The Temptation of Your Touch

  Fighting to resist both the voice and the pressure swelling in his lungs, he kicked frantically toward the undulating orb of the moon. He broke through the surface of the water just in time to catch a salty wave square in the mouth. He coughed and sputtered, then dragged in a desperate breath and dove again, ignoring the painful scrape of thigh against rock as another wave sought to hurl him to his death.

  Trying to peer through the murk was futile. Closing his eyes, he raked his arm through the water, seeking any evidence that he was not alone.

  That he was not too late.

  His groping hands closed on emptiness again and again until he could feel both his breath and his strength begin to flag. It seemed his White Lady was going to have the last laugh after all. He could almost see Anne rolling her eyes over his foolishness as she was marched before the constable to explain how their latest master had drowned after plunging over the edge of a cliff to rescue a ghost.

  Then he felt it—the silky ribbons of a woman’s hair drifting through his splayed fingers. He lunged forward, half-afraid his arms were going to close around the rotting bones of a corpse that had been trapped beneath the sea for a decade. But living flesh filled his arms, its squirming softness undeniably feminine.

  Triumph coursed through his veins, fueling his determination. He was not going to be too late. Not this time.

  Anchoring his arm around his prize, he used the last of his strength on a mighty kick, sending them both shooting toward the surface. They broke through the churning water, gasping for breath. The outgoing tide tried to suck them out to sea, but Max’s powerful kicks drove them away from the deadly rocks and toward the gentle curve of the cove, where the surf murmured instead of roared and the sand shimmered like crushed diamonds in the moonlight.

  The waves continued to batter them from behind until they washed up on the shore and collapsed in the wet sand, still sputtering and coughing.

  Max was too exhausted to protest when his companion struggled her way out of his arms. She crawled a few feet away from him, then staggered to her feet.

  Still panting with exertion, she swung around to glare at him through the strings of sodden hair plastered to her face. “Damn you, Maximillian Burke! Would you stop rescuing me?”

  Even with its crisp tones softened by fear, it was impossible not to recognize that no-nonsense voice. Max sat up, tossing his wet hair out of his eyes. If he hadn’t looked like a beached herring before, he most certainly did now. Especially with his mouth hanging open in shock.

  His housekeeper was standing before him, the yellow dress from the portrait clinging to her every luscious curve and revealing exactly what she’d been hiding beneath her staid gowns and aprons for all these weeks. Without the restricting net to confine it, her hair hung nearly to her waist. The weight of the water couldn’t completely dampen its natural exuberance. It was already beginning to curl into charming little ringlets in the moist sea air.

  “You idiot!” she shouted. “What in the bloody hell did you think you were doing?”

  Rising slowly to his feet to face her, he said evenly, “Don’t you think I should be the one asking you what in the bloody hell you were doing?”

  “Oh, I was just in the mood for a little midnight swim,” she said, sarcasm ripening in her voice.

  “Perhaps you should consider swimming in a place where you aren’t in danger of being dashed to death on the rocks.”

  “I know exactly where all the rocks are! You don’t! You could have landed on one and cracked your fool skull wide open. Of course as hard as your head is, it probably would have cracked the rock instead! And I wouldn’t have been in any danger of being dashed to death on the rocks if I hadn’t had to jump back in the water to try and save you.”

  “If you didn’t want me to dive in after you, then just what did you want me to do?” he thundered, his temper mounting along with his confusion.

  “I wanted you to go away, you silly, stubborn, dear man,” she wailed, tears welling up in her eyes. “I wanted you to be just like all the rest of them and tuck your expensive tailcoat between your legs and go running back to London!”

  Max pondered her words for a moment. “If you didn’t want to marry me, you could have just said so. There was no need for you to throw yourself over a cliff.”

  A strangled sound between a sob and a shriek tore from her throat. Still swaying on her feet, she bent to scoop up a gout of wet sand and hurled it at his head.

