Four
She brought her arm up to block out the sudden brightness.
Through cracked lids, Rose’s flowery room came into focus—and with it a short, rounded form silhouetted against the window, one pushing the curtains open to let sunshine flood the room.
Tara gasped; her hand shot out to the place beside her—
And found it empty.
She sat up, her glance darting about the room.
“Good morning!” Hannah’s gray bob swung as she turned from the window, her face sunny as the morning. “Did you find everything all right last night?”
“Yes.” Her voice was roughened by sleep and Tara cleared her throat. “Yes, I did.”
“It looks like you didn’t even touch the fried chicken I left in the fridge.” She tsked. “Mr. Douglas wanted me to remind you to eat, even if you don’t feel like it. Now,” Hannah bustled over to push the bedroom doors wide, the sitting room curtains already open. “I’ve brought your breakfast up if you’re ready for it.”
“Sure. Of course.” Tara pushed the hair out of her face. “Thank you.”
The sheets beside her were cool and his packs were gone; only the robe she draped last night remained on the chair. She got out of bed, pulling the robe on. The warm scent of him lingered still, comforting and sweet like—
“Cinnamon rolls.” Hannah indicated the table in the sitting room. “Freshly made, just this morning. Bacon and eggs and toast too. There’s juice and coffee but I can run down and fetch you tea, if you’d rather.”
“I’m not sure I can manage even half of that.”
“Well, you just eat what you can.” The housekeeper’s smile was kind as she crossed the room, her hand already on the bathroom door knob. “And I’ll clear away the rest, no worries.”
“No!” Tara used the bed’s carved Cupid foot post to propel herself around. “Don’t go in there!”
“Why not?” Hannah looked round, wide-eyed, from the center of the bathroom. “What’s the matter?”
The dressing room too was empty.
“I—” Tara sent a weak wave at the floor, at the dirt she’d trailed in last night. “Because I left it such a mess.”
“This?” The housekeeper gave a light laugh. She plucked Tara’s used towel from the bar then bent down using it wipe the floor clean. “See? No trouble at all.”
Where the hell is he?
As Hannah continued to tidy up, Tara backed into the bedroom. Other than the breakfast tray Hannah had brought, the sitting room looked the same as it had yesterday when she arrived.
“Miss Douglas?” The housekeeper followed her in, laundry tucked under her arm. “What are you looking for?”
“Nothing! I mean—my phone. I thought I left it out here. But I guess it’s in my bag.”
“Do you want me to help you look?”
“No.” Tara forced a smile. “I’ll find it.”
“Are you feeling all right, Miss Douglas?” The housekeeper hesitated, then shifted her bundle to hold up Tara’s torn and dirty trousers “Did you . . . fall?”
“I, uh—” Her clothes looked even worse by daylight. “I had a little fender bender.”
A too-kind description of the mess she’d made of her brother’s car.
“Were you hurt?” Hannah’s brows rushed together as she examined the clothes. “Goodness, this is blood!”
“Nosebleed.” Tara blurted. “I get bad ones sometimes. But that was after the car. I even caught a ride back with the tow truck. Well, almost all the way back. I had to walk up to the house and I . . .” Tore the hem climbing into the space ship parked between here and the road? “Well, my clothes are the worse for it, I guess.”
“I wish you’d called us.” Hannah fretted. “We would have come to get you.”
“I couldn’t get service and then my phone died and—You know, I am starved.” Tara hurried to lift the cover on the plates, the heavenly scent of bacon wafting up.
The housekeeper cast a worried eye over the trousers. “I don’t know if there’s any fixing these even if they did come clean. The tear’s up the back, the fabric would have to be rewoven—”
“Just toss them..” She seated herself at the table. “The shoes too. I’m sure they’re a total loss.”
“I think you’re right about the clothes. I might put the shoes in for charity, if that’s all right?”
“Of course.” She stirred cream and sugar into her coffee and took a sip. “Thank you. I’m fine for now. And you probably have a million things to do.”
Tara winced inwardly at how bratty her dismissal sounded, but Hannah gave her a smile.
“I should go down, catch William before he heads to town. I’ll be back to get the dishes later.”
