Silverbridge (9 page)

His brown eyes sparkled in the light of the overhead lamp. The slight line that had drawn his brows together when first they came into the kitchen had vanished. He looked enthusiastic, and devastatingly attractive.

Tracy felt her back stiffen as she resisted his too- potent appeal. When she spoke her voice was crisp. “By all accounts, you have been successful in doing that. You took a third at the Olympics, which is fabulous, considering the competition from the Germans and the Dutch.”

He nodded politely and noticed for the first time that she had finished eating. “Would you like something else? I believe there is a pudding in the refrigerator.”

“No thank you.” Tracy did not share the English passion for pudding.

He picked up her empty plate and carried it to the sink. Tracy followed with her silverware and glass and watched as he placed everything neatly on the drain
-
board. She waited, curious to see if he would attempt to wash up.

He didn’t. He turned to her, and said, “Meg and Mr. Melbourne must have returned by now. Perhaps we should go back upstairs.”

Tracy hesitated, then brought out the question she had been dying to ask for the last twenty minutes. “Before we do, my lord, I wonder if I could see that picture of Charles Oliver you mentioned.”

He gave her a curious look. “Why on earth should you be interested in Charles?”

Tracy was not an actress for nothing. She laughed, and said lightly, “It’s the Regency thing. I’ve grown rather interested in the period, and I’d find it fascinating to see a picture of the man who lived in this house at that time. But if it’s going to be a bother, forget it. We can go upstairs.”

“It’s not a bother,” he said. “You can see it if you like. Come this way.”

Tracy followed him into a narrow hallway, which was closed off halfway down, and Tracy guessed that, like upstairs, only a portion of the basement was heated. He opened a door on the left side of the hall, flicked on a light, and motioned Tracy into his office.

It was a shabby and comfortable-looking room, with glass-fronted bookshelves, several file cabinets, an old leather sofa and two chairs, a large mahogany desk with a computer and a faded red-and-blue Oriental rug on the floor. Over the stone fireplace on the left wall hung the full-length portrait of a man in military uniform. Tracy knew him immediately. It was the man she had seen on the bridle path, the man she had seen in the drawing room with the girl who looked like her.

Charles Oliver had been painted full-length, wearing his uniform and posed against a backdrop of rocks and trees that suggested the landscape of the Iberian Peninsula. He was hatless, with a sword cradled in his arms and a cloak hanging dashingly off one shoulder. The embroidery and the gold buttons on his uniform were gorgeous. He stared out upon the room with a careless supremacy that was simply breathtaking.

“Lawrence did it,” Harry said.

“He looks like a lord of the universe,” Tracy said in a choked voice.

“He w
as,” Harry replied. “He was born
an Oliver, which meant he had a knowledge in his bones and blood and brain of his own superiority over 99 percent of the rest of the world.” He turned to look at her. “That’s what it was like to be an aristocrat in Britain during the last century, Miss Collins.”

“You sound as if you wished it was still that way, my lord.”

“It would be nice.”

“He looks like you,” Tracy said in a low voice.

“Yes. I know.”

With the faces of the two men in front of her, Tracy could see that the resemblance between them was as uncanny as she had first thought. Charles’s hair was a brighter gold, his nose was more aquiline, and his eyes were not quite as dark a brown. But the two men could certainly have been twins.

“Was he married?”

He gave a short laugh. “He was the Earl of Silverbridge. Of course he was married. He had two sons, the eldest of whom succeeded to the earldom after he died.”

Tracy had several other questions she longed to ask:
Was his marriage happy? Did he have a young cousin he employed as governess for his children?
But she could hardly expect the present Lord Silverbridge to know the answers to those questions, and he would be exceedingly startled by her asking them.

They were standing side by side facing the picture, and even though Tracy’s eyes were focused on the man in the portrait it was the man beside her whose physical
presence she felt with an almost frightening intensity. She had a sudden, wild desire to throw herself into his arms, to feel the length of his body pressed against hers, to feel his mouth cover
ing her own…

She closed her hands into tight fists, pressing her nails into her flesh.

