But doing Emma the small kindness of protecting Aubrey didn’t mean he’d changed his mind about her aunt. No. It only meant that he was doing his job. No matter what Marguerite thought.
And even though Emma appeared to have transformed in the intervening centuries, he couldn’t bring himself to forgive her. Or trust her.
A soul was a soul was a soul.
As the elevator descended, he remembered the first time he’d met Violet.
She’d been the oldest girl of eight, after all three of her brothers had died in infancy. By default, perhaps, or more likely by force of personality, she became her father’s chosen one, his hope for the future, what remained of his line following his wife’s death. A scholar and barrister, Callum Gray had taught his brilliant daughter to read and write, an unusual skill most men had found useless, if not threatening. Connor had known her from the time he was ten when she’d arrived at his father’s estate alongside Callum Gray, riding her unruly pony, Duchess. The horse’s name had amused him endlessly. But after Violet had climbed to the top of the willow tree beside the pond to prove a point to his younger brother, Arthur, Connor had needed little to convince him that they would become friends. Later, much more than friends.
If he closed his eyes, a thousand memories would reappear of her, the adventures they’d had as children, especially climbing amongst the ruins of the ancient Narwick Castle that sat abandoned in the hills above the Montrose estate. It was there the two of them would endlessly plot their futures where the wide Scottish sky met the moors of heather. The second son of a duke, Connor’s path was already set. It would take him into the military where he would prove himself, then build his own wealth as a soldier. Violet had longed for nothing more than to follow in her father’s footsteps, attend university, to write treatises and histories of the country she loved.
All that would change when Connor’s older brother, Edgar, died. Connor had become heir apparent.
The military would not be his path, but he would be the next duke of Montrose. Somewhere between the ruins and the sea cliffs, he and Violet would see their future together.
They’d shared their first kiss there in the heather fields. It was there he’d asked her to be his wife. Her eyes had been the color of the moors in autumn, a dark-haired beauty whom men had coveted and pursued. But it was he who had won her heart. She was to behiswife. At least, he’d thought so.
The doors to the elevator swished open. Emma was standing on the other side.
“Connor!” She flung herself at him in a hug as effervescent as it was unexpected. “Oh, I couldn’t find you anywhere!”
Relief poured through him, too. Though he could hardly admit to himself that the thought of never seeing her again like this had struck a coldness through him. A dread.
To feel her in his arms again, her breasts pushed up against the wall of his chest, her breath, warm against his neck, tightened his gut. It also sent an unwelcome heat to his groin.Och, he’d been haunted trying to remember the feel of her in his arms for centuries, and now…
It took him a moment to remember himself.
“I was so scared when I woke and you were gone,” she whispered against his chest. “I don’t know what happened.”
Her mortal counterparts swirled around them, going about their business as the two of them stood in the middle of the hallway embracing, two rocks in a swirling stream.
Gently, he set her away from him, his gaze on her damp cheeks and the fear in her eyes. “Dinna worry. I am here for it all.”
“Did I…did I die?”
“There was some trouble. Do ye not recall it?”
She shook her head. “Only that one minute I was talking to you in the field and the next I woke in the hospital looking for you. But you were gone. Aubrey was gone, and Jacob—”
“That’d be my doin’.”
She looked at him strangely.
“I might’ve spoken to yer niece and to Jacob.”
Her eyes widened. She grabbed his hand to drag him toward the window in the hallway where they could have some privacy. Not that anyone could hear them.
“Youspoketo them?”
“Aye. As I said, ’tis possible, now and then, to appear as one of ye. No one kens the difference.”
“Wait, so Aubrey talked to you?”
“She did.”
“What did she say?” she asked this urgently, desperate to hear the answer.
“She’s worried about ye. Ye already know she loves ye madly.”