“No hurry.”
The housekeeper offered a friendly wave from the staircase as she headed down. As soon as Hannah’s footsteps faded, Tara was on her feet and back in the bedroom. She threw herself onto her knees and lifted the bed skirt.
Nothing.
No alien, no packs, not even a freaking dust bunny.
Tara opened the linen closet and a wardrobe that, at his size, he’d have to be a contortionist to fit into.
He couldn’t have just left. He would have woken me.
Wouldn’t he?
Tara stopped beside the bedroom window. Below in the garden William pulled off his hat, using a cloth to mop his forehead. From the wheelbarrow and tools and neat piles, he must have been out there since sun up.
Maybe . . . maybe he’s back at his ship.
But with William outside and Hannah moving about downstairs, how could he have gotten out without alerting either of them?
A thought occurred to Tara that raised the hair on her arms.
I didn’t imagine it! I haven’t shown any sign of cognitive deterioration yet. Doctor McFaran said so last week. Her hands balled into fists. I’m going back out into the woods right now, goddamn it! I’ll find that fucking space ship and—
At the light touch on her shoulder Tara yelped, whirling around.
Ki’san jumped at her cry, his luminous eyes wide.
“Miss Douglas?” Running footsteps, drawing closer, pounded on the staircase. “Miss Douglas! Are you all right?”
He turned toward the door and Tara darted around him.
“Stay here,” Tara whispered. “Stay here and stay quiet!”
She yanked the double doors to the bedroom shut, her glance casting about the sitting room before lunging at the nearby chaise.
“What is it?” The housekeeper rushed in, her gray bob ruffled, her rounded cheeks flushed, her blue eyes darting about. “What happened?”
“Found it!” Tara leaned back casually against the closed bedroom doors and held up her cell.
“I thought—you called out—”
“I was right in the middle of a text and—” She gave a shrug that was pure Upper East Side princess. “Phone’s dead again! Don’t you hate that?”
“Oh . . .” Still out of breath, the housekeeper straightened. “As long as you’re all right.”
“I’ll call you if I need anything.” She chirped as she plugged her phone in. “Once it’s charged, that is.”
“Since you’re ‘fine’.” Hannah’s tone was noticeably cooler now. “I’ll be heading to town with William.”
“Sounds good!”
Tara kept smiling but there was no friendly wave this time from Hannah as she stomped back down the stairs.
As soon as the housekeeper’s footsteps reached the foyer, she sped across the sitting room, shut the doors to the hall and turned the antique key to lock them. The robe flapped around her legs in her hurry as she threw the bedroom doors open.
And stopped short, staring.
Bathroom!
She shut the bedroom door behind her and locked them too, then she was swinging around the bed.
But he wasn’t in the bathroom either. She pushed the door to the dressing room wide to find it, too, deserted.
“Okay, she’s gone,” Tara retraced her steps into the bedroom and knelt to lift the bed shirt. “Now you can—”
But the space underneath the bed was as empty as before. Tara straightened, her heart hammering. The doors to the bedroom were still closed.
Closed. And locked.
She backed away from the doors.
Oh my God! Oh my God! I really am losing—
“Tarrahh?”
She spun around. Ki’san was here, two paces in front of her, as if he had appeared from thin air.
“How the hell are you doing that?”
“Doinggg?”
“Here!” She grabbed his wrist to keep him from vanishing again. “Not here! Here!”
His brow creased and he extended his free arm. With two fingers against the wall, he pressed hard.
Tara’s mouth parted as the framed silken panel popped open.
The panel was thick as a door, the hinges cleverly concealed by the decorative carved trim. In stark contrast to Rose’s lush rooms, the passage’s wood floor was dull, unpolished, the walls simple wood and brick. Ki’san packs rested on the floor near the panel, leaning against the brick.
“Not know?” He tilted his head. “Tara?”
“What, that there’s a secret passage into this bedroom? Of course I didn’t know! But no one ever allowed me to come in—” She blinked. “You’re talking.”
“Talking. English.” Quite deliberately he inclined his head in a human-style nod. “Yes.”
