Shades of the Past Read online

  Jenny was still beside her. “What is?” she asked.

  “There are two men dressed in Regency clothes in the stage box above the royal box, but I thought that particular box wasn’t to be used because it’s considered unsafe.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then how come they’re there?”

  Jenny laughed. “Maybe they’re theater ghosts!”

  Laura looked through the peephole again. “They’re very solid ghosts. I don’t know them, but they must be part of the company; why else would they be dressed up like that?”

  Jenny put her eye to the peephole, but the box was empty, and she straightened. “You’re definitely seeing things.”

  Laura stared at her. “But—”

  “Look, I may be Irish, but I don’t see the Little People. There’s no one there, Laura.”

  Unable to believe her, Laura looked again. This time she couldn’t see anyone either.

  “I—I don’t understand it. I definitely saw two men, and what’s more, one of them could see me.”

  ‘Through that little hole? Oh, come on!”

  “Well, that’s how it felt.” Laura grinned sheepishly.

  Jenny grinned too, then gave a nervous laugh, “Oh, God, why’s it taking so long to start? HRH must have parked her haute couture butt on the royal seat by now!” She pulled a rueful face. “The nerves never get better, do they? I’ll be glad to leave all this and settle down to running the hotel when Mum and Dad retire and Alun and I take over.”

  “Tell me, is it true what they say about chefs? Big hat, big everything else?” Laura inquired a little impishly.

  Jenny raised an artful eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you like to know!”

  “I’m looking forward to our vacation too,” Laura said, thinking of the picturesque country house hotel she’d as yet only seen in photographs.

  “With all that free two-star Michelin food,” Jenny observed dryly.

  “Why else do you think I’m coming along?”

  “And here’s me thinking you liked me for myself!”

  “You? Hell no, I’ve just been putting up with you in order to get to the gourmet trough,” Laura replied with a grin.

  Jenny laughed, and then looked at her. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to the Dorchester party tonight? Everyone else will be there.”

  “I’m not in the mood. I’d prefer a hot drink and a good book.”

  “How incredibly boring!” Jenny declared, and then gasped as there was a sudden hush in the auditorium. She looked around at the rest of the waiting chorus. “That’s the pregnant silence. Get ready girls!”

  They all formed a line, the orchestra began to play, and on cue they danced onto the stage to ecstatic opening applause. But as Laura went through her routine, she couldn’t help frequent glances toward the empty box. She had the oddest feeling the two mysterious gentlemen were still there. Before the night was over, she was destined to see them again, and the experience would be frighteningly real.

  It happened after the gala, which had been hugely successful, with encore after encore. Everyone had gone on to the celebratory party, and the theater was quiet. Laura was taking her time about changing, and thought she was alone in the building except for the stage doorman. She wore jeans and a simple turquoise sweater, her willful hair was loose, and her face was shiny from removing her makeup. She was just getting her coat when she heard voices from the nearby green room.

  Puzzled, she looked out into the passage, where a dim ceiling lamp revealed the shadowy props stacked against one wall. What appeared to be candlelight shone from the green room’s open doorway, and there was laughter and chatter, as if a post-performance party were in progress. But everyone had gone on to the Dorchester!

  She slipped along to see what was happening. The green room was lit by wall candles she’d never noticed before, and there were sofas and chairs covered with rich crimson velvet. Actors and actresses in theatrical costume stood around talking, but she didn’t know any of them. There was something else odd about them too—their makeup seemed more exaggerated than it should be, far brighter than had been the case for the gala performance, and their costumes were much quainter and more fussy. There were no modern fabrics and trimmings, no gleaming shoes, just rather battered flat-heeled pumps. In fact, they made Laura’s 21st-century copy-costume seem anachronistic, as if they really did belong to an earlier century.

  There wasn’t a single familiar face. Except perhaps… She found herself looking at the two gentlemen who’d been in the upper stage box.

  Miles sensed her arrival, and turned. “Ah, there you are, Laura, my dear.”