  He dodged it easily. “It was you all along, wasn’t it?” he asked, the pieces of the puzzle finally beginning to click into place. “The mysterious lights, the music box, the ghostly laughter. You’re the White Lady of Cadgwyck Manor.” He drifted across the sand toward her, no more able to resist her now than when she had been standing on the edge of the cliff. “But why, Anne? What would you stand to gain by perpetrating such a dangerous hoax?”

  “It wasn’t what I stood to gain! It’s what I stood to lose!”

  Before she could elaborate, Dickon and Pippa came spilling out of the shadows at the base of the cliffs, all five of the Elizabeths fast on their heels. Max stared as they came pelting across the sand toward them, Dickon in the lead. Even if a path had been carved into the rocks, they could not possibly have climbed down the steep face of the cliffs that quickly.

  The sea caves, he thought. The ones Dickon had promised to show him before the fire. The coast had been rife with smugglers only a few decades ago. Why should it surprise him to learn the caves were hiding passages leading up to the house? Hell, why should anything he discovered on this night surprise him?

  Dickon and the others stumbled to a halt. As Pippa bent over to rest her hands on her knees so she could catch her breath, Dickon jumped into the air, pumping his fist in Max’s direction. “I can’t believe you’re still alive!” The boy flashed Anne a delighted grin. “You should have seen the way he went flying off that cliff after you. He didn’t hesitate for even a heartbeat. It was magnificent!”

  “It was insane!” Anne shouted at him before rounding on Max once more. “I was a ghost! I was supposed to already be dead. What was your brilliant plan? To join me?”

  “I didn’t really have a plan.” Max eyed the others through narrowed eyes. “Although obviously the rest of you did. What was your part in all this, lad?” he asked Dickon, hoping to take advantage of the boy’s exhilaration to ferret the truth out of him.

  Dickon cast Anne a questioning look. When she responded with a weary nod, his grin widened. “It was my job to light the candle and open the music box when Annie gave me the signal.”

  “And I was the one who provided the scream,” Pippa added eagerly, plainly tired of hiding her light beneath a bushel. “Bloodcurdling, wasn’t it? I do believe I might have an affinity for the stage. I’m thinking of going to London to tread the boards. I could very well be the next Sarah Siddons!”

  Max shifted his darkening gaze to the wide-eyed huddle of Elizabeths. “And you?”

  The maids briefly conferred among themselves before nudging Lisbeth forward. Eyeing him shyly, she bobbed an awkward curtsy. “We was to clean up the tower before you returned, m’lord. You know . . . so you’d think you’d gone all squirrelly in the head and catch the next coach back to London like them others did.”

  “Why didn’t you just throw a sheet over poor Nana’s head and make her shuffle up and down the lawn, clanking chains?” Max asked.

  “Nana strangled the chicken we used for the blood,” Dickon cheerfully offered. “We’re having stewed chicken for supper tomorrow, you know.”

  “Which one of you had the job of sneaking into my bedchamber in the dead of night?” Max suspected he already knew the answer to that question.

  “That would be me.” Anne folded her arms over her chest, looking decidedly unrepentant. “Your armoire has a false back that leads to a secret passage, one that was once used to hide Cadgwyck’s priest when the soldiers of Henry VIII came looking for him. It was a simple enough feat to slip into yo
ur bedchamber, open your balcony doors, wave a bottle of perfume around.”

  Max glared at her, wondering if it had been her on every occasion he had felt Angelica’s presence hovering near his bed. “I ought to have the lot of you hauled off to jail. But, unfortunately, I don’t think impersonating a dead woman is a hanging offense.” He started toward her, trying to figure out how a woman could look like a drowned rat and yet so beguiling all at the same time. “I may just save the constable the trouble and strangle you myself.”

  She took a wary step backward, but before he could reach her, another shape came melting out of the cliff face. Max shook his head in disgust. “And I suppose it was his job to fire the pistol?”

  They all turned to find Hodges crossing the sand in the moonlight, an ivory-plated dueling pistol gripped in his hand.

  “No.” Dickon’s grin faded. “That was my job, too.”

  “Dickon,” Anne said softly.

