The Sedgwick Curse

“My father died two months ago.” His voice was flat, showing no emotion one way or the other.

“Oh…I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” The unexpected news left her with an odd sensation, a combination of unfulfilled prophecy and destiny that totally baffled her. She tried to shake away the strange and uncomfortable feeling. “I hope my presence here won’t be an inconvenience for you or an intrusion into your period of mourning.”

Donovan mustered a smile and tried to project a gracious manner. “Of course not.”

Taylor looked across the gallery of Sedgwick ancestors that preceded William, then the ones Donovan had identified, before returning her attention to her host. “No painting of you?”

“No…not yet. I suppose it’s something I’ll have to do one of these days—tradition and all that.” He was momentarily lost in thought, in a world of his own that he was unwilling to share with anyone else. Having the traditional portrait done was the last step in replacing his father as lord of the manor, a step he could not quite bring himself to take. The emotional turmoil and the circumstances connected to his father’s death were still too painful for him.

Taylor studied Donovan as he stood there. This was not at all what she had expected. He was a very attractive, sexy and desirable man. She could not deny that he made her pulse race and her breathing quicken. The thought crossed her mind—and not for the first time since boarding the plane for her transatlantic flight—that perhaps all of this had not been such a good idea after all. She should never have misrepresented herself, pretending to be a writer in order to gain access to the Sedgwick family archives for her own personal reasons.

At that precise moment she wished she was safely back in Wichita, Kansas, tending to her secretarial duties at the University rather than having taken a three-month leave of absence. But it was too late for that.

“Well.” Donovan whirled around to face Taylor, feigning an affability he didn’t feel. “I’m sure you must be tired. I imagine you’d like to go to your room, unpack and get settled in.”

She raked her gaze across the entry hall again, the lavish setting in direct opposition to the ominous feeling that shoved at her reality. A tremor of apprehension darted through her body—a tremor that had a dark cloud of danger and foreboding attached to it.

“I heard the doorbell and…hey, who do we have here?” The upbeat, cheerful voice came from the bottom of the staircase. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Alex…” Donovan turned to face his cousin. “This is Taylor MacKenzie, the writer I told you would be staying here for the next two weeks.” He returned his attention to Taylor. “Miss MacKenzie, this is my cousin, Alexander Sedgwick. Alex is here to help me get this year’s festival off to a good start.”

“Please, call me Taylor. Miss MacKenzie sounds so formal.” She offered Donovan a dazzling smile.

“And you may call me Donovan rather than Lord Sedgwick.” His words trailed off, as if his mind were on other things. “The title passed to me only two months ago. I haven’t had it long enough to be comfortable with it yet.” What he did not say was that he felt as if he did not really deserve the title even though it had been in the family as many centuries as the estate had. The title should still belong to his father.

“And you may call me whatever you like, as long as you promise to call me.” Alex’s attention and words were directed to Taylor as he extended a teasing smile followed by a quick but blatantly obvious survey of her physical assets.

She looked from Donovan to Alex, then to the painting of William Sedgwick. An uncomfortable chill swept across her skin. There was no mistaking the distinct family resemblance shared by the three men.

Alex crossed the entry hall to where Taylor stood, his outstretched hand grasping hers. “So, is this the man from the States who’s researching a book about British country festivals?” He flashed a sexy grin as he again looked her up and down. “You certainly don’t look much like a man to me. Of course, Donovan is stuck out here in the country away from London and doesn’t get out much, but even he couldn’t make this sort of a mistake.”

She felt the heat of embarrassment return to her cheeks as she lowered her gaze. This made twice that she had been embarrassed since arriving at the estate and she hadn’t even gotten past the entry hall. These two men, cousins who bore a dramatic similarity in appearance, were quite different in their demeanor. Donovan seemed very serious, a little distracted and what could even be called moody, but undeniably sexy. Alex, on the other hand, unabashedly flirted with her in an open and easy manner.