  Strange sensations began to pass through her, and then something really weird happened. It was as if she’d become two women, her feisty present-day self who was curious about the odd goings-on around her, and a much more constrained Laura from the past, who’d fallen into the grip of this unpleasant man.

  Knowledge poured through her, and in an instant she knew who Miles was, and all about his plot against Sir Blair Deveril. A maelstrom of conflicting feelings tumbled inside her for a second or so, before her modern self faded and she became almost completely the Laura from the past, bound to do Sir Miles Lowestoft’s bidding if she wished to protect her family. But New York Laura lingered deep inside, like a secret observer.

  Miles beckoned, and she obeyed, but as she stepped over the threshold, she felt a long skirt brushing around her ankles. A long skirt? She glanced down, and saw her modern sweater and jeans had become a pale blue lawn gown, high-waisted, short-sleeved and clinging, as fashions often did during the Regency. She wore long white satin gloves, and her hair felt different too. On reaching up she found a Grecian knot on top of her head, with ringlets and a frame of little curls around her face.

  Miles approached her, and as their hands touched an unpleasant sensation tingled through her, like faint but ominous contact with distant lightning. Instinctively she snatched her hand away,

  “There’s no need to be uncivil, my dear; remember how easy it would be for me to destroy all you hold precious.”

  “How could I forget?” It was with something of a jolt that she found her voice was very English, completely devoid of its New York accent.

  “Then be advised to bear it in mind. Now, I wish you to meet Stephen Woodville, who is to escort you to Deveril House.” He drew her hand over his arm and led her toward his companion.

  Stephen inclined his head to her, and she saw by the pain in his eyes that he too was being pressured by this odious man.

  Miles ushered her forward a little more. “What d’you think, Stephen? Will she pass muster?”

  Stephen’s glance swept unwillingly over her. “Well, since I have no idea what Celina Deveril looked like, I’m not really in any position to judge,” he muttered.

  “Don’t be so tetchy, dear boy; all I’m asking is what you think of her.” Miles didn’t wait for a response, but went on. “I chose the gown, of course. I thought it epitomized the character she’s to adopt. The rest of her new clothes are in the same vein, a collection of elegant, tasteful garments that are just a few years out of date, as one would expect of a widow now out of mourning and obliged to support herself.” Miles smiled, and then put a hand to her chin, stroking her skin with his thumb. “Do what’s necessary to regain the necklace for me, my dear, and I promise your family will be safe; but remember, I want Deveril’s spirit crushed in the process. I want him to love you, and then lose you. He must suffer!”

  She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened on her chin.

  “Steal his heart, my dear, but steel yours against him.”

  He pinched her chin so tears sprang to her eyes, and then he returned his attention to Stephen. “It’s all arranged. She’s been well coached, she has the fake necklace, and a convincing wardrobe. As soon as the real diamonds are in my hands, I’ll honor my side of this, er, agreement with you both.”

  Laura looked quickly at him. “What if it goes wrong a
nd, through no fault of mine, Sir Blair doesn’t engage me as his sister’s chaperone?” Oh, how weird to have an English accent…!

  “Just see Deveril does appoint you, my dear. Now, you may go.”

  She turned with relief, but he seized her wrist in a grip like a vise. “Don’t let me down, Miss Reynolds,” he hissed. “The breaking of Deveril’s heart is as important to me as regaining the necklace, and I expect you to use every feminine wile. If it means gracing his bed, you’ll do it. Is that clear?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He released her, and she gathered her skirts to hurry from the room. As she crossed the threshold again, everything went suddenly quiet. She was alone, and wearing her modern clothes. Her heart pounded as she turned to find the empty modern green room. How could she have imagined something so clearly, even down to the clammy touch of Miles’ hand?

  “Still ‘ere, miss?” called a voice along the passage.

  She whirled around. It was Fred Bates, the stage doorman, a tough former cab driver who guarded his theater domain like a bulldog. He gave a toothy grin. “Gawd luv us, miss, you’re all of a flap! Did I frighten you?”

  “I—I guess you did. I thought I heard someone in the green room and came to see.”