  Heeding her unspoken command, the boy immediately wrapped his arms around Pippa and the maids, shepherding them out of harm’s way.

  Max rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re so worried about. The pistol has already been fired.”

  “They’re a matched pair of dueling pistols,” Anne murmured calmly, as if a maniac with murder on his mind weren’t marching across the sand toward them. “They were both loaded and I have no way of knowing which one he has.”

  Max lunged forward, determined to put himself between her and the weapon. Before he could succeed, Hodges raised the pistol, his hand surprisingly steady, and pointed it right at Max’s chest. Max froze, afraid to make any sudden movements. He might accidentally goad the butler into firing, and if the man’s aim was off, he could still easily hit Anne.

  Hodges’s voice rang with a confidence Max had never before heard. “Step away from her, you scoundrel! Or I’ll blow you straight to hell!”

  “Put down the pistol, Hodges,” Max said gently, inching away from Anne instead of toward her. “Then we can discuss this man-to-man.”

  “You’re no man! A man wouldn’t try to force himself on an innocent girl! You’re a monster!” Hodges raked back the hammer of the pistol.

  “No!” Anne cried, stepping toward him with hand outstretched. “He’s not the one who tried to hurt me. He’s the one who tried to save me.” She forced a tremulous smile, a coaxing note creeping into her voice. “Why, just look at him! He’s all wet because he jumped into the water after me! Isn’t he such a silly goose?”

  Hodges cocked his head, still eyeing Max with open suspicion. “But I would have sworn I heard you scream.”

  “That was me,” Pippa said desperately. “I . . . I saw a spider. A very large, very hairy spider.”

  Hodges’s hand had began to waver.

  “There now, darling,” Anne said soothingly. “Why don’t you hand over that nasty pistol and let Dickon take you up to bed? You must be ever so tired.”

  The butler shook his head. “It’s all my fault. I’m the one who brought him here. I won’t leave you alone with him. I should have never left you alone with him.”

  “Hodges!” Max snapped, imbuing his voice with all of the authority at his command. “I’m your master and I order you to give Dickon that pistol! Right now!”

  It was almost painful to watch Hodges’s shoulders slump, to see his features soften back into a mask of bewilderment. “Aye, my lord,” he whispered. “As you wish.”

  His hand fell to his side, leaving the pistol dangling from his fingertips. As Dickon rushed forward to gently remove it from his grip, Anne closed her eyes, breathing a shuddering sigh of relief.

  “You’re right,” the old man mumbled, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “I’m ever so tired. Not accustomed to staying up so late . . . the ball . . . so many guests to look after . . . such a dreadful fuss . . .”

  “Come now, sir,” Dickon said, taking him by the elbow. “I’ll see you to your bed.”

  Before Dickon could steer him back toward the caves, Hodges turned to look at Anne. “I’m so glad you decided to wear that gown to the ball. You look absolutely stunning in it. It was your mother’s, you know. That’s why I wanted you painted in it. She would have been so proud of you.”

  Anne took a step toward him, her face constricted with some painful emotion. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Of course I know who you are.” Hodges beamed at her, all the love in the world shining from his eyes. “You’re my darling little girl—my angel . . . my Angelica.”

  “Dear God,” Max breathed as he realized his butler was no butler at all, but mad old Lord Cadgwyck himself.

  Anne went to him, then. Cupping his ruddy face in her hands, she touched her lips to his brow, then drew back and whispered, “Good night, Papa.”

  He gently smoothed her wet hair away from her face, gazing tenderly at her. “There now, don’t cry, poppet. You know I can’t bear it when you cry. You’re my good girl, aren’t you? You’ve always been my good girl. I’m so glad you came back. I’ve been waiting for ever so long.”

  He was still beaming at her over his shoulder as Dickon led him away. Avoiding Max’s eyes, the others trailed after them, leaving Max and Anne all alone on the beach.

  Still standing with her back to him, Anne wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the cool night air.

  Max shook his head, stunned by what he had just witnessed. “That poor devil. No wonder he’s so confused. He actually believes you’re his daughter. After all this time, who would have ever thought . . .” Max trailed off as she turned to look over her shoulder at him, the beseeching look in her eyes more devastating than a blow.

