The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [132]
“What about our love? Yours and mine? Was this just a passing . . . lesson?” She spoke the word with a harshness that revealed the depth of her pain.
He lifted his big hands to frame her face and stare deeply into her eyes. “The love we share is deep and real and everlasting. Our love will never die.”
She shivered from the coolness of his touch. “And in the same breath you tell me you’re leaving me.”
“I have no choice in this, Brianna. But you must believe me when I tell you that I shall love you not just now, but for all time.”
Tears filled her eyes. “What good is your love if you can’t be with me?”
“I will always be with you, my love. Now, today, tomorrow. Forever. This I vow.”
Even as he spoke the words, she could see him fading.
While she watched, his image began to shimmer and dance, until it resembled the sunbeams that flitted across the wall.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Jamie, please don’t leave. I swear I will never love anyone the way I love you.”
For a moment the portrait was bathed in light, and Bree saw the warrior’s gaze bearing a mischievous light as it fixed on her, his lips curved into a teasing smile.
She blinked away her tears. When she looked again, the portrait was as it had been before. There was no smile. The look of him was once again stern and unseeing.
She dropped into a chair in front of the fire and buried her face in her hands, allowing the tears to fall. Harder and harder they fell, her body wracked with shuddering sobs, until there were no tears left.
Jamie’s last words were etched into her soul. Forgiveness. Was it possible? Until this very moment, she would have scoffed at the idea. She had not only endured the pain of her betrayal, she had nurtured it, allowing it to fester and grow in her heart and soul.
Now she felt a new, uneasy feeling stirring within. Perhaps it was the beginning of forgiveness. Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion.
Drained, her head dropped back against the cushions of the chair and she fell into a deep sleep.
“Mrs. Kerr.”
At the sound of the housekeeper’s voice, Bree woke with a start. For long minutes she stared around, trying to get her bearings.
She was in the parlor of Ravenswood. There was no sign of the village lasses, or the work they’d done. The furnishings, which had earlier been removed by workmen, now stood once again covered in their faded dust cloths. The dust of accumulated years layered everything.
Had it all been a dream?
A log burned on the hearth.
Mrs. Logan was standing beside her chair.
“ A gentleman is here to see you. He says you instructed him to meet you at the cottage, but when he went there he found it empty.”
“Thank you, Gwynn.” Bree struggled to her feet, trying to focus. She stared down at herself, surprised that she was dressed as she’d been when she first arrived. “What day is this?”
“What day?” Startled, the housekeeper bit back a smile. “ ’Tis Monday, Mrs. Kerr. Duncan delivered you to the door. We toured the house a bit, and then you had tea and sandwiches and fell asleep. You were just about to head up to the cottage before dark. Unless, of course, I could persuade you to stay the night here.”
“No. I’d prefer the cottage.” Feeling dazed and disoriented, Bree turned to the handsome man in the doorway, dressed in casual denims and a corduroy jacket, his dark hair wind-tossed, his eyes cool and assessing. Though she’d never before met him, there was something oddly familiar about him.
“You’re the architect.”
“I am. James Keith.” He crossed the room and offered a firm handshake.
“Brianna Kerr. I was told that you specialize in reconstructing ancient manor homes into functioning, modern facilities.”
He nodded. “And you told my assistant that you hope to turn this into an inn.”
Out of the corner of her eye Bree saw the housekeeper listening with keen interest, as though she’d had no idea. “That’s right. But what is equally important