  “They’ve all gone long since. Maybe it was one of the theater ghosts,” he said seriously, coming over to her. “The ‘Annover’s got two, you know, a gray lady and a one-eyed cat.”

  She managed a smile. “I’ll be sure to keep a look-out.”

  “They’re supposed to be lucky, so you do that, miss.”

  She smiled again. “Well, I guess I’ll go home now. Good night, Fred.”

  “Good night, miss.”

  She suddenly felt the need to quit the theater as quickly as possible. A gray lady and a one-eyed cat? She’d just seen many more theater ghosts than two!

  She hurried back to the dressing room, grabbed her coat and other things, then left, hardly noticing the January wind and rain as she stood on the sidewalk to call a cab. Nor did she notice the lingering intrusion of the past in the form of Lady Lowestoft’s carriage further along Haymarket.

  Estelle saw her, though. Not the Laura of the future, but Regency Laura, her hood raised as she took leave of Miles and Stephen by the alley to the stage door. It amused Miles to delay her by drawing her fingers to his lips in false gallantry, cupping her hand in both his, as if in adoration. To Estelle it seemed the tender gesture of a man in love.

  Lord Sivintree’s carriage drove past, and the earl glanced out, observing the scene by the theater door. The moment Miles released her hand, Laura seized her chance to get away. She hurried across the cobble street to the line of hackney coaches drawn up by a nearby corner.

  Estelle lifted her veil for a moment. There was anguish in her too-bright hazel eyes, and her hand shook as she pressed the unicorn ring to her trembling lips. Then she lowered the veil again and ordered her coachman to follow the hackney coach, but the hired vehicle had already disappeared in the crush of horses and vehicles at the end of Haymarket.

  Tendrils of the past still reached out beguilingly to modern Laura as she got out of the modern cab in Berkeley Square, but she was determined to find a rational explanation for what had happened. The whole company had been working very hard getting ready for tonight’s gala, and she’d just overdone it a little. Ghosts didn’t exist, nor time travel, but an overactive imagination certainly did!

  “You need that vacation in the Cotswolds, Laura, my girl,” she muttered as she let herself into the apartment.

  The exquisitely furnished Art Deco rooms were deserted; Jenny wouldn’t get back until dawn, and Lily and the fourth girl, Davina Huntley, were on a skiing vacation in Gstaad.

  Well, Laura Reynolds wasn’t going to dwell on imaginary goings-on! Taking a deep, determined breath, she forced the whole business from her mind, undressed, and took a shower. Luxuriating in the splash of warm water over her body, she closed her eyes and raised her face to the spray, remembering times when she and Kyle had showered together. How handsome he’d been, with his golden curls and vivid blue eyes. And that come-hither smile ...

  She could almost feel him with her now, his strong body pressed to hers, his knowing fingers teasing her nipples with caresses that filled her with desire. She remembered how she’d soaped her hands and run them all over him. All over him! Erotic thoughts drifted deliciously into her head as she slid her soapy hands sensuously over her wet skin. She trembled as the seductive memories became so real she could almost feel his erection, as hard as rock, pressing urgently between her legs. Almost, but not quite.

  With a sigh, she turned the shower to a lower temperature. “Cool down, Laura, the only hot thing for you tonight is a mug of cocoa,” she muttered wryly.

  She finished the shower and dried herself, wishing she didn’t yearn for so many aspects of her time with Kyle. It was the simple things, like waking up beside him in the morning, or cuddling up to watch a movie on TV. And the sex. Yes, there had been good times, but Kyle McKenna was a shallow cheat. True love—deep, emotional, and complete—was something he’d never encountered, and wasn’t much interested in. She, on the other hand, had always yearned for such a love, and stupidly believed she’d found it with him. She would find it one day, though, and wouldn’t let it slip through her fingers.

  She went to make the promised cocoa, and was about to go to bed when she noticed the telephone answer machine blinking. It was a message for Jenny from Alun. His lilting Welsh voice was rushed.

