Cottage by the Sea (22 page)

   "These sound pretty hollow. I think most of the barrels are empty, or everything's evaporated. It's very drafty in here. I'm guessing there must be a door to the outside… Ah… yes… it's been boarded up. Probably bricked over on the other side."

   "Yes…" Blythe murmured. "I expect so."

   She sank into Luke's leather desk chair as the memory of Garrett Teague's unexpected appearance outside the library's hidey-hole crowded her thoughts. That event, at least, hadn't merely been in her imagination. Nor was the existence of the self-portrait of Ennis shredded by an enraged Kit Trevelyan. Had the other visions she'd experienced since her arrival in Cornwall actually taken place two hundred years ago? Was Ennis, indeed, the father of her namesake's child? Or did Blythe Barton's baby die? That would certainly explain why there were no Barton-Trevelyan heirs. And what about that sorrowful figure Blythe had seen gazing down from the cliff at the overturned dinghy in Hemmick Cove? More to the point, how—and why—had all this been revealed to
her?

   Many born-and-bred Californians might believe in this bizarre paranormal stuff, she thought defiantly, but not she— not Miss Rodeo Wyoming 1990, ol' Feet-on-the-Ground Blythe Barton of Jackson Hole!

   
I just can't deal with this now…

   Blythe straightened her spine and placed both fists on Luke's desk. She simply wouldn't deal with it, she decided firmly. Perhaps these apparitions had really happened. She had no idea. But she was ready to get on with her life. And besides, she definitely had no desire to explore what all these off the wall occurrences might have to do with her.

   "All this is very exciting," she called to Luke and Richard, "but I'm starving and the roofers will be here in an hour."

   "No time for a beach picnic, then, I'm afraid," Luke said, emerging with Richard from behind the bookcase and dusting off his hands. He gestured toward Blythe, perched on the edge of his leather chair. "Good heavens, Richard, my boy. If we don't feed this woman immediately, I fear she'll eat the picnic basket too. Shall we quickly have our lunch on the terrace, instead?"

   Richard giggled and ran to tell Mrs. Q about their change of plans.

Blythe and Lucas eventually had their picnic at the beach, but without young Richard. A week after Luke's discovery of the second movable bookcase in Barton Hall, Chloe ActonScott arrived unannounced, declaring that she intended to drive her godson to Plymouth, an hour and a half away, for a fitting of the still-growing boy's new school uniform that needed to be purchased before the fall term.

   "Really, Chloe, this is very kind of you, but there was no need for you to come down all this way," Luke assured her as he and Blythe climbed down the ladder from the loft in the pony stable. "I was going to get around to it one day soon."

   Both he and Blythe were covered with grime after a morning's efforts sorting through the last of the dust-clad debris stored overhead for generations. Broken household appliances, an antique brass daybed covered with a plastic sheet, as well as an old traveling trunk, waited to be dealt with before the workmen could begin tearing off the roof and replacing rotting rafters and broken slate.

   In contrast to Luke and Blythe, Chloe this day was dressed immaculately in beige gabardine pleated trousers and a matching silk blouse. Blythe quickly wiped her soiled hands on her pants legs as their stylish visitor cast a critical eye up at the crowded loft.

   "Well, I realized as soon as you told me about this new garden scheme of yours that you and Mrs. Stowe would have your hands full with this project," Chloe replied, smiling faintly in Blythe's direction, "and I thought I might make myself useful."

   "That's awfully generous of you, isn't it, Richard?" Luke said. The boy nodded politely but appeared less than enthusiastic about leaving the scene of excitement and activity that currently reigned at Barton Hall.

   "Besides, darling," Chloe added, with a smile directed only at Luke, "you promised to escort me to that boring drinks party at the Strattons' in Mevagissey tomorrow night, remember? I thought afterward I'd take you to dinner at that lovely little restaurant on the water in Fowey, and you can thank me then."

   "Well, that sounds as if it might make a pretty full day," Luke replied slowly. He glanced apologetically in Blythe's direction. He was clearly uncomfortable to be arranging his social calendar in public. "Saturday's Richard's birthday party. We'll be taking the children to the village fête in Gorran Haven all afternoon."

