Forever Mine (2 page)

Almost immediately, his chest constricted and his heart slammed into his ribs. Only twice before had he ever experienced this sensation, and each of those times it had been when he’d found a portrait of the countess. Transfixed, he stared down at the woman.

“God, Nick, are you okay? You look like you’re ready to pass out.” Nora joined him at the window. The moment his sister’s gaze landed on the woman, she gasped loudly. “
Holy crap
.”

Without a word, Nick brushed past Nora. As he headed toward the door, her hand caught his arm. He paused to meet her gaze and shook his head in a silent order not to stop him. Reluctance visible on her face, his sister released his arm. Nick wanted to run down the steps to the showroom, but he forced himself to descend the stairs at a slow pace. He was insane to think this was anything more than a coincidence. As he approached the woman, her distinct American accent floated through the air as she spoke to the salesclerk.

“I don’t know—thirty-five hundred pounds is a little more than I can really afford.”

“Think of it as an investment, miss.”

“An investment in the exchange rate you mean.”

The dry note in her voice forced Nick to cough as he stifled a chuckle. She turned at the sound, an impish smile curving her full mouth. But it was her eyes that made him stare at her. They were the same sapphire blue as the countess’. Again, he marveled at the resemblance. Without warning, she queried his opinion.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Nick met the brilliant blue gaze twinkling up at him. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn Lady Guildford had stepped out of the portrait hanging in his office. The woman tipped her head back as she returned his stare with equal intensity. In an absent-minded gesture, her long fingers brushed a stray strand of auburn hair off her cheek. A quickening surged deep inside him like the sudden stirring of a long lost memory. The sensation swelled.

Stunned by the force of the emotion, he realized somewhere in his past he’d experienced a moment similar to this one before. The sensation grew in strength. The smile curving her full mouth faded as confusion furrowed her brow. Mentally shaking his head, Nick forced himself to answer her question.

“Like Robert says, art is an investment, but I like to think of it more as an investment of the heart. Ask yourself if you can live without it.”

“No, I don’t think I can.” She turned back to the painting. Under the track lighting her auburn hair shone like lustrous silk. She sighed. “There’s something so familiar about it.”

For the first time, he looked at the canvas she was interested in purchasing and went rigid. He’d been so focused on her, he’d not even bothered to look at the painting she was standing in front of. It was Lockwood’s oil painting of Goodman Cottage at Brentwood Park. The landscape depicted a pond glistening in the afternoon sun as it played host to a pair of swans. Not far from the water’s edge, the thatched roof cottage sat nestled in the warm embrace of a small grove of trees. The sparsely covered trees with red, gold, and purple leaves indicated it had been close to the end of fall when the artist had painted his picture.

Nick had found the landscape in his uncle’s bedroom after the man’s heart attack. A little known artist, John Lockwood had painted both portraits of the countess as well as the landscape. The barely legible inscription on the back of the Goodman Cottage canvas,
for my wife, Victoria. Nicholas – Christmas 1897,
indicated the landscape had been a gift from Lord Guildford to his wife.

“Have you ever been to Brentwood Park?” He clenched his teeth. Why the hell had he asked her that?

“Brentwood Park?” She shook her head in puzzlement.

“It’s an estate a little southeast of the city. The cottage in the painting still sits on the grounds.” He nodded toward the canvas on the wall, but kept his eyes on her.

“I’ve never heard of it. If I have time next week, I might be able to check it out,” she murmured as she turned back to the painting and reached out to touch the frame. Uttering a small noise of decision, she turned her head toward the sales clerk. “Well, I guess I can’t leave without it.”

“Very good, madam. If you will come this way, I shall be happy to arrange the sale.”

“Robert, I’ll take care of the sale,” Nick said quietly as he reached out to grasp her arm and hold her in place.

He never heard the sales clerk’s response as electricity shot up his arm. The strength of the sensation barreling through him made him feel like someone was pummeling his entire body until he had no breath left in his lungs. Images flashed through his head like a carousel of pictures careening out of control.

Of all the faces dancing through his brain, she was always there. She was like the North Star, guiding him to a place he didn’t know existed. He couldn’t explain it, but it was as if this moment had happened before. As he stared down into her blue eyes, she shook her head slightly, and he was certain she was experiencing the same sensation.

“What’s your name?” His voice was hoarse as he struggled not to say something bizarre that would frighten her or worse make her dart out of the shop.

“Victoria Ashton,” she breathed as she reached up to brush a lock of hair off his forehead. In the next instant, she jerked her hand away, clearly horrified by her action.

“Oh Lord, I’m sorry…that was incredibly rude of me.”

“No. It felt right.” He didn’t have the slightest idea why her touch seemed so natural and perfect, but then nothing about the last couple of minutes made any sense to him.

“I…have we met somewhere before?”

“That’s my pickup line, I think,” he said with a grin.

“Yeah, I suppose it was.”

Her laugh was as full-bodied as he remembered. Remembered? Nick pushed the absurd notion aside as he watched a flush of pink rise in her cheeks. Without thinking, he brushed his fingertips across her face. The moment he touched her, her hand came up to cup his, and she turned her mouth into his palm. The visceral emotion the action stirred in him made him pull in a sharp, deep breath.

“I don’t know what the hell is happening,” he rasped. “But you better tell me to stop now if you don’t want me to kiss you.”

Her sapphire eyes widened, before she closed the distance between them and there was only a hair’s breadth of space between. Her hand reached up to touch his brow and she smiled.

“I won’t stop you,” she whispered.

Locked in the grip of something he didn’t understand, Nick bent his head toward her. God, all he wanted was to taste her again. He needed to know if she tasted as sweet as he remembered. His mouth never touched hers as the explosion roared through the shop like a freight train.

