Christmas at Draycott Abbey by Christina Skye Read Free Book Online Page A

carpets and fine chintz furniture. Velvet curtains covered the tall casement windows. But Ian saw none of that. His whole focus was locked on the woman in the big bed, her hair a dark cloud on the white pillows. Her eyes were closed, but she stirred restlessly, whispering.
    Ian moved closer, hoping for some kind of clue to help Izzy in his search.
    “T-told you. Don’t go, Nina. Not yet. Wanted to meet him. Do some research. It all seems too fast.” Her voice broke. She stretched her hands out to the darkness and sat up sharply. “ No. Don’t hurt her .”
    In the silence her eyes blurred.
    Suddenly she saw Ian, sitting in the little chair beside the bed. Her mouth opened in surprise. “Where am I?”
    “Draycott Abbey.”
    The woman frowned. “I remember that.” Her questions stopped when she reached up, feeling the outline of the bandage at her forehead. She winced as her fingers touched the corner of her eyebrow.
    She was too pale, Ian thought.
    She looked exhausted.
    “Who are you?”
    “Commander Sinclair. Metropolitan Police Service, ma’am. I found you wandering on the abbey grounds in bad shape. You’ll be safe here. The roads are hellish tonight, with the storm getting worse, but if you need something, let me know. Marston has come up twice with soup and tea. He takes it as a personal affront that you’re not well enough to eat his specially made food.”
    “Marston.” She said the word slowly. “Yes, I remember. He brought me here earlier. But there was something else. Something I needed to do—“ She blinked hard, frowning as if in pain.
    “It can keep. Why don’t you lie back and get some sleep? I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
.
    “It’s so beautiful, this room. It’s been so long since I felt safe...”
    Her breath eased out in a husky sigh as she studied the carved fireplace and the elegant portraits. “I’ve always loved this house.” Her voice was a mere whisper now. “Adrian—he told me that I should paint here in summer, with all his roses abloom. I finished the painting, but never had time to show him. We waited, he and I. But you never came back…”
    “I?” Ian leaned down, frowning. There it was again, this odd delusion of hers that they had met before. “Who is it that you mean? I’m certain we never met.”
    “Oh yes, but it was long ago. You don’t remember that afternoon, on the river near Oxford? My parasol snapped. You jumped into the water to retrieve it. You were the perfect gentleman.” Her lips curved, as she closed her eyes. “But you were less than a gentleman that night, in my coach as we returned to London. Your kisses were most ardent, as I recall, my love.” Her voice broke away in sudden coughing.
    Ian sat on the edge of the bed and took her hands. “Your coach? In London?” None of it made any sense. It had to be a delusion from her state of shock.
    But as Ian looked down, his hands seemed to move. His long fingers entwined with hers in a way that felt painfully familiar. He brought their linked hands to his lips and kissed the curve of her wrist.
    So precious.
    So achingly familiar.
    And in the sudden flare of the firelight, Ian saw a different world and a different time. Bright carriages raced by moonlight, carrying women with powdered hair and crimson lips. Jewels glittered in the candlelight of an elegant London ballroom.
    Ian felt his heart hammer as her fingers tightened.
    “I waited so long….” She drew his hand to her cheek on a shaky sigh. “My love.”
    As her eyes closed, memories spilled over Ian like smoke.

     
    In the candlelight her violet eyes gleamed, more beautiful than any jewel.
    His heart was full almost to breaking with the love he felt for her. Tomorrow they would be married. Tomorrow the joy he had hoped to bring her would finally come.
    Then he would have to break the cold news. His orders had just come, calling him to Goa on East India Company business. He refused to take her with him to that place of