Donovan rang for Bradley, who made an immediate appearance. “This is Taylor MacKenzie. Please show Miss MacKenzie to her room and have someone bring in the luggage from her car.”

He returned his attention to Taylor. “Bradley will see to your needs. Breakfast is served at eight o’clock. We’ll have a chance to talk then.” Again the heated desire swept through his body as he took one last look at her before turning to go to his suite of rooms in the new wing. “Good night, Taylor.”

“Good night, Donovan.” His abrupt attitude and departure surprised her and left her slightly unsettled. It was almost as if he was desperate to get away from her as fast as he could.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue to leave. Good night, Taylor. I’ll see you in the morning. Unless—” Alex flashed a wry grin as he winked at her “—there’s something I can do for you tonight. I’m sure there’s certain needs that I can handle far better than Bradley….” He allowed his voice to trail off as he openly leered at her.

She shot a quick glance at Bradley, but he showed no reaction to Alex’s words. She forced a polite chuckle, not at all sure how to interpret Alex’s attitude and what he had said. “I can’t think of a thing. I’ve had an incredibly long day and am definitely tired. I’m going to collapse in bed and get a good night’s sleep.” She turned her attention to the somber-looking man standing at the foot of the stairs.

“This way, Miss MacKenzie.” Bradley showed Taylor to the second-floor room that had been prepared for the visiting writer. He demonstrated how to turn on the heat in the bedroom and acquainted her with the idiosyncrasies of the bathroom’s ancient plumbing, then he departed. A few minutes later her luggage was delivered.

Taylor took in her surroundings. The four-poster bed dominated the well-appointed room. The furnishings were obviously antiques and looked very elegant, but not particularly comfortable. She undressed, then slipped into the large football jersey she had commandeered from her ex-fiancé a few years ago. Even though the room had been cleaned, a stuffiness clung to everything, attesting to the fact that it had not been occupied for quite some time. She opened one of the windows just enough to let in some fresh air, climbed into bed and turned off the lamp on the nightstand.

Sleep, however, eluded her. Overly tired—that was her explanation. Perhaps reading for a little while would help her fall asleep. She turned on the lamp and picked up the book she had started on the plane. She read only a couple of pages before her exhaustion won out and she succumbed to sleep.

IT WAS WELL PAST MIDNIGHT when the shadowy figure moved silently down the hallway, then entered a linen closet on the second floor of the old wing. He moved a cupboard aside, then slid back a small panel and peered into the adjoining room. The soft light from the reading lamp fell across the woman’s face. Three large pillows propped up her back. A book rested in her lap. She appeared to have fallen asleep while reading.

Without even a whisper of sound, the secret door that led from the hall linen closet into the clothes closet in her bedroom swung open. The centuries-old house was filled with hidden doors and secret passages, and he knew all of them.

He stood inside the closet and watched her from behind the hanging clothes. Her long, dark lashes rested against her upper cheek. The gentle rise and fall of her breasts told him she was sleeping. She was his. She always had been and always would be…till death do them part.

He had time. It was still two weeks until the festival. It would be just as it should have been a century ago. It had been his intention that they should pledge their love to each other the night before the beginning of the festival, even though a couple of months earlier her husband had grown suspicious of his attentions toward her. But this would be different. This time there would not be any interference.

He stepped out of the closet and silently crossed the room, coming to a halt next to the bed. He reached out his hand and lightly touched her hair. What had she done to her hair? Where were the glossy raven tresses that had so captured his attention, the beautiful raven tresses that fell to her shoulders? Had his memory played tricks on him? He reached out his hand to touch her hair again just as she began to stir. He quickly withdrew as a soft moan escaped her throat and her hand moved toward her hair.

TAYLOR JERKED BOLT UPRIGHT in bed, her eyes wide open. Her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath. The acrid taste of adrenaline filled her mouth. She quickly glanced around, but nothing looked out of place. She was sure someone had been in the room with her. She had sensed it, felt a menacing presence that had frightened her out of her sleep. It must have been a bad dream, yet it all seemed so real.

