The House on Blackberry Hill (Jewell Cove 1)

She rooted around more while Tom leaned against the door frame, simply watching the way her face lit up. It was so much better to see her this way than the way she’d looked when she’d admitted that her family was gone. He was smiling to himself when he heard her catch her breath and her hands stilled.

“Ohhhh,” she breathed. “Oh, my.”

“What is it?”

She turned her head and looked up at him, eyes shining. “It’s a wedding dress. Maybe Edith’s.” She got to her feet and gently lifted out the gown. “It’s so gorgeous,” she whispered, holding it up to herself. “Look at the lace. It’s a bit yellowed, but properly dry-cleaned it would lighten a lot. The sleeves and the sash, and oh, look at this lace panel.” She grinned. “You were right. This is a treasure. I’m going to have to come up here and go through everything properly.”

She turned in a circle, the skirt of the gown trailing in her wake.

It was an odd time and place for Tom to have the urge to kiss her. The attic was dusty and smelled a little like old newspapers, and the single bulb threw a harsh light into the storage room. But Abby looked so vulnerable and strong all at once, childlike in her enthusiasm but womanly too as she pressed the satin and lace to her curves.

She dropped the gown from her body and folded it carefully, laying it on top of the other items in the chest. His eyes were drawn to the curve of her hips as she bent to shut the lid. Because her hair was pulled back, her features were highlighted. Granted, she wasn’t wearing makeup but he rather liked the natural, fresh look to her skin—it was very girl-next-door. She did fill out a pair of jeans quite nicely, not to mention the fitted top. All in all she was extremely attractive in an understated way.

Dangerous.

The lid latched, she turned around and faced him again, and the air in the attic was still as their eyes met. There was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and the moment spun out, silent, their gazes locked until he was sure she was thinking about it, too. Curiosity. The temptation to touch.

And wouldn’t that be a fantastic way to screw up a big potential contract.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll bet if we looked, we could find a servant’s stairway that leads right down to the old kitchens.”

“Old kitchens?” Her nose wrinkled as she frowned. It looked adorable. She even had a few little freckles across the bridge, making her look younger than he knew she must be.

The tense moment passed and Tom let out a slow breath of gratitude, willing his thoughts to stay on task. “You haven’t been down there yet, either? Where did you think they cooked the meals? Certainly not on the main floor in that tiny, cramped space. The basement will be where the old kitchens are. And the staff wouldn’t have used the main staircase, either. Come on. It’s got to be here somewhere.”

They found the door behind a large set of bookshelves that were piled with games, magazines, and sewing supplies. For several minutes they emptied the shelves and then Tom braced his hands on the sides. “It’s too big to lift. We’re going to have to push it out of the way.”

Inch by inch they moved it along the wall. Tom’s muscles strained as he put his shoulder into it. Finally they got past the door hinges and he tried the knob. Locked.

“Dammit,” he said, panting.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Abby rushed off but within moments her feet pounded on the stairs again.

“Keys!” she announced, triumphantly shaking a ring holding a cluster of old keys. “I found them in a drawer downstairs. I’ll bet one of these will fit.” Breathless, she handed him the ring.

He hit pay dirt on the third try. The lock snicked back and the door swung open to reveal a small landing and then a staircase that turne

d and disappeared. He held out his hand. “You coming?”

“There are spiders in there.”

“Probably. I’ll kill them for you.” He grinned at her. God, he loved old houses. And the little boy in him was thrilled with secret passages and sea chests, even if the only treasure uncovered so far was some old dresses. It reminded him of the old days when he and Josh and Bryce had thought to go looking for the legendary buried treasure at Fiddler’s Rock. “Come on, Abby, where’s your sense of adventure?” He wiggled his fingers.

She seemed to consider for a long moment, but finally put her hand in his. Her fingers were soft and cool to the touch. Her hand was a lady’s hand, and something dark and forbidden seemed to curl through him as he led her through the doorway to the landing and the steps beyond. It was cool and dark in the stairway, utterly silent except for the sound of their steps and it felt ridiculously like sneaking around. It was the kind of hidden place that lent itself to forbidden kisses and late-night liaisons. The farther down they went, the tighter her fingers grasped his. This was the second time he’d held Abby’s hand and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something as simple as hold hands with a woman before Miss Abigail Foster came to town. When was the last time he’d been so very aware of a woman?

He wanted her house. He did not want her, he reminded himself. Except that he did. In the confined darkness of the stairway, he wanted to press her body into the cool wall and feel her slowly melt against him. He wanted to bury his fingers in her sweet-smelling hair and taste her soft, unpainted lips.

Jesus, he had to stop thinking this way. He planned to work for her. Besides, Abby wasn’t the type of girl you seduced and walked away from, and after Erin, he wasn’t ready to take the risk of something more. Especially on someone who had made it clear that she wasn’t hanging around.

Unsettled, he led on until they reached the bottom of the stairs and were faced with another broad door. He reached inside his pocket for the key ring and searched for the right one.

With a breath of relief, Tom swung the door open and pulled Abby into the musty kitchen.

* * *

Abby’s relief at being out of the claustrophobic column of the stairwell was brief. As Tom turned to lead her into the kitchen, her heart stopped. Over Tom’s shoulder she saw a woman standing in front of the fireplace. Sad eyes watched her from a pale face. Dark hair curled around her shoulders and her simple, pale blue dress fell just to her knee.

Before Abby could make a sound, the image faded for just a moment. This was impossible. It had to be a trick of light, something in her imagination. Because the other alternative was that Abby was looking at a ghost, and just thinking the word was completely ludicrous. Yet as her eyes adjusted to the light in the room, the figure was still there, faint but there just the same. Standing there watching her with a look of expectation on her face. A shiver crept up Abby’s spine as the moment spun out. The woman’s expression changed. Her eyes flashed, her lips thinned, and the air in the room chilled in a cold, frustrated wave.