Margo Maguire (15 page)

She was beautiful and lively, interested in hearing about his work and the places he’d been. Sam believed Lilly would have spent the rest of the day listening to stories of his travels over the years and his work on the Galapagos Islands, in Africa and Persia. She was truly interested—the perfect mate for a man who was free to travel to remote corners of the world.

Instead of walking down the beach, the foursome took a narrow footpath through the woods that lay
on the far edge of Ravenwell property. They soon encountered a stocky young man wearing a summer suit and straw hat, who tripped as he stepped off the path ahead of them. The fellow’s movements seemed furtive to Sam, as if he’d tried to get out of sight but lost his balance before he could manage it.

“Oh! Mr. Hamlet!” Lilly cried. “Are you all right?”

He brushed off his trousers and nodded.

“You’re far from the beach,” she said.

“I must have lost my bearings,” he replied, removing his hat and bowing slightly to the ladies.

“Well, come along with us, and we’ll show you the way back.”

“I thank you, Miss Tearwater,” Hamlet replied.

Sam didn’t like the man’s looks. He was built like a fighter. One of his ears was mashed, as if he’d been in one brawl too many. His manner was sheepish, his eyes darting nervously, as if looking for a means of escape.

“Feel free to go your own way if you prefer,” Fletcher said. “The lake is just down the path, and if you turn to the east, you’ll get to the Ravenwell beach. The trail to the inn is clear from there.”

“Thank you, mate,” Hamlet said. “I think I might do that.”

When he was gone, Tom turned to Lilly. “I don’t like the look of that one. Keep your eye on him, and I’ll talk to Davy about him, too.”

“I’m sure he’s all right,” Lilly said. “He’s Mr. Dawson’s friend, just come up from London today. It’s no wonder he got lost—”

Charlotte stopped them for an explanation, which
Tom gave her. Sam thought that Tom was right. Caution was wise with regard to Mr. Hamlet.

Sam walked back to Ravenwell with the others, and encountered Alan Graham at the registration desk, talking to Lilly’s handyman. The young vicar turned when he heard them.

“Miss Tearwater,” Graham said, extending a large bouquet of flowers in her direction. “I came to— You’re wet!”

All four of them were wet and wearing swimming attire. Lilly had put on her stockings and added more layers of clothes while the men’s backs were turned. It had to be obvious what they’d been doing.

“Yes, so if you’ll excuse me,” Lilly said, accepting the flowers from Graham’s outstretched hand, “I’ll change and be right with you.”

But Graham separated her from the group and took her arm before she could leave. Sam stepped forward as if he had the power to prevent their contact. But he did not. He had no control over who courted Miss Tearwater.

He wasn’t her father, nor was he her suitor.

Since it was pointless, as well as awkward, to remain in the room while Graham paid suit to Lilly, Sam left Tom and Charlotte and went up to his room. The exhilaration of the afternoon had vanished, leaving him feeling empty.

The only cure for it was to get back to work.

He put on dry clothes, then took his leather portfolio and went down to the garden, with hopes of avoiding Lilly and Graham.

The tables were empty, but for an elderly couple who seemed never to venture far from the inn grounds, and the newly arrived Mr. Hamlet, sitting
with Mr. Dawson. The two men took note of Sam’s arrival, but continued to talk quietly while Sam made himself comfortable at his own table in the shade.

Sam’s earlier dislike turned to mistrust now that he saw Dawson and Hamlet together. He hoped the two of them did not plan to stay at Ravenwell very long.

He spread out his notes and drawings and started to work, intentionally keeping his mind off Lilly and Reverend Graham, and the two London cronies who sat huddled nearby, as if they were secretly conferring with Lord Gladstone on the Home Rule question.

But keeping his mind off Lilly was impossible. She touched him in every way, except physically. When Sam was with her, he almost believed he could overcome the fears that haunted him. The prospect of joining Phipson’s expedition no longer seemed impossible.

