Читать книгу The Sedgwick Curse - Shawna Delacorte - Страница 10

“Yes? Come in,” Taylor responded to the knock at her bedroom door. She had just finished dressing and was making the bed before going downstairs for breakfast.

The door opened and a middle-aged woman entered. As soon as she saw what was happening, she rushed toward Taylor. “Oh, miss. Please don’t do that. I’ll see to your room for you. Is there anything special that you require?”

“No, nothing at all. I hope I won’t be too much of an added burden to you.” Maid service—this was certainly more than she had anticipated.

“Breakfast is being served in the informal dining room. It’s on the ground floor, miss, to the right at the bottom of the stairs.”

“Thank you.” Taylor left the bedroom and followed the directions. Donovan and Alex were already seated at the table. Both men rose to their feet when she entered the room.

It was Donovan who spoke first. “I trust you found everything you needed. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I’m all settled in. It’s a lovely room.” Her strange dream about someone being in her room, if it had been a dream, flashed through her mind. No, she had not slept well at all. “I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable.”

She noted the haunted look in Donovan’s eyes and the drawn lines on his face. It did not stop the pull of his sexual magnetism, of the very disruptive and baffling effect he had on her senses.

She quickly turned her attention to Alex. Unlike Donovan, no stress showed on his face. “Good morning.”

There was no mistaking the glint in Alex’s eyes as he allowed his gaze to wander across her features. “Well, international travel must agree with you. You look even better than last night.”

Breakfast passed in an amiable manner. The conversation was casual, albeit superficial. Alex did most of the talking. The only truly uncomfortable moment came when he asked Taylor the titles of her other books. She sidestepped the issue by saying her writing credits were primarily magazine articles.

As soon as everyone had finished with their coffee, Donovan rose from his chair. He had tried to keep from staring at Taylor during breakfast, but he had been unable to keep his eyes off her. He hoped she hadn’t noticed. He forced a casualness to his words that he did not feel. “If you like, I’ll show you around the house and the grounds, then you can get started on your research.”

“I don’t want to intrude on your time, but I’d certainly appreciate the tour.”

“I have some pressing business to take care of first.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll meet you here in about an hour, if that’s convenient for you.”

“That will be perfect.” She extended a gracious smile and forced an outer calm. Her inner jitters were another story, the result of the way he had been staring at her all through breakfast combined with the intense and unexpected attraction she felt toward him. She had never experienced that type of intensity, not even with her ex-fiancé. The potent combination proved impossible to dismiss.

Alex’s voice intruded into her thoughts as he spoke to Donovan. “You don’t need me for any of this. I promised Constance Smythe we would get together this morning and go over what she’s done so far for the festival.”

Donovan shot a warning look toward Alex. “I’d appreciate it if you did that at her house and not here.”

“No problem. I’ll go over there and get a status report. Then I have some personal business to take care of.”

Alex grasped Taylor’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it in a courtly manner. “I’m sorry I won’t be here to keep you company until Donovan is available to give you the tour.”

A twinge of something jabbed at Donovan as he watched Alex’s all-too-obvious manner and easy flirting with Taylor. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to put an exact word to the feeling. Could it be jealousy? He didn’t want to admit that the instant attraction he felt for her had gotten under his skin.

Donovan fought to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Don’t you have someplace to be, Alex?”

Alex crossed the room to the door. He gave Taylor one last libidinous glance and an easy smile. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

Alex hurried to his car and drove the five minutes to Constance’s house. He gave two quick raps on the front door, then opened it and walked in without waiting to be invited. “Connie? Are you ready to get to work?” His familiarity said they were much more than casual acquaintances.

Constance emerged from the back room. Her blond hair hung to her shoulders, her makeup perfectly applied. She glanced around, then her gaze landed on Alex. She tightened the sash of her silk robe. “You’re alone?”

Alex studied her for a moment. She claimed to be thirty-one, but he knew she was closer to forty. She’d maintained a youthful appearance and an appealing body, especially for an older woman—older compared to his twenty-seven years. In fact, there were a lot of other things he knew about Constance that he was sure no one else knew.

He looked around, feigning a hint of confusion about what she might have been searching for when she entered the room. “You were expecting Donovan to be with me? Or perhaps you were hoping for Donovan by himself.” He reached out and tugged at the silken sash until it came loose, allowing her robe to fall open, revealing the sheer nightgown she wore.

A sly smile curled the corners of Alex’s mouth as he raked his gaze over her obvious charms. “Ah, yes…I see you were hoping for Donovan solo. Well—” he removed his jacket and tossed it over the arm of the couch “—never let it be said that I failed to help out a lady in obvious distress.” He tugged on the front of her robe, slowly drawing her toward him.