She desperately needed some sort of rational explanation. She finally attributed the experience to exhaustion, trying to convince herself she had been overly susceptible to suggestion fueled by the ominous atmosphere of the centuries-old house and the lifetime of Sedgwick family history that surrounded her. She slid out of bed, went to the bathroom and got a drink of water.

She stopped by the large corner window on her way back to bed, pulling the drape aside to look out over the grounds. She spotted someone, a shadowy form, aimlessly wandering around the garden. She squinted in an attempt to identify the mysterious person, but to no avail.

A little tremor of anxiety moved through her body as she turned away from the window. She drew in a calming breath, held it a moment, then slowly exhaled. Her lack of sleep had caused her mind to play tricks on her. It was the only logical explanation. But still, the feeling of someone being in the room with her had seemed so real.

She decided to lock the bedroom door, but to her dismay the door turned out to have an old-type lock that required a key in order to be locked. She looked around, then grabbed a straight-backed wooden chair and propped it at an angle under the doorknob. The action made her feel a little foolish, but at that moment her instincts were screaming at her to remain alert and be very careful.

She tried to convince herself that things would make more sense in the morning after a good night’s sleep. She turned off the lamp, then changed her mind. She knew it was ridiculous, but she felt she would sleep better with the light on. She switched the lamp on, then settled into bed.

Donovan stared up through the night air at the second-floor window, watching as the light went off then came on again a moment later. The blinding headache throbbed at his temples. Dark waves of confusion clouded his mind, leaving him disoriented. When and why had he gotten out of bed, dressed and left the house? What was he doing wandering around the garden in the middle of the night? Waves of apprehension washed through his body. He squeezed his eyes shut as he rubbed his temples in an attempt to force the pain away and make some sense of what had happened.

He had been experiencing the same symptoms his father had complained of for about three months prior to his death. There were the sudden headaches followed by disorientation, confusion and memory lapses.

Then two months ago James Sedgwick had committed suicide.

Had his father suspected he was going mad and killed himself before it became complete? While he still had some conscious control over his actions? Was the same thing now happening to Donovan? Was he himself going mad? Had the curse imposed on the family by his great-grandfather’s brutal crimes finally come to fruition with the opening of the crypt?

Had he now become the recipient of the Sedgwick curse?

A cold jolt of fear assaulted his senses. It was a frightening puzzle and somehow he had to figure it out before he lost his ability to reason. And Taylor MacKenzie…something about her was so familiar. Somehow there had to be a connection, but what could it possibly be?

Donovan returned to his private living quarters in the new wing. He poured a glass of water from the carafe he kept on his nightstand, took one of the tablets the doctor had prescribed for his sudden attack of blinding headaches, then fell on top of his bed. He closed his eyes and tried to force sleep in order to ease his confusion and drive away the pain. After tossing and turning for what seemed like an eternity, he finally fell into a troubled sleep.

Dark visions and strange dreams plagued him. The malevolent countenance of his great-grandfather’s face appeared before him, then disappeared again. He caught fleeting glimpses of his father. He had a sense of a woman’s face, an image from long ago, but it never quite came into focus. The images swirled around in evil black clouds that seemed to hide something even more sinister than they revealed.

Chapter Two

“Yes? Come in,” Taylor responded to the knock at her bedroom door. She had just finished dressing and was making the bed before going downstairs for breakfast.

The door opened and a middle-aged woman entered. As soon as she saw what was happening, she rushed toward Taylor. “Oh, miss. Please don’t do that. I’ll see to your room for you. Is there anything special that you require?”

“No, nothing at all. I hope I won’t be too much of an added burden to you.” Maid service—this was certainly more than she had anticipated.

“Breakfast is being served in the informal dining room. It’s on the ground floor, miss, to the right at the bottom of the stairs.”

“Thank you.” Taylor left the bedroom and followed the directions. Donovan and Alex were already seated at the table. Both men rose to their feet when she entered the room.

