as Cullen Ryan used to call her. Elizabeth thought that one word, that hated nickname, spoke volumes about the way he saw her.
“Elizabeth?” Becca touched her arm.
With an effort, Elizabeth drew her attention back to the conversation. “Sorry. What were we talking about? Oh, yes. The Bluffs. It was brought over from England, stone by stone, by one of the Pierce ancestors, but a few years ago a man named David Bryson acquired it. There’s been bad blood between him and the Pierces ever since. And, of course, there was Tasha.”
“Tasha?”
“Natasha Pierce.” At the thought of her dead friend, a cloak of sadness settled over Elizabeth, but she tried to shake it off. She didn’t really want to talk about Tasha or David Bryson, but Becca was new in town, and it was only natural she’d be curious. “Her family never approved of David. Apart from the animosity over the Bluffs, they thought he was too old for her. She was only eighteen when they became engaged, and David was in his thirties. She died one night in a terrible boating accident, and her body was never found. Since then, no one’s seen David, although they say he walks the night. Supposedly, he was horribly scarred in the explosion, and that’s why he became a recluse. That, and his guilt. The more charitable in town think he’s still grieving for Tasha. Others say…well, never mind what others say. It’s all a bit creepy, if you ask me,” Elizabeth finished with a shudder.
“I think it sounds terribly romantic,” Becca said softly. “I’d like to meet this David Bryson.”
“No,” Elizabeth said in alarm. “You don’t want to do that. Don’t even think it. I lost one dear friend who got mixed up with that man, and I wouldn’t want to lose another.”
Becca laughed. “Who said anything about getting mixed up with him? I only said I’d like to meet him.”
“If you want to meet someone,” Elizabeth said firmly, “there are a lot of nice guys here tonight. Take Drew Pierce, for instance. He’s handsome and he’s very rich. Most women find him totally irresistible.”
“Yes, I’ve met Drew,” Becca said in a dismissive tone. Obviously, for some reason, the town’s most eligible bachelor held no particular appeal for her. But David Bryson? No, Elizabeth thought. No, no, no!
“Besides,” Becca was saying, “If there are so many nice guys here tonight, why are you standing here talking to me? I haven’t seen you dance once all evening.”
“Oh, that’s because…”
Becca lifted an elegant brow. “Yes?”
Elizabeth waved absently toward the orchestra. “I don’t really care for this kind of music.”
Becca gave her a speculative glance. “I realize we don’t know each other all that well, but would you mind if I offered you a piece of advice?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Of course not.”
“You’re a beautiful girl, Elizabeth. Very warm and caring. I’ve seen that side of you in the short while I’ve known you. But most of the time you seem so aloof. Especially around men. If you could just be a little more…approachable, you’d have them climbing all over each other to ask you to dance.”
Elizabeth glanced at her in surprise. “Who says I want to dance?”
“Every girl wants to dance,” Becca said with a misty smile. She hesitated. “You know what I think? I think you use your aloofness and even your intelligence as a sanctuary. A safe place to hide away the real you so that you won’t get hurt.”
Elizabeth didn’t know what to say to that. She couldn’t deny it because there was too much truth in it.
“I’ve offended you, haven’t I?” Becca asked worriedly.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just…”
“We don’t know each other well enough to exchange such intimacies.”
“It’s not that, either,” Elizabeth said. “I do feel as if I know you, and I hope we can be friends. But I’ve never been comfortable sharing confidences even with my closest friends.”
“I can understand that. We all have things we want to keep to ourselves.” A shadow moved across Becca’s lovely features, making Elizabeth wonder what secrets she might harbor. “Well,” she said with a bright smile that seemed a bit forced. “It’s almost midnight. Maybe I should take my own advice and mingle before I turn into a pumpkin.”
Elizabeth didn’t think that would happen. She knew very little of Becca’s life before she came to Moriah’s Landing, but it was obvious the woman knew how to handle herself in social situations. Elizabeth watched with no small amount of envy as her new friend drifted through the crowd with the utmost confidence. She seemed perfectly comfortable in her surroundings even though she knew hardly anyone at the ball.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, had grown up in Moriah’s Landing and while her parents weren’t as wealthy as the Pierces, her life had been one of privilege. She should be the one at ease in such a setting, but she wasn’t. She longed to be home, snuggled in bed with one of her favorite books, the way she spent most of her evenings. If she wasn’t careful, she could easily become a recluse.
Like David Bryson.
THE CLOCK in the foyer struck midnight just as Elizabeth slipped out of the ballroom. She’d meant to seek refuge inside the library across the hall, but instead, she made her way to the rear of the house where a glass-domed solarium would give her a breathtaking view of the storm.
She opened the door and stepped inside. The room was dark and fragrant with exotic blossoms, and very cold. Elizabeth didn’t turn on the light, but used the occasional flashes of lightning to make her way toward the back of the solarium, where long rows of French doors opened onto a flagstone patio and garden.
She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms, wishing for her velvet cloak. Surely such a chill couldn’t be good for the tropical varieties of plants and ferns which grew jungle-thick beneath the glass dome.
As she neared the back of the solarium, Elizabeth realized why the temperature had plunged inside the room. One of the French doors had blown wide, and gusts of icy wind and rain whipped through the opening.
She rushed over to fasten the door, but it resisted her tug. As she struggled with the latch, something moved outside beyond the patio. A flash of color, nothing more. A brief flare of yellow that melted into blackness.
Then the wind slammed the door to with such force that Elizabeth had to jump back to keep her hand from being smashed. She slipped on the wet floor and lost her balance, crashing backward into a plant table. Expensive glazed pots shattered against flagstones.
She struggled to sit up, but the hoops beneath her voluminous skirts kept her off balance.
“Damn,” she muttered, wincing as a shard from one of the shattered pots bit into her palm. She lifted her hand to see if the cut was bleeding, but for some reason, her gaze was drawn skyward. Among the trailing leaves of some lush vine, something swayed from the rafters.
Elizabeth propped herself on her elbows, staring upward. What was that—
In a flare of lightning, she
