne shot him an angry look. “After all these years, I would think you would at least give some credence to my words.” Sean shook his head, his tone turning angry. “It sounds ridiculous. Time travel? Witches? Suzanne, do you know that Wells wanted to lock you up? And not in a jail cell.” Sydney turned to stare at Suzanne. “You told them? You told them you think Geoffrey went back in time? Have you lost your mind?” Suzanne began to sob in earnest, and Sydney stared at her, unsure what to say or do.

“I’m going to make some tea,” Sean said, heading for the kitchen. Before Sydney could stop him, she heard him moving down the hallway, opening the door. The sound of running water filtered to where she stood. She crept down the hallway and peered into the kitchen. Sean was reaching into the cupboard to take down cups. There was no cold, no feeling of dread. Sean turned to look at her questioningly. “Something the matter?” “No, no,” Sydney whispered. “I just, um, hadn’t done the dishes from dinner.” She cringed as the words left her mouth. Mrs. Simmons had done the dishes and put away the leftover food. He glanced at the clean counters and shrugged. “Any leftovers? I’m starved.” Tentatively, she moved inside the room, fully expecting to feel the cold, hear the voice. When nothing happened, she went to the oven and opened it. The shepherd’s pie was still inside, being kept warm. It was brown around the edges, but the inside still looked good. She took it out and called for Suzanne to come have something to eat. While the two of them ate, Sydney looked around. There was no sign of more disturbances. “I suggest you rethink your story, Suzanne.” Sean’s voice was soft but firm. “It was all I could do to keep Wells from calling the guys with the little white jackets to take you away. I can’t stress that point enough.” Suzanne put down her fork. “It’s not a story, Sean. It’s the truth. There is something in this house, something supernatural that has taken Geoffrey away. I have proof.” An hour ago, Sydney would have joined in Sean’s suggestion. Now she stared at him when he looked her way. “Don’t tell me you buy into this time travel nonsense.” Sydney shook her head. “I don’t know about time travel, but there is something in this house. I’ve felt it.” She related the story of the mist and the evil laughter. Suzanne stared at her, wide-eyed, fear shining through. “That’s never happened before. When the doors are closed, it seems unnaturally cold, but there has been no laughter.” “I don’t feel anything. Maybe it’s jetlag that caused you to hallucinate it,” Sean said. “You haven’t slept in more than twenty-four hours.”

Sydney shook her head. “I didn’t hallucinate anything. I felt the cold, and so did Elise and Mrs. Simmons. The laughter came after they were gone.” She turned to Suzanne. “You said you had proof of what you were saying. Where is it?” Suzanne eyes were darting around the room, as if she expected something to jump out and grab her. “I don’t have it, Willa does.” Sydney tried not to scream at her friend. She’d been through a lot, and there was no need to add bad things onto bad. “And who is Willa?” Suzanne looked at Sean, and then at Sydney. She winced, bit her lip lightly then said, “The local witch.” **** Sean insisted that he needed to stay, but Sydney overruled him. She pushed him out the door after they put Suzanne to bed. “I don’t think your superiors would understand you staying here, under the same roof as a suspect,” she said. They were standing outside. The night was cool, but nothing near the cold she had felt in the kitchen. The salty smell of the sea permeated the air. “You need to find her some help, Sydney. I know people in London who will see her. Call me in the morning, and I’ll give you some phone numbers.” He handed her his card, and she smiled, not giving an answer. After he’d driven away, she went inside and closed the door, making sure she’d turned the key. How had things come to this? Three years ago, she and Geoffrey had been engaged to be married. They’d met when Sydney was fourteen years old and on her first trip to England. She and Suzanne had become pen pals during a class project in the fourth grade. Their long-distance friendship had flourished, and Sydney’s parents had approved a visit to England to meet her friend and see her country. She’d had a huge crush on Geoffrey from the beginning. Geoffrey, who was eighteen at the time, hadn’t given her a second look; not until Sydney was eighteen and he was twenty-two. By then his little sister’s pen pal had become a curvaceous, dark-haired beauty who’d turned his head. They’d had their first kiss in the maze at Hampton Court Palace that summer.

They hadn’t made love until five years later, after Sydney graduated from college and Geoffrey published his first novel. She’d been eager to become lovers way before then, but Geoffrey had insisted they wait until they were living in the same country. He’d said leaving each other for their respective homes would be too hard once they’d been together, and in her heart, she knew he was right. It had been hard, but worth it. Once she was in England, looking for a job, they’d been inseparable, both in bed and out. She closed her eyes and remembered the feel of his lips on her neck the first time they’d kissed. That conjured up images of later years, of his lips on her neck and breasts, of his hands softly caressing her, of him kissing her as he thrust inside her for the first time. Sometimes it was so hard to remember, so hard to think she’d never feel it again. Their life had been so perfect, so wonderful. Sydney had found a job as a freelance writer, producing articles for different publications while Geoffrey continued writing novels. After his fourth one, a reviewer had said, “In creating Henry Wentworth, Geoffrey Brompton has produced a detective that will live on in the minds of readers as Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot have done over the years.” After that review, she knew he’d made it, and they would be together always. “When we are married, I will buy you the finest house in all of England,” Geoffrey had said, “with a beautiful garden and many acres for riding your horses. We’ll reserve one room just for us. We’ll make it up like a sultan’s palace and while away the afternoons making sweet love on the pillows.” To prove his point, he had kissed her, gently at first, his tongue probing inside her mouth. Then he had deepened the kiss, breaking it off only to whisper in her ear. “I love you, Syd. The best gift my sister ever gave me was to make herself pen pals with a girl from Oklahoma. We’ve waited too long. Say you’ll marry me, Syd, say it.” Sydney had smiled into his chocolate brown eyes, and lightly brushed her lips against his. “I love you, too, Geoffrey,” she had whispered. “I always have. Even when Suzanne would write to me complaining of her ‘rotten’ brother, I would defend you. Yes, I’ll marry you.” “We’ll always be together,” he had promised, nibbling on her ear. “And I’ll make you the happiest woman who ever lived.”

While Sydney planned the wedding, Geoffrey had gone to Paris to promote his book. On a whim, she went to join him and had found him in bed with the blonde. She closed her eyes, the pain washing back over her—the look of triumph in the other woman’s eyes, the look of panic in Geoffrey’s as he screamed at her to come back as she’d run down the hallway. He’d said he was sorry, that it hadn’t meant anything. But it had meant everything to Sydney. She’d moved back to Oklahoma that week, taking a job at a small-town newspaper and nursing her wounded pride, ignoring Geoffrey’s pleas for forgiveness. Until recently. When he’d called six months ago, she’d broken a rule and answered, even though she’d seen his name on the caller ID. Despite his efforts to reinsert himself into her life, it had been three years since they’d been together. She’d listened to her friends, who had told her that if he’d cheat once, he’d do it again. The only person to defend him had been Suzanne, but Sydney had ignored her. Maybe she shouldn’t have, though, because even after all this time she still missed him, still wanted the feel of his lips on hers, of his hands caressing her, the whisper of his voice in her ear. More than that, she missed talking to him, discussing current events and ideas for his mystery novels, which were now international bestsellers. “You’re not helping matters,” she whispered to herself. She turned out the lights downstairs, praying that the cold did not return. Making her way upstairs, she counted doors until she came to the third one on the left, Geoffrey’s door. None of the other bedrooms were completely renovated, Elise had said. “You’ll have to stay in Geoffrey’s room, unless you want to sleep on the couch,” her one-time future mother-inlaw had told her earlier. Now, Sydney opened the door and stepped inside. The room was cavernous. It was decorated in heavy wood furniture with rich red curtains covering the windows. A huge, draped bed took up most of the far left wall. The blue bedding included dark blue bed draperies with bright red pullbacks. To the right was a giant fireplace surrounded by a couch with large cushioned chairs on either side. In the middle of the far wall were French doors, which led out to a balcony. Sydney crossed the room and looked outside. The balcony overlooked the massive gardens. Past the gardens, she could see the Strait of Dover. The moonlight reflected in the

water. It was a beautiful scene, and for the first time that night, she found a sense of peace. She wondered if Geoffrey felt this when he looked out from these windows. But that prompted another thought: had he brought women here with him? Suzanne had insisted there had been no one else, that he’d always said the blonde in Paris was a mistake, something he didn’t remember making because he’d been so deep in drink. Sydney had always thought it was just a convenient excuse. “Stop thinking about the past so you can figure a way out of the present mess he’s made,” she said as she turned from the window. Mrs. Simmons had brought up Sydney’s suitcase and unpacked it for her, leaving her nightgown on the bed. She went to the attached bathroom, washed her face and brushed her teeth. Although it was now the middle of the night, she was wide-awake. She put on her nightgown and sat on the turned-down bed. The nightstand held a phone, a notebook and a pen, and three photos of her. Her eyes widened as she picked up each one, remembering the days they were taken—one at the Tower of London, another at Stonehenge with Geoffrey standing next to her, and the third with her on horseback when she was just fifteen years old. She’d sent that one to Suzanne so many years ago. It looked as if her ex-fiancé had confiscated it and kept it for himself. Tears leaked from her eyes as she laid her head on the pillow and inhaled deeply. She hadn’t seen Geoffrey in three years, but she could smell him, smell the rich, woodsy cologne that he wore. She pulled the pillow against her and pretended that it was him, burying her face in it, wishing she was in his arms. “Oh, Geoffrey, where are you? What is happening? I want to hate you, to blame you for all of this. Then I see these photos and… Damn you!” She began to cry softly, hugging the pillow tighter. Outside a cold blast of wind beat against the French doors over and over, trying to push its way inside. Inside, Sydney continued to cry, her mind warring between the love for Geoffrey she’d always had and the hate she felt right now for the situation they were in. Sleep eluded her for a long time and she lay, listening to the winds buffet against the doors and windows. When she finally fell asleep, she saw an image of Geoffrey, standing at the end of the bed.

She sat up and the image disappeared. “You’re losing it,” she whispered, lying back down and pulling the covers over her head, praying the total darkness would help push her into the blissfulness of sleep. **** “Okay, I think we need to have a council of war.” Sydney stared at the three women seated around the kitchen table. “I want to know exactly what happened the night Geoffrey disappeared. And I want to know who this Willa is, and what she has to do with the situation.” Elise stared at Suzanne. “Are you sprouting off that nonsense again? Suzanne, what have I told you? It makes us sound ridiculous. It’s bad enough that the word murder is being bandied about, but to bring time travel and witches into the mix… I don’t understand you, I just don’t understand.” She narrowed her eyes in anger. Suzanne shook her head violently. “I won’t lie. I won’t! That is what happened. You may not want to believe it, but I do! I saw the proof. I held it in my own hands.” Elise stared at her daughter then threw her hands up in exasperation. “Fine, fine, tell her the whole story. She’ll think you’re as crazy as I do.” Suzanne looked at her mother then turned to Sydney. “Geoffrey and I had been fighting for a week.” Emotion clogged her words and Sydney was afraid Suzanne would burst into tears. Instead, she sniffled and shook her head as if to clear it. “He was doing heavy research on the book I was telling you about. He said that he had to clear Anthony Brompton’s name.” Mrs. Simmons turned from the counter where she was mixing a cake. “Miss Suzanne accused Mr. Geoffrey of tearing the family apart,” Her tone said she thought it was the other way around. “Told him that if he continued to push his theory about the late Earl of Waverly being innocent and wanting to clear his name for the history books, that people would think he was mad. She said nobody cared anymore after 450 plus years.” “That’s true,” Suzanne said. “But the more research he did, the stranger he sounded. Then Willa appeared on the scene.” “And tell me once again, who is Willa?” Sydney asked. Elise shook her head. “The local kook.” “She’s not a kook,” Suzanne said defiantly. “She’s a witch, a practicing witch. Her family has lived in this area for six hundred years. It was her ancestor that helped Martin Wilcox exact his revenge on Anthony Brompton and helped send him to the Tower.”

Sydney wrinkled her nose. “If her ancestor helped oust your family, how do you know she’s telling the truth? She might want you out.” “It’s all a lot of hogwash, anyway,” Mrs. Simmons said. “No such thing as witches and time-travel.” “It’s true, it’s all true,” Suzanne said. “Geoffrey believed it and so do I. Just let me finish, please.” Elise and Mrs. Simmons exchanged a glance. Then they both shrugged. “Thank you. This is how Geoffrey told me the story. Martin Wilcox wanted Waverly Court and the title that went with it. According to Willa, her ancestor wrote that Anthony Brompton’s father, Drake, had raped Wilcox’s mother, resulting in her pregnancy with Wilcox. Or at least that’s what Wilcox told her. Her sense of justice was outraged. She helped Wilcox turn the King against Anthony, resulting in his execution. In gratitude for helping weed out the traitor, the King awarded Wilcox, Waverly Court.” Sydney shook her head. “Wait a minute. Last night, Elise said no one knew who the next earl was. That the house had passed to landed gentry then fell into disrepair and was unoccupied.” Suzanne answered for her. “Martin Wilcox only lived in the house for two months. Then he disappeared. Willa said her ancestor was outraged that Wilcox had used her, and she cursed him, causing him to disappear.” Sydney shivered, remembering the cold she had felt in the kitchen the night before, the evil laugh. Was she losing her own mind to think there might be a connection? “Was he murdered, or did he just go away? Maybe the King found out he’d been tricked.” “No one really knows,” Suzanne said. “He’s not mentioned in the history books or anywhere in the Tower log. Willa thinks that her ancestor banished him to some other realm until things could be set right.” “Another plane, as in death?” The unease Sydney had been feeling crept higher on her spine. This was getting weird. “No, not death,” Suzanne said vehemently. “Killing him would not right the wrong. She had to keep him trapped. Willa thinks he’s trapped in the garden, inside Traitor’s Gate.” Sydney took a drink of her tea, to try to ward off the unease that had now settled in her shoulders, making them tight. “So where does Geoffrey come into all of this?”

“Somehow he was there when the guards came for Anthony Brompton.” Suzanne’s voice was soft, almost as if she didn’t want to be heard. “Anthony was executed in 1533, at the Tower of London.” Elise stood up quickly, her chair tumbling to the floor. “I won’t sit here and listen to any more of this nonsense. I’m going back to London. Suzanne, I think you’ve lost your mind. Please, please seek some help. Is it not bad enough that I’ve lost one child to God knows what? Now, my other one is losing her mind and spouting nonsense.” She stormed from the room, Mrs. Simmons hot on her trail, her “I’m coming with you,” echoing in the hallway. “You believe me, don’t you, Syd?” Suzanne sounded weary, almost as if she didn’t believe herself. Sydney took another drink of her tea. “You said you had proof. Where is the proof?” “Let’s go to the office. Willa has most of the proof, but I can show you something.” They climbed the back staircase, opening the door that was next to Geoffrey’s bedroom. Inside, there was a desk complete with computer and printer. Large stacks of books framed the desk, and Sydney thought they were probably research books, helping Geoffrey plot out his latest story. She would need to go through them, see if he had tucked notes inside that might help solve this mystery. Suzanne crossed the room and turned the computer on. The whir of the hard drive was the only noise in the room. While the machine booted up, Sydney looked around. It was a large room, almost the size of her bedroom at home. The right wall housed a huge bookshelf that was overflowing. There was also a doorway that obviously opened onto the balcony, like his bedroom next door. Manuscript papers covered the various tables that set around the room, some piled one or two inches thick. To the left of the doorway was a couch. A small fireplace took up the other wall; two overstuffed chairs with a table sitting between them made a nice conversation area. She crossed to it and picked up a book. She opened it to the marked page, shocked to see the bookmark was another photo of herself. In this one, she sat at the breakfast table at the Brompton house. A cup of tea sat in front of her, and she was reading the newspaper.

