Fourteen
“Brice?” Tara sat up, clutching the covers to her. There was no sign of Ki’san—not his clothes, not his packs. Sunset had turned the sky radiant pink and orange. “What—what are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” Her brother threw his arms out in frustration. “Tara, I’ve been trying to reach you for days! I got a phone call from someone named ‘Drane’—for God’s sake—saying you totaled the car! And the caretakers, who are paid to be here taking care of you are at the fucking beach—”
“How is she?” Hannah hurried in, her mouth taut with worry. “I tried calling—”
“My sister is extremely ill!” Brice rounded on the housekeeper, his nostrils flared. “Or did I not make that abundantly clear to you during our last conversation, Mrs. McGovern?”
“Yes,” The housekeeper clutched a floppy, sunhat to her chest. “You did, Mr. Douglas.”
“You were not leave her alone! I made that clear as well, did I not?”
“Don’t blame Hannah,” Tara shifted, careful to keep herself covered. “I wanted some time alone—”
“You couldn’t be more alone in this backwoods museum! All those two had to do was stay in the house provided free of charge to them and be here to take care of you.”
“You’re right, of course, Mr. Douglas.” Hannah cringed. “William and I both apologize for any—”
“Apologize?” Brice sneered. “When you’ve utterly neglected your duties here, left my sister whom I entrusted to your care to go off to—”
“Excuse me!”
Both her red-faced brother and the miserable housekeeper were startled into looking her way.
“Brice, you and I will discuss this later, in private. Hannah, please choose something that can be prepared quickly for dinner. We’ll eat in the dining room. Now,” Tara lifted her chin. “Now, if you two don’t mind, I would very much like to get dressed. I’ll see you both downstairs in a few minutes.”
Once the hall door shut behind them, Tara threw back the covers and snatched up her robe. She was still tying the sash around her as she leaned against the secret panel.
“It’s okay, Ki’san.” She kept her voice to a whisper. “They’re gone now.”
She took a step back to let the panel swing open but nothing happened.
“You can come out.” She rapped her knuckles on the panel. “Ki’san?”
Tara pushed against the panel.
Nothing happened.
She pushed again, harder this time, just in the place he had, but the panel didn’t budge. Tara pressed her ear against the silken wall.
Silence.
But if he wasn’t at this end of the passage—
Brice’s room!
Tara whirled, racing through the sitting room. She threw open the door to her suite, heading the hall at a full run.
She stumbled to a halt just inside the green suite, nearly colliding with her astonished brother.
“Hey!” Tara managed, out of breath. “You’re here.”
“Tara,” Brice stared. “We just spoke a minute ago, in your room.”
The doors from the sitting room to the bedroom were open, but that panel too was shut.
“I didn’t mean here at the house.” She laughed, a little too loudly, praying that if Ki’san had made his way here he knew to stay in the passage. “I meant here in your room. I thought . . . you might need some help with your luggage. Or something.”
“You come flying in here—in your robe—after who knows how many days laying sick in bed—to offer to carry my bags upstairs?”
“Of course not. I was thinking that, uh. . .” She tugged on the sash of her robe. “William might give you a hand. You know, if you needed it.”
“Well, I really didn’t think to ask the elderly groundskeeper with the knee replacement to carry my luggage up. But just as well, right? He’d probably get sand or coconut oil all over the bags.”
“It was my idea for them to go.”
“That doesn’t mean they should have.”
“Okay, look,” Tara held her hands up. “We’ll talk about it downstairs. I’ll see you in the parlor.”
“Make it the billiard room,” he called after her. “I could use a drink!”
Tara shut the hall door to her suite, taking a precious second to turn the lock. She hurried back to the panel in her bedroom, but her tapping and whispered pleas went unanswered.
She pressed her forehead to the window but even in the fading daylight no bright gaze looked back at her from the woods. Tara scrubbed her face with her palms. With Hannah downstairs or running back between here and the lodge, Brice in the château and William who knows where on the grounds, it might be night before Ki’san could risk coming back.
And right now she needed to get downstairs and figure out some way to convince Brice and the caretakers to leave her alone—again.
Dressed in jeans and a silk tee she found Brice in the billiard room, scowling into his scotch.
