ASHE was standing in the foyer of Ashebury Place when he heard the gentle sneeze and spun around to find Minerva in the open doorway. It had been three days since he’d seen her, since he’d taken the photograph of her in the garden. While the servants were managing most of the move, he needed to oversee some areas. Spending much of his time here did not leave him in the most amicable of moods. But seeing her now, he realized his foolishness in withdrawing. The gladness that swamped him at her presence was a bit disconcerting, was far beyond anything he’d ever before experienced.
“My apologies,” she said. “I was passing by on my way to the milliner when I saw all the activity going on here and recalled that you were moving in. I thought to stop by to see how you were doing with the memories.”
The only memories revolving through his mind at the moment involved her: at the Nightingale, at the club, at the ball. He wanted to jerk her to him, claim her mouth, carry her up the stairs, and claim her body. Instead, he tamped down the beast ravaging through him, and lacquered on a veneer of civilization. “I’m afraid I’m not really set up for visitors yet.”
“I don’t mean to impose, but I hadn’t seen you at the Dragons. I just wanted to ensure you were all right. I know how difficult all this must be.” Sneezing again, she pressed a lace handkerchief to her nose.
“Sorry, the servants have been uncovering things for days now, disturbing twenty years of dust.”
“Has it been that long?”
He nodded. “The house was closed up when I was taken to Havisham. A few years back, I came to check on it. Didn’t make it past the foyer before realizing I wasn’t ready to live here, so I leased a place.”
“But now you are ready?”
Forced to be ready. The edge of poverty made a man do things he otherwise might not. Like marry. Although the notion of spending the remainder of his life with her almost made him glad to be reclaiming the house. “I think so, yes. The ghosts are a bit quieter now.”
She glanced around. “From here, it looks to be quite grand.”
“Would you like a tour?”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“No imposition. As I said, it’s not quite ready, but I could show you this level, so you can get a sense of it.” Since it is bound to become your home as well.
“Yes, all right. I’d like that.”
As he escorted her down one of the hallways, servants bustled out of their way. Seldom seen, they were usually more discreet in taking care of matters, but so much needed to be done here that they had no choice except to work an odd schedule. The rooms spoke for themselves: a sitting room, a private parlor, the breakfast dining room.
They stepped into the library. Servants were pulling down the sheeting that had protected the shelves.
“I think the number of books a person owns says a lot about them,” she said, glancing around, apparently pleased to see so many leather-bound volumes.
“My father liked to collect books, but I don’t recall him reading them.”
“You were a child. You were probably in bed long before his reading time.”
He’d never considered that. She wandered to a shelf, touched a spine. “My vision of my father when I was eight was very different from my vision of him now.”
He walked over and leaned a shoulder against a shelf. “And how did you see him at eight?”
“So large. I had to crane my head back incredibly far to see him towering over me. He seemed scary, easily displeased. He was gone a good bit, managing the club. And he made my mother laugh. He never had a harsh word for her. The same couldn’t be said of my brothers. He was quick to admonish them if they misbehaved. Not so quick to chide me.”
“And now?”
She grinned. “He’s rather a kitten.”
Ashe laughed deeply, the sound vibrating around them. “I don’t quite believe that. I think any man who made you unhappy would find himself floating in the Thames.”
“He does have a reputation for being surly, doesn’t he?”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Ashe didn’t fear the man, but he did respect the power he wielded. He could easily destroy anyone who displeased him or brought sadness to his daughter.
He led her back into the hallway. “I would show you the gardens, but they’re rather a jungle presently.”
“Will it be difficult being back here?”
“Not as hard as I thought. I already have a pleasant memory to replace the not-so-pleasant ones—as you’d hoped I would. I’m glad you stopped by.”
She faced him as they reached the entryway. “I know you’re remarkably busy, but I wondered if you might be attending the Claybourne ball tomorrow night.”
“Only if you promise me the first and last waltz.”
She smiled with pleasure. “They’re yours. I’ve missed seeing you.”
“I’ll make up for my absence to you tomorrow.”
“I can hardly wait. Have a good day.”
With that, she spun on her heel—and he thought he heard the barest tinkling of chimes. Standing in the doorway, he watched as she strolled down the path to a waiting carriage, watched as she was assisted inside by the footman, watched as it traveled out of sight. His plan involved seducing her, yet he couldn’t help but feel that he was the one being seduced. Every time he saw her, he was charmed just a little bit more.
IT began with the explosion. The crash of engines, the splintering of wood, the eruption of fire.
It ended with the mangled bodies, strewn over the ground—
And Ashe sitting up in bed, breathing heavily, covered in sweat, tangled in sheets, feeling as though he would suffocate.
Years had passed since he’d had a nightmare as vivid, as horrific. He clambered out of bed, strode to a small table, poured himself a full glass of scotch, and downed it all in one long swallow. He should have expected this. It was his first night to sleep in the residence, his first night encased in the memories.
He walked to the window, gazed out on the darkness, fought to push out the gruesome images of blood and gore. He imagined tiny toes curled against his thigh, his hands folded around a shapely calf. His breathing calmed, his clammy skin began to cool.
He thought of Minerva stretched out on the bed, her face hidden by her mane of hair, the silk resting at her hips revealing the long length of her slender legs. The delicate ankles. He began to concentrate on the details: the heart-shaped birthmark, a tiny mole behind her knee. Everything a camera could capture. Her fragrance as passion took hold. Her taste. Everything that eluded the camera.
Her perfection, beauty conquered the demons of remorse and regret. He tried to recall other women posing for him, but she was all he saw. From the beginning, something about her was different. From the beginning, something about her had called to him. From the beginning, she had somehow managed to work her way into the fabric of his being.
He wanted her as his wife. It was time he stepped up his game.