This photo she didn’t recognize. Geoffrey must have taken it when she was unaware and never shown it to her. From the style of her hair, she suspected it had been taken when she was sixteen, long before they’d shared their first kiss. Had he taken it as part of something artistic, or had he felt something even then? She slapped the covers of the book together, the sound echoing through the room. Then she crossed to the desk and picked up some of the papers, shifting through them. Most of the papers were notes Geoffrey had made for his new book—character sketches and names, biographies of famous persons of the time, descriptions of clothing and food. “These papers make me very glad we live in the twenty-first century,” she said to Suzanne. “Listen to this: ‘a female under the station of Countess shall not wear silks of purple; nor shall she indulge in gold or silver, either. She shall have no pearls on headdresses or velvet in kirtles.’ In other words, keep them drab and unhappy. They could kiss my fanny if they thought to tell me what to wear.” They shared a laugh, their first of the day, and it made her feel better. There would be an end to this somewhere. They had to stay focused, had to maintain their objectivity and sense of humor or else all would be lost. She leaned over and watched as Suzanne connected to the Internet and began to search the history on Geoffrey’s computer. He’d visited many sites devoted to Henry VIII and the Reformation of the Church. Suzanne found a web page for the Tower of London. Music provided by a crafty web master filled the room. The site covered the history of the Tower, from its building to its usage as a jail and execution site. Sydney took the chair that Suzanne offered and began surfing the page. Stories were devoted to escapes and famous prisoners at the Tower. Then Sydney spied the Book of Prisoners. She clicked on the icon, and a page of names and dates filled the screen. The data included the dates a person was held in the Tower, the reason for their imprisonment, where they were held, and the outcome of their confinement. The prologue said that records of prisoners started with the construction of the Tower under William the Conqueror in 1078. Scrolling down through the dates, Sydney searched for the time of Henry VIII. She moved through the years, pausing at the mention of Sir William Wallace in 1305—ah, Mel Gibson in a kilt, she sighed to herself—before stopping at 1533, when entries began to revolve around Henry VIII’s attempt to break from Rome and take authority over the

church in England. Several bishops and other nobles were executed for “Refusal to acknowledge Henry VIII’s Supremacy.” The list was long, and Sydney scanned it for the name Brompton. At the bottom of the page, she found what she was looking for. The entry read, “1533, Anthony Richard Brompton, Earl of Waverly, Treason for refusing to acknowledge the King’s Supremacy over the Church. Executed on Tower Green, 2nd May, 1533.” After hitting Next to view the following page, Sydney stretched her arms above her head and looked back down at the screen. Her eyes focused and grew wide, and a gasp of air escaped from her lips. There, in bold black letters, were the words, “Geoffrey Henry Wentworth Brompton, Cousin to the Earl of Waverly, Treason for refusing to acknowledge the King’s Supremacy over the Church. Executed on Tower Green, 2nd May, 1533.” She looked back at Suzanne whose eyes were again filling with tears. “I told you so,” Suzanne whispered.

Chapter Three

Waverly Court March 30, 1533

“Cousin Geoffrey! Cousin Geoffrey!” Anthony Brompton II ran across the gardens and down the path to the spot where Geoffrey stood near the sea cliff, looking out over the water. “My father wishes to speak with you!” The young boy ended every sentence with an exclamation mark, as if everything he said was extremely important. “We have guests! They want to speak about the King!” Geoffrey’s stomach clenched—guests who wanted to discuss the King. It was a little more than a month until the execution. His execution. He swallowed then smiled at the young man who was now staring at him as if wondering why he wasn’t running up to the house. The boy frowned when Geoffrey patted him on the head. Geoffrey felt as if he could read the child’s mind. I’m almost nine, and I’m a boy. Don’t pat me on the head like you would one of my sisters. “Who is at the house?” Geoffrey pulled his hand back quickly. “I don’t know! Three gentlemen! Come quickly! Come quickly!” Young Anthony turned and sprinted up the path toward the gardens. Geoffrey followed him, pausing to say hello to Elizabeth, his “cousin’s” wife, who was heavily pregnant with their fifth child. She was supervising the planting of new rose bushes.

Just to the side of her was a beautiful sitting area with stone benches and an arched entryway. Now, it was simply known as a gathering place. In his time, it would be known as Traitor’s Gate. Young Helen, six, and Douglas, four, were playing in the dirt. They both waved happily at the newest member of the household. A maid sat nearby with two-year-old Harry—the child who would be the one to come back to England in twenty-five years and try to restore the family name. Geoffrey was amazed that his ancestors had accepted him so readily. He wondered how he would react if a complete stranger appeared in his garden, wearing strange clothing. Anthony had been very suspicious at first, until Elizabeth said, “But darling, he has the Brompton browns.” Geoffrey’s eye color had saved him from being thrown out of the house, or worse yet, turned over to the magistrate who would have questioned his ability to appear as if out of nowhere. Would being burned as a witch be worse than having his head lopped off his body? He wasn’t sure, and he prayed he could find a way out of this situation before he learned. He still wasn’t sure exactly how he’d got here. One minute, he was sitting in Traitor’s Gate. The next, the mist had appeared, and Anthony Brompton had been staring at him, threatening to beat him within an inch of his life. Several hours of haggling later, and with the help of Elizabeth, Geoffrey had convinced Anthony that they were cousins. The chocolate brown eyes had helped. Now, he was waiting out the days. He wished he had listened to Willa when she’d warned him, listened when she tried to explain things. If he had then, maybe he would know for whom to be on the lookout. Wilcox was going to betray Anthony Brompton, but in the four weeks he’d been here, Geoffrey had yet to meet the man. If he did, maybe he could change things. He scoffed. Yeah, like he’d changed things with Syd. Syd, his beautiful green-eyed spitfire. She was in the house now, in the future. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. He’d felt it when she’d arrived just last night. She was sleeping in his bed, hugging his pillow close to her and crying. How he loved her. He’d wronged her and had been on the way to making things right. Now, he wouldn’t have that chance. She would be forever lost to him.

An ache filled his heart. He wondered if he came out to Traitor’s Gate at the same time of night as when he’d traveled through it, could he could go back and make things right with her? If he left, it wouldn’t change the things that happened with Anthony. It was horrible to look at a man and know his life was about to end. Even more horrible was to know your own fate, the time of your own death. He pushed the thought away and centered on Sydney and the way her green eyes had glittered every time he kissed her, how she’d leaned up to smell his cologne, how she’d smiled when they said hello. Or more appropriately, how she had smiled, before he let his little head do the thinking. Before he’d been the biggest idiot in the world. Damn it, what had he been thinking that night in Paris? He’d been angry that Sydney had not come with him, true, but that was not an excuse to take the first woman he met to his bed. Hell, he couldn’t even remember picking her up. All he remembered was drinking in the bar, then waking up with the woman, and Sydney standing next to the bed, her face contorted in pain. He’d driven her away, and he wanted nothing more than to be able to take her in his arms, kiss her from head to toe, savor every inch of her body. She would wiggle and moan, and he would love her for the rest of his life, no matter how long or short that might be. And he would do his best to never, ever, hurt her again. He couldn’t believe he’d done it the first time. He’d never been a man to pick up a woman and hop into bed with her. After all, he’d been the one who’d insisted that he and Sydney wait to consummate their relationship until things were in place. But he’d obviously made an exception for the blonde. He just wished he’d known why he’d done something so out of character for him. A call from the house roused him from his thoughts. “Geoffrey, up here. I want you to meet someone.” He climbed the steps to where Anthony stood with Mark Stanley, Joseph Waldon and a man he didn’t know. Anthony patted Geoffrey on the back as he came inside. “Geoffrey, this is Martin Wilcox. Martin, this is my cousin, Geoffrey.” ****

Present day

Willa Burrows was not what Sydney expected. When Suzanne had ushered the woman into the living area, Sydney had stared, going against everything her parents had ever taught her. The woman was much too young for them to trust with advice in this situation. From the looks of her, she was barely twenty. She sat across from Sydney in the living room, wearing jeans and a sweater, her long blonde hair gathered in a ponytail. She wore no makeup or jewelry. “I know what you’re thinking,” the woman said, looking pointedly at Sydney. “You think I’m a teenager, but you don’t have to worry. I’m older than I look, and my family has been preparing for this for years.” Sydney tried not to let her disbelief show. “Exactly how old are you?” “I’m twenty-two.” Willa’s voice was soft, but there was conviction behind her words, making her seem much older. “As I said, my family has prepared for this battle for four hundred and fifty years.” “Battle?” It took all the strength Sydney had not to laugh in the purported witch’s face. Elise was right. This was getting to be too much. “I don’t know if I buy into all this time travel stuff. But to call it a battle? A battle against what?” Willa sat up straighter. “A battle against evil. The evil that is Martin Wilcox.” She reached down and took a leather-bound journal out of her satchel. The journal was large; the pages inside were yellowed. “Suzanne told you the whole story?” When Sydney nodded, Willa continued, “Then let me tell you the part that is not widely known. Martin Wilcox used my ancestor, Margaret Richardson, as a pawn in his battle against the Bromptons. The reality of the story was that Wilcox’s mother was a court whore, passed around from man to man. He never knew who his father was. When he asked his mother, she told him it was Drake Brompton, and Wilcox became obsessed with him. Obsessed with wanting his title and lands.” Sydney stared at the book. “That’s all in there?” Willa nodded then stopped suddenly. There was a loud knock on the back door, more of a pounding really. Suzanne went to the kitchen and came back quickly. “There was no one there.”

Sydney looked at her sharply. “Did you open the door?” Suzanne shook her head, looking at her as if she’d lost her mind. “No, I just looked out the window. Why?” Sydney didn’t answer and Willa stared at her. “He’s been here, hasn’t he?” Willa’s voice was strong. “Wilcox has been here.” Sydney tried not to feel as if she were losing her mind. Was she really buying into this? As much as she didn’t want to believe it, there was no way to deny what had happened. “Something was here, but I don’t think it was Wilcox. I mean he is dead, isn’t he?” Willa’s words were quick. “Tell me exactly what happened.” Sydney related the story of the cold filling the kitchen, of the evil laugh and how it ended when she’d ignored it and walked out of the room. “It was him,” Willa said, her voice shaking. “He’s trying to get into the house, trying to get a hold of one of you. Probably you.” She looked at Sydney, who quickly jumped up from her chair. “What good is this doing us? Geoffrey is missing, and we’re sitting around talking about time travel and cold mists and spirits coming in the back door.” She sat back down and fought back tears. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to wish it all away, wake up from the huge nightmare that was enveloping them all. Suzanne and Willa stared at her until she thought they would burn a hole in her chest. Their scrutiny sent her over the edge. She gripped the sides of the chair as large tears rolled down her cheeks, soaking her face. The knocking from the kitchen came again, louder this time, as if someone was banging against the door. “He’s feeding on your sorrow, growing more powerful,” Willa said. “Try to be strong.” Sydney continued to weep, a picture of Geoffrey without his head appearing in her mind. The knocking turned into a banging, rattling the panes of glass in the kitchen door. “Stop, stop,” Willa screamed at Sydney. “Can’t you see what’s happening?” Then she turned to the kitchen and yelled, “Work your evil elsewhere, Wilcox. You cannot come into this house. You are not welcome in this house.” The banging stopped immediately.

Suzanne stood, putting her hands against her throat. “Oh, my God, Sydney. It’s him. It really is.” Sydney hiccupped, wiping her hands across her tear-stained face. The banging had stopped. Was it true? Had the mist she’d seen and the evil laughter been Martin Wilcox? “It’s real,” she whispered. “It’s all real.” “Yes, it’s all real,” Willa said. “And Henry’s soldiers will come for Geoffrey and Anthony in two weeks. We have work to do. We need to focus.” Sydney stood, clearing her throat. “Fine, what do we do?” **** “A séance? Are you kidding, like at a slumber party?” Willa turned to give Sydney a stare. “Look, I’m following the plan. Margaret said that her descendents should warn Geoffrey about what was going to happen. I tried that and he didn’t listen to me.” “Figures,” Sydney muttered. “He never listens to anyone.” Willa’s short burst of laughter made Sydney smile. “If that didn’t work, and it didn’t, then I was to try to contact her, let her know that Martin Wilcox is lying to her. Then she could make sure there was a different outcome from her end.” Suzanne spoke for the first time since the door banging had stopped. “Contact her, using a séance. Great, things just keep getting better and better.” Willa smiled. “I’m going to project myself to her time. We have to use my house, her old house, because Margaret’s essence will be strongest there. Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. Come to my house at three p.m. tomorrow.” She gathered her book and stood. Sydney gave her an incredulous look. “You’re leaving? Just like that? Why did you bring the book if you’re not going to show us? Why are you leaving so quickly? Shouldn’t we be doing something today?” Willa sat back down. “I had thought to have the ceremony here, now. The book would help me contact Margaret. But Wilcox is here, he’s stronger than I thought. I don’t want to give him any opportunity to escape his bonds.” “His bonds?” Suzanne’s voice was a whisper. “Yes, his bonds. Remember, she trapped him in the gardens.”

“She should have just killed him,” Sydney said, thinking that if the man appeared before her right now she might actually be able to do it. Then she considered what she’d just said. She was definitely losing her mind. “That’s why he disappeared then,” Sydney said. “But why did she link him here?” “Because this is what he wanted so badly in life. His desire for the manor house and everything that went with it strengthened her spell.” “So he’s here, right now.” Suzanne’s voice was flat, but her gaze darted back toward the kitchen. “Remember, he’s not in the house,” Willa said. “He wouldn’t have to knock to get inside if he were. Although she didn’t write about it, I think Margaret placed some sort of protection spell around the house. That’s why he has to keep knocking, trying to get someone to let him in.” “Like a vampire,” Sydney’s voice was flat. “But he’s dead,” Suzanne said shakily. “His body, yes. His spirit…no,” Willa said. “Even though he’s evil, she couldn’t use her powers to kill him. That would damn her. When Geoffrey went back in time, it opened some sort of portal to allow Wilcox to escape. He can’t take physical form, but he can try to invade the house, try to get to you, try to frighten you, or hurt you in some way.” Willa looked at them and shook her head. “I wasn’t going to tell you this but he came to my house on the night Geoffrey went back. I felt it when the portal opened. I felt Geoffrey go back. And I felt Wilcox’s presence in my house. I think he was looking for Margaret.” Sydney stared at her. “Where is your house?” “About five miles down the coastline,” Willa answered. “For him to come that far means that he’s very strong. If he breaks the protection spell somehow, and gets in the house, then all hell will break loose. If I were you, I would stay out of the gardens. And don’t, under any circumstances, allow windows or doors to stay open, move in and out, very quickly. “He’s looking for revenge,” Willa continued. “He wants to punish Margaret, but he will also want to hurt you. After all, you’re a Brompton.” She pointed to Suzanne. “And you’re in love with one.” “I used to be,” Sydney said softly. “My love for Geoffrey died when…”

Willa’s soft laugh interrupted her speech. “The old saying about there being a thin line between love and hate is so true. Your love for Geoffrey was damaged, but it’s still there. And we’re going to need it to bring him back.” **** “I’m glad Mother’s not here,” Suzanne said, stretching out on the couch. “She would think we were all crazy.” Sydney snorted as she crossed her feet at the ankles. “She’s right, you know. Are we really going to participate in this ceremony tomorrow? Try to make contact with a witch who’s been dead for more than four hundred years?” She got up and added logs to the fire. She had a vision of Geoffrey in this room, of the two of them lying on the rug, naked. He was holding her closely. “I love you,” he’d whisper in her ear, running his fingers through her hair. Then he’d push her down on the rug, covering her mouth with his, pushing his tongue inside gently. “I’m so glad you came back to me. Tell me you love me, Syd, tell me.” “I love you, Geoffrey. I’ve always loved you,” she responded in her vision. Was Willa right? Her feelings for Geoffrey were strong. She’d never dealt with his betrayal, just pushed it aside. Was she still in love with him? She didn’t want to be. He’d hurt her so badly she didn’t want to ever feel that pain again. But thinking of him dead, getting his head chopped off, was another pain all together. Tears began to form, and a banging noise filled the room. “Oh no, oh no,” Suzanne screamed, jumping up from the couch. “He’s back, he’s back.” The banging came again and Sydney laughed. “It’s the front door, silly.” Suzanne, however, was not convinced. “Maybe he’s moved around the house. Don’t open the door. Don’t open it!” Sydney looked through the glass before opening the door to Sean, who had two large brown bags in his arms. “Hungry? I brought Chinese takeaway.” He stepped over the threshold, and Sydney quickly closed the door. The food smelled heavenly. He started toward the kitchen, then stopped suddenly and turned toward the women. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like sweet and sour pork? I have chicken chow mien and some lo

mien. I also brought curry from the Thai place you like so much, Suzanne. There are lots of egg rolls and fried rice. It’s going to be delicious.” He turned back to the kitchen, and Sydney fell in step behind him. Starving themselves was not a solution to the problem. “Wait,” Suzanne said. “What if, you know…?” Sydney looked back. “Look, I’m hungry. If he knocks again, maybe we can give him an egg roll.” **** Sean tried not to stare at the two women sitting across the table from him. Both were eating as if there was no tomorrow. They’d already demolished the curry, the sweet and sour pork and egg rolls and were now starting in on the chow mien. He knew his superiors at Scotland Yard were getting restless. Geoffrey’s prominence as a writer brought a great amount of attention to his disappearance. People in high places were grumbling because he had not yet been found, not the least of which was his publisher. He took a bite of fried rice, chewed and swallowed. “So, anything new you two want to tell me?” He looked back and forth between the women. “We’re having a type of séance tomorrow,” Sydney said, as easily as if she had announced that she was going to a sale at Harrods. “Excuse me,” Sean said between coughs, choking on his rice. “Well, it’s more of a ceremony to… What did she call it…morph? No, that wasn’t it…transference? I don’t remember, I just know we’re going to try to contact a witch, a really old one.” Sydney placed more rice on her plate and continued to eat, talking between bites. “The local witch, as Elise called her, came to visit us today, in case you didn’t guess.” Sean gripped his fork with one hand and took a sip from his water glass. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing here. But then again, maybe he did. “So, you’re buying into her madness, huh?” He jerked a thumb in Suzanne’s direction and threw his fork down on his plate. “Is it not bad enough that Elise came to see me today about the possibility of having Suzanne committed?” This time it was Suzanne who choked on her food. “Excuse me, she wants to have me committed?”