  He should have seen it before. It had been there, right before his eyes the entire time—in the proud tilt of her head, the sparkle of mischief in her eyes, the mocking smile that always seemed to be poised on her lips even when she wasn’t smiling. She might never live up to the absurdly idealized vision of herself in the portrait, but she was beautiful in her own right—even more beautiful in Max’s eyes because of the very flaws the artist had chosen to conceal.

  He was haunted by his own smug words: I’ve always believed every mystery is nothing more than a mathematical equation that can be solved if you find the right variables and apply them in the correct order. How had he managed to find all of the wrong variables, then applied them in no particular order whatsoever?

  As the girl from the portrait and the woman standing before him merged into one, Max sank down on the nearest rock, gazing up at her in speechless wonder.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  SURPRISED BY HOW GOOD it felt to finally have substance and form again, Angelica turned to face Max, tossing her wet hair out of her eyes. “You needn’t berate yourself for not seeing the resemblance sooner. Laurie’s gift was to flatter his subjects until they were all but unrecognizable, even to themselves. And I am ten years older than when the portrait was painted. I lost my baby fat a long time ago. Of course, in my vainer moments I still like to think I bear some passing resemblance to that spectacular creature. But my hair was never quite that glossy, my nose so perfect, or my cheek so rosy. And Timberlake did insist on painting me with my mouth closed to hide that unsightly gap between my teeth.”

  “I adore the gap between your teeth,” Max growled. “But why? Why on earth would you fake your own death?”

  Unable to bear the weight of his searching gaze, Angelica turned toward the sea, watching the moonlight dance across the crests of the waves. “When I stepped off the cliff that night, I had every intention of ending my life. But it seems God, with his infinite wit and wisdom, had other ideas. I missed the rocks entirely, and when the current started to drag me beneath the water and out to sea, I discovered I was just as selfish and strong willed as I’d always been. It wasn’t in me to just give up and sink into the sea and meet the tragic end I deserved. So I took a deep breath and struck out for the cove. I had always been a strong swimmer, you see.” A faint smile touched her lips as she remembered warmer
days, summer idylls with her laughing, freckle-faced brother by her side. “When we were little, Theo and I used to sneak down through the caves and swim here whenever Papa was otherwise occupied. It took every ounce of strength I had, but I finally managed to haul myself up on this very beach.” She turned to look at Max, meeting his fierce gaze with one of her own. “A girl went into the sea that night. A woman came out. A woman who would fight to survive and win back everything she’d lost.”

  “Anne Spencer,” he said softly.

  She nodded. “They would have never let Angelica Cadgwyck back into the manor. But with patience and planning, I knew Anne Spencer just might be able to sneak in through the servants’ entrance. So I tossed my shawl back into the water, slipped back up to the house through the caves, packed a bag, and ran away.”

  Max rose to his feet, his face a study in frustration and rage. “I still can’t understand why you were driven to such a desperate act. Was there no one to help you?”

  “Theo was already on a ship bound for Australia in chains, and they’d come and taken Papa away to the asylum in Falmouth. It was to be my last night in the only home I’d ever known. Papa’s solicitor had paid a call earlier in the day. He was kind enough to point out that there might be certain opportunities for a young woman of my looks and breeding who was considered to be ‘soiled goods.’ He even very generously offered to take me to London himself and set me up in a small apartment he could visit whenever the fancy struck him.”

  “Give me the man’s name,” Max said flatly. “I’ll see him ruined within the fortnight . . . if I don’t kill him first. How in the name of God did you survive after you died that night?”

  She shrugged away all the years of drudgery and loneliness. “I went into service. I became exactly who I was pretending to be. I learned all there was to know about managing a household so I could come back here someday and mismanage Cadgwyck.” A rueful little smile played around her lips. “If Papa had his wits about him, I’ve often thought how it would have made him laugh to imagine his pampered little princess changing linens and scrubbing baseboards.”