fact that he was feeling more and more inclined to make the first move had little to do with his gratitude for the fine job she was doing. Instead, it had everything to do with the realization that against his better judgment, he was falling in love with her.
Heather would have to be blind not to notice the scorching looks Toby gave her whenever he thought she wasn’t watching. Those looks alone made her blood run hot, her muscles clench and her pulse skitter out of control. Such confusing messages caused her to stumble all over herself whenever Toby entered a room. That the man was a perfect gentleman, always offering to help in any way he could, didn’t make her job any easier. In fact, Heather had never worked so hard in her whole life—to pretend her boss wasn’t getting under her skin during the day and into her subconscious at night.
Falling into bed at the end of the day, Heather was exhausted from rebuilding the crumbling wall that defined their relationship into employer and employee. No matter how high or sturdy she constructed that barrier during the day, by nightfall it lay in pieces at her feet.
Heaven knew she was no saint. After her disastrous fling with Josef, she had given up even considering herself a “good girl.” It was no aversion to sex that kept her from following up on the powerful chemistry pulling her ever closer to Toby. It was fear, pure and simple.
She worried that going to bed with Toby would destroy their relationship altogether. Her experience with Josef had certainly proved that. Heather had little desire to be used and discarded again—especially since she so desperately needed this job. She needed the position not only to provide a sense of security but also a sense of self-worth. If she were totally honest with herself, she knew there was more to it than that. She had come to value her friendship with the man who had hired her to look after his son’s physical and emotional well-being. Aside from the fact that the lingering memory of Toby’s lips upon hers was a constant reminder to Heather that she was in fact a desirable woman, every day he was proving himself a funny, kind and surprisingly insightful friend. When she drew away, he did not push himself upon her like Josef had, either emotionally or physically. Instead Toby stepped back and gave her room to make up her own mind on any given matter without outside pressure. This all but ensured that she move closer to him on her own volition.
Tired as Heather was at the end of every day, sleep eluded her. When she finally did manage to drift off, more often than not her dreams were haunted by Miss Carlise. In the dreams, Heather was Miss Carlisle wearing a dress of black alpaca, and she would finger the golden locket around her throat. Inside was a picture of a man she did not recognize. Instinctively, she understood that this man occupied a special place in the governess’s heart. A heart that demanded that truths be revealed in the lives of this man’s descendants, generations cursed by the sins of a father.
That night, Heather’s dream changed. Horse hooves beat an eerie cadence upon the black drum of night. It drowned out the sound of her own fists pounding upon the carriage door and her pleas for the driver to slow down. Somehow she knew that a dangerous curve lay ahead. A curve destined to end her life over and over again for eternity—unless the past could somehow be rectified by the present.
By an unsuspecting and perhaps even sacrificial soul.
A blur of images and the echo of her own screams woke Heather. She sat up, bathed in sweat. Disoriented, she looked about in confusion to discover herself safe and sound in a bed torn apart by her own thrashing. That a cry for help was still reverberating in her ears caused her to doubt her own sanity. It took her a moment to realize the sound was not in her head but rather emanating from Dylan’s room. Fear grabbed her heart with stone-cold hands.
Springing from bed, Heather rushed to the boy’s bedside. The poor thing was in the grips of a nightmare that appeared to rival her own. Dylan woke with a start to see her silhouetted in his darkened doorway. He called out in terror.
“Mommy!”
Heather was at his side in an instant, holding him against her and soothing him with calming words.
“It’s all right, Dylan. I’m here. I’m here.”
Punctuated with sobs, a voice rusty from lack of use implored, “Don’t leave me.”
Those words ripped Heather’s chest. Dylan wrapped his arms about her neck, clinging to her with a desperation that belied his tender years.
“I won’t, honey. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
“Don’t say that unless you really mean it.”
The voice that issued that directive came not from the darling boy in her arms but from someplace behind Heather. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she swung her head around to see Toby standing in the very spot in the doorway that she had just vacated. Wearing nothing but a pair of simple white briefs, he was a vision of sculpted perfection. Heather had spent hours imagining his body’s contours, but her imagination had been sorely lacking. Such a body deserved to be carved out of marble and immortalized for posterity.
Laden with genuine concern, Toby’s voice was a caress in the night.
It was Heather’s ruination.
Her own voice was surprisingly steady in response.
“I do mean it.”
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