“That’s right,” Sean replied, stretching out his legs in front of him. “Of course, my superiors think it’s a clever ploy to keep you from being arrested. I hate to tell you this, Suzanne, but I think they’re coming for you tomorrow.” Suzanne sat and stared at him, her mouth open but no words coming out. Finally, she said, “But they have no evidence, no body.” The last word came out softly. “That’s true,” Sean said. “But they’re convinced you killed him after you fought with him about his last book. They think it may have been an accident, but they think you killed him nonetheless.” Suzanne stood and ran from the room. They could hear her footsteps pounding up the stairs. Sydney stared at Sean who lowered his head guiltily. Then she followed her friend, calling out her name, begging her to stop. “Well, you did that well, Holling.” He picked up the fork and drew lines through the food on his plate. There was a huge part of him that wished Sydney were right, and Geoffrey had just gone off to shag some blonde he’d picked up somewhere. But he knew that wasn’t true. When his friend was going out of town, he always called. Plus, Geoffrey hadn’t wanted to screw anyone except Sydney for quite some time now. Sean and Geoffrey had been together in London just a few months ago, and Geoffrey had ignored the women who had tried to come on to him. Across the room, the windows rattled and Sean frowned. He didn’t remember the wind being that bad when he’d driven up earlier. He went to the back door and opened it, pulling it shut after him as he stepped outside into a heavy mist. No sense letting in too much cold air. “Who’s there?” His voice sounded muffled against the fog. He looked around, moving toward the outer reaches of the garden. “Geoffrey. If you’re having me on, I’ll strangle you, I swear. Behind him the door rattled and he turned, half expecting his friend to jump out from the kitchen and yell, “Surprise, I’ve been here all along. This house is huge, you know.” “Bullocks.” He hurried back through the door, bolting it behind him. “Looks like I’m the housekeeper tonight.” He gathered up the boxes, consolidating them to make as few as possible to store in the refrigerator. As he worked, he thought about what was happening. He’d told Geoffrey this house would be more trouble than it was worth. All the money he’d poured into it couldn’t even keep

the windowpanes from rattling in the wind. Sean truly believed if Geoffrey hadn’t bought this house, he wouldn’t be in the position he was in right now, which was very possibly dead. Not that he thought Suzanne had killed him, even by accident. She didn’t have a violent bone in her body, no matter what his superiors said. Perhaps they’d fought, and he’d gone for a walk and gotten too close to the cliffs. Or maybe he’d taken the car out for a drive and forgotten his wallet. He could, even now, be lying in some hospital with no memory. That idea didn’t hold water, he knew. Geoffrey was one of the most famous writers in the world now. People would know him, no matter where he’d gotten off to. That left the other options. Dead. It was one that made his stomach curdle, especially when he thought of Suzanne in the box, accused of killing the brother she loved so much. He put the full Chinese boxes in the fridge, then tossed the rest in the rubbish bin. It was the couch for him tonight, which suited him just fine really. Let his superiors get angry because he was staying in a suspect’s home. As far as he was concerned, his staying here might just help them solve the situation. It would also give him time to try to talk the women out of the crazy idea they had about a séance tomorrow. The heavens above only knew what trouble that could cause.

Chapter Four

“Sydney.” She moaned softly, turning her head on the pillow. Unlike last night, getting to sleep tonight had been very easy. Jet lag, mixed with anxiety and a headache from continuous crying, had her falling asleep the minute her head hit the pillow. “Syd. Wake up.” Her eyes opened slowly, and she blinked several times in an effort to keep them open. When warm fingers touched her cheek, she gasped and sat up. “Geoffrey?” “Hush, sweet Sydney.” He kissed her gently, his lips lingering over her own, his heat making her body feel as if it would turn to mush. “What? I knew… You bastard!” She bolted from the bed, pressing her hands against his chest and pushing. Or she thought she’d put her hands against his chest. She went tumbling to the floor, straight through where she could have sworn Geoffrey had been only seconds earlier. She turned and stared at the empty spot, then shivered when he whispered her name again. “Am I dreaming?” She resorted to the old standby to answer her own question, pinching herself and letting out a soft yelp of pain. “No, I’m awake.” “Let’s do the maze together, don’t you think?” “What?” There was a maze on this property? Suzanne hadn’t mentioned that. Or maybe that’s where Geoffrey was, in the maze. Maybe this was his ghost, telling her where she could find him. As she helped herself up from the floor, she thought about his words, about his suggestion and a shiver ran through her. He’d said those words to her before, many years ago

when they were visiting Hampton Court Palace, and they’d shared their first kiss. She’d been seventeen, and he’d been twenty. “You’re definitely losing it,” she whispered, climbing back into bed. But then again, if she’d allowed herself to believe a person’s spirit could be trapped in a garden, and a summoning ceremony could help them get in touch with someone four hundred years in the past, then why shouldn’t she believe Geoffrey was visiting her right now? If this would help her get in touch with him, she’d let it unfold. She lay back on the bed, closing her eyes and putting her hands against the sheets, remembering everything that had happened that day. **** “Come on, let’s do the maze.” Her body tingled as Geoffrey put his hand on the small of her back, urging her toward the cluster of green shrubbery. “What about Suzanne?” She looked around him to see her friend heading out into the massive gardens. “Don’t worry about her. She told me she wanted to photograph the statues. I want to see how good your problem solving skills are.” Sydney giggled, her body still pulsing where his hand continued to touch her. She’d wanted him to do this for years, and now he was actually doing it. She mentally chastised herself for putting the cart before the horse. He’s just helping you to find the opening of the maze. Don’t read too much into it. They stopped at the entrance, and he took her hand. The pleasurable feelings she had, ratcheted skyward, and she thought maybe, just maybe, her feet were floating above the ground. “You lead,” he said. “Me? But I’ve never been in here before.” “Then this will be a perfect test of your directional skills.” He squeezed her hand ever so gently, and she felt it to the tips of her toes. “Come on, stop wasting daylight.” Sydney had thought he would drop her hand when they entered the maze, but she’d been wrong. He stayed attached to her, as she looked first to the left, then to the right, trying to decide which path to take. “If I had designed a maze, I think most people, the majority of which are right-handed, would tend to go right.” Was her voice shaking? Get a grip, Sydney. “So, I’d make the first move

left. That way if they went right, and missed the first turn, they’d be thrown off balance for the rest of their trip through the maze.” “I was right, she has brains and beauty. Lead on, Syd.” Beauty? He thought she was beautiful? No one had ever said that to her before, even her parents. Her mother had always nagged her about taking off pounds. Never once had the word beautiful been used to describe her. The fact that Geoffrey was now doing it made her heart pound just a little faster. She turned to the right, and when they came to the end of the length, she led him in the only direction there was to go—right again. At the end of the next lane, she turned right again, and she started to doubt her wisdom of turning left, seeing as how all the turns had now been to the right. They curved around and followed the path a little longer, then stepped into a little alcove of trees; the choices were left or right. She pondered each, her mind wandering as Geoffrey leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Another decision. Let’s see if this one is as good as the last one.” The urge to playfully push him away was strong. How could she concentrate with his breath tickling her neck? But then again, with him this close, who cared about left or right? If she turned just so, she would be in his arms and maybe he would kiss her. “Tick tock, Sydney. Which way?” “Um, how about…” She’d gone left before and that had worked. “Left.” Her feet seemed to move of their own accord. From the other side of the shrubbery, she could hear the laughter of the maze’s other occupants. She trudged along the trail, taking a curve to the right, one to the left and another to the right before coming to a dead end. “Damn.” She pressed her free hand against the green bushes. “There’s no trap door if that’s what you’re looking for. You’ve led us to a wall. Shame on you.” Sydney pulled her hand free and wheeled on him. “One mistake. We’ll just go back and…” He captured her face in his hands and tipped her head up, his lips coming down on hers very tentatively at first. When a soft groan escaped her lips, he increased the pressure, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close to him.

When she opened her eyes, she found him gazing down on her, his dark brown eyes smoldering with passion. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while now.” “Then why didn’t you?” She cocked her head just a little. She’d been kissed before, by a boy she’d dated for a while back home, but it had been nothing like this. Geoffrey’s lips felt as if they burned into her soul, making it so she never wanted to leave his arms. “This is the first time we’ve been alone.” He nibbled on her lower lip. When his tongue put light pressure on her lips, she opened for him, savoring the feel of him sliding inside her, of his arms clutching her even closer than before. This was one area where reality beat fantasy, by a mile. “We need to go back,” she said softly while he trailed his lips over her cheeks to her neck. Truthfully, she didn’t want to go back. She wanted to stay right where she was in Geoffrey’s arms. In answer, he kissed her again, deeper this time, the pleasure burning deep inside her and awakening desires she’d never felt before. The sound of a child’s laugh finally broke them apart. Geoffrey cleared his throat just as a girl of about ten and her father entered the dead end in which they were standing. “Darn!” The girl, obviously American, stomped her foot then giggled. “This is fun.” “Yes, it is,” Geoffrey replied. “Looks like we took the same wrong turn.” “Let’s go then.” The girl wheeled around and darted past her father. He gave the two of them a knowing grin, then took off after her, yelling at her to wait for him. Another voice was added to the mix, and Geoffrey winked at her. “Looks like we’ve been found out.” He held out his hand and she took it, laughing when he kissed her knuckles. “We’ll continue this later.” “I like that idea.” She stepped aside to allow two more people to enter the corridor. Both of them laughed, and Geoffrey started for the opening in the trees. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll lead this time.” Sydney frowned then wrinkled up her face in mock anger. He was gone before she could say anything, though, so she ran after him, her body still tingling from his touch, and her mind racing with the possibilities that lay ahead. ****

The sheets were wrapped around Sydney, and it took a few moments for her to realize exactly where she was—in Geoffrey’s bed at Waverly Court. How could that be, though, when just seconds ago she’d been at Hampton Court Palace in Geoffrey’s arms? “It was a dream, no, not a dream, a memory. A wonderful one.” She sniffled then smiled as she remembered the times that had come after that, of them trying to find time to kiss where the others wouldn’t see them. Finally, after a few days, Elise had let them know she knew what was happening, and she approved. After that, Geoffrey had kissed her at will, in the kitchen, the dining room and the living room. He’d kissed her so much that Suzanne had complained about him “trying to steal her friend.” “Why, do you want to kiss her, too?” he’d asked and Suzanne had balked, and they’d both laughed. “Then sod off,” he’d said, a tinge of humor in his voice. “This is a whole different sort of friendship.” “You were so right,” Sydney whispered, turning toward the pillow and hugging it close to her. She wished it were Geoffrey instead of a piece of fabric stuffed with down. Right now, she could forget everything bad that had ever happened, including the blonde. She just wanted him in her arms. “Geoffrey, come back and talk to me. We can, hopefully, work things out between us.” A soft knock at the door made her stir. She wiped her eyes, praying she could hide the fact she’d been crying. “Yes?” The door opened and Suzanne walked in. The look on her face sent all thoughts of Geoffrey from Sydney’s mind. “I’m going to be locked up, and not by the men with the little white jackets. The guards from the gate just called. The police are on their way. Promise me you’ll work with Willa.” “No.” Sydney catapulted herself off the bed and gathered Suzanne in her arms. “Surely there’s a hidden room here somewhere. We can put you in there until they’re gone.” “I can’t.” Suzanne pulled away from her. “They can’t charge me yet, or at least I don’t think they can. Sean is downstairs. If he stays, you can ask him.” A loud knock on the front door made them both jump. Suzanne recovered first, swallowing hard. Sydney felt as if a knot was resting inside her throat, constricting her breathing.

“Promise me.” “I will,” Sydney said, tears filling her eyes yet again. At this rate, she should be out of them by noon today. “Be careful.” “They won’t do anything. Remember, this case is featured prominently in the newspapers. The last thing they need is a suspect who’s been abused. I’ll be fine. Just work to find Geoffrey and bring him home.” “Suzanne.” Sean’s tight voice came from the doorway, and they turned to him. “They’re waiting.” Without saying another word, Suzanne pushed past him and headed toward the stairs. “I’m leaving with her. Are you coming?” The apologetic look on Sean’s face made Sydney feel a little better. He didn’t want this to happen anymore than they did. “No.” The thought of seeing her friend led away, this time as more than just a “person of interest,” made her want to throw up. But she couldn’t do that, she had to stay strong so she could follow through on her promise to Suzanne. “Be safe.” Sean followed the path Suzanne had taken. Sydney turned to the mirror and stepped in front of it, leaning closer to look at herself. She ran her fingers along her lips. They were kiss-swollen, and if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a small love bite on her neck. “How…?” She knew how, though. Willa. Somehow, the witch had done something to create the scene that had just occurred. Sydney was wrong when she’d thought it was a memory. It had been Geoffrey. He’d been here, and they’d been recreating their first kiss. “Okay, I get it. She’s strong, and this can happen if I just work with her.” Well, work with her and keep Wilcox out of the house. And that shouldn’t be too difficult since she was the only person here right now. ****

Waverly Court April 4, 1533

He smelled Chinese food. Geoffrey put his fingers to his swollen lips and licked them. No, he didn’t smell it; he tasted it. Sydney. He’d been with her, kissing her. And she’d just eaten Chinese food. “Thank God, she’s all right.” He lay back in bed, listening to the sounds of the household stirring. They got up at ungodly hours here, something he wasn’t used to. It had taken him almost a week to reset his internal clock and go down to eat breakfast with the others. But he didn’t want breakfast right now. He wanted Sydney. He wanted to savor the vivid, lifelike dream, the one that had left the taste of her on his mouth and recreated the first time he’d taken her in his arms and claimed her lips. Whoever, or whatever, had done it he didn’t know. But he was extremely grateful. He was also extremely hard. He wrapped his hand around his length and tugged gently, closing his eyes and imagining it was Sydney’s hand or her lips. She loved to take him inside her mouth, suck him deep. Of course, when she did it, he usually had his tongue on her clit, licking her until she screamed out her release. Why couldn’t the sweet taste of her juices be in his mouth right now? Why couldn’t he hear her saying, “Geoffrey, Geoffrey, oh please, yes!” He loved it that she’d always said his name twice when she was about to climax. Never once, never three times—only twice. That let him know to redouble his efforts, to keep the pressure tight on her hard bud so that she’d soar to the heavens. How he loved it when that happened. The memory of her climaxing made his hand move faster. He imagined her mouth and her sweet, velvety tight wetness surrounding him as he pumped into her, faster and faster. His orgasm hit hard, making his body feel as if it were on fire. He could see Sydney kneeling over him, smiling down, telling him that she loved him, that all was forgiven. “Sydney, baby, I’m so sorry. I’ve screwed it all up. Again. If only I’d listened to Willa, this wouldn’t be happening.” When she’d appeared on his doorstep, spinning a story about her ancestor helping to frame his ancestor, he’d thought she was crazy. By the time he’d figured out she was telling him the truth it was too late to do anything about it. On a whim, he’d gone out to the garden, and ended up in 1533.

