The Fall of Shane MacKade (The MacKade Brothers 4)

She was so deep in her work that it took her several minutes to notice the hum of her equipment. Startled by it, she jerked back, stared at the monitor of her sensor.

Was that a draft? she wondered, and sprang up, shuddering. The temperature gauge was acutely sensitive. Rebecca watched with amazement as the numbers dropped rapidly from a comfortable seventy-two. She was hugging her arms by the time it reached thirty, and she could see her own breath puff out quickly as her heart thudded.

Yet she felt nothing but the cold. Nothing. She heard nothing, smelled nothing.

The lady doesn’t come in here.

That was what Emma had told her. But did the master? It had to be Charles. She’d read so much about him, the thought filled her with a jumble of anger, fear and anticipation.

Moving quickly, Rebecca checked her recorder, the cameras. The quiet blip on a machine registered her presence and for an instant, an instant almost too quick to notice—something other.

Then it was gone, over, and warmth poured back into the room.

Nearly wild with excitement, she snatched up her recorder. “Event commenced at two-oh-eight and fifteen seconds, a.m., with dramatic temperature drop of forty-two degrees Fahrenheit. Barely measurable energy fluctuation lasting only a fraction of a second, followed by immediate rise in temperature. Event ended at two-oh-nine and twenty seconds, a.m. Duration of sixty-five seconds.”

She stood for a moment, the recorder in her hand, trying to will it all to start again. She knew it had been Charles, she felt it, and her pulse was still scrambling. Dispassionately she wondered what her blood pressure would register.

“Come on, come on, you bully, you coward! You son of a bitch! Come back!”

The sound of her own voice, the raw intensity in it, had her forcing herself to take several deep breaths. Losing objectivity, she warned herself. Any project was doomed without objectivity.

So she made herself sit, monitored the equipment for another thirty minutes. Precisely she added the event to her records before shutting the computer down.

Too restless to sleep, she left her room. In the hall, she stood quietly, waiting, hoping, but there was only the dark and the stillness. She moved downstairs, lingering as she tried to envision the murdered Confederate soldier, the shocked Abigail, the terrified servants, the murdering Barlow.

They were all less substantial than thoughts to her.

She tried every room—the parlor where some said you could smell wood smoke from a fire that wasn’t burning, the library, which both Regan and Cassie avoided as much as possible, because they felt uncomfortable there. In the solarium there was nothing but leafy plants, cozy chairs, and the light of the moon through the glass.

She struggled against discouragement as she wandered into the kitchen. There had been a moment, she reminded herself. She’d experienced it. Patience was as important as an open and curious mind.

She was drawn to the window, and that open and curious mind drifted past the gardens and the lawn, through the trees, to the fields beyond. And the house where Shane was sleeping.

The urge was so strong it shocked her. The urge to go out, walk over that grass, over those fields. She wanted to go into that house, to go to him. Foolishness, she told herself. It was doubtful he was alone. She imagined he was snuggled up with that beautiful brunette, or some other equally appealing woman, for the night.

But still the urge was there, so powerful, so elementally physical, it brought an ache to her belly. Was it the place that pulled at her? she wondered. Or the man?

It was something to think about. Something she would have to gather the courage to explore. No more mousy, fade-into-the-corner Rebecca, she thought. No more spending her life huddled behind a desk or a handy book. Experience was what she’d come here for. And if Shane MacKade offered experience, she’d sample it.

In her own time, of course. At her own pace.

He saw her as a woman who could hold her own with him, and she was going to find a way to do exactly that.

He wanted to take her to bed.

How does that make you feel, Dr. Knight?

Frightened, exhilarated, curious.

Frightened, you say. Of the sexual experience?

Sex is a basic biological function, a human experience. Why would I be frightened of it? Because it remains unknown, she answered herself. So it frightens, exhilarates and stirs the curiosity. He stirs the curiosity. Once I have control of the situation—

Ah, Dr. Knight, so it’s a matter of control? How do you feel about the possible loss of control?

Uncomfortable, which is why I don’t intend to lose it.

She blew out a breath, shut off the questioning part of her brain. But she couldn’t quite shut off that nagging urge, so she walked quickly out of the kitchen and went upstairs to bed.