“It’s almost time for the news,” he said. “We’d better be getting upstairs.”

Tracy agreed, so shaken by her reaction to him that she didn’t notice the sudden hoarseness that had come into his voice.

9

M
eg and Jon were indeed in the morning room, and Tracy went to sit beside Jon on one of the sofas. Harry turned on the television and a BBC report of a meeting of the European Union that was taking place in Brussels came on. Ebony appeared out of nowhere, jumped on his lap, and he began to pet her as he watched the show.

Tracy could feel the tenseness in Jon’s body as he sat beside her. She glanced at him once out of the side of her eyes and his facial expression was as rigid as the rest of him.
He really doesn’t like Lord Silverbridge at all,
she thought.

When the program was over, Meg said, “Before I forget to tell you, Harry, Tony called. He’s coming down tomorrow, and he’s going to stay for a while.”

Harry stopped petting Ebony. “What about his job?”

“He says they don’t keep him on a schedule,” Meg said airily. “He can do pretty much what he wants to do.”

Ebony
meowed
loudly, and her owner went back to stroking her. “I must apologize, Mr. Melbourne, but I am afraid that you will have to share your bathroom with my younger brother while he is here.”

“That is perfectly fine,” Jon replied, but the stilted tone of his voice did not match his accommodating words.

The earl appeared to notice Jon’s chilliness and actually made an effort to bridge it. “Would you care for a nightcap, Mr. Melbourne, Miss Collins?” he asked. “I can offer you sherry, brandy, or whiskey.”

“I’m afraid that alcohol gives me a headache,” Tracy said, “but please do go ahead without me.”

“Mr. Melbourne?”

Jon glanced at Tracy, to see if she was going to leave. When it became apparent that she was not, he replied,
“
Thank you. Sherry would be nice.”

Meg said, “I’ll have brandy, Harry.”

The earl’s brows drew together as he regarded his young sister. Her returning blue stare was wide and innocent. After a moment, he shooed Ebony off his lap, stood up, went over to a beautiful cabinet of inlaid satin-wood, took a key from his pocket, and bent to open the cabinet door. As he poured the wine and the brandy, Tracy’s eyes moved irresistibly to the large oil painting that hung on the long wall between two windows. She got to her feet and went closer to examine it.

She was still standing there when Harry joined her, a glass of sherry in his hand. “I see you have found another of our family portraits, Miss Collins.”

“Yes.” She was looking at the full-length portraits of two teenage blond boys, with a sleek greyhound between them. The background scene was recognizably the lawn at Silverbridge.

“
Those are Charles’s two sons,” her host informed her. “The one on the left, William, was actually the earl at the time the picture was done.”

Tracy was acutely conscious of him next to her and stepped closer to the portrait to put more space between them. She gazed earnestly at the tall, slender, b
l
ue-eyed youngster who stood to the left of his brown-eyed brother.

From behind them, Jon said, “He seems rather young to be an earl.”

“Yes.” Lord Silverbridge turned to answer Jon. “His father was killed in a hunting accident when he was only thirty-four.”

A stab of wild grief pierced through Tracy, totally surprising her. She closed her hands into fists and willed herself not to cry out.

What is the matter with me?
she thought, half in anger and half in fear, as she stood, rigid and breathless in front of the portrait of Charles’s sons.

Lord Silverbridge continued speaking to Jon. “Charles Oliver was the earl who lived here during the period you are supposedly filming. Miss Collins was curious about him, so I showed her a portrait I have in my office.”

Before Jon could reply, Meg complained, “You hardly gave me any brandy, Harry.”

“I gave you enough,” he returned evenly. “You don’t have the body weight to tolerate any more.”

Tracy forced herself to turn away from what had become a blurry picture, blinked hard twice, and faced the
group behind her. She breathed slowly in and out, unnerved by her emotional reaction to Charles’s death.