This whole thing stemmed from his problem with listening to people. He needed to work on that. What he didn’t have a problem with was reading people. Even if he didn’t know what happened by reading history, he would have seen from the start that Martin Wilcox was no good. It was obvious from the way he sneered at Anthony that Wilcox hated him. He’d set Anthony up for a crime he didn’t commit, one that would relieve Anthony of his head. Geoffrey had a little less than two weeks to come up with a solution. He got up and went to the dresser, retrieving a towel and dipping it in the ice-cold water. “I miss hot running water,” he whispered as he cleaned himself. His mind drifted off to Sydney, to sharing showers with her, soaping up her generous breasts, tweaking the nipples and listening to her groan in ecstasy as he entered her from behind. His dick responded to his thoughts, hardening despite the fact he’d climaxed just moments ago. “Stop it! You’ve got to figure things out, or you’re going to be minus a major body part. And if the thing on your shoulders is gone, the little head between your legs won’t matter much anymore.” He put the towel on the table and splashed water in his face. Anthony had suggested a ride this afternoon to oversee some of the properties that came with the manor house. An idea took hold as he thought about spending hours in the saddle. Part way through the ride he could feign illness, then come back to the house and search Wilcox’s room. If the man were smart, then Geoffrey would find nothing. But if the man was careless, and Geoffrey thought he might be just a little bit, since he was obviously so sure of himself, then Geoffrey might find something. What he found would direct his path as to what to do next. A knock on the door caught his attention. He gathered his robe and pulled it close around his body. “Come.” Anthony opened the door and smiled. Geoffrey wanted to tell him to not be so happy, because in a few weeks he might be dead. “We’re leaving within the hour. Are you coming?” “Of course. Let me dress. I’ll be right down, then we can leave.” And then I can return, and check out your newest houseguest.

Chapter Five

“What is it you want me to do?” Sydney stood in the middle of Willa’s living room. Yesterday, she’d been shocked at the young woman’s appearance. Today, she’d been shocked again, by the fact that the woman’s house looked nothing like Sydney thought it would. She’d been expecting a well-tended little cottage. It was a cottage, and the outside was indeed landscaped and very beautiful. The living room had two chairs, and every available surface was filled with books; some of them older looking books that Sydney imagined contained spells and the like. The others, though, were paperbacks, the covers of which showed them to be a mixture of mystery and romance novels. She wondered if the younger woman did anything but sit and read. Either that or she’d found some magical potion that let her devour books without opening them. They’d walked down a small corridor into a large room that had equally shocked her. There was a large pentagram painted on the floor with an altar sitting in the middle of it. Sydney had stopped in her tracks and stared at it. “Don’t be worried,” Willa said. “Pentagrams are a source of power. When they are inverted, they are used for black magic. This one is not, as you see.” “Right.” Sydney studied the strands of herbs that hung from the walls. “I’m a little uncomfortable, and I’ll be very honest about it. I don’t know you from Eve, and well…” “That’s fine.” Willa turned to her. “I don’t know you, either.” Sydney laughed. “Point taken. You’re right, you don’t. This is all just so very weird. I mean Suzanne’s been arrested, and I’m…” “Having dreams about Geoffrey? Lifelike ones?” “How did you…you did that?” Sydney pointed at her then pulled her hand back.

“You had to be reminded of your love for him. You’ve been fighting it, and the negative energy was very distracting. We’ve already discussed that. Something as strong as your feelings was bound to trigger dreams.” Sydney wasn’t sure she liked the fact Willa had messed with her mind. But her “spell” had worked, and Sydney had been reminded of why she’d fallen in love with Geoffrey. If that helped bring him back from wherever he was, then it was just fine with her. “You could have brought back a later memory, you know, one that actually involved sex.” She put her hand over her mouth as the words spilled out. She hadn’t intended to say that aloud. “I’ll remember that.” Willa winked and Sydney decided that, despite her young age, Willa was very mature and could probably handle anything that came her way. “Now, I’m going to cast a circle and call on the goddess for her protection during this ceremony. Whatever happens, good or bad, don’t leave the circle until I say so. It will protect.” “Protect me against what?” Sydney’s nerves were back. “Against whatever could happen. Remember, Wilcox came here once.” Sydney let out a deep breath, wondering if they were doing the right thing. If you’d asked her three days ago, she would have said that everything they were talking about was a bunch of hooey. But there had been the evil laughter and the mist her first night here. And there had been the dream this morning. “What do I do?” Willa was placing items on the altar. Sydney walked closer to see what was there. A crystal, a candle and what looked to be a cone of incense. “You don’t have to do anything. I need you here because of your bond with Geoffrey, yet another reason for the dream this morning. If you’d still felt negative about him, this might not have worked.” “You know, I never believed in this stuff before.” “I know.” Willa indicated the floor in front of the altar. “Sit down in the center of the pentagram, please, with your legs crossed in front of you. Then put your hands out, palms up, on your knees. Clear your mind of negative thoughts, and let good memories of Geoffrey come through. And remember, no matter what happens, stay inside the circle.”

Sydney sat as Willa directed, then took several deep breaths, thinking about Geoffrey, about their first kiss, the first time he’d been inside her, and the most magical memory of all, the first time he’d told her he loved her. Warm feelings spread through her, and she was vaguely aware of Willa walking around the boundaries of the pentagram, wrapping them in a circle of salt, whispering words that Sydney couldn’t quite make out. Visions of Geoffrey floated through her mind and she smiled, despite the fact that her heart ached at the thought of losing him when things had just started to get better. Willa knelt next to her and lit the candle, then put the flame on the cone of incense. It’s rich, woodsy smell filled the room as Willa sat across from Sydney, mimicking her posture. There was a long, drawn silence, and then Willa started to speak. “Margaret, long ago mother of mine, Help me break the bonds of time. Come to me now, in our desperate hour. Bring to me your knowledge and power. Help me vanquish he who tricked you, To right the wrong and make things true. As I speak, so shall it be.” The candle flame flickered and Sydney tried desperately to calm her heart, which right now could rival the engine of a racing vehicle. Her hands shook and she looked over at Willa, who sat calmly, her eyes closed. There was a violent rattling of the windows, and Sydney gasped. “Wilcox.” The jangling of the panes grew louder, and Sydney wanted to stand and run, no matter what Willa had said. If he got inside this room, things would turn nasty very fast; she had no doubt of that. The man frightened her more than anything ever had in her life, and she’d never even seen him. His laughter filtered into the room, surrounding them. It stopped at the circle, though, just like Willa said it would. They were protected from him, protected by magic. The only reason he was here was because he knew that somehow Margaret could undo that which had been done. That thought gave Sydney strength.

She would be damned if she’d let him work his evil on her anymore. She would not yell at him, though. That would be negative energy, and that could be their downfall. Instead, she took a deep breath to steady herself, then closed her eyes and thought about Geoffrey, about what she loved about him. Humor, intelligence, tenderness, strength…all these words ran through her mind as she listened to Willa repeat the words again. The pounding at the windows increased, then a deep, male scream of rage filled the air. Sydney’s eyes popped open, and she expected to see an evil old man standing outside the circle, ready to battle his way in. Instead, she saw a beautiful woman, her arms stretched toward the window. “Be gone,” the woman said softly, and the rattling stopped. With a bright smile on her face, the vision lowered her gaze to first Willa, then to Sydney. She inclined her head at Sydney, then turned to Willa. “Daughter.” Her gaze was kind as she looked at the younger witch. Sydney could feel power and goodness radiating out from her. This was the woman who had helped to send Geoffrey to the headsman? There was no way she would have done something like that; Sydney could tell from the glow that surrounded her. There was not an evil bone in this woman’s body. “Mother.” Was Sydney imagining things or was Willa’s voice shaking? “I need your help.” “No, you don’t, my child. You are on the right path. Love conquers all.” The vision inclined her head toward Sydney. “You must forgive me for being weak and allowing myself to be used.” Sydney was silent, but when Margaret’s face clouded over with sorrow, Sydney said, “You’re forgiven.” The pain disappeared and the woman’s face beamed with light. “I thank you. When he is gone, I will rest.” “But how?” Now Willa sounded a little panicked. “I can’t fight him. He’s strong.” “Not as strong as the two of you—a witch seeking justice, and a woman seeking to free the man she loves. Follow the path.” The vision faded and the windows rattled one more time before the room fell silent.

What a waste of time. Follow the path? “What the hell does that mean?” “Shush.” Willa held up her hand. “Let me complete the ritual.” Sydney closed her eyes and listened as Willa spoke, the words not really registering in her mind. Follow the path? What path? The path they were on had Geoffrey heading for Tower Green and Suzanne in jail. Finally, Willa stood and offered her hand to Sydney. She took it and watched as the other woman made a break in the salt. When they were outside, Sydney turned to her. “How did that help? She didn’t tell us anything.” “Oh yes, she did.” Frustration surged through Sydney, and she clenched her fists, trying her best to stay positive, as Willa had asked her to do. “What exactly did she tell us?” “She told us you need to go to sleep and dream of Geoffrey again.” Sydney tried to stay positive, but it wasn’t easy. “The first time I saw him, I tried to punch him, and I went straight through him and hit the floor.” “That’s because you didn’t believe. When you relaxed and let it happen, then he was there, and you shared a memory. This time you need to share the present, talk about the things the two of you can do to resolve this situation.” **** “I don’t understand how sleeping’s going to help. Dreaming about Geoffrey won’t bring him back.” They were back in Willa’s living room. The young witch seemed to think that everything was going to be fine, but Sydney felt as if they were right back where they started from, in other words they had no clue how to help Geoffrey and get rid of Wilcox. “Was it a dream?” Willa studied her carefully. “Did a dream make that love mark on your neck?” Sydney’s hands flew to hickey that had magically appeared this morning. “I just…pinched myself?” Even she didn’t believe that, but it was harder to believe Geoffrey could be in two different time periods at once. Had she really seen Geoffrey this morning, revisiting their first kiss, the one that started them on the path they were currently on? The thought was a little too much to handle and she sat down in the nearest chair. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Talk to him. When he appears to you, ask him what is happening in the past, see if we can use it to plan a strategy. If we’re not careful, we’ll run out of time, and he will lose his head.” A small cry of distress popped out of Sydney’s mouth. “He’s already done that, according to the history books.” “That’s why we need to undo it,” Willa said. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.” Sydney knew she was right, but that didn’t make the idea any easier to swallow. She’d always been a meat and potatoes kind of girl, never believing in the supernatural…until now. The things she’d seen the last few days proved that more things existed in this world than a person knew. Just days ago she’d thought time travel was nothing more than fiction. Now she knew it was real, and it was impacting the people around her in a very negative way. “All right, I’ll go home and go to bed, even though it’s not even five in the afternoon.” She glanced at the floor. “You know I’m the only one there, now.” “Yes, I know.” Willa put her hand on Sydney’s shoulder and gave her a comforting pat. That one movement made her seem years older than she really was. “I’ll come by later, around ten and sleep on the sofa, just to make sure things are going well. I know where the spare key is, so don’t leave the door unlocked.” Sydney frowned slightly. “Spare key?” “Yes, Suzanne left it out for me a few weeks ago, after all this started, just in case I might need it.” “At least Wilcox hasn’t found it.” Sydney headed for the door. “But he needs an invitation, right? Like a vampire.” “Not exactly. All he needs is an open door.” Willa stepped up next to her and put a small package in her hand. “Burn this before you sleep.” “What is it?” “Incense, a mixture of lavender and vanilla. It will attract your lover.” “Hmm. I wish I’d known this a few years ago. It might have kept him from straying.” She went out the door and waved to the young witch, then got in Geoffrey’s car. Driving it over here had been an adventure. She’d never taken to driving on the “wrong” side of the road, and doing it with a stick shift made things that much worse.

“Serves him right if he has to spring for a new transmission when he gets back,” she whispered as she ground the gears, trying to find reverse. Then she remembered what Willa had said. Negative energy was a bad thing. “I’m sorry, Geoffrey. I’ll spring for half the transmission, if you get back soon.” She headed down the road, hoping she didn’t meet too many cars, as she had a tendency to drift toward the right lane. The road was narrow, and she was grateful that it didn’t sit too close to the cliffs because one huge jerk when she drifted, and she’d go over the side. “It’s only about five miles,” she said to herself, turning up the radio. “It’s not that far.” Her thoughts wandered back to the ritual they’d just performed. Her open mind was wider now than it had ever been, but she knew there were still things she needed to accept, like evil spirits out to get her. All her years of reporting had led her to see many different things. Some good, some bad. But she’d never seen anything like what had happened this afternoon. Margaret had seemed so sure of herself, despite the fact she was a ghost. Or was she? Didn’t Willa say something about Margaret saving herself until the time was right to help? How did she do that? A strong gust of wind shook the SUV, and she gripped the wheel tighter, holding the car steady. “That came out of nowhere.” She continued along the narrow lane, passing the large trees and admiring the beautiful scenery. She’d been so busy since she’d been here that she hadn’t taken a walk down to see the cliffs. Maybe she should do that when she got to the house. It might tire her a little bit and get her ready for her “nap.” “Where’s jet lag when you need it?” She was just about to pass another copse of trees when wind again buffeted the car, sending it skidding into the dirt that lined the roadway. Her heart lurched as she realized it wasn’t wind she was feeling. It was Wilcox. He was trying to send the vehicle into the trees, thereby ending her need to take a walk, or a nap. If the car went into the huge oaks lining the side of the road, she’d be taking a permanent sleep, in the proverbial dirt. She pulled the car back, her shoulders tightening as she fought against his attempts to send the car out of her control. How the hell did he know about cars? They didn’t have them in

good old Henry’s time. She needed to relax, needed to keep her wits about her or he just might well succeed. This couldn’t be happening to her, not now. She refused to believe it would end this way, with Geoffrey’s head cut off and her mangled in a car crash. “Positive thoughts,” she repeated to herself, keeping her eyes glued to the road. There was a fairly sharp curve up ahead, with trees lining each side. The wind had stopped, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t gone. He was saving up his strength for that length of road, one that could prove particularly treacherous. She swallowed hard and downshifted; crashes were more survivable at slower speeds. “Screw that. This is a huge vehicle, and I have airbags.” Sydney depressed the clutch, shifting the car back into fifth before punching her foot down on the gas. The car gained speed, and the curve grew closer. She almost felt as if she were looking at the last stretch of her life. If she managed to make the curve at this speed and keep the vehicle from toppling, then things would be fine. If, however, she didn’t, then it was curtains for her. Steady, she told herself. Just keep it steady. “Please, God, don’t let anyone else be coming around the corner right now. I couldn’t stand it if someone else were hurt because of this.” She hit the curve and kept the wheel turned to the left as the first gust of wind hit her. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought a hurricane was slamming into the shore beside her, the spray of it impacting her vehicle. The car skidded on the road, and she pressed harder on the gas, turning the wheel as far as she could. If she slammed on the brake right now, she would lose control, and then things really would go south. It felt as if the vehicle left the ground. When she hit the center of the curve, she kept the wheel turned into the skid. The car complained about the abuse, bumping against the road and feeling as if it would topple over. Fear burst through her. Then she steeled herself against a crash. This wasn’t going to end this way. Not if she could do anything about it. Sydney steered away from the trees. Her fear turned to jubilation as she let off the gas, slowing just a little. “Take that, asshole!”