Connie stepped away, closed her robe, retied the sash and leveled a steady gaze at him. “You’re quite the randy lad, Alex…always ready for a tumble.”

Alex winked at her. “As you know from personal experience—ready, willing and very able.”

“Well, you’ll have to put all of that ‘ready, willing and able’ aside until another time and another place. Right now we have festival business to discuss.”

“Whatever you say. Business first—” he cocked his head and shot a questioning look in her direction “—and pleasure later?” He retrieved a notebook from his jacket pocket and seated himself at her dining room table.

Constance picked up the file folder from the corner of the table and withdrew several sheets of paper. “I’ve compiled a list of what needs to be done and what I’ve already accomplished. I think we’re in good shape for this year’s festival, just the last-minute details to take care of.”

Alex took the list from her, but didn’t bother to look at it. “You know, Connie—” he pulled her into his lap “—it’s not doing you any good to set your sights on the status that being married to Lord Donovan Sedgwick would give you. After all, Donovan has rebuffed your increasingly blatant overtures in that area. Even before Uncle James died, you had decided on Donovan. I assume you believed that Uncle James’s age meant that Donovan would be coming into the title sometime very soon. And by a strange quirk of fate, he came into it sooner than anyone anticipated. But even though you have decided Donovan is going to be your next husband—”

“Next husband?” Constance jumped to her feet and took a couple of steps away from Alex. “Whatever are you talking about? Everyone knows that I’ve never been married.”

A sly grin turned the corners of his mouth. “Sorry, Connie…I keep forgetting about the myth you insist on perpetuating.”

He emitted a soft chuckle, as if an amusing thought had just occurred to him. “But as I was saying maybe it would be more feasible if you set your sights on someone else. There are lots of men out there with titles. Of course, not many of them have such a lucrative estate to support that title as Donovan does.”

She furrowed her brow in momentary concentration. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I need to use another tactic.” She gave Alex an appraising look, then leaned her face into his and placed a kiss on his lips. “But first, let’s finish with the festival business. We’ll have time later this morning for other pleasantries.”

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 hand seemed to have a life of its own as he reached out and touched Taylor’s hair. A tightness pulled across his chest. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her lower lip quivered slightly. He drew his fingertip lightly across it. Their gazes locked as a moment of intense heat passed between them. He was not sure exactly what he felt other than the obvious, quick surge of lust and a strong desire to pull her into his arms and take complete possession of her mouth with several passionate kisses. What was there about this woman that so inflamed his normally controlled desires? What was there about her that seemed so familiar? And so troubling?

Taylor took a step backward as she sucked in a startled gasp. She had certainly not expected him to touch her like that even though she had to silently admit to a surge of excitement when his fingertip brushed her lip. The electricity almost crackled out loud as it sizzled between them. She could not catch her breath. She didn’t know which sensation was true…the excitement or the trepidation. It had been late the evening before when she presented herself at the front door of the manor house, and in the short time since, Donovan Sedgwick had somehow managed to enfold her in a magnetic web of desire tempered with confusion and apprehension. She closed her eyes and tried to force away the strange feelings that stirred inside her.

And now this. She was enfolded in more than his aura, yet she felt helpless to offer even the slightest of protests. It was Donovan who finally broke the spell binding them together with invisible ties.

“The, uh, grounds. I promised to show you the immediate grounds, too.” He glanced out the window. Dark storm clouds hung low in the sky giving a menacing appearance to the countryside. The tree tops moved in the stiff breeze. “There seems to be a storm building. We’d better hurry.”

“Yes…I’d like very much to see the grounds.” She couldn’t stop the slight huskiness that surrounded her words.

Neither made mention of the incident in the library as they walked down the stairs, then along the hallway to the side door. They exited onto a large promenade bordered by beautifully manicured gardens on a terraced hillside. She had arrived at the estate at night and hadn’t realized that the manor house stood on a small bluff overlooking a long valley with a winding river flowing off to the horizon. The trees had turned their autumn reds and golds. It was a breathtaking sight that immediately filled her with a sense of calm and serenity.

“This is my favorite view.” Donovan paused for a moment of quiet reverie. “In summer the sunlight lingers across the green hills and reflects golden off the river. The air is filled with the fragrance of a thousand flowers.” He took a deep breath and stared out over the valley, lost in his own thoughts—thoughts that vacillated between the serenity spread out before him, the dark malevolence of the disturbing dreams that had first invaded his sleep about a month ago and the very real passion that Taylor stirred in him.