The force of the blast threw him backward, and he fought to stay on his feet. A screech of metal tugged his gaze upward. Before he could react, the ceiling’s track lighting crashed downward then slammed into Victoria’s head and chest. He heard her grunt with pain as the blow sent her staggering backwards. In an involuntary effort to remain standing, she flung her arm outward to grab hold of something to save herself from falling.

Before he could leap forward or shout a warning, she grasped the black wire dangling from the ceiling. Agony contorted her features as electricity flowed through her then sent her flying backward to hit the wall like a rag doll. The unframed landscape of the cottage fell from the wall to the floor and landed beside her limp hand, the painting brushing against her fingers. Screams of pain and fear from inside and outside of the shop filled the air.

Leaping past the live wire, he crouched down beside Victoria’s still form. His hands shook as he gently rolled her onto her back sliding the painting away from her. She wasn’t breathing, and he couldn’t find a pulse in her neck or on her wrist. A wave of helplessness rolled over him. It had been like this the last time. He’d not been able to do anything to save her.

A growl of rage erupted from his throat.
No. Not this time
. He’d lost her in the past, and he refused to lose her now. Without thinking, he began to administer CPR. He didn’t know if he was doing it right, but he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. He’d failed the last time. He couldn’t let it end like that again. Quick chest compressions then two strong puffs of air into her mouth. Repeat.

Somewhere in the distance he heard the sound of an ambulance. Panic set in as his efforts to revive her received no response. In a voice he didn’t recognize as his own, he called out her name then blew two hard breaths into her before increasing the strength of his compressions against her chest.

“
Fight, Victoria, fight
,” he commanded in a savage tone. “Do you hear me? I said
fight
.”

His command was harsh and inflexible, and he sensed a stranger slipping into his head. Relentlessly, he alternated between breathing into her mouth and returning to the sharp cadence of chest compressions. Deep within his memory, he recalled the pain and agony of a similar experience long ago. The indefinable connection to her that he’d experienced moments ago had become something even more tangible. A gentle hand touched his shoulder.

“Nick, she’s gone.” His sister’s words ripped a roar from him throat.

“
No. You’re wrong
,” he snarled as he knocked his sister’s hand aside.

With renewed force he pounded on Victoria’s chest then breathed air into her lungs. Logic disappeared to become raw, agonizing desperation. Unfamiliar images from a distant past merged with the present to fill him with dread. The savageness of his anguish choked him and threatened to push him over the edge as he worked to breathe and pound life back into her.

“
God damn it, Victoria
.
Fight, damn you. Come back to me
.”

The savage command went unanswered, and his anguish was an unbearable vise engulfing his body. A wounded howl of grief ripped out of his throat. She was gone. He’d lost her again. Life had lost its meaning.

October 1897

T
he darkness of the dream enveloped Victoria as she spiraled downward to land on her bed with a jerk as pain rippled through her. Thousands of razor sharp needles stabbed at every inch of her. God, it was as if someone had doused her in gasoline then set her on fire.

The dream had become a nightmare of agony, and she ordered herself to wake up. She forced her eyes open to see nothing but a white mist filled with gray shadows. Oh God, she was blind. Panic flooded her veins as she tried to reassure herself it was a nightmare. Her eyes fluttered closed for a fleeting second. When she opened her eyes again, there was nothing except the fog cluttered with dark shapes. Voices echoed nearby, but a loud ringing in her ears made it difficult to make out what they were saying. Yet out of all the indistinguishable voices there was one she recognized. It was demanding. Arrogant. But she couldn’t remember where she’d heard it before.

Victoria tried to turn her head toward the voice, but the movement sent a stabbing pain through her temple. She cried out. A dark shape suddenly blotted out the cloudy landscape of her vision. A warm hand touched her forehead before the shape abruptly disappeared. Slowly, the voices and ringing in her ears ebbed away. Victoria blinked several times in an attempt to clear her vision then sat up.

The instant she moved, she uttered a cry of misery at the explosion of pain in her head. The heel of her palm pressed against her forehead, she bit back the bile threatening to rise in her throat. After several long moments of anguish, the pain and nausea eased.

This had to be the worst fricking hangover she’d ever had. Not that she’d had that many. She winced. Had she gone to a bar last night? She didn’t remember going to one. Hell, she didn’t remember much of anything over the last several weeks. The one thing she did remember was her argument with her father a year ago and what had happened a few hours later. She pushed back the tears. Images whirled and flitted through her brain. She was on vacation. She remembered that much at least. But there was one thing she was certain of. This was
not
her hotel room. Her gaze swept over the simplicity of the stark room. Despite the brilliant stream of sunlight flooding through the window it was cold. She shivered. Someone had set the AC way too low.

If it weren’t for the fire in the hearth the room would be even colder. It didn’t make any sense why someone would have a fire with the AC going. Her gaze swept across the room’s meager furnishings. Planks of rough-hewn wood served as the floor, while a white plaster covered the walls. It looked like something out of a Jane Austen movie. Oh God, had she decided to do one of those reality vacations? No, she couldn’t afford something like that, even if she’d wanted too. What was the last thing she’d been doing? She breathed in a quiet breath as she tried to ignore the hot needles that assaulted the back of her head. Where was she, and exactly how had she gotten to wherever
here
was? She groaned as the headache spread to her temples.

Victoria tossed her blanket off to one side and swung her legs out of bed. Fire streaked across her skin once more, while her chest hurt like someone had kicked her repeatedly. Had she been mugged? Even though she was in pain, self-preservation had her on her feet the minute a woman scurried into the room.