“So,” Tara began brightly. “How was the Hamptons?”
“How was the Hamptons?” he echoed. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you?”
“Well,” she spread her hands. “I’m fine.”
“So fine you haven’t answered your phone? So terrific you were sleeping in the middle of the day?”
“Naps don’t constitute a pathology. Healthy people take them all the time. And I just texted you back what, yesterday?”
“Try three days ago.”
“Oh.” Had it been that long? “I was busy.”
“Busy doing what? You were here all alone, in the middle of nowhere, without even a car—”
“I’m really sorry about the Benz.”
“Fuck the Benz! I left you about a dozen messages, I don’t know how many texts and then I find out the employees—former employees—have left you alone in this godforsaken mausoleum!”
“I’m the one who told them they could take a vacation. You don’t have any grounds to dismiss them.”
“The hell I can’t. I checked, North Carolina is an at-will state. I can fire them for any damn reason I want.”
“If they weren’t my employees as well.”
“Why the hell would you even tell them they could go? What were you thinking?”
“Hannah and William work very hard here, they have for years. They have family coming in a few weeks and they deserved a break. And I wanted some time to uh . . .” Somehow I don’t think ‘so I could be alone with my alien lover’ is the way to go here. “Think.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve had time to think—or whatever. I need to get back to the city. Once Dang gets whatever still remains of my car up here.”
“It’s ‘Drane’. He must have worked fast if the car’s ready so quick.”
“He’s certainly charging enough for it. And as I can’t speak to the quality of the work, my guy in New York will look it over when we get home.”
“Not ‘we’, you.” She folded her arms. “I’m staying.”
“Tara,” he shut his eyes briefly. “I’m tired and hungry and I had a godawful time getting a flight down here.” He poured himself another scotch. “I really don’t want to fight.”
“Neither do I, and I am staying here, Brice. I can’t remember the last time I felt this good.” She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t I look better?”
His grudging glance swept over her. “You look rested at least. I guess that’s something. Yes?” Brice snapped when Hannah appeared at the billiard room door. “What is it?”
“Mr. Douglas,” Hannah indicated the hall behind her. “Your car has been delivered.”
“Thank you.” Brice knocked back the last of his whiskey and set his glass down. “Let’s see if the thing’s even drivable.”
He headed for the front door and Tara followed, catching the downcast housekeeper’s arm.
“Don’t worry,” she murmured to Hannah. “You work for me too, remember?”
“Mr. Douglas is right.” The housekeeper’s troubled gaze met hers. “Anything could have happened to you while we were gone.”
“I’m fine and I’m happy. Really happy.” She flinched when the front door slammed shut. “And I better get out there before the mechanic gets his share of Brice’s temper too.” She gave Hannah’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Everything will be all right. I promise.”
By the time Tara got outside, the car was unhooked from the tow truck. Brice was walking around the Benz, scowling. Drane, standing nearby, his hat pushed back on his forehead and his arms crossed over his chest, wasn’t looking any happier.
“Hey the car looks great!” Tara hurried down the stairs to examine the vehicle’s front end. “Not even a scratch.”
“Got lucky on a shipment from Asheville.” Drane puffed up. The Mercedes had been polished to a high shine too. “My boys did themselves proud on this one.”
“Does it even run?” Brice demanded. “You towed it up here.”
“I ain’t got men to spare what to have two of us deliverin’ a car at the end of the day.” Drane’s eyes narrowed. “And since everyone else comes to pick up their cars I ain’t never had call to deliver one neither. This ain’t New York.”
“Obviously,” Brice grumbled, continuing his inspection.
“Thanks so much for bringing it up here for me,” Tara said quickly. “Hannah and William just got back and I didn’t have a ride to town.”
“Happy to help when I can,” Drane said, somewhat mollified. “And this car runs beautiful now.”
“I’m sure you did a great job.” Tara turned to Brice. “Drane rescued me after the accident. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t happened by. He even gave me a ride back to Heatherbell.”
“Well,” Brice offered grudgingly, “you have my thanks—for that.”
“Take her out for a spin,” Drane’s tone was equally cool as he tossed the keys to Brice. “See what we done for yourself.”