“I can see why you like it here. This is truly lovely.” It was a time of quiet contemplation that she found very calming after her unsettling dream the night before and the dark, almost sinister atmosphere clinging to the centuries-old house.

Neither Taylor nor Donovan spoke for several minutes.

“Well—” he turned toward her “—shall we continue with our tour?” He took her first to the tithe barn. “This is an exceptionally large structure for a tithe barn especially for its time period, but then it was a very large estate. The barn is 132 feet by 44 feet and is the oldest building still standing on the estate. It was constructed in 1389 and goes back to the time when all of this was church property. Ten percent of everything from all the surrounding area, usually crops, was given to the church and brought here for storage, thus the name tithe barn. In fact—” he pointed to an enclosed loft room with a window overlooking the interior of the barn “—the abbot or his representative used that room to keep an eye on everything.”

They stepped farther into the dimly lit interior of the large stone structure. “As you can see, it’s not currently being used.” The wind whistled through the window openings. Like the third floor in the oldest part of the house, she had the feeling of being transported back to another time and another place. She became acutely aware of the fact that he stood very close behind her, even imagining she could feel his breath against her hair. She ran her hand across the back of her neck in an effort to still the tiny shiver.

Taylor turned around and found herself looking up into the intensity of Donovan’s blue eyes and his handsome features. She stepped backward and quickly averted her eyes, pretending a momentary interest in the uneven cobblestones that covered the floor. “This barn was already a century old before most Europeans even entertained the idea of the world being round and land existing across the ocean to the west. That makes this all that much more impressive to me.” She looked around the barn again, stared up at the abbot loft, then peered farther up into the dimly lit rafters in an attempt to locate the birds she could hear. “If these walls could talk they would surely have quite a few exciting tales to tell.”

“Perhaps it’s just as well that they can’t say anything.” His mind darted to the lodge house and the horror of the story those walls could tell. His words came out in a near whisper, as if he did not want to even think them let alone say them. “This many centuries of history is bound to offer up a few dark tales of brutality…and even madness.” He shoved the bothersome thoughts away and continued in a more confident manner. “After all, the Middle Ages were not a particularly gracious or genteel period.”

Again the details of the murders of a century ago filled his mind along with the confusion of the strange dreams and happenings that had become part of his present. The uncertainty that had plagued him from the moment he’d laid eyes on Taylor continued to shove at his reality, intensified by his strong physical attraction to her.

Without saying anything else, Donovan placed his hand at the small of her back and gently steered her out the door of the tithe barn. His touch again sent little tingles of excitement racing through her body. They walked down the path together as he continued the tour of the estate.

“Over here are the stables. Of course, there are only a half-dozen or so horses these days, which leaves most of the stable area unused.” He suddenly stopped walking and looked questioningly at her. “Do you ride?”

“Yes, I used to ride quite a bit. I’ve only ridden with a Western saddle, though. I’ve never tried an English saddle. Unfortunately, I haven’t had any opportunity to ride for the past few years.”

“Perhaps you could make some time during your research and I can show you the rest on the estate. It’s best seen by horseback, where we’re not restricted to the roads.”

His question had seemed almost tentative, as if he were unsure about asking it. She offered him an engaging smile as she replied to his invitation. “I’d like that…very much.”

Jerry Denton, her ex-fiancé, had owned a small two-passenger airplane. During the time Taylor had been dating him and through their subsequent engagement, he had often flown them from Kansas to Colorado where he had a friend who owned a ranch. They had spent many hours horseback riding in the mountains. In retrospect it was the only part of the relationship that held any value for her.

It had been a messy breakup and had left Taylor gun-shy where men were concerned. Even though she had made a concentrated effort to avoid any type of emotional entanglement for the past three years, she could not deny that this man—Lord Donovan Sedgwick, one of a long line of Sedgwick gentry—had her senses running amok.

The one good thing that did come from the emotionally painful breakup of her engagement was the additional time she had spent with her grandmother. Those special times had fueled her desire to search out her roots. Her grandmother had died two years ago at the age of 102. Her mind had been sharp and clear until the very end.

And now Taylor was standing on the very ground where her grandmother had been born and talking to the descendent of someone who had been responsible for the death of her great-grandparents.

“Over here are the greenhouses and hothouses. The small one is for flowers and plants that are ultimately transplanted to the gardens surrounding the house. The large ones are vegetable gardens that provide us with produce almost year-round. Actually, with the vegetable gardens, grain and feed crops, livestock and poultry, the estate can be self-sufficient as far as food is concerned.” He held the door open for her and they entered one of the large glass structures.

They continued the tour well into the afternoon. He carefully kept her away from the lodge house and cemetery, even though the police had taken down the yellow crime-scene tape from around the crypt. He pointed out the areas that would be utilized for the annual festival.