“Well, at least I know I’m not—” Tara passed her hand over her eyes. “No, actually the English-speaking alien and the secret passage brings my sanity into greater question.”
Never a fan of bugs or spiders, she edged a little closer, leaning forward to peer into the concealed hall.
“Why is this even here?” Heatherbell was finished in 1898—far too late to be part of the underground railroad, and she doubted her great-grandfather was prognosticating prohibition. No one in the family, none of the staff, had ever said anything about—“Wait.” She looked up at him. “How did you know it was here?”
He looked surprised by the question—and equally at a loss as to how to answer. He held her gaze then, very deliberately, sniffed.
“You could smell it? That doesn’t make any—” She stopped, holding her hand up. “You know what? It makes as much sense as anything else right now.”
His gaze fixed on the closed bedroom doors.
Tara lowered her voice. “Is Hannah out there? I locked the doors to the hall but she has a master key.” She edged over to the window, looking down just in time to see the housekeeper join William in the garden. William’s tools and garden things were already neatly put aside and the pair started off in the direction of the cottage. “They’re leaving and there’s no one else in house. At least there shouldn’t be.”
Ki’san’s attention was still riveted on the doors. Assured now that she could let go without him disappearing into thin hair, she turned the lock and pushed the bedroom doors open. “See, there’s no one—”
He was past her and on the other side of the sitting room in an instant, his golden eyes hopeful.
“My breakfast?” Tara raised her eyebrows. “That’s what you were—? Never mind. I’m just happy you actually exist. Help yourself.” One of the three cinnamon rolls vanished in two quick bites and she took a quick step forward. “Maybe I could have just one?”
He paused, the other pastry halfway to his mouth. He offered it to her.
She was still chewing her first bite while he was licking the frosting from his fingers from his last. He sent a hesitant glance at her.
“The coffee’s mine. And the cream and sugar.” She picked up the cup. “But you can have the rest.”
He made short work of the eggs, toast and bacon, and she handed him the orange juice glass herself.
“How are you feeling?”
“Hurts,” he growled, wincing as he touched his side. “Got-to-be tired.”
“Wait, that’s exactly what I—you’re repeating me.” She stared. “You’re learning so fast because you’re repeating things you hear.”
He inclined his head. “Learning so fast.”
“Do you remember everything I say?”
“Heard you. Remember. Yes.”
“Then, you have ears like an elephant. And a beagle’s sense of smell too.” She took another sip of coffee. “What’s your sight like?”
“G’hir.”
Tara frowned at the clipped rumble. “Excuse me?”
“My sight,” he growled, “is g’hir.”
“Does that word mean ‘good’?”
“No.” His face darkened. “Does not mean good.” Then his expression softened and he tapped his chest. “G’hir.” He pointed at her. “Human.”
“That’s what you are? You’re uh—”
She tried to roll her tongue the same way and couldn’t. She repeated after him twice and either got close enough with ‘grah-here’ or he just took pity on her.
“I am g’hir,” he rumbled. “You are human.”
“And you are learning really fast.”
“Want to learn fast.”
He was picking up pronunciation and grammar at an astonishing speed. His voice had a deep timber, a rolling vibration that ran through her like gentle thunder . . .
Tara looked away, embarrassed to see she was still in her nightgown and robe. “I should probably put on some clothes. You—” She held up a finger warningly. “Don’t go anywhere, okay? No vanishing into secret passages or trap doors or whatever.” She pointed at the spot where he presently stood. “You stay right here, got it?”
“Right here.” He inclined his head again. “Got it.”
“Okay, I’ll be right—hold on.” She turned back. “That was a joke, wasn’t it? I said, what’s your sight like and you said ‘g’hir’.”
“Joke.” His fangs showed in a slow grin. His eyes were shimmering gold, sparkling with humor. “Yes.”
Tara suddenly recalled the woman in the crystal, the tenderness of her smile, her wave as she called out to him—
“I’ll, uh,” Tara took a step back. “I’ll be right out.”
Clad now in jeans, a tee and sneakers, she found him exactly—exactly—where she’d left him in the sitting room, as if he’d been rooted to the spot.