   "Couldn't be simpler," Chloe laughed reassuringly. "I'll give you a hand with all that, and then we can just drive on to Mevagissey afterward. Perhaps Mrs. Stowe would be willing to bring the children back here for their parents to collect? Can you drive on the left, Mrs. Stowe?"

   "Not yet," Blythe replied.

   "It's not much of a walk," Chloe responded with a pointed look in the direction of Blythe's scuffed sneakers. "Lovely, then. Saturday's settled. Come, Richard, dear. We'd best be off, so we shall be back in time for some of Mrs. Quiller's delicious scones at teatime. I've had her take my bags up to my room. I hope that's all right with you, Luke?"

Blue room or yellow room?
Blythe wondered.

   Before Chloe and Richard had climbed into her Jaguar, Blythe had turned and retreated up the ladder into the stable loft. By the time Luke had caught up with her, she had grabbed the handle of the heavy leather trunk that had been wedged in a corner. She was pulling on it with all her might.

   "Here, let me help you move that," he said, reaching for one of the handles. "Good God! This thing weighs a ton. Let's get it over to the window and see if it's been harboring rocks all these years."

   Blythe straightened up and put both hands on her hips. "Better yet, let's break for lunch. I need a break and a good, brisk walk. The 'sunny intervals' seem to be holding. Shall we take our sandwiches down to the beach?"

Luke carried the wicker picnic hamper on his shoulder while Blythe transported a tartan car blanket under her arm. Much to his surprise, she headed off ahead of him, not in the direction of Hemmick Beach, but down a steep, grass-strewn incline directly below Painter's Cottage.

   "Too many holiday makers at Hemmick by this hour," she called back. "I've discovered there's a marvelous spot down here when the tide's out."

   "You're getting to sound like a native," he laughed, amused at her substitution of the term "holiday makers" for tourists. The locals couldn't survive if visitors didn't flock to Cornwall in the summer, but they didn't much like it and would climb down cliffs, regardless how treacherous, to find a bit of the coast they could enjoy in solitude.

   Ten minutes later they had spread the dark-green plaid blanket onto a thin stretch of sand directly below Blythe's abode. Luke watched contentedly as she unpacked the delicious repast prepared by Mrs. Q. Thick ploughman's sandwiches chock-full of cheddar and lettuce, and spiced with mustard, were followed by ramekins of creamed potato salad, bottles of lager, and finally, squares of his housekeeper's ten-alarm chocolate cake and a vacuum flask full of hot tea.

   "Ohhh…" Blythe groaned, flopping down onto her back. "I'm exercising my veto. No more afternoon chores. I'm taking a nap."

   She immediately closed her eyes, and Luke wondered if she had, indeed, dozed off. Her lovely face was etched in profile against the rocks burrowed into the sand behind them. She appeared utterly relaxed, and her wide, generous mouth curved faintly upward, making it look as if she might break into a smile at any moment.

   The moist air had swirled her shoulder-length auburn hair into a tangle of luxuriant curls that spread out in riotous disarray against the forest-green blanket. Her denim work shirt was unbuttoned at the throat. Since her eyes remained shut, Luke allowed his gaze to leisurely survey her flat stomach and long jeans-clad legs. Then his gaze came back and focused on her breasts. They rose and fell in concert with Blythe's slow, even breaths.

   Although Luke had just eaten his fill of Mrs. Q's picnic lunch, an odd pang akin to hunger seized him with a ferocious craving. As he continued to stare at Blythe's prone form, the thought came to him that it would require very little effort on his part simply to roll over once and, in an instant, cover the length of Blythe's body with his own. At the very least he could reach an arm's length and touch the denim stretched tautly over her right breast.

   A wave broke onshore suddenly, and the bottom of their blanket was immediately drenched in seawater. Blythe gave a little yelp and sprang to her feet.

   "I'll get the hamper," Luke cried, "you get the rest!"

   Together they scrambled to gather up their possessions in a confusion of laughter and curses.