At least, not entirely.

“Mind if we join you?”

Sam had been too absorbed by his thoughts to notice Dawson and Hamlet coming his way. Their arrival startled him.

“Suit yourself,” he said, though he did not move any of his books to accommodate them.

“You’re a man of science,” Dawson said as he and Hamlet took seats at Sam’s table. “What do you make of these ghosts?”

Sam shrugged and continued to sketch. “I don’t make anything of them.”

“But surely you’re curious. After all, the ghostly apparitions are not the only strange things going on here at Ravenwell.”

Sam looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it, Temple,” he said. “Every time those ghosts appear, something strange happens.”

“You’re right,” Sam retorted. “I can’t think of many things stranger than seeing ghosts.”

“No! No, that’s not what I mean.”

Sam leaned back and crossed his long legs at the ankle. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“You must have noticed the strange storms that seem to affect only Ravenwell. And the shattered windows, the broken pots…”

Of course Sam had noticed those things. And more. He just didn’t know what to make of them. “What is your opinion, then, Dawson? What do you think is happening around Ravenwell?”

Henry Dawson took a deep breath. “It’s Miss Tearwater,” he said. “Somehow—”

Sam laughed. “Of course,” he said derisively. “Miss Tearwater breaks her own windows. And creates rain clouds over her inn. She is a scientific wonder.”

Hamlet remained silent as Dawson ran his hand over his face. He clearly believed that Lilly was somehow responsible for every weird occurrence that took place on Ravenwell grounds.

Sam wasn’t going to admit that he’d had the same suspicions. They sounded ridiculous when Dawson articulated them. It was absurd to think that a human being had the power to alter the forces of nature. There must certainly be some logical explanation for the changes in weather.

“What about the ghosts?” Dawson persisted. “Do you think they’re real?”

“I haven’t found any evidence to suggest they aren’t,” Sam said.

“Ah! So, you’ve looked for it!”

“Of course. I wouldn’t be much of a scientist if I hadn’t.”

“But you’ve seen nothing to indicate fraud.”

Sam shook his head as Dawson cast a glance at Hamlet, who had been listening attentively.

The ghosts were real.

It was the first time Sam had admitted as much to himself. He had found absolutely nothing to suggest that anyone at Ravenwell was causing the apparitions.

He knew there was nothing going on in Mr. Edison’s laboratories that could produce such effects. Writing to his friend at Menlo Park would be a waste of time.

As to the other curious events at Ravenwell…why wouldn’t the appearance of ghosts alter the atmosphere? Cause pressure changes that could produce rain? Or break glass? If he accepted the existence of ghosts, then all the other bizarre events at Ravenwell must be acceptable, too, if not explainable.

The odd sensations and the dream that Sam had experienced were entirely different. They had to have resulted from some aberration in his brain. The events in Sudan had probably had a greater effect than he knew. Why else would he have these vivid hallucinations when he was with Lilly?

The only solution was to avoid her. If he stayed away from Lilly, he had no doubt that these impossible illusions would cease.

T
he hair on the back of Lilly’s neck prickled with awareness. Dropping the clump of weeds she’d just pulled, she turned to see who was there. The garden was empty. No one was in sight, other than a few Ravenwell guests milling about near the door of the inn.

It wasn’t the first time in the past week that Lilly had felt someone watching her, only to discover no one was there. It was an eerie feeling.

She picked up the two baskets she’d used while gardening, and walked toward the inn, anxious to escape the unsettling sense that she was someone’s quarry.

It was all foolishness, anyway, brought on by the suspicion that someone had invaded her private rooms the previous week. Of course no one had been inside while she and Charlotte had been gone! And no one was stalking her now.

For some reason, she’d been on edge all week, and it hadn’t helped that Samuel had been avoiding her. She’d seen him only at mealtimes, and it seemed
that every time she had a spare moment and thought of joining him at his table, he disappeared.