He had been looking longingly at the bright spring day but he offered another smile when he saw her. “Right here.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it sound so literal.” She indicated the still-open panel as his stance eased. “How far back does that go? Did you know?”
“Not know, Tara. How far back.”
He followed her to the passage’s entrance.
“Doesn’t look like they installed any lights in there.” She chewed her lip for a moment. “And my phone’s still charging.”
Ki’san reached past her, rummaging through one of the packs for a moment, then brought up a flat square, similar in size to her phone but one that had instantly Tara shielding her eyes as it lit up.
“Yeow, could you turn it down a bit? That thing’s giving me a sunburn!”
He swung the light away, dimming it at the same time. His long fingers, warm under her chin, gently tilted her face up. He frowned, peering into her eyes.
“Hurt, Tara?”
“Oh, I—” His light touch sent a tingle to ends of her fingers and heat into her belly. “No. I’m fine.” She indicated the secret hall, looking anywhere but at him. “Let’s see where this thing goes.”
He blocked her way with a warning glance, then eased into the passage. He paused for a moment, his shoulders tight, using the light to examine every corner and angle.
“Whatever’s in here I’m pretty sure it isn’t a tiger.” She squeezed in behind him, not confident enough to pull the panel shut behind her. “You were in here already for how long? And you lived to tell the tale, so let’s see where this thing goes.”
The soaring ceilings of the main house weren’t carried into this space and the intersecting beams had him ducking his head as they turned the corner. Tara wrinkled her nose at the stale smell. It was a tiny hall, and two humans could have squeezed by each other in this space but Ki’san’s shoulders were hunched as he moved. Their footprints showed in the dust of the unfinished floor.
“Okay, Tara?”
“Sure.” She leaned over to look past him, the hall continued on, at least twenty-five feet ahead with no end in sight. “I’m fine.”
“Breathing fast.” His glance passed over her. “Heart quicker.”
“Yeah, I might be feeling a teeny bit claustrophobic. Let’s get a move on, all right?”
“Safe.” His luminous golden eyes met hers. “Safe with me. Always.”
“Hey, as I recall you weren’t in a hurry to explore this before.”
“Not in a hurry,” he rumbled. “So you are safe, Tara.”
“That’s . . . really sweet.” Her voice was rough and she cleared her throat. “But since this isn’t exactly the most comfortable part of the house—” She indicated the dim hall ahead. “Any idea how much farther this goes on?”
“Not far.”
“Can you see an end?” There was nothing in that direction but more creepy wooden hallway. “Or smell one?”
Ki’san gave a shrug, leading the way again. “Both.”
His idea of ‘not far’ and hers, at least within the tight confines of a dark, musty, spidery hallway, turned out to be very different.
“I meant an end as in ‘exit”. Not a dead end.” Her shoulders fell at the hall’s disappointing limit. “This must be some kind of holdover from a remodel or something.”
He gave her a puzzled look and lifted his hand, fresh air and light pouring in as he pulled a panel inward.
Tara’s eyes widened. “The gentleman’s suite?”
She followed him out, steadying herself against the dark, carved four poster bed of the master suite. Rich in mahogany paneling, the room’s dark velvet was reflected in gloomy greens of the paintings. At different points in the suite, springer spaniels stood with geese dangling from their mouths, or ducks flew overhead as one of their number plummeted toward the ground, victim of a hunter’s lucky shot. These rooms faced north, the lack of direct light adding to the heavy feel of the space.
Over the fireplace, done in dark baroque shades, men watched dispassionately from horseback as their dogs poured over the hill to take down a lone, fleeing buck.
“Human males hunt.” Ki’san’s bright glance took in the rooms with interest. “In this we are the same.”
“Yeah, the paintings are beautifully done but all things considered,” she waved toward the passage. “I’m glad I went with the haunted suite.”
“I not know ‘haunted’.”
“Occupied by a spirit. Rose, actually.” Tara brushed the dust from her hands. “The first woman who lived in this house. She’s our resident ghost.”
“Dark eyes,” he rumbled. “Like yours.”
“What?” Tara’s head came up. “What did you say?”
“The spirit here, eyes like yours.” He considered. “Hers are sadder.”
