DONOVAN STOOD at the door of the informal dining room. He watched as Taylor poured herself a cup of coffee, then stood in front of the window staring at the gardens. He continued to be bothered by the strange sensation that he knew her from somewhere. He closed his eyes for a moment, but the image continued to swirl around in his mind. He was inexplicably drawn to her, almost as if she had cast some sort of spell over him—as if some unknown force had pulled him into a fateful liaison fraught with unknown danger.
Taylor turned toward him as he entered the room. He drank in her features—the shape of her face, the creamy texture of her skin, the set of her eyes, her slightly parted lips and the fullness of a mouth that deserved to be repeatedly kissed as often as possible. He tried to shake away the powerful urge to kiss those tempting lips as the heated desire again settled low in his body, fighting with his attempts to maintain a businesslike attitude.
“Is there something wrong?” Donovan’s intense stare sent a small tremor of anxiety through her body. She was determined to track down her family history. Her grandmother had filled her in on as much as she knew, but there were still so many missing pieces. Her grandmother had been born on the Sedgwick Estate where Taylor’s great-grandparents were the last of the tenant farmers to live there. Her grandmother had been sent to Canada as a small child to live with an aunt and uncle.
All Taylor knew of her great-grandparents, Clark and Emily Kincaid, was that they had been murdered by Lord William Sedgwick, a crime for which he had been swiftly convicted and then executed. She knew nothing of the details, but was determined to seek them out. Only now that she was actually at the Sedgwick Estate, standing face-to-face with the very appealing and disturbing Lord Donovan Sedgwick…
“Do I have jelly on my face or an orange juice mustache?” She forced a nervous chuckle as she moved her fingertips to the side of her mouth as if to wipe away an offending smudge.
Donovan’s hand followed hers, his fingers lightly touching her hair, then brushing against her cheek. He quickly withdrew his hand and took a step backward. He hadn’t realized he was staring at her so intently. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…well—” he awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other “—you look so familiar, as if I should know you from somewhere, but I can’t quite place it. We, uh, we haven’t ever met…have we?”
“No…” His eyes held her in a captive spell, as if he had literally drawn all the energy from her body. She experienced a shortness of breath. Her skin still tingled where he had touched her cheek. Her voice barely rose above a soft whisper. “I’m sure I would have remembered if we had.”
“Yes, well…” He nervously cleared his throat. “Shall we go?”
She breathed a sigh of relief as he seemed to release her from the mystical hold he had on her senses. He led the way up the curving staircase, his voice becoming all business as he provided her with information on the history of the property.
“The original estate dates back to the late 1300s. Some of the structures from that time are still here. The tithe barn and the lodge house—” A shudder swept through his body at the mention of the lodge house. Thoughts of the grisly events from a century ago flashed through his mind.
He forced away the unwelcome intrusion and regained his composure. “As I was saying, the tithe barn and lodge house date from that time along with some of the outer buildings.”
“Has the estate always been in the Sedgwick family or did your family acquire it later?”
“My family has owned it since the late 1600s. It was a grant made after the monarchy was restored in 1660, following the civil war and the ten-year period of the commonwealth. We originally had six different families living on various parts of the estate as tenant farmers. They would keep a percentage of their crops and livestock with the rest going to the estate as their rent. Of course, the land holdings are not as vast as they once were and we no longer have tenant farmers, but it’s still a very large estate by today’s standards. We own several structures bordering the village that are no longer necessary to the day-to-day operations of the estate. Most of those buildings are leased out.”
They arrived at the third floor in the central section of the house. It was like stepping into a time warp and suddenly being whisked back several centuries. A sense of foreboding settled over her. A cold shiver moved down her spine. An impression of evil seemed to haunt the stark hallways.
Their footsteps echoed as they walked along the well-worn hardwood floor. The stone walls lacked any feeling of warmth or welcome. Several suits of armor were on display along with shields and swords. Wall sconces were spaced at ten-foot intervals along the length of the long hallway. Taylor noted that they actually contained candles rather than electric lights. The large windows on the outer wall were devoid of any type of drapes or shutters thus allowing the daylight to stream in—the only thing to break the almost oppressive gloom that settled over everything.
Taylor tried to break the uncomfortable silence that had suddenly surrounded them. “This certainly is quite different from my room and the downstairs area.” Another cold jolt tickled her spine.
“This central section is the oldest part of the house. Most of the original timbered structure burned in 1726 and was replaced with this sandstone manor house. A major addition was built in the early 1890s by my great-grandfather, William. That’s the section where you’re staying. The east wing was added and most of the house modernized following World War II. My father was responsible for the most recent upgrades including the swimming pool, the improved heating system in the main part of the house and redoing the electrical wiring and plumbing.
“The area where we are now, on the third floor, is not used for anything other than storage. There are rooms filled with relics that I suppose could rightly be on display in a museum—suits of armor, centuries-old weapons, furniture from various periods in history and even bathtubs from the time prior to indoor plumbing. But this floor doesn’t even have electricity.”
Donovan continued the tour of the house, showing her through the kitchen and butler’s pantry, the formal dining room, which was now used only for special occasions, the snooker room, the original accounts room where the business records of the estate were kept during the time of the tenant farmers, and finally some of the other guest bedrooms. The music room and ballroom were evidence of the lavishness of parties and social gatherings of a bygone era. He did not take her into the east wing, did not show her his private living quarters or the modern offices where he conducted the current business matters of the estate. They ended the household tour in the library on the second floor.
It was a very large, paneled room with a high-beamed ceiling. The walls were lined with bookshelves. Two long reading tables occupied a prominent place in the room. Comfortable, overstuffed chairs were located near the many windows. “This is where all the family archives are kept, at least the ones that still exist. The records that used to be in the accounts room are here, too. When the original house burned, all the records went with it. However, for your purposes, these records date back prior to the festival. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need…” His voice trailed off as he stared at her.
“This is very generous of you, allowing a total stranger to have access to your family records.” Panic welled inside her. It felt as if the walls were closing in. As if she was about to be trapped in a centuries-old world without any means of escape. Her inner voice told her to run, to get out while she still could. Her feet were leaden, her muscles refused to function. The fear coursing through her was as much emotional as it was physical. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Then she saw him reach out toward her. Was this it? The moment her sense of reality would totally disappear?
Donovan’s