It was Donovan who spoke first. “I trust you found everything you needed. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I’m all settled in. It’s a lovely room.” Her strange dream about someone being in her room, if it had been a dream, flashed through her mind. No, she had not slept well at all. “I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable.”

She noted the haunted look in Donovan’s eyes and the drawn lines on his face. It did not stop the pull of his sexual magnetism, of the very disruptive and baffling effect he had on her senses.

She quickly turned her attention to Alex. Unlike Donovan, no stress showed on his face. “Good morning.”

There was no mistaking the glint in Alex’s eyes as he allowed his gaze to wander across her features. “Well, international travel must agree with you. You look even better than last night.”

Breakfast passed in an amiable manner. The conversation was casual, albeit superficial. Alex did most of the talking. The only truly uncomfortable moment came when he asked Taylor the titles of her other books. She sidestepped the issue by saying her writing credits were primarily magazine articles.

As soon as everyone had finished with their coffee, Donovan rose from his chair. He had tried to keep from staring at Taylor during breakfast, but he had been unable to keep his eyes off her. He hoped she hadn’t noticed. He forced a casualness to his words that he did not feel. “If you like, I’ll show you around the house and the grounds, then you can get started on your research.”

“I don’t want to intrude on your time, but I’d certainly appreciate the tour.”

“I have some pressing business to take care of first.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll meet you here in about an hour, if that’s convenient for you.”

“That will be perfect.” She extended a gracious smile and forced an outer calm. Her inner jitters were another story, the result of the way he had been staring at her all through breakfast combined with the intense and unexpected attraction she felt toward him. She had never experienced that type of intensity, not even with her ex-fiancé. The potent combination proved impossible to dismiss.

Alex’s voice intruded into her thoughts as he spoke to Donovan. “You don’t need me for any of this. I promised Constance Smythe we would get together this morning and go over what she’s done so far for the festival.”

Donovan shot a warning look toward Alex. “I’d appreciate it if you did that at her house and not here.”

“No problem. I’ll go over there and get a status report. Then I have some personal business to take care of.”

Alex grasped Taylor’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it in a courtly manner. “I’m sorry I won’t be here to keep you company until Donovan is available to give you the tour.”

A twinge of something jabbed at Donovan as he watched Alex’s all-too-obvious manner and easy flirting with Taylor. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to put an exact word to the feeling. Could it be jealousy? He didn’t want to admit that the instant attraction he felt for her had gotten under his skin.

Donovan fought to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Don’t you have someplace to be, Alex?”

Alex crossed the room to the door. He gave Taylor one last libidinous glance and an easy smile. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

Alex hurried to his car and drove the five minutes to Constance’s house. He gave two quick raps on the front door, then opened it and walked in without waiting to be invited. “Connie? Are you ready to get to work?” His familiarity said they were much more than casual acquaintances.

Constance emerged from the back room. Her blond hair hung to her shoulders, her makeup perfectly applied. She glanced around, then her gaze landed on Alex. She tightened the sash of her silk robe. “You’re alone?”

Alex studied her for a moment. She claimed to be thirty-one, but he knew she was closer to forty. She’d maintained a youthful appearance and an appealing body, especially for an older woman—older compared to his twenty-seven years. In fact, there were a lot of other things he knew about Constance that he was sure no one else knew.

He looked around, feigning a hint of confusion about what she might have been searching for when she entered the room. “You were expecting Donovan to be with me? Or perhaps you were hoping for Donovan by himself.” He reached out and tugged at the silken sash until it came loose, allowing her robe to fall open, revealing the sheer nightgown she wore.

A sly smile curled the corners of Alex’s mouth as he raked his gaze over her obvious charms. “Ah, yes…I see you were hoping for Donovan solo. Well—” he removed his jacket and tossed it over the arm of the couch “—never let it be said that I failed to help out a lady in obvious distress.” He tugged on the front of her robe, slowly drawing her toward him.

Connie stepped away, closed her robe, retied the sash and leveled a steady gaze at him. “You’re quite the randy lad, Alex…always ready for a tumble.”