“You’ve seen Rose?” She shook her head. “I mean her ghost. Rose’s ghost, you’ve seen her?”
“You sleep, she is there. Then sunlight, she is gone.” He pointed at the bed with its emerald, velvet drapes. “Who sleeps here?”
“No one.” Tara spread her hands, startled by the sudden change of subject. “Hannah got the room ready for my brother but he had business back in New York.”
He pointed again, sharply. “Who sleeps here?”
“No one!”
Ki’san strode through the suite and threw the doors open. Frowning, she followed him through the sitting room and into the hall.
“Why no one, Tara?” His rumble echoed through the empty house. “No one but you?”
“Oh! You mean why am I the only one living here? Well, I wasn’t always. My great-grandparents lived here. My grandparents did too. My father would bring us on visits. But there’s just me and Brice—that’s my brother’s name, Brice—left now.”
“Dead?” His face blanched. “All dead, Tara?”
“All dead. Look,” she waved it away, “that was a long time ago.”
“You should not live in a house of the dead.” His fangs flashed. “You should not sleep in a house of the dead!”
“Yeah,” Tara folded her arms. “You know, when you put it like that, it really does lessen the appeal of the place. Well,” she said, looking back at the master suite, “at least we know where the secret passage goes. I guess it’s not such a surprise. You could hardly have husbands and wives sleeping in the same bed, right?”
“Human mates”—his brow creased—“do not share a bed?”
“No, they do. But the wealthy didn’t, not in the Victorian era.” He looked baffled. “In the time of my great-grandparents. Husbands and wives had separate rooms.”
“Why?”
“Well, partly to show off that they were wealthy enough to have separate rooms. Or in this case”—she indicated the suite with a wave—“a couple of separate rooms.”
He looked down the hall, toward the doors of the lady’s apartment, then at the open panel in the master’s bedroom. “Why another way?”
“Victorians tried to act like they didn’t sleep together.” She rushed on. “My great-grandfather may have had that passage built so he could get to Rose’s room. I don’t know what he did about Leta.”
“Lee-tah?”
“Leta was my great-grandmother. She was his second wife. The woman he married after his first wife, Rose, died.”
“G’hir”—he tapped his chest—“marry once.”
“You never re-marry? Ever?” That was a surprise. “Even if she dies?”
Ki’san shook his head sharply. “Once.”
Unbidden, the image of the woman in the crystal calling to him flashed in her mind . . .
“Well,” Tara forced through the tightness her throat. “That’s way more about my great-grandfather’s private life than I ever wanted to know, and one cinnamon roll isn’t going to do it. Hannah said there’s some chicken in the fridge. Are you still hungry?”
“I am starved.”
“You do remember everything I say. And how bratty I say it.” Tara stopped short. “Hold on, I have to go back through the passage. I locked the doors to my room from the inside. I won’t be able to get in from the hall.”
“I will go.”
She lifted her chin then burst out laughing. “Usually, Ki’san, I’d give you my ‘I-don’t-need-help’ speech but this time I’m happy to let you handle it.” She waved him on. “The key’s in the lock. I’ll meet you out here in the hall, okay?”
He gave her a nod, ducking into the passage and pulling the panel shut behind him.
She was still smiling as she strolled into the hall—and gasped as her suite door opened.
Ki’san tilted his head. “Okay, Tara?”
“How—” She looked behind her toward the master suite then back at him. “How did you do that?”
He waved toward the now-open door to Rose’s suite as she joined him at the door. “Passage.”
“No, I mean I know how—” She shook her head. He’d even taken the time to shut the panel. “How did you do it so fast?”
Comprehension cleared his expression. “I am g’hir.”
“Are all g’hir as fast as you are?”
“I run”—he gave a casual shrug—“little faster.”
“Oh.” Tara hid her smile at his shy pride as they headed for the stairs. “Maybe you could show me how fast you can run later.” She glanced up at him, her hand on the carved wooden railing. “If you don’t mind. I don’t know much about g’hir.”
“I do not mind.” He paused, frowning. “Human young have wings, Tara?”