Seconds later the gate at Waverly Court came into view. She honked the horn at the guards, who opened the gate for her. The amount of journalists out front had thinned somewhat since Suzanne’s arrest, and Sydney was grateful for that. If she’d wrecked, it would have made great copy for them. “Incorporeal presence sends SUV into trees,” she whispered. “Film at eleven.” Her hands shook as she pulled under the portcullis at the house, putting the car into neutral and pulling up the parking brake. She got out of the car, trying as hard as she could to keep her thoughts positive. “You listen to me, Wilcox. You’re not getting me without a fight, and you’re not allowed in this house, or on these grounds, as far as I’m concerned. Do us all a favor and go throw yourself into the sea.” There was a small gust of wind and she laughed. “What’s wrong, wear yourself out? Keep trying, jerk, but it won’t help. Because this time, we’re going to win.”

Chapter Six

Sleep wasn’t coming. She felt like a kid waiting for Santa on Christmas Eve. She twisted and turned, pumped up the pillows, pushed back the covers then pulled them back up again. Nothing seemed to work. Wilcox was quiet, and the room seemed unnaturally hot tonight. The urge to open the windows was strong, but she didn’t dare. That would be like giving Wilcox an open invitation, and she would never do that. But she’d been laying here for the last three hours, wide-awake. Short of finding a bottle of tequila and mainlining it right into her veins, she wasn’t sure exactly what to do. Maybe she needed to recreate what happened last night. She should go to the kitchen, take the leftover Chinese food from the fridge and eat. She hadn’t had anything since that morning. Maybe once her belly was full she would get sleepy. She padded into the hallway, shutting the bedroom door behind her. She may never leave a door open again, knowing someone like Wilcox could slip in and out. The house was unnaturally silent, and she took a deep breath trying to quell her nerves. The place was huge, but there were only two people here. Well, one person and one evil spirit. Willa had said she’d come at some point, but she wasn’t here yet. Sydney wished the younger woman were here now. She would feel a little safer with another person in the house. She hurried down the steps turning lights on as she went. They illuminated the hallways and stairs. Before she went into the kitchen, she stopped, taking another deep breath to reinforce her will. “Remember, only positive thoughts. He can’t feed on positive energy, only negative.”

A flip of the switch bathed the room in light. There was no rattling of the windowpanes or evil laughter. Maybe Willa was right, and he was only here when there was fear or sorrow. She went to the fridge and took out the three cartons of leftover Chinese food. After making sure there was no metal, she placed them in the microwave and programmed it for four minutes. It was then she saw the flashing red light on the answering machine. The first message was from Sean, telling her that Suzanne was being held “without charge,” which meant they could keep her for up to thirty-six hours before charging her with murder. “Which means they’re trying to dig up evidence,” Sydney whispered. “Good luck with that, since there is none.” The second message was from Elise. Her weeping voice filled the room, and she sniffled her way through the message. There was a knock on the back door as Elise spoke of her fear about Suzanne being charged. She asked Sydney to come to London to go with her to visit Suzanne. “I’m sorry, I can’t.” The knocking came again, and Sydney took a steadying breath. “Unless you’re Sean, Elise, Mrs. Simmons or Willa, then go away, you’re not welcome here.” She was greeted with silence. “That’s what I thought. Screw you, Wilcox.” There were several more messages from journalists asking to speak with her, wanting her to confirm she was Geoffrey Brompton’s fiancée and to ask her how she felt about Suzanne’s detention. “Not a chance in hell.” The timer on the microwave had dinged while the journalists had been speaking. Sydney crossed to it and took out the cartons, piling them on a tray along with an unopened bottle of beer, a fork and a bottle opener. If she couldn’t eat herself to sleep, then she’d drink herself that way. Before she left the room, she went to the cupboard and took out another bottle, cursing Geoffrey and his English habit of drinking warm beer. Maybe she could make do with one bottle, she thought. If not, she’d fight to get the second one down, so she could sleep, and the dreaming could begin. **** It wasn’t hard to polish off the first carton. Partway through the second one, she decided she was full. She put the tray on the floor and lay down on the bed, willing herself to sleep. Once

again, it didn’t work, and after fifteen minutes, she sat back up, and took a huge swig from the beer. The warm liquid seemed to settle in the back of her throat, and she had to swallow hard to make it go down. “Oh, yuck. I got news for you, Geoffrey. Warm beer sucks. You need to change your ways when you come back.” Her voice rang through the room, and she lay down, turning on her side and facing the myriad of photos of herself on the dresser. It was a little disconcerting to stare at images of herself, but she’d never been able to sleep on her right side. She picked them up, one by one and turned them face down. When she picked up the third one, the backing on the frame slipped and she frowned. It seemed heavy for a photo. Sydney sat up and tugged on the backing. It came down a little, then stopped and she realized the frame had been overstuffed. Was there more than one photo inside it? She edged the backing down, her fingers shaking as she realized what was back there. Not a photo but a piece of paper, something old from the feel of it. The letters she’d written him when they were younger were done on plain notebook paper, but this paper was thick and heavy. It didn’t take her long to realize it wasn’t modern paper at all, but parchment such as they used in the 16th Century. Her hands shook as she unfolded it. She read the first line and tears filled her eyes. She placed the parchment on the bed and wept, ignoring the pounding that was now taking place outside the windows. Screw Wilcox. She could cry for a little while, couldn’t she? After all, as long as he was outside it was all good. When her tears finally dried, she picked up the letter and started to read again. My darling Sydney, I don’t know how this letter will find its way to you, but I trust in God that it will. I entered this world through Traitor’s Gate, and now it looks as if I will leave it the same way, never again to see your beautiful eyes and feel your soft lips upon mine. It pains me to think of you grieving, wondering what happened to me, where I went. Know my darling that I died doing something that I thought would be for the betterment of what I had hoped would be our lives together. I was right, although I cannot put the particulars of it in the words of this letter.

Anthony is innocent of treason, as am I. Unfortunately, there is no hard evidence, as Wentworth would say. I tried to be like him, tried to look for the evidence. What happened was not something I can explain, nor do I have the ability to change it. Once again I have caused you pain. Forgive me. I don’t know how I ended up in this world, or if I could return to our world if I were ever to leave the Tower, this horrible place of cold and death. I will die, though, knowing that I love you, and hoping that you feel the same. Please, darling, forgive me. Now, as I face my death, I find myself wishing that I had run after you that day in Paris, explained why I did what I did, begged for your forgiveness. So much wasted time, gone because of my pride, my arrogance. I could go on and on, filling page after page about how I love you, how I miss you and want to once again hold you in my arms. But what I really want to say cannot be put on paper. Can you act like Wentworth and put together the clues? Think about stars and the water. More than obvious clues, or at least I hope they are. Do you remember what I said? What you said? I do, and when I replay the words in my mind it gives me strength to know you once cared for me that deeply. Please know I felt the same way, and despite my profound mistakes, I still do. I meant every word that I spoke that evening. If there were some way to change what has happened I would, and no matter what, I would fight to have you by my side once more. When you go to sleep tonight, and every night after you receive this missive, know that I died with your name on my lips and in my heart. All my love, Geoffrey Sydney knew that if a slight breeze from Wilcox moved through the room right now she would topple over. She reread the letter, sniffled, and reread it again. Oh, she remembered the night he was talking about. How could she ever forget it? It had been one of the sexiest things she’d ever had happen to her. She’d stored it inside her brain, and sometimes when she passed a lake, she would think about it. Then her anger at Geoffrey would take center stage, and the memory would be pushed back into the vault that held so many other things. Maybe the raw emotions from that night would help her to make contact with Geoffrey, just as she’d done last night. She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, pulling the memory into the forefront of her mind.

It had been six years ago, and Geoffrey had been determined to have her to himself for a few days. Despite objections from his mother and sister, he’d arranged for them to rent a small cottage in the Lake District. The stone structure sat near a small lake. On their first night there, he’d made glorious love to her, making her body sing with soft caresses and kisses. She could still remember the tingly feeling that had enveloped her as he’d rocked her to sleep, telling her how much he loved her, and promising to never, ever leave her. “Ignore the fact that didn’t happen,” she whispered to herself, snuggling down into the covers. “Think about what happened next…think about what happened next.”

“Sydney.” “Hmm?” She turned her head on the pillow and reached her hand out to the empty spot beside her. She opened her eyes to find Geoffrey standing near the bed. Or at least she thought he was there. He seemed almost…transparent. “Wake up, baby. I have something to show you.” “We’re hosting a double feature tonight?” She wiggled her eyebrows, and held out her arms. “Two for the price of one. I like that deal.” “Not in here.” He took her hand and gently pulled her into his arms. “Outside.” Pleasure snaked through her as he kissed her. She reached for her clothes, only to have him grab her arm. “No, I want you naked.” “Outside? Isn’t it rather cold for that?” He shrugged and kissed her, warming her insides as he always did. “Are you really worried about the cold?” “No.” He led her from cabin to the private dock that was attached to their cottage. Even though it was after midnight and dark, she still worried a bit about people from the other cabins seeing them. It didn’t take her long to realize that added an element of danger that made her senses reel. Leave it to Geoffrey to be creative. At the end of the pier, she discovered he’d prepared for this little escapade while she’d been sleeping. The wide bench was covered with a blanket. There was an open bottle of wine placed nearby. Following his lead, she went to the end of the bench.

“Lie down with your feet on the decking,” he whispered against her lips right before he kissed her. She savored the feel of his tongue inside her mouth, wanting to keep him there forever. When the kiss broke, she sat on the edge of the bench, laying back and looking up at the beautiful night sky. There were few clouds tonight, and the moon and stars set high in the sky. He straddled her, bending over to run his hands over her breasts and down to her stomach. “You’re so beautiful.” Sydney fought back the retort, that he was so wrong about that. She’d learned long ago that he didn’t like to hear her talk bad about her larger form. Instead, she smiled and whispered, “Thank you.” Geoffrey nodded in approval, then moved to the other edge of the bench. He was soon lying down opposite from her, their heads were nestled against each other’s shoulders and necks as if they were interlocking pieces of a puzzle. Their legs hung off either side of the bench. She felt closer to him at that moment than she’d ever felt before. They lay in comfortable silence for a long while, and she delighted in the feel of him next to her. It provided a sense of love and security, even though they were barely touching. He was there for her, savoring the night sky the same way she was. They were perfect together. “Have I told you today that I love you?” “Several times.” She moved her head in a small circle, using her cheek to caress his. “But you can always say it again.” “I love you.” He returned her caress. “Do you see all the stars in the sky?” “Yes, I do.” She stared up at the twinkling lights. “Multiply them all by a thousand, and they wouldn’t match the amount of time I want to spend with you.” Her heart soared with joy at his words, and her throat clenched with emotion. She wasn’t sure exactly how to respond. She was the one who wrote facts, and he fiction. He could wax poetic for hours while she fought to describe her feelings as they came to her. “Do you think we can count them?” She hadn’t expected him to answer, but when he whispered, “No,” she pretended she was shocked. “Don’t you want to count them? Don’t you want to know how much time you want to spend with me?” “Counting them would take too long, and I have other plans for you tonight.”

“I’m intrigued. What are those other plans?” He moved so quickly it startled her. She started to sit, but he leaned over her, his gaze looking down on hers. “Stay where you’re at. I’m painfully hard for you, but I want to watch you wiggle in delight before I take you.” He sat up and took her head in his lap, and from where she lay, she could see his cock, hard and ready. If she moved just a little, she could take him in her mouth, feel his hardness pulse inside her. Sydney tried to sit up, but he held her in place, leaning over to kiss her. “No. You will lie still and let me love you. If you don’t, we’ll go into the house and sleep.” He kissed her again then trailed his tongue down her chin to her neck, moving his cock even closer to her mouth. If he moved a little farther down her body, they could pleasure each other, one of her favorite activities. But instead of moving, he latched onto one of her nipples, pulling it into his warm mouth, moving her tight nub around with his tongue as his teeth held it firmly, but gently. She wiggled and moaned, pleasuring coiling through her. She wanted to touch him, but knew Geoffrey was a man of his word. If she did so, he would stop, and they would go inside. He trailed kisses over her breast as he switched his attention to the other nipple, biting it just a little harder, applying more pressure to her more sensitive left nub. He knew her body perfectly, she thought, as she again fought the urge to caress him. It wasn’t fair that he could play and she could not. Geoffrey didn’t care about that, though. She could tell by the lavish attention he still paid to her breasts, moving between them, making her wonder if she would explode from the pleasure he delivered. When he suddenly stood and moved away, she groaned in displeasure. “Don’t worry,” he replied. “I’m not done yet.” He picked up the wine bottle and took a swig, then leaned over to cup her neck and lifted her head, offering her a drink of the sweet nectar. She licked the wine from her lips as he placed her head back on the bench. Then he tipped the bottle over her breasts. The liquid coated first one, then the other, making her aroused buds tighten even more. He bent again, sucking and licking the wine from her, pouring more over her body as he moved lower. His tongue teased her rib cage, her bellybutton and the tops of her thighs. “Please, please let me…”

“No.” The liquid now coated her soft curls, seeping into the wet mound underneath. He knelt between her legs. She felt him place his face close to her then inhale deeply and let out a deep groan of satisfaction. “No sweeter smell on earth.” The first swipe of his tongue made her hips lift from the bench. He opened her easily, his tongue feasting on her wet folds, teasing her opening and caressing her swollen clit. Her orgasm built as he sucked the bundle of nerves into his mouth, nibbling on it, his tongue flickering over it until her hips moved faster. Then he dropped his attention to her folds, licking and sucking the flesh into his mouth as he slipped a finger inside her, moving slowly in and out, making her body tighten with need. He slipped a second digit into her and placed his mouth back on her clit. His movements were unrushed as he slid out, traced her opening, then slid back inside, adding another finger to his sweet intrusion, stretching her around him, making her feel as if she could fly at any second. He licked and played with her clit, taking her up and then pausing to wait just when the explosion threatened. “Damn you!” She hissed out the words after the third trip toward completion ended with a soft slap of his tongue against her folds. “Geoffrey, let me…” “Let you what?” He sucked her again. “Tell me.” “Let me come.” Her voice was raspy with need, and when he sucked her nub into his mouth and raked his teeth over it she came, sliding her hands into his hair to keep him from moving. “Geoffrey! Oh, yes. Yes.” A second orgasm slammed into her as his fingers moved faster and his teeth pressed down harder. Her body clenched, then she sagged against the bench, looking up to see him sucking his fingers, coated with her juices, into his mouth. He ate them hungrily then took a deep swig of the wine before he tipped the glass, giving her a taste. After setting the glass down, he licked her lips, and she shivered as he lapped the wine from her as he entered her, his hard length filling her completely. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him close, claiming his lips in a deep kiss as he thrust into her. She tasted wine and a slight hint of herself as she held him close, not wanting to let go of his mouth. Their tongues meshed in wonderful symphony as his hips moved quicker.

When he came, she swallowed his groan of pleasure, taking it deep inside her, feeling it fill her with the same pleasure that he felt at this very moment. He placed his hands on either side of her head and lifted himself until their gazes met, his chest heaving with exertion. The look of utter bliss on his face brought tears of joy to her eyes. She caressed his cheek and whispered, “That was one. How many more ways do we have left?” “Too many to count, remember?” He nibbled on the tip of her nose then kissed her. ”Let’s just say it’s the number of stars in the sky times one thousand for each star. That means some night we’ll have to sit outside and count the stars, just to make sure we’re accurate.” This time he kissed her forehead. She moved her hand to tweak his hard male nipple, savoring the hiss of pleasure that left his mouth. “Yes, and that still won’t be enough for me.”

Sydney stirred on the bed, the smell of a freshly lit fire hitting her senses. She sat up, looking around the room wildly. The fireplace was empty then it flickered with a blaze. The flames disappeared and reappeared several more times before it finally stayed. She gasped as Geoffrey appeared, sitting in a large chair in front of the fire, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was naked, his gaze fastened on the dancing flames. “Geoffrey!” She jumped from the bed and ran to him, kneeling down. She put her hand on his arm, only to have it sail right through him. “Geoffrey! Can you hear me?” He lifted a goblet to his mouth and drained it, his stare still locked on the fireplace. “Hear me! All the stars times a thousand. Remember?” He picked up a rough looking bottle and refilled his mug, pausing before taking a drink. He looked back to the bed, a frown appearing on his face. Sydney followed his gaze to the huge tester bed that took up a great deal of space. Did he sense her? Somehow, she knew that he did, but there was no connection made. She couldn’t touch him, and he couldn’t hear her, although she could hear his breathing. What did that mean? How could they “follow the path” if she couldn’t communicate with him? “Geoffrey! Listen to me!” She screamed and tried to push the chair, falling through him and hitting the floor with a thud. Despite the horrible consequences that could come, she could

not hold back the tears. They flowed down her face, trailing down her cheeks and soaking into her hair. This was never going to work, and Wilcox would win. Geoffrey would die and her heart would die with him. She curled up into a ball and let the tears flow freely.