Jon was still sitting
on the sofa, holding an almost-
finished glass of sherry; Harry was standing four feet from her, holding a full glass; and Meg was sitting on the edge of another sofa, her glass empty.

“You always blame everything on my being too thin,” she said, her face
flushed with anger. “You’re al
ways after me to eat and drink something disgusting. I should think you would be pleased to see me ask for more.”

“Not for more brandy,” he replied crisply. “Your body is already stressed enough; you don’t need to be adding stimulants to it.”

With quiet intensity, Meg said, “I hate you,” jumped up from the sofa, and ran out of the room.

An embarrassed silence fell on the three left behind. Then Tracy said, “I believe I will follow Meg, if not in quite so dramatic a fashion. It was a long day and a long night.”

Jon put down his half-finished sherry. “I’m tired as well,” he said, and he and Tracy said good night and left the room.

“Perhaps we could have dinner together tomorrow night,” Jon said, as they walked together down the corridor.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea. Did you see that picture of us in the afternoon paper?”

“Yes. I didn’t think it was so terrible. Even without makeup, you looked beautiful.”

Tracy was annoyed. “That’s not what I meant. Now there is going to be all sorts of speculation about you
and me. If we’re seen having dinner together, it will only fuel the fire.”

“Would it be so very dreadful to have your name linked with mine?” he asked gently.

She sighed. “I don’t know. Let me think about it, Jon.”

“Certainly.”

They said good night, and Tracy continued along the corridor to the door of her own room. As she put her hand on the doorknob, her pulses began to race.

Will they be inside?

Slowly, cautiously she pushed open the door. Inside there was only darkness. She left the door open and switched on a light.

No one was there.

Tracy didn’t know if what she felt was relief or disappointment. She closed the door and walked all the way into the room.

What I have been seeing must be real,
she thought.
I can’t be manufacturing these apparitions out of my imagination. I saw that picture of Charles after I saw his ghost—or whatever it is that I have been seeing. And Ebony certainly knew that something was there in the drawing room.

She continued to think as she methodically undressed and put on a pair of warm flannel pajamas.
I seem to have accessed the ghost of an old love story. Th
e girl looks so much like me…
Could that be the reason I can see these people and no one else can? Was I once that girl?

She went over to the bed and pulled down the blankets.
This is ridiculous. I’m beginning to sound like
Shirley MacLaine. Soon I’ll be imagining I was Cleopatra, or something equally fantastic.

She climbed into the bed, which thankfully was made up with flannel sheets, and pulled the covers over her head in an effort to get warm. A half hour later her nose was poked out from beneath the covers and she was still wide-awake, her brain going over and over the few encounters she had had with the phantasmagoric Charles and Isabel.

A loud knock sounded on her bathroom door, causing her to sit bolt upright in bed.
It must be Meg,
she thought, staring at the closed door. She said nothing, hoping that the girl would go away. She was too tired to deal with Meg.

The knock came again, louder than before. “Are you awake, Tracy? Do you know your light is on?”

“Damn,
”
Tracy muttered. Then, resignedly, “Come in.”

The bathroom door opened to reveal Meg clad in a sweatshirt, flannel pajama pants, and furry slippers. The loose clothes helped to conceal how thin she was, and her face was flushed with color. It took a moment for Tracy to realize that she was carrying the brandy bottle and two glasses.

“Look what I got.” She giggled. “Harry forgot to relock the cabinet when he went downstairs to let out the dogs. Won’t it be fun to get drunk together?”

From the giggle and the flush on her face, Tracy deduced that Meg had already sampled from the brandy bottle. She said calmly, “I don’t drink, Meg. Alcohol gives me a headache. And what is your brother going to say when he finds that his brandy has disappeared?”