“Wings?” She followed his gaze. “Oh. No, those are cupids. Or cherubs maybe. Either way they’re not human. They mythical creatures representing uh—love.”
“So many. Why?”
“Because money doesn’t buy good taste.”
His bright eyes blinked at her.
“That means that my great-grandfather overdid it because he wanted everyone to see he was very, very rich.”
“Important for a human male?” At the bottom of the stairs he stopped to regard the stories above, the dark wood and stained glass. “To be very, very rich?”
“I think it’s important for men to feel accomplished, to feel like they can provide well for their families.”
“G’hir males too, must hunt, must provide well,” he rumbled. “To have a mate.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure that was Allaster’s—my great-grandfather’s—motivation. My father had people research our ‘noble’ Douglas lineage—” She waved at the gilded coat of arms hanging over the dining room’s enormous fireplace as they passed it. “And Papa didn’t much like what they found. Turns out Allaster wasn’t even a Douglas. He was actually one of nine children. The son of a coal miner from Larnarkshire who died in an accident when Allaster was young. My great-grandfather could barely read or write when he stepped off the boat in Boston. He didn’t own much beyond the clothes he was wearing. He probably wouldn’t have qualified to be a servant on one of the Douglas estates.”
“But why”—Ki’san followed her into the kitchen—“take another name?”
“Because it made him seem more . . . important, I guess. The Douglas family had an old name, castles, history.” Tara opened the fridge door, surveying the contents. She pulled the plate of fried chicken, the potato salad and other sides, grateful that Hannah must have planned the meals with the idea that Brice would be here too. “One of the genealogists even found an article from the society page when Allaster and Rose were engaged. The paper called him ‘a member of the ancient Douglas clan’ and implied that he was a cousin of the Duke of Hamilton. But Allaster’s fortune was made by then, and the supposed tie to the Scottish aristocracy must have played well in New York society.”
He helped her lift down the plates. “Your name ‘Douglas’?”
“It’s Tara Douglas, yes.”
“But his not Douglas . . .”
“Oh. Right.” She smiled. “My great-grandfather’s name was Bryson, so I guess it’s mine too.”
“Tara Bryson,” Ki’san rumbled.
“Not so loud.” She laughed. “You’re the only one who knows my secret identity.”
His eyes crinkled with humor. “I keep your secret.”
“You know what?” Tara picked up the fried chicken platter. “Let’s go eat our lunch like one of the aristocrats I’m not.”
With his assistance she soon had their lunch set out at one end of the long table. Large in scale and heavily carved, the chair at the head of the table allowed even Ki’san to sit in relative comfort. Tara took the seat at his right.
“You know, I would never do this if we were hosting a ‘proper’ dinner party,” She pointed to the opposite end. “I should be sitting down there.”
He glanced that way. “We could not talk.”
“That’s the idea.” She placed three pieces of chicken on his plate, then scooped potato salad next to it. “You’re not supposed to talk to the one who accompanied you to dinner.”
“Why?”
“It’s supposed to give you a chance to talk”—she gave him an impish smile— “or to flirt—with whoever is sitting beside you.”
“‘Flirt’?”
“That’s like . . . indicate interest in someone.”
“You sit here, now”—his brow creased—“to ‘flirt’?”
“No.” Tara ducked her head. “Of course not. But,” she indicated the empty end of the table, “like you said, if I sat down there we wouldn’t be able to talk.”
His bright gaze went to the plate in front of him.
“That’s chicken,” she said quickly, pointing it out. “Potato salad, biscuit, coleslaw . . .” It took her a moment to realize he wasn’t sure how to approach eating any of it. She lifted a chicken leg from her plate. “This and the biscuits you use your hands for. The rest you eat with the fork.”
Looking relieved, he copied her. His fingers were long and nimble and he was quick and neat as he ate, stripping every bit of meat from the chicken. The fork was too small for his hand, but that too he manipulated well. It reminded her a bit of the way he handled those instruments on his ship.
He clearly enjoyed the meal, happily taking the extra servings she offered, rumbling with pleasure as he polished off the last biscuits then laid his utensils down.
“Still hungry? There’s more in the kitchen.”
“No.” He stood. “I must go now.”