Chapter Seven

April 9, 1533

He missed indoor plumbing, which included a place where he could take a shower everyday. If there was one thing he’d like to teach these people, it was hygiene. Maybe he should find an engineer and plant the idea for refuse disposal. Elizabeth kept her house clean, but still, with so many people who didn’t bathe very often…the smells here were atrocious. Except for this morning. When he’d woken up, the scent of lavender and vanilla had wafted around the bed. He’d had another dream, a very realistic one about Sydney, about their trip to the cabin where they’d made sweet, perfect love together. He knew Sydney was in the house, but the dreams didn’t make a lot of sense to him, unless Willa was helping them along. Damn it to hell, why hadn’t he listened to her? He’d been so sure she was an idiot then he’d seen the papers and…bugger it all! She’d said an ancestor of hers had taken part in Anthony’s execution, had helped Wilcox put the plan together. What was the woman’s name? It wasn’t as if he could go around asking for the local witch. That was likely to get him burned at the stake long before he lost his head. Why hadn’t he listened? If it were possible, he would kick himself in the ass for being so stubborn. Too bad, it wasn’t possible to go back to the twenty-first century and talk to Willa, tell her he wanted the information she had so that he could change things. Why, why, why, he whispered as he walked to the windows overlooking the gardens. Down below, Elizabeth watched as the household staff prepared hampers of food, and it dawned

on him that they’d planned a day at the beach, where the children could play in the sand and the adults would enjoy conversation. “Sod it all,” he said, his voice tight. Anger filled him as he thought about playing at the beach when he knew what was about to happen. Would that be what Wentworth did? His fictional sleuth would not sit around waiting for things to happen. Why was he? He may not know the name of the witch who could help him, but he knew Wilcox was the bad guy. And the bad guy had “evidence” against Anthony. If he could find that evidence, he could keep the executions from going through. And what better way to find it, then while Wilcox was out playing? The louse had managed to thwart Geoffrey when he’d tried searching before. Wilcox had returned early from his rides and changed his mind about his plans at the last minute. Hopefully, he wouldn’t do that this time. Geoffrey would have to stay behind, but Elizabeth would not accept many excuses. A smile curved his lips. Many times when he was younger and wanted to stay home from school, he would fake a temperature by placing the thermometer next to the lamp to heat it up. He didn’t have that option here, but he did have fire, cloth and water. A strip of material soaked in water and placed near the fire would heat up. Then he could place that on his face to redden his cheeks and make it seem as if he were hotter than normal. Faking an illness would give him time to search Wilcox’s rooms. He wasn’t going to play at the beach when two lives, indeed the entire happiness of his future family, were in jeopardy. He had a week to find what he needed to stop things. Barring that, he’d just kill the bastard the night before the guards arrived. He’d still go to the gallows, but at least he’d be going for a crime he committed, and Anthony would be safe. Geoffrey found one of the shirts Elizabeth had given him and pulled on a seam; it ripped easily. As he soaked it in water, he thought about Sydney, about the smell of lavender and vanilla that had accompanied the dream last night. Where had that come from? She wasn’t a lavender type of girl. As a matter of fact, she didn’t wear scents at all. Once the cloth had been soaked and the water wrung away, he placed it on a plate and put it in front of the fire. Then he sat back, watching it carefully. He didn’t want to get it too hot, just hot enough to fake a temperature. As he stared into the flames, he thought about Sydney, about how much he missed her, how much he loved her.

“I swear to you, Syd, that when, not if, but when, I get back, I will spend the rest of my life making things better. I swear it.” ****

Present day

“Damn it!” Sydney screamed in frustration, then swept her arm out, sending the papers on the desk flying. “This sucks!” She turned to Willa. “Do something. Contact Margaret, ask her what the hell she was talking about when she said, ‘Follow the path.’ What fucking path?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she cried out again. It wasn’t like her to use that sort of language. She took a deep breath then exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry, Willa, I just…we have to…crap.” She sunk down into Geoffrey’s chair. They’d been in his office, searching it again. She’d hoped he’d left them some sort of clue, but they’d found nothing. She felt like a cat, running around in circles chasing its own tail. She was worried sick about Suzanne, even though Sydney had talked to her on the phone, and her friend had assured her that she was fine. Sean was helping her, Suzanne insisted. He was making things easier for her. Sydney prayed things weren’t too hard on her friend. She couldn’t worry about Suzanne too much, though. Time was growing short on the Geoffrey front. “Can’t we try to talk to her one more time? If we could tell her she’s being used, then she could stop what is happening and bring Geoffrey back, right?” “I wish I could,” Willa said. “The Margaret we talked to is already passed from that life. She can’t change what happened.” Sydney rubbed the palms of her hands against her eyes. It was a vicious cycle. There was no way to break it. Or was there? “Can you send me back?” A heavy silence filled the room. “Yes, I can do that. Traitor’s Gate is a portal, but it is dangerous. There is every chance you won’t make it back.” “And there’s every chance I will, and I’ll bring Geoffrey with me, and Suzanne will be freed.” She glanced at Willa. “It’s a fifty-fifty shot, and I’m willing to take it.”

Willa’s expression was unreadable, and for a minute, Sydney thought she would say no. But as she watched, Sydney could see the witch was working things out. Finally, Willa said, “The only way I can send you back is through Traitor’s Gate. And we both know Wilcox is out there. There’s no way he’ll allow you to go through. He’ll find some way to stop you, maybe even kill you.” Sydney leaned back in the chair. “Then we distract him.” “And how do we do that? I’ll have to perform the spell, and you’ll have to go through the portal. Just whom do you plan on for the distracting part?” A smile flickered across Sydney’s face. “Why Suzanne and Sean, of course. He’ll have to bring her back.” Willa laughed. “I’m not sure how things work in America, but I’m pretty sure Sean’s superiors won’t allow him to just waltz out of Scotland Yard with Suzanne in tow.” “Maybe not.” Sydney shrugged then winked. “But if a certain witch allowed doors to open, and guards to fall asleep…” “I can’t be two places at once,” Willa said with a laugh then she stopped laughing. Sydney thought she looked like someone on the hunt for something, who had just found the clue to help her find what she wanted. “But I have friends in London who could help. Do you think Sean will do it?” “I guarantee it,” Sydney said. “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.” **** Sydney could tell from the look on Sean’s face that he wasn’t happy. He helped Suzanne from the car, but she pushed his hand away and rushed for the house. Sydney could sense Sean’s frustration as he watched Suzanne run. Then he turned back to the car and took a box out of the back seat. When he was near Sydney, he thrust the package into her hands. “Thanks, but let’s get inside, please.” They wanted Wilcox inside the house, so Sydney could go into the garden, but not quite yet. The minute the door was shut behind them, Suzanne started to cry, and the rattling at the back door started. “Well, he’s here,” Sydney said as she set the box down and put her arms around her friend, giving her a tight hug. “Sorry, I should have sent you a nail file or something.”

“Instead, you sent witches, and you’ve involved me in what is really a jail break,” Sean said. “I want to go on record as saying this is an idiotic idea.” Sydney ignored him and patted Suzanne on the shoulder, worried about her friend’s mental state. She hoped Suzanne could handle what was going to happen. Sean would have to watch her carefully, or Wilcox would take advantage of the situation. Maybe she should have asked Willa to bring a few of her friends along to help the evil spirit toe the line while Sydney slipped into the past. The idea made her hands tremble as she gently pushed Suzanne away and took the proffered package. “I hope it fits,” Sean said, “because I’m not going back to London for another. And, may I just say, this whole thing is wanky. There’s no way you can slip into the past. I’m surprised that you, who deals with facts in her job, have bought into this nonsense.” “I’ve had dreams,” she said softly, silently cursing herself for not thinking before she spoke. “Dreams?” Sean fixed an inquisitive look on her. “What sort of dreams? About Geoffrey wearing tights and riding a horse?” “No tights or horses involved,” she replied. She wasn’t going to tell him the dreams had been erotic. “But he was in the past. I didn’t believe this at first, but I do now.” “Why?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Give me a concrete reason, or I’m packing Suzanne in the car and heading back to London.” The knocking at the back door grew louder, and Sydney turned her head to where Suzanne was making her way toward the kitchen. She was still crying very lowly, and Sydney hurried after her. “Sweetie, go to the living room. I’ll make you a cup of tea and bring it to you, okay?” Suzanne nodded and changed directions. Sydney hurried toward the kitchen. She could feel Sean’s presence behind her. “Running is not going to change things,” he said. “I want an answer.” She stepped into the large room and glared at the back door. “Hey, Wilcox, go screw yourself. You’re not welcome here.” The noise stopped immediately. “There’s your answer.” She put the box on the table, then went to the counter and plugged in the kettle.

“Ludicrous,” Sean said as he sat down at the table, “that’s what this is. Why are you doing this?” “Because I have to.” She took down three mugs from the cupboard. She measured out tea and put it in a ball, which she put in an empty pot. Then she remembered a lesson on tea that Geoffrey had given her so many years ago. “You need to warm the pot before you add the tea and water. Just put some warm water in there and let it warm up the container, then pour it out before you add the ingredients.” She started to do just that, tears stinging her eyes. “Does this mean you’ve forgiven him for Paris?” Sean’s voice was hopeful. Sydney toyed with the tea tin. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “Being here has brought back memories, has reminded me of how much I missed him. Yet, he did…” She sighed heavily. “You still care about him, or else you wouldn’t even be considering this plan. Admit it,” Sean replied. “He still loves you, you know. He hasn’t been with anyone else, I can swear to that.” The kettle boiled and she went about preparing the tea, keeping her back to him. Finally, when the mugs were filled, she carried one to him. “Perhaps I just don’t want to see Suzanne spend the rest of her life in prison for something she didn’t do.” “There are other ways to make sure she doesn’t end up in the dock,” he retorted. “This idea of you playing dress up,” he thumped the box, “and going back to 1533, is just…lunacy. It will never work, you know.” “Then what’s the harm in trying? If you’re right, I’ll still be here. If not, then I’ll be in the past, trying to help Geoffrey—and Suzanne—out of this mess.” For a minute, she thought he was going to keep arguing. Instead, he took a sip from his tea. “Go and give Suzanne her drink, then let’s talk. When you’re still here after midnight, I’ll be able to say I told you so.” **** The dress fit perfectly, which didn’t surprise Sydney that much. Willa’s magical friends had taken the measurements Willa had sent them and made the garment for her. She stared at herself in the full-length mirror in Geoffrey’s bedroom. She felt like Cinderella going to a ball, except the dress wasn’t that fancy, which she supposed was a good thing. She didn’t want to attract attention to herself.

Willa stood behind her, a cap in her hand. “You’re all set, right? We’ll slip out the front door, and as soon as it’s shut, they’ll open the back one and leave it open so Wilcox can come inside. We’ll have precious little time to make it to the gate and get you sent back, so we’ll have to hurry. If you have questions, ask them now.” “How will I find Margaret? It’s not as if I can slip into a car and drive to your cottage.” “You’re right,” Willa said. “There’s a path that runs behind the house here, along the coastline and past the cottage. In modern times, it’s just past the gardens. I hope it’s the same way in 1533. Just follow the path there.” Sydney stared at Willa in the mirror. “Do you realize what you just said? Follow the path?” She watched as understanding dawned on Willa’s face. “Margaret knew I would be going back.” Sydney turned toward the witch. “How will I convince her that she can trust me?” Willa reached into her pocket and pulled out a leather thong. She held it up. A charm hung from it. “This was hers. Give it to her. I’m hoping that it doesn’t disappear when you get back to 1533, since there will already be one of them in that time period.” “And if it does?” “Say to her, Mother mine, your daughter sent me to help you from making a grave error. Then say, your powers are being used for evil. She’ll respond to that.” Once the charm was in her pocket, and the cap on her head, Sydney squared her shoulders. “Let’s do this.” Willa led the way down the stairs. Sean stood in the kitchen doorway, Suzanne next to him. Three of Willa’s friends, all witches, had shown up about a half-hour before. Sydney was thrilled to see them. She hoped they would keep her friends safe. Suzanne gave her a tight hug, and Sean frowned at her, but still hugged her. “I’ll see you after this is all over,” she said to Suzanne. “And don’t worry, I’ll have Geoffrey with me.” Her friend nodded, but didn’t reply. Sydney and Willa went through the front door, and on cue, she could hear Suzanne crying from inside the house. They had to hurry, she knew, and she picked her skirts and headed for the side of the house. “Next stop, 1533,” she whispered. “Hopefully.”

Chapter Eight

The bed was spinning. Either that or the last few days had been a dream, and she was really on vacation at Disney World. Voices were slowly making their way into Sydney’s head…women’s voices. But it wasn’t Elise and Mrs. Simmons. The accents were English, but the pronunciations were different, the words strange. What the hell was happening? She should be in the garden, or at least “following the path” toward Margaret’s cottage. Instead, she was on a bed, and it hurt to open her eyes. Lifting up on one elbow, she peered at the women who were speaking. One was dressed in a long woolen gown, an apron of white covering the full-length skirt. Her hair was hidden under a kerchief. The second woman was short, but elegantly dressed in a flowing gown of forest green. She was wearing a headdress that came to a point at the top and secured in place a veil of white, which covered the long brown hair that fell behind her back. And she was pregnant, almost eight months along from the look of her. A soft oath escaped Sydney’s lips as she fell back on the pillow, the very lumpy pillow. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Something’s gone wrong. I have to get out of here.” She glanced at the women. The one who was obviously a maid glanced at her fearfully. The other smiled and rushed toward the bed, or rather waddled toward it. “Très bien, vous vous etes réveillée. Comment vous portez-vous? Votre teint s’ameliore.” The woman continued speaking and Sydney tried to focus. Why the hell was she speaking French? Had she landed someplace besides England? It had been years since Sydney had spoken French, since high school in fact. What was she saying? Something about improved coloring. The woman sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a wet cloth over Sydney’s forehead.

“Quand êtes-vous partie de Paris?” she said. “Vous êtes en Angleterre depuis quand? J’ai appellé Geoffrey. Il doit bientôt arriver. Lui et mon mari, Andrew, cherchaient les bandits qui ont attaqué votre voiture. Ils n’ont pas réussi.” Sydney grasped a few of the words that passed by. The woman was asking how long she had been in England, then finally said something that Sydney was happy to hear. She had sent for Geoffrey, and he would arrive soon, that is if they were back from searching for the bandits who had attacked Sydney. Bandits, she thought? Was this woman crazy? And why was she speaking French? But the speech told her one thing, she was in the right place, and Geoffrey was here. Relief flooded her. Willa’s spell had worked, and she could fix this mess. Suzanne would get out of jail permanently, and Geoffrey would… She wasn’t sure what would happen on that front, but right now, she needed to find him and get the hell back to Traitor’s Gate. She and Willa had agreed that the time to leave would be midnight the next evening. That would give her plenty of time to get hold of Margaret, convince her, snag Geoffrey and leave. French words continued to fly from the woman’s lips. Finally, when Sydney could take no more of the fact she could only understand every few words she held up her hand. “Wait, wait,” she whispered, then reconsidered. She called up her skills from high school. “Je ne parle pas très bien français. Est-ce que nous pourrions parler anglais, s’il vous plait?” The woman quit speaking and stared, her brown eyes searching Sydney’s face. “What do you mean you don’t speak French very well? Geoffrey says you are French, that you just arrived from Paris, and bandits attacked your carriage. That is why you were dressed so, well...” her voice faltered as she searched for words that would not offend Sydney, “shabbily, with such a gown on when you arrived. He said the thieves took your proper clothing, and all you had left was…” Her voice drifted off again, and Sydney wanted to scream at her to forget about the clothes. “Where is Geoffrey?” “He is off hunting the bandits, as I said. Now, about your clothes. I’m afraid what I have won’t fit you, but I’m sure we can find something that…” A loud male laugh sounded from the doorway, interrupting the woman’s latest string of questions. Sydney turned toward the voice. "Perhaps you should give our guest a chance to answer one question before you ask another, Elizabeth, my dear.”

