Read Online The Bride of Time by Dawn Thompson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dawn Thompson
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wisdom to handle the situation, why the devil did you come after me?”
“I only meant—”
“I know what you meant,” he interrupted. “I am not a fiend, Miss LaPrelle. I do not go about brutalizing children. But Master Monty is no ordinary child, and he is not the only inmate in this mad house crossing lines. I am still master of Longhollow Abbey. Now I will thank you to stand aside, and stay put while I deal with this!”
Her hand fell away from his arm then. He hesitated, blinked, and streaked through the door, almost knocking down Foster, who had no doubt been listening in the corridor. From the doorway, Tessa watched the pair of them disappear in the shadowy recesses of the landing.
She teetered on the threshold. She didn’t have to enter the chamber—really enter it. She could just wait where she was. What was she thinking? There was no harm in entering his sanctum sanctorum in his absence; the danger lay in his presence. She knew that now if she hadn’t before. Something vital passed between them with physical contact, something that flagged every kind of danger. It drew her like a magnet.
Stepping across the threshold and into the room, Tessa strolled to the window. Only one candle branch was lit on the table where Longworth’s artist’s materials were spread out in a jumble of pots and jars, brushes, trowels, and rags. The moon, dodging scudding clouds, threw a beam at her feet, alive with dust motes. She followed it with her eyes and turned to find that it illuminated the painting. She gasped. “The Bride of Time”! He had been working on the face since she first viewed the canvas. He’d given the woman her face. From memory? The likeness was good but not perfect, just as it had been at the gallery, where others remarked upon it but she hadn’t been convinced. She saw now what they’d seen—enough of a likeness to pass—but now she noticed more. She gasped again. The hair! He had only seen it flowing loose briefly, and yet he’d captured it exactly, from the color to the way it waved about her face, complete with the tendrils that always crept out no matter how diligently she tried to tame them. He hadn’t touched the body.
Hot blood surged to her temples. All at once she saw herself back at the little gallery, gazing at the canvas before her now, wishing she could feel the grass of the patchwork hills beneath her feet and smell the heather. How could any of this be possible? How had she even come here? It was a mystery she almost feared to solve.
That he had only just begun to work on the body intrigued her, since it was completed when she’d seen it atthe gallery. She had arrived at Longhollow Abbey before its completion. Did that mean she would remain until it was finished, or something else? There was no way to tell. She was pondering that when Giles Longworth burst through the door.
“The little blighter isn’t in his rooms,” he said. “Come, I’ll see you to your chamber. Foster and I will ferret him out and see he’s well-versed in crossing lines.”
Tessa didn’t reply. They were halfway to the landing before she broke the awkward silence. “What do you mean to do to the boy?”
He stopped mid-step. “Miss LaPrelle,” he said. “You were right to come to me. Now you must let me deal with the problem. Monty is a…difficult child. There are…situations of which you are unaware.”
“Well, since he is to be my charge, don’t you think you ought to make me aware?” she interrupted him.
Longworth stared. A strange parade of emotions flashed across his face. At first he looked contemplative; then the look softened, though that quickly changed to something dark and brooding. He was a complex individual and, she feared, a volatile one. He was livid with rage that seemed excessive, and though she longed to draw him out, she was wise enough to know this was not the time.
“Of course,” he said, “but not to night.”
They continued down the stairs, and Tessa
“I only meant—”
“I know what you meant,” he interrupted. “I am not a fiend, Miss LaPrelle. I do not go about brutalizing children. But Master Monty is no ordinary child, and he is not the only inmate in this mad house crossing lines. I am still master of Longhollow Abbey. Now I will thank you to stand aside, and stay put while I deal with this!”
Her hand fell away from his arm then. He hesitated, blinked, and streaked through the door, almost knocking down Foster, who had no doubt been listening in the corridor. From the doorway, Tessa watched the pair of them disappear in the shadowy recesses of the landing.
She teetered on the threshold. She didn’t have to enter the chamber—really enter it. She could just wait where she was. What was she thinking? There was no harm in entering his sanctum sanctorum in his absence; the danger lay in his presence. She knew that now if she hadn’t before. Something vital passed between them with physical contact, something that flagged every kind of danger. It drew her like a magnet.
Stepping across the threshold and into the room, Tessa strolled to the window. Only one candle branch was lit on the table where Longworth’s artist’s materials were spread out in a jumble of pots and jars, brushes, trowels, and rags. The moon, dodging scudding clouds, threw a beam at her feet, alive with dust motes. She followed it with her eyes and turned to find that it illuminated the painting. She gasped. “The Bride of Time”! He had been working on the face since she first viewed the canvas. He’d given the woman her face. From memory? The likeness was good but not perfect, just as it had been at the gallery, where others remarked upon it but she hadn’t been convinced. She saw now what they’d seen—enough of a likeness to pass—but now she noticed more. She gasped again. The hair! He had only seen it flowing loose briefly, and yet he’d captured it exactly, from the color to the way it waved about her face, complete with the tendrils that always crept out no matter how diligently she tried to tame them. He hadn’t touched the body.
Hot blood surged to her temples. All at once she saw herself back at the little gallery, gazing at the canvas before her now, wishing she could feel the grass of the patchwork hills beneath her feet and smell the heather. How could any of this be possible? How had she even come here? It was a mystery she almost feared to solve.
That he had only just begun to work on the body intrigued her, since it was completed when she’d seen it atthe gallery. She had arrived at Longhollow Abbey before its completion. Did that mean she would remain until it was finished, or something else? There was no way to tell. She was pondering that when Giles Longworth burst through the door.
“The little blighter isn’t in his rooms,” he said. “Come, I’ll see you to your chamber. Foster and I will ferret him out and see he’s well-versed in crossing lines.”
Tessa didn’t reply. They were halfway to the landing before she broke the awkward silence. “What do you mean to do to the boy?”
He stopped mid-step. “Miss LaPrelle,” he said. “You were right to come to me. Now you must let me deal with the problem. Monty is a…difficult child. There are…situations of which you are unaware.”
“Well, since he is to be my charge, don’t you think you ought to make me aware?” she interrupted him.
Longworth stared. A strange parade of emotions flashed across his face. At first he looked contemplative; then the look softened, though that quickly changed to something dark and brooding. He was a complex individual and, she feared, a volatile one. He was livid with rage that seemed excessive, and though she longed to draw him out, she was wise enough to know this was not the time.
“Of course,” he said, “but not to night.”
They continued down the stairs, and Tessa
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