Her brother sent Tara a sour look at Drane’s casual key hand off. “I’ll be right back.”
Drane moved out of the way as Brice started up the Mercedes. Her brother pulled gingerly along the drive as if he were worried the wheels might fall off or something.
“I appreciate the rush you put on it,” Tara said. “The car really does look great.”
“Thanks.” His rounded cheeks flushing, Drane pulled the folded invoice from his pocket. “Here’s the uh—”
“Right.” She glanced at the bill, but could hardly refuse to pay it. She sure didn’t want Brice to see the cost. Tara waved toward the house. “Why don’t you come inside and we can settle up?”
“They weren’t kidding.” Drane gave a low whistle when he saw the grand foyer, the carved staircase. “Looks like a hotel or a courthouse or something.”
“It’s had its dark days too,” Tara said heading up the stairs. “I just need to grab my checkbook.”
She shut the door to the hall behind her, but Ki’san hadn’t returned. She sped through the sitting room to tap on the panel again.
“Ki’san? Can you hear me?” She kept her voice low, her mouth close to the panel. “Are you there?” She tapped again. “Ki’san?”
It was unlikely he was somewhere in the passages if he wasn’t answering at all. That meant he was likely outside in the woods or at his ship—or trapped somewhere else in the house by everyone moving about.
Drane was just where she’d left him, as if he were too intimidated to venture further into the house than the foyer.
“I added a bit on for the delivery,” she explained, handing the check over.
His face flushed, his discomfiture likely an indication of how much he was already overcharging her. “Oh, you didn’t have to, Miss Douglas.”
“And you didn’t have to drive all the way up here.” She gave him a quick smile. “Use it to take Vera out to dinner. She might like a break from the kitchen.”
He chuckled. “Bet she would at that.”
“You don’t have to wait for Brice.” Tara opened the door, urging him that way. “In fact, might be better all around if you didn’t.”
“He that mad about the car?” Drane’s sunburnt brow furrowed. “My boys worked hard on that one.”
“He’s that mad at me. He just looks for other people to yell at instead.”
Drane glanced down the drive. “He don’t yell at you?”
“I wish he would.” Tara smiled at the mechanic’s baffled look. “Never mind. Thanks again for driving out here, and for the rescue.”
“Any time.”
“Have a good time tonight!” Tara called as he started up the tow truck. “Tell Vera I said hi!”
He threw her a smile and waved as he drove off.
Tara shut the front door behind her and leaned back against it, her heart hammering.
It was getting dark. If Ki’san was outside, he’d make his way back when the house was quiet. But if he were caught somewhere inside the house right now, he’d need her help to get safely to their room. With Brice back any minute, she didn’t have much time.
The swinging sound of the kitchen door revealed Hannah’s location.
That just leaves the rest of a thirty-five thousand foot château . . .
She made quick search of the parlor, ballroom, library and billiard room. The conservatory took only a quick glance, and the servant’s hall would have given him a way out of the house. She was halfway upstairs to check the other bedrooms and the third floor when Brice returned.
“Hey,” she paused on the stair, a little out of breath. “How’s the car?”
“It seems all right,” her brother allowed. “But the guy took off quick enough.”
“I told him he could go. I paid him too.”
“Before I got back?” Brice demanded. “What if the work was crap?”
“You just said it was fine.” Second floor. I’ll start with the second floor. “And he had a dinner date with his wife.”
“You still shouldn’t have—Can we talk about this, please?”
“Sure,” she agreed, already at the top step. “I’m coming right back. I just want to change for dinner.”
“Change? For what? You just got dr—Tara!”
“I’ll be right down!”
A glance into her own suite showed it still unoccupied, as were Brice’s rooms. She raced from room to room as quietly as possible, peeking in wardrobes and closets and baths. She hurried down the gallery and grabbed the bannister of the east staircase to propel herself upwards.
Tara paused, out of breath when she reached the narrow hallway of the third floor. Like everything that had been done for the household staff, these were plain rooms, unfurnished now, each scarcely big enough for dresser and bed. Two and sometimes three people would share these spaces, men on the west wing, women on the east.
And a still-locked door between them.
