It was the small hours of the same night, and rain spattered against the apartment windows as Summer slipped out of bed, put on a wrap, and tiptoed along the passage toward the living room.
The digital lights on the TV and VCR cast a luminous glow over everything as she went to the sofa and felt underneath for the little cassette recorder. As she straightened, her glance fell upon Andrew’s piece of medieval pottery, and for a guilty moment she felt as if he were sitting in his chair, looking accusingly at her.
Pulling herself up sharply, she went quietly from the living room to his study, pausing before going in to listen very carefully for any sound at all from the other bedroom. But all was silent, so she went into the study and closed the door behind her. There, with the volume turned down as low as possible, she tested the recording she’d made. She was interested only in the prompts Andrew used to put her into a trance, and what he said to bring her out of it again; everything else could be wiped clean, so she switched on his recording and editing system to rerecord the parts she wanted. She left a blank area between his commands, so she could lengthen or shorten things as she chose, but initially she set it at two hours. Provided all this worked, two hours in the past should be just about right.
Concealing the cassette and her portable recorder in her wrap pocket, she hurried back to her room and put everything into the drawer of her bedside table before lying back to think. Andrew would consider what she’d done to be a considerable crime if he knew about it, for although he recorded his sessions with clients and gave them the cassette afterward, he was very strict about not including the means by which the trance was induced or ended. This was a necessary precaution, for if a cassette containing these prompts were to be played while driving a car, for instance, the consequences of involuntarily entering a trance were only too obvious.
Of course, not everyone could be rehypnotized like this, but some people were susceptible, and it was her intention to find out if she was one of them. She wanted to be able to go back to being Olivia Courtenay whenever she felt like it, without having to wheedle with Andrew. She wasn’t concerned about the recorder breaking down, because she knew she had eventually come out of the trance of her own accord. It was an old wives’ tale that someone would remain hypnotized forever if the hypnotist were to drop dead.
She felt very disloyal to Andrew, for she was being very underhanded, but regression to her previous existence was a welcome escape from the unhappiness of her life here in the present, and the kiss in the orchard had added a new dimension. She wanted to experience more, much more. To see if a trance could be triggered, all she had to do was turn the recorder on, but her conscience pricked again as she thought of Chrissie and Andrew’s anger and hurt disappointment if they found out how deceitful she’d been.
Outside, the rain dashed against the window, and she could hear the crash of waves on the shore as the wind rose. It was almost as if the elements were daring her to do what her heart urged but her head cautioned against. Press the button, Summer, the sea hissed. Press the button...
The recorder lay there temptingly, its controls within inches of her fingers. She stretched out a hand, then hesitated again. Did she dare? Her forefinger trembled. Could she face Chrissie and Andrew if her sins were exposed? She bit her lip, then thought of the kiss in the orchard, and impulsively pressed the PLAY button.
She lay back with her eyes closed, going through the breathing exercises Andrew had taught her. His voice began on the cassette, and then followed the gentle music he always used. She felt herself relaxing, just as if he were in the room with her. The familiar warmth began to creep over her, and she sank into that deeper, even more relaxed state that was somewhere between sleep and consciousness.
Suddenly, there was absolute silence, and she opened her eyes uneasily. What had happened? Had the recorder switched off for some reason? But then once more she became conscious of the sparkling health and exuberance tingling through her veins. She sat up quickly, and heavy black curls tumbled forward over the shoulders of her white muslin nightgown. Her eyes parted excitedly. It had worked! She was Olivia again!
She glanced around. She was in her room at the Black Lion, and the only light was provided by the fire in the hearth and a night candle on the mantelpiece above. It was a simply furnished room, dominated by the faded blue brocade four-poster in which she’d been trying unsuccessfully to sleep. As inn rooms went in this age it was well furnished and comfortable, and it was certainly warm and clean, without any unwelcome insect life in the mattress.
There were two doors, one into the passage in the inn, the other onto the first-floor gallery above the yard, and the only window looked onto the gallery as well. Everyone at the inn appeared to have retired now. The Twelfth Night celebrations were over, and the last stagecoach had departed. There wouldn’t be another until just after dawn.
She was about to lie back again when she heard stealthy sounds on the gallery—footsteps, soft and creeping. Through the curtains she saw a shadow pass in front of the lantern that was fixed to one of the gallery posts. The footsteps stopped right by her door, and her frightened gaze went to the key. Had she locked it again after going out onto the gallery earlier? She couldn’t remember! Her mouth ran dry. What if she’d forgotten? What if whoever it was could just open the door and come in?
Flinging the bedclothes aside, she hurried to the door, but as she reached it, to her horror she saw the handle begin to turn! Suddenly, there was a disturbance somewhere farther along the gallery. More footsteps sounded, but hurried and loud this time, and after a moment’s hesitation, the shadow by the door fled past the light and vanished. Someone else shouted, and then she heard Lady Harvey’s hysterical cries.
“My diamonds! My diamonds have been stolen!”
Doors opened, footsteps sounded on all sides, and as more voices joined the general alarm, Summer tried the door. It wasn’t locked! She gave a horrified intake of breath. What might have happened if the alarm hadn’t been raised? What if theft hadn’t been the only thing on the intruder’s mind? Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door, and she was so startled she took an involuntary step backward.