Sydney gasped as a tall man walked into the room. He had dark brown hair and a strong nose and chin that made him look like Clint Eastwood. But what caught Sydney’s attention were his eyes. They were the same chocolate brown eyes that she had fallen in love with when she was seventeen. Anthony Brompton. “Oh, I was doing it again, wasn’t I, talking and not letting anyone answer,” Elizabeth said with a soft giggle. “I apologize, Sydney. I didn’t even introduce myself to you. I just assumed you knew me and started talking. Again, I apologize.” The tall man touched the woman’s shoulder with a loving hand and smiled down at Sydney. “Forgive my wife, M’masel. She does love to talk. And since she was speaking English, I will assume that you understand our language, which is good because my French is very, very poor. I am Anthony Brompton, the Earl of Waverly and servant to his majesty, King Henry VIII. This charming minx is my wife, Elizabeth. Welcome to Waverly Court.” Anthony bowed slightly, and Sydney smiled at him. “Thank you, but what I’d like right now is to talk to Geoffrey. Is he with you?” “He is, but he stopped downstairs to talk with Wilcox. He will be up momentarily.” Sydney’s blood grew cold at the sound of Wilcox’s name. She hadn’t planned on meeting him. She hadn’t planned on meeting all these people.” “I will have to take him to task,” Anthony said. “He told us you were French and that explained your unusual name. But you’re not French at all, are you?” He fixed a suspicious glare on her. She didn’t want to say too much, because it might contradict with what Geoffrey had told them. She coughed, then looked around. “Could I have some water, please?” Elizabeth snapped her fingers. “Margaret, go and get the woman some wine.” Sydney’s gaze snapped to the woman standing next to the bed. She was a servant, obviously, but was she the Margaret that Sydney was looking for? There were probably many Margarets during this time. “Yes, ma’am,” the older woman said, she glanced at Sydney, then left the room. “I need to see Geoffrey,” Sydney repeated. “And you shall.” Anthony went to the door. “Margaret, tell my cousin to come up quickly. His friend is asking for him.”

There was an answer in the affirmative; then suddenly, Geoffrey was there, standing in the doorway. He stared at her as if she were a ghost, an apparition that had appeared through the walls. “Darling,” he whispered as he came into the room. He crossed it quickly and leaned over, claiming her lips in a deep, searing kiss that she felt all the way down to her toes. When it broke, he whispered, “Follow my lead.” The urge to scream, or slap him, was strong, but she knew she had to do as he asked. People in this time period were unforgiving, and if Anthony took a dislike to her, she would end up in dire straits. Their gazes locked, and those gorgeous brown eyes seemed to bore into her soul. This, on top of the erotic dreams she’d had, reminded her of how much she’d missed him in the last three years. “Forget the lead,” she hissed. “Suzanne’s in jail for murder. We have to…” “Murder?” Elizabeth’s voice rang out. “Who has been murdered?” Sydney laid her head back on the pillow. Oh crap, she’d done it now. “What are you talking about?” Anthony took his wife’s hand. “She said Suzanne was in jail for murder. I heard it. Who is this person and who has been killed?” Her voice was shrill, and Sydney tried to form a thought that would explain what she’d just said to Geoffrey and still keep their cover. “Suzanne is my sister,” Geoffrey said, “and I’m sure there has been no killing. If you would allow it, I would like to talk with Sydney alone, please.” “Absolutely not,” Elizabeth said. “It wouldn’t be proper, and I will have no secrets in my house. I want to know…” “Elizabeth.” She stopped speaking when her husband said her name. He turned to Geoffrey. “Elizabeth will see that Sydney is properly dressed and cared for, and if our guest is able, she will join us at table. There she can explain her ramblings about murder, and about those bandits that took her belongs, the ones we failed to find.” With a smile at his wife and a loving pat on her swollen belly, Anthony left the room. Geoffrey bent down and pressed a kiss on Sydney’s forehead. “Don’t leave me,” she hissed at him. “We have to talk.”

“Rest well, my pet.” Sydney clenched her hand into a fist. My pet, indeed. “Don’t…” But Margaret was back with a tray. Geoffrey winked at her and headed toward the door before Sydney could say another word. “Now,” Elizabeth said, her voice not as warm as it had been earlier. “You must eat and drink a little. Then we’ll find you something proper to wear.” **** Geoffrey glanced back at the house, and wished he had a wristwatch he could use to check the time. At dinner, he’d told Sydney to find some way to sneak out of the house and meet him in the garden. Anthony and Elizabeth had listened carefully as he’d explained that Sydney was obviously befuddled by the things she’d been through that afternoon. She’d responded by saying that, what she’d been trying to say to Geoffrey was that Suzanne was going to murder him for being away from their home for so long. It had been a bad choice of words, and she regretted them. They’d seemed to accept her explanation, but he could tell that Anthony was very suspicious. Too many weird things had been happening here, first his appearance, now Sydney’s, for his “cousin” not to be wary. How had she come through the gate? As soon as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. Willa. She’d listened to the witch, which he’d failed to do. He laughed softly. Sydney had always been smarter than he was, he’d known it from the first time he’d met her. Maybe if she’d been around when this whole thing had started they wouldn’t be in this mess. “Do you realize what you’ve done?” Her voice was soft, and his dick hardened instantly, despite the situation they were in. He turned his gaze to her. “Tell me about Suzanne.” “She’s in jail. Or she was. Willa worked a spell so that Sean could bring her to the house, and they could distract Wilcox, and I could come here.” “Wilcox? He’s in the future?” “His spirit is, yes. Didn’t you feel him, hear him?” “No.” He glanced behind her to make sure no one had followed her. In the darkening light, he didn’t see anyone. “Explain it all to me, don’t leave anything out.” Chills shook him as

he thought of his baby sister sitting in jail because they thought she’d killed him. If they hurt Suzanne, if they locked her up for the rest of her life… “Oh Lord above, it’s another thing I’ve screwed up.” He put his head in his hands. When Sydney grasped his hands and pulled them down, he wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let go. “How the hell did this happen?” Her voice was soft, soothing. “I mean, how did you get here? Willa didn’t help you.” “Meant to be, I guess,” he said, grasping her hands tightly. “When I saw my name in the Tower books, I thought that maybe, just maybe, it was an ancestor. I remembered the family talk about him being taken from Traitor’s Gate. I went out there one night, it glowed, and bam, I found myself here.” He put her hands together and captured them between his. She was as soft as he remembered, and he wanted to kiss her, hold her, make love to her. Snap out of it, he said to himself. Now is not the time. “I tried several times to get back, but I could never recreate the same effect. The gate never glowed. I never felt that tingle.” “Well, you’re going to feel it tonight,” she said. “Willa is opening the gate at midnight, and you and I are going to waltz through it together.” She sounded almost as if she expected him to put up a fight. But he wasn’t going to do that. If Anthony died in a few weeks, that was probably his fate. Dying during this time was not his, however. And this little “mishap” had produced a terrible effect on his sister. “How is Suzanne? And my mother?” “Beside themselves with grief,” Sydney said, the anger still there. “Will you go back with me?” “Absolutely. I would never knowingly do something to hurt them. All of you are more important to me than anything.” She tried to pull her hands away, but he held them tight. “Forgive me for being skeptical,” she took a deep breath, “but Suzanne told me you’d become obsessed with this Anthony execution thing. Why? Just for a book? Just to push yourself a little bit up the charts?” “No, it wasn’t for a book. It was…” This time he stepped away from her and ran his fingers through his hair. “I needed something after I lost you. I missed you so much, and you

wouldn’t even talk to me. Wentworth wasn’t doing it for me at the time, and the execution story has been in our family for so long. I just decided to do a little research, and I got sucked in.” He went to the gate and ran his fingers over the hedge. It didn’t hum, as it had that first night, when he’d arrived here. “I think we have about half an hour,” she whispered behind him. “Do you have things inside you want to take back?” “Yes, I do. Papers that I’ve written, letters…” He wheeled toward her. “Yes, letters.” She smiled. “I’ve seen them already.” “I found them in the attic. More things to convince me that this was fate, even if I did think I was crazy.” He leaned toward her and inhaled, keeping his gaze on hers. “What are you doing?” Her voice was low, sensual. “Seeing if I smelled lavender and vanilla, as I did the other night when I dreamt about the cabin, about our lovemaking there.” The blush that crept across her cheeks made him want to tumble her onto the soft ground and take her under the moonlight. “You felt that?” “Both dreams, every erotic moment you remembered. I’ve known all along that you were here.” He caressed her cheek, to hell with the fact that they were broken up, that she didn’t want him anymore. He wanted her more than anything. He leaned over and kissed her, one small peck on the lips. But that wasn’t enough, not near enough. He captured her face between his hands, tilted up her face and kissed her again, harder. He waited for her to pull away, but she didn’t. She didn’t respond as she had in the past, but at least she wasn’t pushing him away. She tasted just as he remembered, like sweet ambrosia that he would surely die without. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “I’ve missed you so much, you can’t imagine. I just…I need you back. I pray you feel the same way.” He kissed her again. This time he gathered her in his arms, holding her tight as he moved his lips against hers. And miracles upon miracles, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

When she opened her mouth just a little, he accepted the invitation, inching his tongue inside her, stopping for a breath of air before claiming her again, delving deeper inside, savoring the soft moan of pleasure that escaped her lips. “You do want me back,” he whispered. “I mean, you will take me back, right?” She giggled softly. “We have more important things to think about, like getting back to where we belong. Go and get your papers and meet me back here so that we’re both ready when Willa opens the gate.” One more hard, demanding kiss, then he stepped back. When she staggered a little, he knew she would take him. He steadied her then winked. “I’ll be right back.” It didn’t take him long to gather the papers he’d written. There was nothing else he needed. He’d long ago burned the clothing he’d been wearing when he’d arrived here, after the strange attire had raised so many eyebrows. He couldn’t say goodbye to Anthony and Elizabeth because that would bring about too many questions. He would just have to leave, and let events happen as they were supposed to, only without him. A tingle of regret passed through him, but he would have to ignore it. He had to get back to his sister, his mother, the people that meant the most to him. And he would go there with the woman he loved. When he got there, he would win back Sydney. He should have been concentrating on that in the first place, instead of this business that had gotten him into so much trouble. It took him mere seconds to fold the papers and put them into his pockets; then he left the house the same way he’d come in, through a side door. It was quiet, with no one up at this time of night. That had been an adjustment to him, the early to bed, early-to-rise lifestyle they led. Geoffrey couldn’t wait to tell Sydney tales of life here, about the clothing, the food, the politics. He regretted the fact he hadn’t met any prominent historical figures, like Henry VIII or Anne Boleyn, but it was something he’d have to live with. He rushed across the lawn, thankful for the moonlit night. As he neared the gardens, he could hear raised voices. He rounded a corner and saw Sydney struggling with a man. It didn’t take him long to figure out it was Wilcox.

“Fucking bastard,” Geoffrey screamed as he took off at a run, tackling the man, rolling with him toward the gate. He could hear it humming, the same sound he’d heard the night he’d come through to this time period. They grappled on the ground. He could hear Sydney screaming at him to stop, telling him that the gate was opening, that they needed to leave. He glanced at her then looked over to where the flash of light appeared between the arches. His distraction was all Wilcox needed. He pushed Geoffrey off him, the force of the push making Geoffrey fall flat on his back. The wind left his lungs and he gasped, trying to recapture it, but not seeming to succeed. Then suddenly there was pain, lots of it, grabbing hold of his stomach and spreading through his body. “You’re causing problems,” Wilcox said. “You both have to go.” There was another stab of horrible pain, and he groaned, realization setting in. A knife, Wilcox had a knife, and he’d stabbed Geoffrey with it, not once, but twice. His attempts to breath were getting harder, even though the weight of Wilcox’s body had left his own. He blinked and put his hand on his stomach. Wetness flowed between his fingers. Blood. “Sydney, where are…you?” He glanced around, his vision hazy. Wilcox stood, knife in hand, and it was pointed at Sydney. She was frozen in place. Then, in what he could only think was an effort to get to him, she tried to sidestep the armed man. Wilcox used his free hand to slap her. Her head snapped back. The blow forced her to the ground, and Wilcox laughed. “Perfect.” He started to kneel, and Geoffrey knew what was next. The knife would find its way into Sydney’s body, but not if he could help it. He gathered all the strength he had and struggled to his knees, then to his feet. “Time to go,” Wilcox said, “just as you arrived—unexpected and unwanted.” Before he could lift the knife, Geoffrey kicked out. Wilcox lost his balance and tumbled off Sydney, who scurried out of the way. “I’m tired of you,” Wilcox said, getting to his feet. “I’ve worked hard to gain what is mine, and I won’t let you stop me.”

“It’s not yours,” Geoffrey replied. The pain had turned into a numbing throb, and he knew from the wetness on his clothes that he was bleeding out. Not much time left, but enough to make sure Sydney was safe. “Punishing Anthony for what his father did to your mother won’t change things.” Wilcox snorted. “My mother was a whore, who willingly spread her legs for whoever offered her the most coin. I have no clue who my father was, although the late Earl is a candidate, or so she said. She bragged that he visited her bed more often than most men, so I believe that entitles me to his lands and monies.” Geoffrey coughed. It was getting harder to breath. “You bastard.” “Literally,” Wilcox said. “But soon I’ll be a rich one, instead of a poor one.” “Not if I can help it.” Geoffrey made another fast lunge and pushed Wilcox backward. The man screamed in frustration, his shoulder hitting the edge of Traitor’s Gate. There was a bright flash of light and he disappeared. “Geoffrey!” Sydney grabbed him, holding him as he melted down toward the ground. “Geoffrey, no, please, hold on. The gate’s still open.” She was trying her hardest to get him to stand, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. The light from the gate was fading, but his legs wouldn’t hold him up. “You go,” he whispered. “I’m supposed to die in this time, remember?” “Like hell,” she responded. “I’m not going without you, so get up and let’s go before it’s too late.” The earth was soft beneath him, but the hands on his body were even softer. She pressed on his wounds and he gasped. “I have to stop the blood,” she whispered. He heard the sound of tearing material. “I swear, if you die on me, I’ll…I’ll…don’t die, damn it!” “I love you,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.” The last thing he heard, as the light from the gate faded completely was her whispered, “I love you, too.” **** “Open wide, choo-choo.” Sydney offered the spoon full of soup to Geoffrey. “It needs salt,” he said, keeping his head on the pillow.

“Sorry, but we’re fresh out.” She moved the spoon toward him and made another choochoo noise. “The train needs to enter your tunnel, so open your mouth.” “I’d rather my train entered your tunnel,” he said with a grin. Sydney glanced down, and desire threatened to overwhelm her. He had a hard-on. Again. This was the second one today. He’d had one yesterday, too. It made her smile for more than one reason. “Seems like you’re feeling better,” she said as she put the spoon back in the bowl. “But, you’re not getting as much as a kiss until you eat some of this soup.” “And after the kiss? What do I get then?” The questions were low, seductive, and they made her shiver. She’d like nothing more than to throw off his blankets and cover him with her body. Taking him deep inside her would please them both. But they were in a house full of people. Elizabeth or Anthony could return at any moment. Or Margaret could come in. Hopefully, if the witch did return, she would say that she thought Geoffrey was strong enough to survive a trip through Traitor’s Gate, a journey that would take them home. It had been two weeks since Geoffrey had been stabbed, since Wilcox had disappeared through the gate. Margaret had appeared at the entrance to the garden almost as quickly as the man had vanished. Sydney had been too preoccupied with Geoffrey, whom she was sure was going to die, to notice the woman at first, until she heard soft chanting. The bleeding had slowed, and Sydney had turned her attention to the woman. “You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” the witch had said. Then she held up the charm Willa had given Sydney. “I found this in your clothing the day you arrived. And I heard everything that foul man said. He used me. I have to work to make things right now, to stop the curse that I’ve already placed upon this house, upon this family.” “Send us back,” Sydney had whispered. “Geoffrey needs a doctor, a modern one.” “He won’t survive the trip. Think of your own voyage here. Remember how you felt afterward.” Sydney had known she was right, but she hadn’t wanted to listen to her. She’d wanted to return to their time, at that very moment. Now, looking at Geoffrey’s improved color, at the smile on his face, and yes, at the erection between his legs, she was thrilled that they’d waited.