“Dammit!” But the knob wouldn’t budge. Tara took a step back, scanning the door frame, but no handy key hung there. Hannah would have it, but she could hardly run down and snag it now without having to get past Brice.
She whispered into the door seam. “Ki’san?”
She knelt to look through the keyhole. Nothing but empty hall lay on the other side. As a maid in this house, Leta had once lived up here. Tara suddenly wondered if she’d had ever had a sweetheart among the male servants. Someone who might have passed love notes under this same door, or whispered to her late at night through the seam.
She stood and blew her breath out. Without the key the only way to the other side of this door, and to the fourth-floor attic, was to take the second-floor gallery and go up the west staircase on the other side of the house. She retraced her steps down the women’s hall, down the east stairs—
“Tara?” Brice, startled, stared at her from the other side of the gallery. “I thought you were up here to change.”
“I was. I am.”
“What’s going on?” Brice glanced past her, up the east staircase. “What were you doing up there?”
“I . . . I wanted to check something out.” She forced a smile and joined him at the bottom of the stairs. “Actually, I have an idea I wanted to talk over with you.”
“Okay.” He raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“Is dinner ready?”
“Yes.” Brice said, sounding more annoyed by the moment. “That’s why I’m up here looking for you.”
“Fantastic!” she enthused, passing him. “I’m starved. How about you?”
“What’s this idea of yours?”
“We can talk about it over dinner.” She urged him along, speeding him past her suite and down the stairs. “Come on. You said you were hungry.”
Hannah was still dressed in shorts and a tank, her shoulders and nose pink, her forehead pinched as she bustled about, serving the two of them in the cavernous dining room. Tara exclaimed over the salad, the soup, the chicken marsala, complementing Brice on the wine he’d chosen, keeping up the conversation, clattering her silverware as she ate so that no stray footfall upstairs might draw her brother’s attention.
“Well, your appetite’s back with a vengeance.” Brice raised his eyebrows as she scraped the last bit of chocolate mousse from her dessert cup. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you eat like that.”
“Like a normal person?”
“Like an offensive lineman.” Brice settled back in his grand chair at the head of the table. “So what’s this idea you wanted to tell me about?”
“Right.” Tara set down her spoon. “Actually, there’s a couple of things I need to talk to you about.”
“Okay.”
“Well, first, there’s Heatherbell. I think we should open the house.”
“What do you mean ‘open it’?”
“I mean turn it into a hotel.”
His brows shot upward. “A hotel?”
“Yes. Maybe even renovate some of the outbuildings into spa facilities. It would make a great venue for weddings.”
“Where the hell did all this come from?” He shook his head. “Who would even run it? I’m not moving into to this miserable relic! And you’re—”
“Hannah and her family can run it.”
His face was closed. “You mean the caretakers I’m firing for incompetence?”
“You are not”—Tara lowered her voice—“firing them. Those people have spent most of their lives here, taking care of this estate. The townspeople know them. Their daughter, son-in-law and granddaughters are moving here in a few weeks. Their family has been here for generations.”
“So?”
“It’s called loyalty, Brice. And it goes both ways.”
“No, it’s called employment and it ends when their services are no longer needed.”
Tara rested her palms on the table. “There’s no mortgage on this house and the taxes are minimal. We already have a staff in place who cares—who takes pride—in this property. I think the risks are minimal. Heatherbell could be making money instead of sitting here costing it.”
“It doesn’t have to sit here at all. The proceeds from its sale can go for better things.”
“Like another boat? A bigger apartment? How much do you need?”
“What is so special about this place?” He threw a dismissive look at the room. “Why do you want to stay here at all?”
“Actually,” she took her napkin from her lap and placed it on the table. “I’ve decided to travel.” Her fingers curled around the fabric. “On my own. For a while.”
“Travel?” He stared. “Where are you traveling to?”
She shrugged, glancing away. “I’m not sure. Someplace way off the grid.”
“Okay.” Brice passed his hand over his eyes. “Let me see if I’ve got this all. You want to turn a multimillion-dollar estate into a hotel even though neither of us has any experience in doing that, then hand the whole thing over to caretakers to manage—who also don’t have experience doing it—and head off alone to Bali or Fiji or whatever.”
