Seduction: A Novel of Suspense by Rose M J Read Free Book Online Page A

important then as it is now.
    Two weeks ago I found a letter in a nineteenth-century book in our family library. The letter, written in 1855 by a well-educated gentleman of note, suggests there is proof here of the Druid myths you mentioned in your book.
    And I have reason to believe that the drawings we did at Blixer Rath are connected to this mystery. Do you remember? The circle of rocks? Impossibly, this gentleman drew a very similar circle in his letter.
    And so . . . this invitation. Would you like to come to Jersey and help me search for the proof? It would—

Four
    “Are you all right?”
    Jac looked up, jarred out of the letter.
    Malachai stood in the doorway. In his trousers, silk dressing gown and velvet house slippers, he looked elegant. Not at all like he’d been sleeping in an armchair.
    “I woke up,” he said, “and you were gone.”
    Jac nodded. “I . . . I couldn’t sleep.”
    There was no reason to mention the cramps. If he were a medical doctor maybe . . . but even then probably not. She hadn’t been far enough along to require immediate medical attention unless she was bleeding excessively. And she wasn’t. Forcing herself, she put it out of her mind. There was time enough to deal with it when she was alone again. Now she had to find out about the letter from Theo.
    Looking at her mug, then at the decanter of brandy pulled out of line on the bar, he asked, “Do you mind if I join you?”
    “Of course not.”
    Malachai always spoke in an oddly formal manner, and while it was unusual, it was also reassuring. His old-fashioned ways comforted her. Reminded her of her grandfather, who was responsible for bothher name and her love of books. When she was born, he’d brought Jac’s mother a large bouquet of freshly picked hyacinth. Audrey had been so taken with the flower’s scent—one of the few that couldn’t be extracted for perfume—she’d borrowed its name for her daughter. Jacinthe, French for “hyacinth.”
    Malachai poured an inch of the amber liquid into a crystal glass and sat down on the other side of his desk, facing her.
    “Now I think the house was built for nights like this, but when I stayed here as a child, storms at night scared me. There are tombs beneath the foundation and I was obsessed with the image of the rain loosening the dirt and letting the dead escape,” Malachai said.
    Jac had been ready to confront him about the letter but was too curious not to ask whose tombs.
    “Family crypts going all the way to Trevor Talmage and his brother Davenport.”
    “Directly under the house?”
    “In a subcellar, yes. I’ll show you tomorrow if you like. It’s a beautiful underground stone garden complete with marble benches and a working fountain. It’s actually a lovely place to sit and meditate.”
    “Why under the house?”
    “My ancestor didn’t want to be buried in a public place where grave robbers could disturb his resting place. He didn’t believe it was final, you see.”
    “Because he believed in reincarnation?”
    “Quite. Convinced reincarnation was real and that his death was only a respite between lives, he made elaborate plans so that when he returned in his next life he’d be able to find and access his home, his treasures and his fortune without having to start over again from scratch.”
    “Has anyone ever come back claiming to be him?”
    “Not that I’ve heard of but . . .” He paused. Malachai had noticed the envelope in front of her. Looked from it to the letter she was still holding.
    “What is that you’re reading?” he asked.
    She pushed it toward him.
    “How did you find this, if I may inquire?” he asked.
    “It’s addressed to me and you opened it. I think I get to ask the first question,” Jac countered.
    “Except to find it you would have had to go looking through my briefcase. I’m not sure which of us has the right to be more outraged.”
    “I do. I knocked over your briefcase by accident, and when I was putting