He’d barely said two words to her since their outing at the lake with Tom and Charlotte the previous Sunday.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know where to find him. Charlotte spent an hour or two with Samuel every afternoon down by the chestnut tree, collecting the information he sought, taking photographs and making drawings. Charlotte had already learned a great deal from Samuel, and Lilly was grateful to him for his patience.

And she didn’t blame him for wanting to avoid her.

He had stopped asking questions about the ghosts, and no longer made insinuations about their veracity. Lilly didn’t know precisely what that meant.

The afternoon had turned cool, and rain threatened. It would be a perfect setting for Sir Emmett and Lady Alice to appear, especially since Lilly had only conjured them once in the past week. That was partly due to Alan’s frequent visits.

Lilly didn’t know if his purpose was to court her or to keep watch for sprits to exorcise. Either way, she did not particularly welcome the vicar’s attentions, but he seemed oblivious to her polite hints that she was uninterested.

She had barely gotten through the door to the reception area when Mr. Hinkley approached her. Accompanied by two of the merchants from Asbury, the mayor carried a new leather satchel and two long rolls of parchment.

“Miss Tearwater,” he said. “If we could have a word.”

Once again, he caught her unprepared, wearing her gardening clothes, with dirt on her hands, caked under her nails. Eyeing the official-looking papers, Lilly knew at once that he and the others had come in force to convince her to expand the inn. “Of course, Mr. Hinkley,” she said. “If you’ll be so good as to wait for me in the sun parlor while I make myself presentable. Shall I send tea?”

She made a quick exit, retreating to her private rooms after arranging for tea to be sent to the gentlemen.

Wasting no time, Lilly washed her face and hands, pinned up her hair and changed into a sensible blouse and skirt. Her intention was to appear older, and as a more experienced businesswoman than she could ever hope to be.

But when she returned to the sun parlor, she knew she seemed no more than a green lass to them. One who’d managed to bring a good deal of business to Asbury, but who was tremendously inexperienced and easily manipulated.

“Now then, gentlemen,” she said, as if she had control of the situation. “What brings you to Ravenwell?”

Mr. Beecher, the storekeeper, set his teacup aside and unrolled the first scroll on the table before him. “I took the liberty of having some drawings made. At no cost, mind you…my wife’s brother dabbles in this sort of thing.”

“I see.”

It was a rendering of her inn, done in ink. But it wasn’t the Ravenwell Lilly knew. In place of the attic were two additional floors, and an extra wing jutted out from each side of the building.

The changes were hideous.

“Here is a view from the back.” Beecher unrolled the second scroll, and Lilly found herself staring at it, speechless. Gone were her gardens and the wonderful canopy of trees that shaded the back of the inn. The tea terrace was swallowed up by a crass, brick-paved
restaurant.
Dining tables filled the space.

Mr. Hinkley opened his satchel and took out a sheaf of papers. “And here are the estimates for a stage line running from the train station up here to Ravenwell,” he said. “The Royal Cumbria Bank is prepared to offer you a very nominal interest rate for whatever loans are necessary to undertake such a venture.”

Lilly’s eyes crossed as she stared at the long list of figures on the page. There were projections of the number of guests Ravenwell would accommodate after it was enlarged, the income from their rooms at the inn and their transportation costs.

“Seems to me,” said a voice behind her, “that the town of Asbury ought to put in its own stage line.”

“Gentlemen, this is Mr. Temple,” Lilly stated. She wore a very proper ensemble, and her hair was carefully arranged. But there was a small smudge of dirt on the edge of her jaw, just under her ear. Sam felt a compelling urge to touch his lips to the spot. He took a deep breath and turned his attention to her introductions. “You remember Mr. Hinkley, and here are Mr. Beecher and Mr. Crofton.”