She picked up her dessert wine glass, holding it in both hand. “Pretty much.”
“And that sounds perfectly reasonable to you.”
“Look, you and I have gone round and round about Heatherbell for years. This is a viable option. Besides, I want Hannah and her family to have a place here, a future. They deserve it and it’s extra income for you. And as to the traveling, I just want to see more of,” she took a quick sip of the ratafia di fragola, “whatever’s out there. What’s wrong with that?”
“Tara,” his expression was pained. “You don’t know how much time—”
“No one knows how much time they have.” She set her glass down firmly. “That chandelier could fall on our heads.”
He sent a mock-fearful glance at the fixture. “And you want to turn this place into a hotel?”
She smiled. “We’ll have liability insurance. Besides, we have a resident ghost, remember? That should draw some guests. And that reminds me,” Tara stood. “I found something you have to see. Meet me in the parlor.”
His brow creased. “It’s in the parlor?”
“In a way. I’ll be back down in a minute.”
“Don’t get lost this time.”
Tara’s shoulders fell in disappointment to find their suite still unoccupied, and she sent a worried glance outside. It was dark now; she turned the lights on so he could see her moving about in here. But lights blazed in the rooms downstairs as well; Ki’san would be understandably hesitant about returning with everyone awake and moving about.
The portrait was heavier than she remembered and awkward to handle, but she hadn’t had to carry it far before. Brice was brooding in the parlor.
“Ready?” she asked, keeping the image turned toward herself.
“Sure.”
“Take a look at this!”
With a flourish, she turned the canvas around.
He shrugged. “It’s nice.”
“Nice? Brice! Don’t you understand? This is Rose.”
“Who?” Her brother’s brow knitted. “You mean our great-grandfather’s first wife?”
“Yes! Isn’t it amazing?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t you understand? Leta up there wasn’t our great grandmother—Rose was!” At his doubtful look, she knelt beside the portrait. “I look just like her!”
“There’s certainly a resemblance between you and”—he waved at the painting—“her. But that doesn’t mean you’re related. Where did you find that thing anyway?”
“I—”
I can’t tell him any of it! Not how we discovered the painting or about the passages, the secret room . . .
“Upstairs.” Tara mumbled, climbing to her feet. “But there’s more—Hannah was telling me about her great aunt Madge, how Allaster and Leta got married right away after Rose died, how our grandfather was already six months old when—”
“Look,” Brice rubbed his eyes. “I’ve had a hell of a day. How about you let me get some sleep? You can give me the whole dysfunctional family history tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure, go get some sleep. In fact,” disappointed, she carefully leaned the portrait against the wall, “can you carry that to my room? I’ll turn off the lights down here.”
Her heartbeats were dull thuds in her chest; she’d lain in bed for hours now, listening so hard for the sound of Ki’san’s footstep her ears rang.
She’d left the conservatory door unlocked. She’d shut off the lights of her room too. He would be able to see his way from the woods, he would know it was safe now.
If he’s been caught I’m sure I’d have heard something, a commotion, a shout.
Something.
He might well have decided, with Brice and the caretakers and Drane about, that he should ‘forest’, stay camped far from the house. Or pass the night in his ship.
She turned toward the window, curling up. She’d tried again, unsuccessfully, to open the panel here in her room. She was fearful of making too much noise, worried Brice might hear her and come to investigate.
Her mind had edged toward the one thought she’d forced away before—
What if he is out there, in the woods, hurt?
There would be no way for him to let her know he needed her. She itched to dress, to go in search of him. But what if he returned here and found her gone? She chewed her cheek, warring between waiting here and trying to find her way to his ship through the dark woods with just her phone’s flashlight.
Tara pushed the covers off and crept to the sitting room window, pushing it open, wincing at the creak it made. The sweet fragrance of flowers filled the room as she leaned against the window frame. The breeze stirred the branches, rustling the leaves, lifting her hair. He would be able to smell her.
Clouds covered the moon, but he would be able to see her.
Surely, with his g’hir senses, he knew she was here.
“Where are you?” Her fingers twisted in her nightgown, her voice no louder than that whispering of fabric. “Where are you?”