“Are you all right?” asked the familiar voice of her gentleman.
With a flood of relief she hastened to open the door.
He’d flung his greatcoat on, and his golden hair was tousled from sleeping. He had a lantern, which he held up concernedly in order to see her face properly. “Are you all right?” he asked again.
For a moment she could only gaze into his eyes because memories of the kiss in the orchard flooded embarrassingly over her, as if she and she alone had been guilty of that resounding indiscretion.
He was clearly as conscious of her as she was of him. His glance took in her tumbling hair and her nightgown ribbons that weren’t fully tied at the throat, so that the curves of her breasts were revealed.
She drew the muslin folds together. “I’d forgotten to lock the door,” she said lamely, and couldn’t prevent her lips from trembling a little with delayed shock.
He stepped inside, closed the door, and put the lantern down on the dressing table. He threw his greatcoat over the chair by the fire, then turned to face her again. He still wore his shirt and breeches, and seeing her surprise, gave another smile. “I fell asleep by the fire in my room,” he explained, then became more serious. “After all, I had a great deal to think about,” he murmured, coming to her. His hands were gentle on her shoulders, and she felt his warmth through the muslin. “What is your name?” he asked softly.
There was seduction in that soft note, just as there had been in the orchard, but this time there wouldn’t be any interruption. Excitement had been stirring through her from the moment she saw him again, but now it became almost unendurable. She wanted to be taken, to be made passionate and abandoned love to. All thought of restraint had already vanished into the shadows. Seduce me, please, oh please...
“Am I not to know your name?” he inquired, tilting her face toward his just as he had in the orchard.
Her lips parted to answer, but then she hesitated as she remembered her cousin Caro’s forthcoming betrothal. The prospect of being found innocently at the inn with Jeremy Fenwick had been bad enough, but there was nothing innocent about this! But it was only too easy to convince herself that any indiscretion in this room at the Black Lion would never spread beyond the confines of these four walls. She met his eyes. “My name is Olivia,” she whispered.
“Just Olivia?”
“I think it best,” she answered.
He took her left hand and raised it so that her wedding ring caught the light. “Is this the reason?”
“No. My husband has been dead two years.”
He searched her face. “Very well, Olivia, I will not press you to tell me more, and I will introduce myself simply as Brand.”
“Brand,” she repeated softly, for at last he had a name. It suited him, for there was a flame running through him, a flame upon which she longed to burn her foolish Icarus wings.... At last the wanton words she longed to say came to her lips. “Make love to me, Brand,” she whispered, undoing the remaining ribbon ties of her nightgown and allowing the garment to slide to the floor.
His dark gaze moved over her nakedness; then he smiled and began to untie his neckcloth.
She watched as he undressed. His timeless perfection crossed every century there had ever been, and that ever would be. He had a body that was smooth and leanly muscular, with broad shoulders, slender hips, and taut buttocks. The hair at his groin was thick and dark, and his virility sprang out in readiness.
He smiled again as he saw how she gazed at him, then held out a hand. “Come to me, Olivia,” he breathed.
She walked toward him in a dream. Their fingers entwined, and he drew her into his arms. She felt the shaft of his virility pressing imperatively against her, then he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed.
Desire keened through her like a wild hunt as he placed her on the crumpled sheet and then lay with her. The smell of costmary lingered on his skin from his clothes, and his warmth was exciting as he leaned over her and put a hand on her thigh. He bent his head to kiss her breast, and she closed her eyes as he caressed the already stimulated nipple with his tongue.
He moved to straddle her, pinning her hands back against the pillow as he looked down into her eyes. “You are a woman to die for, my sweet Olivia,” he whispered, slowly lowering his hips until his virility pressed between her parted thighs.
She felt his heat as he penetrated her. He took his time, pushing in slowly and luxuriously until he could push no farther. Then he looked down into her eyes again. “We are one now, Olivia, joined in the most exquisite way of all.”
Tears stung her eyes. “Brand,” she breathed. “Oh, Brand ...” She was transported by an unbelievable tide of exhilaration. Her entire body felt as if it were floating, and the experience was almost too much. This felt so very right, as if it were meant to be, and she wanted it to last forever, wanted to be with him forever.
She shivered with gratification as he began to thrust, gently at first, but then more and more urgently. The wild hunt was coursing through them both now, bringing a tumult of pleasure that propelled them toward a final moment that promised every delight they could ever have yearned for. The prize shone before them, and at last the sheer force of climax swept them into the light.
She arched beneath him, her fingernails digging into his back as a thousand remembered, yearned-for, wept-for emotions sang through her entire being. Jack’s face lingered for a beloved moment, but it was this man, this lover-stranger, who had brought her to life again. She clung to him, tasting the salt of her own tears on his lips and treasuring the firm warmth of his body against hers. A night like this might never happen again. He was a fantasy that for the moment was fact in her arms, and as his tender lips brushed hers again, she prayed the dawn would be a long time coming.
But she had forgotten the cold plain facts of time, and the cassette recorder that would bring her trance to an end because she herself had set the controls. He made love to her again, and again, but when the two hours had passed, the four-poster bed at the inn disappeared, Brand disappeared, and suddenly she was alone in the future.
She heard the cassette recorder switch off, then silence, except for the rain on the window.