The three men sat gaping at him, obviously surprised by his intrusion, his American rudeness. After
a moment’s delay, they stood and stretched out their hands. Sam looked down at his own and wiped it on his vest. “You’ll have to pardon me, I seem to have gotten tree sap on my palm…”

“Mr. Temple is working on a scientific experiment in our meadow, down near the lake,” Lilly explained.

Sam had no idea why he’d intruded upon this meeting. He’d managed to avoid Lilly for the better part of a week, though he’d missed the shudder of awareness that shot through him whenever she was near. He yearned to hear her easy laughter, to breathe her alluring scent.

In the week since Penny Top, he had not once felt phantom hands caressing him. He hadn’t experienced the extraordinary sense of making love to Lilly.

But instead of feeling better, he’d felt a different kind of madness—one that came from missing her.

“It seems rather risky,” Sam said, “for an individual entrepreneur to bear the entire financial burden of this kind of venture.”

“See here, Mr. Temple,” said Crofton. “I don’t know that it’s any of your concern.”

“Oh, but Mr. Temple and I have discussed the mayor’s proposition,” Lilly said, clearly grateful for Sam’s intervention.

She sat down and the men followed suit, while Sam declined to take a seat.

The mayor spoke up. “Then you must have advised Miss Tearwater that upon enlarging the inn, she stands to gain a far better profit, since a greater number of guests will be paying for bedrooms and requesting services.”

“I believe Miss Tearwater is considering those factors.” Sam stood just outside the circle of chairs, in front of the fireplace.

“And a stage line to service an operation such as Ravenwell—”

“That would, no doubt, readily transport visitors into Asbury for the purpose of trade,” Sam said.

“Why, of course,” agreed the mayor.

“Which is why a stage line ought to be a joint venture, since Asbury stands to gain significantly from having Ravenwell guests visiting your town.”

“But Ravenwell itself would be the driving force behind such an undertaking. Therefore, it only makes sense for the inn to bear the expense,” said Hinkley.

Sam leaned one arm against the mantel over the fireplace. “To restate your proposal, then…you believe Miss Tearwater should borrow funds to establish a form of transportation so that her guests can travel frequently between Ravenwell and Asbury.”

“It’s a sound plan,” said Crofton.

“For the merchants of Asbury,” Sam retorted.

Clearly annoyed by Sam’s interference, the men turned to Lilly. “Miss Tearwater.” Beecher picked up the sheaf of papers and held them out to her. “Look over Mr. Hinkley’s figures. They will convince you that you cannot err in this enterprise. There is profit to be made by all.”

Lilly took the documents and laid them on top of the drawings. She appeared to study them for a moment, then looked up at her guests. “Gentlemen, I’ve decided to consult with a business advisor before making any decisions in this matter.”

The Asbury men all sat forward and began speak
ing at once, though Crofton’s voice overpowered the rest.

“But this is a very straightforward proposal. Add fifty rooms to Ravenwell,” he said, “and put in a stage line. What harm could possibly—”

“No harm, Mr. Crofton,” Sam said, joining the group. They just meant for Lilly to turn Ravenwell into something she wouldn’t recognize. And for her to take all the financial risk.

There were a great number of variables to consider. What if the ghosts stopped appearing? What if the tourist trade dropped off for some other, unforeseen reason? Lilly and Ravenwell would be bearing the burden of the debt.

“Miss Tearwater is wise to seek advice before making any decisions,” Sam added.

Crofton stood abruptly. His face and neck were red with frustration. “Mr. Temple, since Ravenwell is not your concern—”

“Now, now, Mr. Crofton,” said Mayor Hinkley in a conciliatory tone. “No need to excite yourself.” Then he also stood and turned to Lilly. “Miss Tearwater, these drawings speak for themselves. And the income projections are quite accurate, if I do say so myself…”

Crofton grumbled something under his breath and walked toward the door. Beecher picked up his hat and followed.

“Please give due consideration to these proposals, Miss Tearwater,” Hinkley said, following the others. “We can certainly make revisions to the plan…hire another set of drawings if these are not satisfactory.”