“The tithe barn will be used by local antique dealers. We’ll erect a large tent on the south lawn for crafts people from the nearby villages to display their wares. The field adjacent to the barn will be turned into a minicarnival. The north lawn will be used for the children’s competitions such as the sack race, three-legged race, tug-of-war…things like that.”

For the most part, each kept the conversation on a superficial level, much as it had been during breakfast. Taylor asked some questions about specific aspects of physically setting up the festival, and Donovan provided her with the requested information. She was very impressed with everything Donovan had shown her. Even though the house gave off ominous vibes of past misdeeds, in the sunlight it was beautiful and the interior elegantly appointed. The estate seemed every bit as prosperous as she had first thought.

She gestured toward the swimming pool. “This is a very interesting juxtaposition…a fourteenth-century tithe barn next to a modern swimming pool and hot tub.”

Donovan took a steadying breath. No matter how much he didn’t want it to be, she made his heart pound and his pulse race. He continued to be troubled by the eerie sensation that he knew her.

Donovan had been far more discreet in his relationships with women than his cousin. Alex already had two failed marriages and a flamboyant lifestyle that included many unprofitable forays into the private casinos in London. On several occasions Donovan had paid off his cousin’s gambling debts.

While Donovan had engaged in numerous quiet affairs away from the village, he had never married. But he had never before been so immediately and strongly attracted to any woman as he was to Taylor MacKenzie. It was an overwhelming and mysterious attraction he couldn’t explain and didn’t understand.

An attraction that frightened him as much as it fascinated him.

He took an impulsive step in Taylor’s direction, brushed his fingertips against her cheek, then slowly lowered his mouth to hers. It was a fleeting kiss, barely more than a touching of the lips, but one that held all the heat and passion he felt when he had resisted the urge to kiss her earlier. He ran his fingers through her hair, then started to wrap her in his embrace.

“Taylor…I—” He let her go and took a quick step backward, putting distance between them. He immediately berated himself for his foolish and unacceptable behavior. The words felt awkward as they left his mouth. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Taylor’s words came out as a startled whisper. “That’s all right.” She had to force the rest, not at all sure what to say or how to say it. “No harm done.”

No harm done? Waves of confusion swept through her. She desperately needed to apply some logic to what had happened. At first a sense of relief washed through her, telling her how thankful she was that he had changed his mind and not pursued the kiss any further. It saved her from having to make a decision about whether to allow it.

There was no mistaking the ripples of excitement that accompanied her confusion or the heated desire she experienced every time Donovan looked at her. The feeling was almost surreal, as if she was being drawn into something beyond her control—something disturbingly ominous yet so enthralling that she couldn’t resist the temptation. Nothing in her experience had prepared her for the strange dichotomy going on inside her at that moment.

He was not what she expected when he opened the door to her upon her arrival. Dynamic…yes. Handsome…yes, very. Incredibly sexy…most certainly. Mysterious and secretive…also true. He had a manner she could almost describe as brooding even though the couple of occasions when he displayed his dazzling smile showed an entirely different side to him. But still, the impact on her senses was anything but subtle—far more than she had believed could happen and she wasn’t able to shake it away.

Donovan awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his words carrying the hesitation and uncertainty he felt. “I should let you get started on your work, and I have some estate business to tend to. I’ll see you later. If you need anything, please feel free to ask. If I’m not available, Bradley will tend to whatever you need or want.”

“Thank you for the tour. It was fascinating. I think I’ll go to my room and get my notes together.” And see if I can’t get my composure and emotions together, as well.

Donovan escorted Taylor inside the manor house, then watched as she ascended the staircase to the second floor. As soon as she was out of sight he returned to his suite of rooms to seek privacy and some much-needed solitude. He poured a glass of water from the carafe before sinking into the large chair. He rubbed his temples as he took several deep breaths. He desperately needed to sort things out, especially the mysterious pull she exerted on his senses whenever he was around her, which had expanded to include every time he thought about her. And those occasions seemed to be occurring with increased frequency with each passing hour.

He tried to collect his thoughts. First there was the shock of his father’s death—his father’s suicide—two months ago, a situation that still caused him great emotional pain. Then there were the blinding headaches that would strike from out of nowhere followed by periods of disorientation—the same symptoms his father had experienced before his suicide. Then came the disturbing dreams. Next came the bizarre happenings at the crypt.

And finally the appearance of this very disconcerting, yet very familiar, woman.

