The chanting sound of his name accosted him, struck a chilling chord of recognition. It was her voice: not only the one he’d heard two nights ago at the river, but the one he’d heard six years ago.
It was Vanessa.
“Trenton …”
Feeling as though he were living some heinous nightmare, Trenton forced himself to turn his head, following the sound with his eyes.
She stood directly outside the conservatory door leading from the manor. As he stared, ashen-faced, she raised her arms, beckoning him toward her.
“Please, Trenton … don’t hurt me … don’t leave me … not again.” She raised her chin, gazing at him with brilliant emerald eyes. “Come to me, Trenton. Stay with me.”
A hoarse cry rose in Trenton’s throat, and something inside him seemed to snap. Violently, he erupted, knocking flowers and plants out of his way, racing toward the loathsome apparition, wild fury and terror converging.
She was gone.
He shaded his eyes with his hand, dragging air into his lungs in hard, shallow rasps. Each breath was accompanied by the lingering scent of roses, a taunting reminder of Vanessa’s presence. Trenton raked the grounds with his savage cobalt stare, refusing to concede defeat by allowing the apparition to escape. Whoever … whatever … she was, he would find her.
A snatch of color caught his eye and he took off in pursuit. Rounding the corner of the house, he stopped dead in his tracks.
She was leaning against the trunk of a sweeping oak tree, gazing intently at the sky and jotting idly in some kind of notebook.
Trenton closed the gap between them in ten long strides, seizing her elbows and slapping the notebook from her hands.
“Damn you! You won’t get away from me this time!”
She blinked up at him, her green eyes wide and startled. “Trenton? What is it? Why are you so upset?”
Of their own volition, his fingers wrapped around her throat, digging into the soft skin. “Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?”
She began to struggle, looking totally bewildered and utterly terrified. “Trenton … it’s me: Ariana. Don’t you recognize me?”
All the color drained from his face. “Ariana?”
“Yes … your wif
e.” She shoved at his forearms, trying to ease his biting grip. “I’m not doing anything to you; I saw a robin feathering her nest and was noting it in my journal. Why are you so angry at me?”
Trenton’s hold grew lax, and he swallowed the sickness that rose in his throat, staring at the woman as if seeing her for the first time. Ariana? This wasn’t Ariana. It couldn’t be. Where was the gentle turquoise of her eyes, the copper softness of her hair, the delicate innocence of her fine features?
“No!” he denied vehemently, shaking her shoulders until she whimpered aloud. “No!”
“Trenton … you’re hurting me.” She began to struggle, the loose waves of her hair spilling over her shoulders. “Please … let me go.”
He stared at the soft tendrils, thinking of all the times Ariana’s unbound tresses had cascaded around them, a bright, unrestricted waterfall. Could it be?
Dragging the woman closer, Trenton’s granite features hardened to stone as he studied her face, her coloring.
No. This wasn’t his misty angel. This was her detestable older sister. Hard. Vicious. Bitter. Vanessa. It had to be.
Didn’t it?
“Trenton?” The woman reached up to touch his cheek.
“You’re frightening me … Why are you looking at me like that?”
Vanessa was dead; this couldn’t be Vanessa.
“Would you like to walk with me? It’s a glorious day, and the robin I mentioned is on that thick branch just over our heads.” She pointed. “If I were dressed differently, I’d be tempted to climb this old oak myself so that I might see the nest firsthand.”