“Mr. Hinkley,” Lilly said. “I feel I must tell you that I am not inclined to change Ravenwell in any
way. Since your bank holds our mortgage, you must be fully aware of our current debt. And I am certainly reticent to add further to the burden we already bear.”

“But Miss Tearwater—”

“I’ll consider your plan, Mr. Hinkley,” she said. “But that is all I can promise you.”

The mayor opened his mouth to respond, but reconsidered. He gave Lilly a curt bow, then turned and left the room.

Sam should have gone out, too, but when the townsmen departed, Lilly went to the parlor doors and closed them. Then she turned to him.

“Thank you.”

He gave a casual shrug, even though his heart began to pound the moment they were alone. She was so beautiful at close quarters. “That’s all right. They were trying to swamp you.”

“Swamp me?”

“Sink your ship. Overcome your objections by a show of force.”

“I see.” She leaned against the thick mahogany doors. “I don’t know of any business advisors.
Is
there such a thing?”

“I imagine,” he replied, quirking his mouth in a smile. “I don’t see that it matters. Ravenwell is yours. You decide what you want to do.”

“Did you see those drawings?”

Sam should have slipped past her and gone up to his room as he’d planned. Instead, he found himself picking up one of the drawings and taking a seat. “Pretty damned awful,” he said, looking up at her. “You haven’t changed your mind, then?”

Lilly joined him, standing behind him, looking
over his shoulder. “Can you imagine, putting this monstrosity over my gardens? And look at this.” Reaching across him, she moved the second drawing into view.

Sam barely saw the document. Instead, he closed his eyes and felt her presence. They were not quite touching, but her nearness flooded his senses with pleasure.

All he needed to do was shift his body slightly. Or take her hand in his, then pull her onto his lap.

She gave a quick laugh, the husky sound washing through him like a monsoon. “Who would ever think of turning Ravenwell into this? Or chopping up the front with doors here and here?”

He forced his attention on the drawings and agreed that they were absurd. Ravenwell was a stately old building that needed no renovation. “A number of ancient structures in Greece and Italy have been changed this way, the modern trying to improve upon the ancient.”

“It does not work well, does it?”

“It might, every now and then.”

She came around and knelt between Sam and the table. “And these numbers,” she said. “How can Mr. Hinkley possibly know all this? Shillings and pounds, all lined up in nice, neat columns.” When she turned to show him, her eyes glittered with mirth.

“I could almost hear his brain tallying loan payments and interest rates while he sat here,” Sam said with amusement. “If all went according to their plan, a larger Ravenwell would be a boon to the Asbury merchants. And they’ve already decided that it will happen. Especially Crofton. Now, he’s a sour chap.”

Lilly laughed softly, the sound sensual and husky,
full of dark promise. “He’s always been that way. But did you see how angry he became when you entered the room? I’ll never forget the fire in his eyes when…”

Sam barely heard her words. His eyes were fixed on the smudge below her ear. Slowly, he moved his hand toward her face and touched his thumb to the spot.

A rush of sensation shot through him, but it was not pain or disgust. There was no frenzied dread, no horror, no terrible repugnance when he made contact.

Her skin was smooth and soft. A shiny curl of her hair dropped onto his fingers, and he did not recoil in dismay. On the contrary, he leaned toward her, his head dipping lower until their lips were a mere inch apart.

He felt as if his life depended upon kissing her.

Lilly’s eyes fluttered closed and she whispered one word. “Yes.”

Sam touched his mouth to her lips.

All manner of sensations pulsed through him. He was instantly aroused, beyond anything he’d experienced when the phantom hands had caressed him. This was much more intense than the fierce arousal that had exploded through him on Penny Top.

This was Lilly, and she was real.

But Sam could do no more than brush his lips against hers. Their contact was a paltry sip to a thirsting man, yet he could not make himself delve any deeper.