He could not dislodge the feeling that some sort of mysterious thread tied all of these events together. If only he could figure out what it was. Taylor’s countenance continued to haunt his mind—the set of her eyes, the shape of her face, the sensual mouth…the deliciously sensual mouth that tasted of everything he had ever wanted. The nagging feeling that he had encountered her somewhere continued to confound him. There had to be an answer. He closed his eyes. An image began to form, a faint vision of a woman’s face. He tried to bring it into focus, but it refused to completely materialize.

Donovan opened his eyes, the disturbing image having faded completely. His gaze landed on his father’s trunk. His father had always kept it locked and he had never known what was in it.

When his father committed suicide he had left a note. Donovan found it the next morning when he discovered his father’s body. The note was only an apology and did not shed any light on the reason the elder Sedgwick had committed suicide.

Donovan had found the key to the mysterious trunk in the nightstand next to his father’s bed. He had done a cursory check of the contents following his father’s funeral and had been disappointed in the routine items he found. The way his father had kept the trunk locked had led him to believe that it contained something pertinent. However, he had not inspected anything in depth.

He emitted an audible sigh of resignation, then rose from the chair and took the key from his dresser drawer. Now would be as good a time as any to do a more thorough check of the contents. Maybe upon closer inspection he would find some clue that would help him figure out why his father had committed suicide, and lead to some answers about what had been happening to him.

A cold chill made its way up his spine. A sense of foreboding seemed to permeate the very fabric of the house as if something menacing lived in the walls and stalked the hallways. He had never felt it before and had first became aware of the odd sensations about the time his father began to suffer the blinding headaches and disorientation. And now it was happening to him in the same manner. A stab of fear sliced through him.

He still did not understand what had driven his father to commit suicide. The two of them had been very close. James Sedgwick had been well over forty years old when he and Donovan’s mother had married. Donovan was their only child. His mother died when he was six.

Even though his grandfather, and later his father, had sold off part of the land and had leased out some of the buildings along the main road, the estate was still quite large and diversified. Unlike many other large land holdings in England, it was not mired in financial problems. Quite the contrary. Due to intelligent and enlightened management, combined with shrewd investments and business dealings, the estate had shown an above-average return for the past several years. That was one of the reasons why his father’s suicide had been so difficult to accept. Nothing about it made any sense.

When Donovan had originally looked inside the trunk he’d found some handwritten journals that he’d only skimmed, some old photographs he’d merely glanced at, and what appeared to be blueprints and architectural drawings for the addition to the manor house his great-grandfather had built. As well, there were the plans for the modernization of the estate his grandfather had completed, and finally the most recent changes his father had made.

He picked up one of the journals. It was dated one hundred years ago—the year his great-grandfather had committed two murders. The journal had his great-grandfather’s name on the inside cover. It was filled with notations that revealed his obsession with Emily Kincaid and his plans to make her his mistress in spite of the fact that she was married, had a young daughter and had repeatedly turned down his advances. His plan called for Emily to give herself to him the night before the start of the festival—willingly or otherwise.

Donovan set the journal aside. The subsequent events and resulting murders had been well documented in the local village newspaper along with the Treadwells’ personal bias against the Sedgwick family, a bias that did not exist in the news articles published by the London Times. And Byron Treadwell had maintained that personal bias since taking over as managing editor and publisher of the village newspaper.

There were two journals with his grandfather’s name on them. And finally four journals with the name James Sedgwick on the inside cover, the most recent one dated just a couple of months before his suicide. There had to have been some reason for Donovan’s father to have kept those specific items locked away. And some reason for him to have stopped making journal entries two months before his death. He hadn’t hidden them in the trunk because they had monetary value.

One thing Donovan knew for sure was that none of the journals belonged in the library as part of the family archives, where someone else could have access to them. And that would certainly extend to Taylor MacKenzie and her research. The last thing he wanted was to see mention of the family’s evil deeds in a book on British country festivals.

He picked up a large envelope and removed the photographs. He selected one of the photographs, a very old one. On the back, in his father’s handwriting, were the words Emily Kincaid. He turned it over and stared at it.

It was as if someone had landed a solid punch to his body, knocking all the breath out of him. A hard lump formed in his throat and a knot tightened in his stomach. The face reached out to him, grabbing his reality and twisting it into a mystifying tangle.

The eyes were large and expressive just like Taylor’s. It was the same nose and identical smile from the same sensual mouth. The hair in the photograph was long and dark, but it was Taylor’s face. His attention remained riveted on the old photograph, held captive by a force that tugged at his senses and seemed to be pushing him closer to the brink of the unknown.

Who was Taylor MacKenzie? What was the real reason for her being at his house? What did she want from him?

He squeezed his eyes shut as the pounding headache struck from out of nowhere, then the darkness descended around him.