   "Quick! Back here!" Blythe called, scampering toward the dark-gray rocks that jutted out from the cliff overhead. Luke followed her into a dim, narrow cave carpeted with sand that felt dry on his bare feet. "The fissure goes back thirty feet or so," she shouted over her shoulder. "Mr. Quiller told Richard and me that the tide never comes in here very far during the summer months." They leaned against the rocky walls to catch their breath after their hasty departure from their picnic site. "Well!" she laughed. "What a rude awakening."

   Luke set the wicker picnic basket on the sand and fingered an edge of the blanket Blythe still clutched against her chest. Their gazes locked, and he sensed that she was as aware as he of the emotional currents crackling between them. Her lips parted slightly, as if something puzzled her.

   "You looked so peaceful, lying there," Luke said softly.

   "I was feeling peaceful," she replied at length, looking up at him steadily.

   "And lovely… you looked lovely when you closed your eyes."

   "I did?"

   Her question echoed off the cave's weeping slate walls and hung in the moist air.

   
Kiss me.

   Was it his own lecherous thought, or had she said something else?

   "With pleasure," he said aloud, not caring if she thought him daft. Gently he cupped his hands on either side of her face. The blanket wedged between their bodies slid down to the sand. He experienced an odd sense of relief when Blythe pressed her lithe form against his own and willingly melted into his embrace. He felt her arms encircling his back and gloried in the incredible sensation of her breasts pressing against his chest.

   She was taller than Lindsay had been, and her limbs were considerably leaner than his wife's after she'd given birth to Richard. It felt strange to have a woman in his arms whose smooth, firm musculature reflected a youth spent riding in the Jackson Hole Rodeo. But in seconds Luke gave himself up to savoring the sensations of those full lips and her wonderful hair that seemed to wrap itself around his hands like spun sugar.

   
She's lovely… lovely for you…

   That thought gave him both comfort and courage, almost as if some invisible force urged him to continue with the extraordinary adventure of kissing this woman. Her lips parted even wider, offering him an unambiguous invitation to indulge in more than a moment's flirtation. Her tongue tasted of chocolate, sweet and seductive, and he realized that kissing her like this could lead to a serious addiction, just like his uncontrollable craving for Mrs. Q's celebrated devil's food cake, which they'd devoured at lunch.

   Blythe was most definitely kissing him back. He found himself in the grip of a sudden surge of emotion, as if the sea were about to come crashing into their cave. Finally, to save himself from drowning, he tore his lips away and began to nuzzle a soft, fragrant spot just beneath Blythe's left ear. Next he explored the hollow of her throat conveniently exposed by the open neckline of her denim shirt.

"So sweet…" he mumbled.

"Better than chocolate cake…?" she murmured.

   His answer was to slide his hands down her back to her jeans-clad derriere and to pull her even closer to him. He wanted her to feel his arousal, to know how he had been waiting these weeks to take her in his arms.

   At length Blythe broke their kiss and leaned her head back, inhaling deeply.

   "For a genteel, mannerly sort of Brit, that kiss was… amazing," she said shakily.

   "I'm woefully out of practice, but thank you," he replied as a lightness filled his soul—a sensation that had been missing from his life for a long time. Blythe looked at him skeptically but remained silent. "Did you mean it about chucking the afternoon's chores?" he ventured hopefully.

   In response Blythe stooped to retrieve their picnic blanket and began folding it into neat squares. He could almost hear the wheels in her head turning recent events over in her mind. Their kiss was
very
unbusinesslike, plus Chloe ActonScott had suddenly reappeared today. What role did she play in Luke's life? he sensed Blythe wondering.

   He wondered about that himself.

   "It's definitely tempting to knock off for the day," Blythe admitted, smiling wryly. Then she glanced up at him through her long eyelashes in a manner that he could swear was deliberately flirtatious. "But… no. I think we shouldn't give in to such poor work habits quite so soon… don't you agree?" He grinned apologetically but said nothing, waiting for her to make the next move. Unfortunately it was a friendly checkmate. "I'm not up to coping with that old heavy traveling trunk today," she announced. She headed toward daylight at the end of the cave. Then, framed by its opening, she turned to face him. "But what do you say if we spend what's left of the afternoon pitching out that bit of junk in the icehouse and sweeping the place?"