Alex winked at her. “As you know from personal experience—ready, willing and very able.”

“Well, you’ll have to put all of that ‘ready, willing and able’ aside until another time and another place. Right now we have festival business to discuss.”

“Whatever you say. Business first—” he cocked his head and shot a questioning look in her direction “—and pleasure later?” He retrieved a notebook from his jacket pocket and seated himself at her dining room table.

Constance picked up the file folder from the corner of the table and withdrew several sheets of paper. “I’ve compiled a list of what needs to be done and what I’ve already accomplished. I think we’re in good shape for this year’s festival, just the last-minute details to take care of.”

Alex took the list from her, but didn’t bother to look at it. “You know, Connie—” he pulled her into his lap “—it’s not doing you any good to set your sights on the status that being married to Lord Donovan Sedgwick would give you. After all, Donovan has rebuffed your increasingly blatant overtures in that area. Even before Uncle James died, you had decided on Donovan. I assume you believed that Uncle James’s age meant that Donovan would be coming into the title sometime very soon. And by a strange quirk of fate, he came into it sooner than anyone anticipated. But even though you have decided Donovan is going to be your next husband—”

“Next husband?” Constance jumped to her feet and took a couple of steps away from Alex. “Whatever are you talking about? Everyone knows that I’ve never been married.”

A sly grin turned the corners of his mouth. “Sorry, Connie…I keep forgetting about the myth you insist on perpetuating.”

He emitted a soft chuckle, as if an amusing thought had just occurred to him. “But as I was saying maybe it would be more feasible if you set your sights on someone else. There are lots of men out there with titles. Of course, not many of them have such a lucrative estate to support that title as Donovan does.”

She furrowed her brow in momentary concentration. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I need to use another tactic.” She gave Alex an appraising look, then leaned her face into his and placed a kiss on his lips. “But first, let’s finish with the festival business. We’ll have time later this morning for other pleasantries.”

DONOVAN STOOD at the door of the informal dining room. He watched as Taylor poured herself a cup of coffee, then stood in front of the window staring at the gardens. He continued to be bothered by the strange sensation that he knew her from somewhere. He closed his eyes for a moment, but the image continued to swirl around in his mind. He was inexplicably drawn to her, almost as if she had cast some sort of spell over him—as if some unknown force had pulled him into a fateful liaison fraught with unknown danger.

Taylor turned toward him as he entered the room. He drank in her features—the shape of her face, the creamy texture of her skin, the set of her eyes, her slightly parted lips and the fullness of a mouth that deserved to be repeatedly kissed as often as possible. He tried to shake away the powerful urge to kiss those tempting lips as the heated desire again settled low in his body, fighting with his attempts to maintain a businesslike attitude.

“Is there something wrong?” Donovan’s intense stare sent a small tremor of anxiety through her body. She was determined to track down her family history. Her grandmother had filled her in on as much as she knew, but there were still so many missing pieces. Her grandmother had been born on the Sedgwick Estate where Taylor’s great-grandparents were the last of the tenant farmers to live there. Her grandmother had been sent to Canada as a small child to live with an aunt and uncle.

All Taylor knew of her great-grandparents, Clark and Emily Kincaid, was that they had been murdered by Lord William Sedgwick, a crime for which he had been swiftly convicted and then executed. She knew nothing of the details, but was determined to seek them out. Only now that she was actually at the Sedgwick Estate, standing face-to-face with the very appealing and disturbing Lord Donovan Sedgwick…

“Do I have jelly on my face or an orange juice mustache?” She forced a nervous chuckle as she moved her fingertips to the side of her mouth as if to wipe away an offending smudge.

Donovan’s hand followed hers, his fingers lightly touching her hair, then brushing against her cheek. He quickly withdrew his hand and took a step backward. He hadn’t realized he was staring at her so intently. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…well—” he awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other “—you look so familiar, as if I should know you from somewhere, but I can’t quite place it. We, uh, we haven’t ever met…have we?”