Meg pushed out her
lower lip. “Don’t be a shpoil-
short, Tracy.” She walked unevenly across the room and parked herself on Tracy’s bed. She put the glasses down on the bedspread and giggled again. “Harry’s always watching me. Thish time I fooled him.”

“Meg,” Tracy said gently, “why don’t you put the brandy bottle back before your brother knows you took it?”

“No. No. No. Don’t want to.” Meg was shaking her head back and forth again and again and again. “I want us to drink it together.” She splashed some brandy into one of the glasses, spilling half of it on the spread, and took a sip. “Aaahhh,” she said. “Thash good.”

Tracy crawled across the bed until she was beside Meg. As persuasively as she could, she said, “I’ll tell you what, Meggie. Let’s go back to your room. Okay?”

Meg blinked her glittering blue eyes. “We’ll party there?”

Still in the same coaxing voice, Tracy said, “Give me the brandy bottle, and we’ll walk to your room together.”

“Okay. Okay.” Meg relinquished the bottle to Tracy, slid off the bed, and immediately fell to her knees. She held her stomach and began to laugh.

The brandy bottle was about three-quarters full. Harry had been right, Tracy thought. It wouldn’t take much to make Meg intoxicated.

Tracy put the bottle on the floor, bent to slip an arm around Meg’s shoulders, and boosted her to her feet. “Come on, Meggie. Come with me.”

Meg let Tracy begin to walk her across the room.

They had almost made it to the bathroom when Meg said, “Don’t feel sho good.”

Tracy practically shoved her into the bathroom and flipped open the toilet bowl. Meg immediately began to retch.

Half an hour later, after Tracy had cleaned Meg up and got her into bed, then cleaned up the bathroom as best she could, she took the brandy bottle back to the morning room. She would just leave it on top of the cabinet, she thought, so that Lord Silverbridge would know what had happened. She had no desire to discuss his sister’s problems with him.

A small lamp was always kept lit at the top of the stairs, and it gave enough light for Tracy to see her way down the hall. It was dark in the morning room, but Tracy could make out the liquor cabinet, and she walked swiftly across the floor and placed the brandy bottle squarely on top of it. She had turned around to leave when a voice said, “Dare I hope that it was you who stole the brandy?”

Tracy jumped. “Good God!” She stared at the shadowy figure that had risen from an armchair and was now crossing the floor in her direction. “You almost gave me a heart attack, my lord!”

He stopped next to her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Did you get the brandy from Meg?”

Tracy’s heart was racing, but it wasn’t from being frightened. He was so close that she could feel him in all her nerve endings. She said, “Yes. She came to my room wanting to party. I don’t think she drank very much.”

“Is she all right?”

The light from the hall lamp was not bright enough to
allow her to distinguish his expression. His voice sounded edgy, she thought. She looked up into his shadowed face, and replied, “Yes. She threw up, so most of it is out of her stomach. She should be okay in the mo
rnin
g.
”

She saw his eyebrows draw together. “I hope to God she didn’t throw up in your room.”

The sound of his voice was doing funny things to her stomach.
What is wrong with me?
she thought desperately. She heard herself saying, “We made it to the bathroom in time.”

I am wearing only thin pajamas and he is much too close. That’s what’s wrong with me.
She tried to take a step back, but for some reason her legs didn’t move.

He said, “I am so sorry that you were subjected to this unpleasantness, Miss Collins.”

He was almost as tall as Scotty had been. Tracy’s eyes were on a level with his mouth, and his lips were so perfectly cut they might have been chiseled in stone. She stared at his mouth and struggled to come up with a reply. Some part of her brain was still functioning because she managed to say, “No problem, my lord. And I won’t mention what happened to anyone else.”

“Thank you.” His cool, clipped voice sounded deeper than usual.

All of a sudden the stillness that she had felt the first time she saw him seemed to settle over her, like a fleecy blanket. She raised her eyes to his and what she saw there made all of her insides clench. He bent his head, and she saw his beautiful mouth coming down toward hers, and she didn’t move. He kissed her.