  “Jen, sweetheart, it’s Alun. I have to nip over to Dijon for a week or so—business, I’m afraid—so unless you can get down here to the hotel earlier than planned, we won’t see each other until I get back. Try to come, there’s a love. I know you won’t get this message until after your big night at the Hannover, so I’ll just say I hope it all went magnificently. See you very soon, I hope. Oh, and tell Laura I've created a mocha dessert just for her, because I know what a sweet tooth she has. I’m going to call it Meringues Laura. Anyway, bye cariad, sleep tight.”

  Laura smiled, and turned toward her bedroom, but then something made her glance toward the mirror over the drawing room mantelpiece. What she saw reflected in it wasn’t the dazzling Art Deco room she stood in, but a candlelit Georgian bedroom with a bed that was sumptuously hung with gold-fringed grey velvet.

  Her heartbeats quickened uneasily as she crossed to look more closely. The alien room remained, as she slowly put her cocoa on the mantelshelf, next to a Lalique figurine. At any moment she expected to find the reflection as it should be, but even though she blinked deliberately, she still saw the Georgian bedroom. Instinct told her she was seeing the house as it had been in 1818. There were half-packed trunks standing against one of the walls, and the dressing table was almost bare. Whoever lived in the house was clearly about to leave. Had they sold up? Where were they going? Come to that, who the heck were they? This wasn’t like the green room; instead of being part of things she was just an observer. What was the quotation? For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face...

  Face to face. Her lips parted as she saw a naked man sleeping on the bed. He was dark-haired and breathtakingly handsome, and she guessed he was about thirty-four or five years old. His body was pale, supple, strong, and perfect in the light from the candle. There were soft dark hairs on his chest, and in a thin line down his flat abdomen to his groin, where they thickened into a forest around the swelling of his dormant masculinity, which lay long, vulnerable, and soft as silk against the top of his thigh.

  Laura gazed into the mirror, mesmerized by powerful sensations of sexual attraction. A little more knowledge came to her, and she knew that this was Sir Blair Deveril, the man her Regency counterpart was to deceive and seduce, and she had to concede that far from being an ordeal, the thought of making love with him was enticing beyond belief.

  Feeling a little like a voyeur, she looked at his face again. It was rugged, but at the same time almost beautiful
. His lashes were long and dark, his nose straight and his lips finely formed. His hair was ruffled and thick, and worn just a little longer than she knew was really the fashion in Regency times. It was hair through which she longed to run her fingers.

  There was a movement in the reflected doorway, and she looked toward it. Then her breath caught as she saw...herself! At least, not herself exactly, but her Regency counterpart, and what was more, that Regency counterpart could see her looking in the mirror, for she smiled conspiratorially. Yes, conspiratorially. That was the word.

  But then the nineteenth-century Laura looked toward the bed, and the sleeping man. She slipped out of her gown and went to lie down with him, leaning over to caress his skin and then put her lips to his thigh. He didn’t stir, and her fingers moved gently and caressingly between his legs.

  An erotic craving shivered through modern Laura as she watched. She held her breath as her alter ego grew bolder, moving her lips up his thigh toward his slumbering virility, so defenseless and inviting. She kissed it, running her lips and tongue along its length and then taking the tip into her mouth.

  He stirred then, his hands moving to lovingly stroke her hair as she besieged his manhood. There was nothing soft and slumbering about him now, he was hard and needful, steel encased in warm velvet. His body arched with pleasure as she took him to the very edge of ravishment. Then he suddenly rolled her on to her back and straddled her, pinning her arms back and smiling down into her eyes as he penetrated her.

  Watching from the loneliness of the future, Laura had to close her eyes because she was trembling so much. She felt as if hers was the body that lay so eagerly beneath him on that long-gone bed. She wished it were, for it would be ecstasy to be possessed by Sir Blair Deveril...

  She opened her eyes again, but to her dismay the images in the mirror had disappeared. There was only the Art Deco room, and her reflection.

  What was going on? Why was she seeing these things, feeling these things... ? A dreadful possibility struck her. Was it the onset of a breakdown? She had been under a strain since the breakup with Kyle, but was it enough to cause something like this?