“Food first, then we’ll talk about sex.” “I want to do more than talk about it.” He inclined his head toward the bowl. “Feed me, if that’s what it takes to get you in my arms.” She gave him a spoonful of soup, and another one, and another. “Tell me a story,” he said. “Something about you.” A soft laugh escaped her lips. “You know everything about me.” “Then repeat a story,” he replied. “I want to hear something that reminds me of how much I love you.” “Hmm.” She picked up the bowl and fed him one more spoonful. “I can tell you about the time I was six, and I had my tonsils taken out. My mother force-fed me ice cream so they would release me from the hospital.” “Sort of like you’re doing to me, now.” He accepted another spoonful. “Keep going, tell me something else.” “I hate peas.” He laughed and traced his fingers along her cheek. “I know that.” “I love cheesecake.” She offered him another spoonful, but he shook his head. “I would love cheesecake, if it were spread on your nipples.” She shivered, thinking of him licking it off. “The treat would be nice and cold, and a little hard, so I would have to rub it very vigorously to make sure it stuck to your stiff nubs. Then I would lower my mouth, suck them until you ached, and cried out for more. Of course, you’d have to be tied up because I’m afraid you wouldn’t lie still for me while I was devouring you. You wouldn’t, would you?” “Yes, I would.” She nodded. “You little liar.” He stroked her chin. “What a naughty girl. Do you remember what happens to bad girls? They get spanked. The only problem, as I remember it, is you like to get spanked… You like it a great deal.” Sydney closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. It was magical, the thrill of his fingers sending her mind back to better times she’d thought long gone. “This brings back such wonderful memories. But it also…” “Reminds you I picked up a blonde in a bar?”

Sydney tried to move away from the bed, but he put his hand on her thigh and pressed ever so gently, an obvious effort to keep her in place. She turned her face away from him, her gaze focused on the windows. “Look at me, please.” “No.” She wanted to hate him for it, and she was afraid if she looked at him she couldn’t. After all, he’d saved her life, lifting himself off the ground while he was bleeding all over the place to push Wilcox through the gate. “What do you think happened to him?” she asked. “Wilcox? I suppose we’ll find out when we’re back.” There was an uneasy silence. “Sydney, please look at me.” “Geoffrey.” She turned toward him. “You saved my life, you stepped in front of him when he was going to kill me. I know you love me, but…I still can’t forget what happened. You never really told me why.” “You never gave me a chance,” he replied. She waited, but he didn’t launch into an explanation. She waited, and waited, and finally said, “You have your chance now. Explain it to me.” Still more silence. “The fact you’re taking so long makes me think you’re trying to think of a good excuse. If you just wanted to fuck her, tell me. At least it would be honest.” “No, that’s not it.” She saw the muscles in his neck work as he swallowed. “I can’t give you a reason, because I don’t have one. The whole night’s a blur, honestly.” “Humph,” Sydney snorted. “That’s as lame as a child’s ‘it wasn’t me excuse.’ You’re a writer, and you’ve had three years. Can’t you come up with something better than that?” Geoffrey shifted in the bed. “I don’t want to lie to you. What I said is the truth.” “Damn you to hell.” Sydney clenched her fists. “I might have been able to forgive you if you’d wanted to talk about it, but it’s obvious to me you just want to say let’s forget about it and move on. Well, I can’t do that, sorry. If you’re willing to fluff it off so easily, then there’s every chance you’ll do it again.” He opened his mouth to speak but she kept on going, eager to be away from him. “Now that you’re better, we’ll go to Margaret, get her to open the gate. When we’re back home, you’ll

stay in your fancy house, possibly with the title that means so much to you. I’ll go back to Oklahoma. Case closed.” “Wait!” His deep entreaty sounded behind her as she left the room. She closed the door to better block out his voice, then hurried down the corridor. Her life with Geoffrey was over. Again.

Chapter Nine

Sydney trod along the path, Geoffrey behind her. Why Margaret had asked them to come to the cottage was beyond her. She’d argued with the witch, asked her to just meet them at the gate so they could get things over with. But the witch had been insistent. She would not send them back until she’d had a chance to speak with them, in a place where there was no chance they would be overheard. “We’ll following the path,” Sydney whispered, a nagging feeling tugging at her. They were doing exactly what Willa had told them to do, going to the place she’d expected to go when she’d first arrived in 1533. Geoffrey had been very quiet since their episode this afternoon. He’d come down to dinner, and basically said his goodbyes to Anthony, Elizabeth and their children. He’d done it in such a way that, Sydney was sure, they thought he was being sentimental about the fact he’d come so close to death. Partway through the meal, Anthony had surprised them all by relating that Wilcox’s body had been found along the coastline. “It looks,” he’d said, “as if he’d run from the scene of your fight and tumbled off a cliff. His body is very battered.” The news had come as a shock, and Sydney wanted to ask Margaret if she’d brought him back, or if it had been Willa’s work. When the cottage came into view, Sydney was struck by the fact that it looked exactly the same as it had in her time period. Margaret stood in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her. She opened the door as they drew near and indicated the pair should go in before her. Sydney looked back at Geoffrey. He’d been quiet during their trek, and now he put his hand on the small of her back to guide her. Once they were inside, the door shut behind them.

Sydney whirled around, crashing into Geoffrey’s chest. He clasped her in his arms and the familiar thrill shot through her. Then his excuse rang out in her brain and she pushed away. “Margaret, open the damn door!” No answer came, and the room around them shifted. The wooden furniture and hanging herbs disappeared, and the hotel room in Paris appeared. “What the hell?” Geoffrey gently put her aside. “What is happening?” Fog lifted up from the floor, and the door to the room opened. Geoffrey stumbled inside, alone. Sydney watched as her obviously drunk lover fumbled to find a light. When it came on, the door behind him opened again, and Margaret stepped into the room. Sydney was too befuddled to say anything. Obviously, Margaret wanted them to know something, and she thought it would be easier to show it to them. When the Geoffrey from the vision started to fall, Margaret grabbed his arms and led him to the bed where she helped him to undress. “This can’t be happening,” Geoffrey said. “I guess what I should say is, this didn’t happen.” “Hush,” Sydney replied. “Maybe she has an excuse where you don’t, or maybe this is the reason you don’t have one.” The nude Geoffrey tumbled onto the bed, and Margaret shifted into a beautiful, blonde and very naked woman. She crawled in next to him just as Sydney opened the door. “You bitch!” Sydney wheeled in a circle, searching for the witch. “You let me hate him all these years, when in actuality I could have hated you? How could you do this?” She didn’t stop to think how stupid her words sounded. She hadn’t even known Margaret existed when this all happened. “I had to,” Margaret’s voice was soft. “It’s what set him on the path to right the wrongs of the past. Originally, he came back simply by stumbling into the gate. This time he had done research, he knew what was happening.” “And look what happened,” Geoffrey stepped into the conversation. “My sister was in jail. What if you had failed?” “Then I would have found another way to make things right. Your sister is no longer a suspect in your disappearance, because in the timeline you set forth, the right one, you are alive

and well. Things are as they should be. Willa sent me Wilcox’s body, so that those in this time would know he is dead. And, there are the papers, on the table.” Geoffrey walked to the table. He picked up the papers and waved them toward Sydney. “This is what damned Anthony and myself.” “Burn them,” she said, realizing the illusion of the Paris hotel room had disappeared. When Geoffrey threw the papers into the fireplace, they blazed up, as if they were gasoline thrown on the flames. Sydney thought that maybe they were. Those innocent looking sheets of paper held a malice that had hurt people in this generation, and in many generations to come. “Margaret,” Sydney whispered, “send us back.” There was no answer. “Maybe we are back,” Geoffrey said. He tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. At that point, Sydney didn’t care. “You realize what this means?” She felt light, jubilant. “It means you didn’t cheat on me. It means your excuse is not so lame. You’re not a traitor to our love.” Laughter bubbled out of her mouth, spreading through the room, making her feel light, airy. The memories inside her mind were fading, replaced only with the happy ones of her and Geoffrey together, kissing, loving, laughing. She doubled over, her mirth spilling forth, filling the room. When she looked back up, she saw Geoffrey grinning at her. She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him repeatedly, her lips landing on his cheeks, his nose, his lips, his chin. It was almost as if they’d never kissed before. Geoffrey held her close as he kissed her back, then he was tearing at her clothes. She joined in the fun, pulling at his, hearing the ripping of seams in the handmade garments they both wore. They tumbled onto the rug in front of the fireplace, its rough weave not one of the soft places where they’d made love in the past, but Sydney didn’t care. The only thing that mattered now was having Geoffrey inside her, making the two of them one. His hands were on her breasts, caressing her nipples into tight little buds. When he bent to feed on them, she arched up, offering herself to him. She stroked his back as he loved her, his lips moving over her slowly now, claiming every inch of her body.

She shivered as she realized how much she’d missed him, not only physically, but also mentally and spiritually. Never had she been able to share things about herself, her feelings, as she had with Geoffrey. “I love you,” she whispered as he settled himself between her legs, and pressed deep into her core. “So much.” “I love you, too,” he said, leaning down to kiss her as he moved inside her, stroking in and out, the feel of his length sending zings of pleasure through her. She clasped his hips between her legs, holding him as close as she could. It didn’t take long for her to climax, his hard, even strokes pressing against just the right spot. She screamed out his name as she came, clutching him tightly, savoring the sound of her own name on his lips as she felt his body tense above her. When he settle on top of her, she felt as if their bodies had become one, and when he tried to move off to the side, she held him close. “Don’t leave me. I want you here, with me, always.” “I will be,” he said. “We’ll be together as we’d always planned, only this time I believe I will be an Earl, and you a Countess.” Sydney laughed. “I don’t care if we’re the maid and groundskeeper, as long as we’re together. The past wasn’t real.” Behind them, the doorknob clicked, and Sydney knew they were back in their own time, without having to go through the gate. “Before I came here, Willa told me to follow the path. I think she meant for both of us to come here, where Margaret could show us what really happened, where she could remind us how much we love each other.” “She’s done just that,” Geoffrey said. “And I know we’ll never forget it again, no matter what.”

Dear Reader,

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about Sydney and Geoffrey. This is the first story I ever tried to write, many, many moons ago. I would write some, put it away, write some, put it away, write some…well, you get the drift.

A few years ago friends and writing partners encouraged me to pull the story out and finish it. It took quite a while, since my writing has changed since I first started. Still, Sydney and Geoffrey remain true to their selves, and their love.

Finishing it was a labor of love for me, and it brings back memories of all the people who read the different versions over the years, and how they encouraged me in my writing. Thank you to them, and thank you, dear readers, for taking the time to read this tale. I hope you have enjoyed it.

Happy reading! Melinda

About the Author

Melinda Barron loves to explore Egyptian tombs and temples, discover Mayan ruins, play in castles towers, and explore new cities and countries. She generally does it all from the comfort of her home by opening a book.

Melinda loves to lose herself between the pages of a book. The only thing she loves more is creating stories from the wonderful heroes and heroines that haunt her dreams and crowd her head. She believes love is for everyone, not just those who are a size 2. Her books are full of magic, suspense and love, in all sorts of shapes and sizes.

Mel currently lives in the Texas Panhandle, with two cats, and a file stuffed with new ideas to keep her typing fingers busy, and your heart engaged.

Melinda loves to talk to her readers and can be found at http://melindabarron.com/.

Also Available from Resplendence Publishing

The Last Celtic Witch by Lyn Armstrong: "As charming and magical as Celtic legend itself, a truly enjoyable read and wonderful debut!" Heather Graham New York Times Bestselling Author A painful death… a prophecy foretold. Pursued by evil forces for her powers, recluse Adela MacAye foresees her own agonizing death. She must seek the chosen one to produce an heir and pass on her Celtic powers. To fail would be the end of good magick, plunging the world into darkness. Conjuring a fertility spell she is led to a sensual chieftain who is betrothed to the sorceress that hunts her. Time is running out as fate and the future pursue her. Plagued by enemies and undermined by sabotage, handsome Laird Phillip Roberts must save his clan from bloody feud by making an alliance through marriage... a marriage he does not want. After a night of white-hot sensual delights with the alluring witch, his heart commands he break the pledge of peace. With treachery around every corner, will he be too late to save... The Last Celtic Witch?

Lady of the Isle by Temple Hogan From the Sea Series, Book One From the sea, two tormented souls are washed ashore—one a beautiful, mysterious lady, the other a man who'd once been the King's warrior and is now a lowly fisherman. As Rioghnach and Cormac learn to heal and trust in love again, they spend sun-seared days and starlit nights exploring the need that draws them together.

The Trouser Game by Genella deGrey Miss Jillian Kelley, a young woman on the brink of a new millennium, has just returned from

University in the States. Her new knowledge of the world—and its endless possibilities facilitates a desperate need to break free from her mother's old-fashion Victorian parlor ideal of proper behavior. As Miss Kelley avidly pursues her childhood crush—a traditional Brit with property– a handsome American with whom she shared a passionate night comes to call. The insufferable intrusion is annoying, however, his irresistible seductive ways draw her cravings to the surface like the rise of a tide. Bradley Townsend accepted with pleasure the bequeathed gift of Miss Kelley's virtue the very night they met, but the adventurous blue-eyed beauty stole his heart, leaving him holding nothing but a note in the morning. There's no way in Hell he's going to let her slip through his fingers— even if he has to hop on a ship, follow her home and seduce her all over again.

Infernal Devices by Abigail Barnette The Two Aces. Victorian London’s most salacious secret, the club is a place where erotic fantasies are played out among clockwork automatons and aether powered machines. Where nothing is off limits and the pleasures are as wicked as the imagination will allow... Permilia Deering goes to The Two Aces looking for the sexual excitement that she knows she will not find with the man to whom she is affianced, notorious cold-fish Wallace Sterling. On her first visit to the club, she meets the Ace of Spades, a masked stranger who drives her to heights of passion she’s never dreamed possible—and makes her seriously reconsider becoming a mannerly society wife. When Wallace Sterling first glimpses his fiancée standing outside The Two Aces, he assumes she’s uncovered his secret identity—the Ace of Spades. But Permilia has no idea that her intended is living a double life, and Wallace worries that he’ll be out of the picture once she gets a taste of what the Ace of Spades can offer her...

Chasing Temptation by Regina Carlysle London’s Haute Ton calls her Miss Temptation. But Elizabeth Grayson can’t be bothered by society’s diversions while seeking justice for her murdered sister. She is a woman on a dangerous mission. Now is not the time for mindless social engagements or courtships from men she has no intention of marrying. However, Christian Delaford is no ordinary man. He stirs her like no one she has ever met before. His eyes speak of sin and tangled sheets. Of decadent nights spent in his arms. Far too diverting for her peace of mind. Christian Delaford, the Duke of Haverton, must be married by midnight of his birthday or forfeit his heritage to a distant relation. After years of living a hedonistic life in the Orient, the thought of binding himself forever to an insipid English Miss fairly curls his toes. London’s current ‘diamond of the first water’, however, changes his mind. In Elizabeth, he finds a bold and daring

woman who harbors a terrifying secret. He vows to chase Miss Temptation, to the ends of the earth if needs be, and save her from the forces that would tear them both apart.

The Virgin Pirate by Temple Hogan Book One in the Pirate's Booty Series Born to a life of piracy, Nellie Bouchard knows no other life, but she longs to find a world beyond the ruthless violence and danger. Her wish is fulfilled when she captures Lord Trey Carlyle. Mesmerized by his masculinity and raw sexuality, she insists he teach her the secrets between a man and woman. Long tropical nights and sun-drenched days aboard her ship allow him to show her every aspect of sexual encounters while she teaches him about love. But he’s her captive and she’s a pirate with a price on her head. Their future might mean separation…or death.

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