With a silent wooh, her mouth opened wide. Today was her first time in a real-life manor house.

As soon as Rupert stopped the car in the central courtyard, Madison leapt out of her seat. She gazed at the pitched roof, cross-gables and chimney pots. Her hands clenched in front of her as if to refrain from touching anything or anyone.

What an amazing place to do some research. Jackson had given her the best job ever. The main fortified body dated back to the medieval era, but the two wings, with their narrow, jutting bay windows, claimed Tudor influence.

Rupert had stayed behind her and was leaning against his car, cross-legged, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. The extravagant car didn't look out of place anymore, but was the perfect accessory to his family nest and smoking virility.

The guy probably bought a new boat each time his other one got wet.

"I hope you're suitably impressed. You'll be nice to me now that you've seen my house?"

It was obvious he thought people liked him because he was loaded. His anorexic excuse of a girlfriend does, for sure ... All things considered, for a guy that rich, he was relatively down to earth. Emphasis on relatively.

"Rupert Vance, even if you owned Buckingham Palace, that would not make me like you more, or dislike you less." Once the words were out of her mouth she blushed, because she also felt something else toward him that her body couldn't hide.

More erotic dreams were sure to follow, though she hoped not.

His face had frozen, as if she had actually hurt his feelings. Then he burst into laughter, moved toward the imposing entrance door and opened it.

With that, Madison learned something cla.s.sic: rich people didn't need keys.

Inside, a double red-carpeted staircase framed both sides of the entrance hall and led up to a mezzanine.

Rupert took her duffel coat and handed it to a stiff-looking man. Jasper the butler, she decided.

"Before we go to the library, I'll show you the portrait gallery on the mezzanine."

Climbing the staircase, she absorbed every detail of this historic home, from the wallpaper with its Victorian floral patterns, to the dark wooden floors and the rich hand-embroidered fabrics of the drapes. Never could she have imagined a house so full of valuable artwork. The wealth of it rendered her speechless as she wandered from one ancestral portrait to the next.

Remembering she was here to work, Madison retraced her steps. Then her eyes lingered on a smaller painting, similar to the others, judging by the golden ornamented frame. She stepped closer.

Her heart b.u.mped against her ribcage. Missed one beat, two beats. Started again.

For in front of Madison in Magway Manor, his blue, almond-shaped eyes stared back at her. The world around Madison receded, and the past engulfed her.

My Cavalier.

Chapter 9.

Oxford a April 1644 I DO NOT WANT to become like them. My parents only talk about the war, King Charles and Our Lord. Nothing else.

Hopefully, Mother will not find out that I left the room where my sister and I were supposed to take a nap. Sitting in this meadow, watching the quiet stream glittering in the afternoon sun, is so much more enjoyable.

I am not far from Father here. He spends his days and his nights in the Great Hall of Christ Church, where the king has summoned the commoners, like us. They talk of parliament, but I don't know what a parliament is for. n.o.body will explain such things to a ten-year-old girl. I know it is a place where people love talking, talking, talking.

An elongated shadow appears on the gra.s.s between the stream and me. I breathe faster. My mother?

No. My new friend has come, as on every afternoon since we first met more than a week ago. I turn toward the intruder, and my heart fills with warmth and happiness.

Robert.

What a fine-looking boy he is. Today, he is wearing a doublet and breeches trimmed with bows of ribbon, and I feel embarra.s.sed by my dull-colored dress. Father says that dark dye is too expensive for everyday use; therefore I must always wear a sad shade of maroon.

"This is for you." He holds a red rose in his hand, and I seize its delicate stem, avoiding the thorns. Never before have I been the recipient of such notice.

"Have you been well?" he asks.

"Very well. Although we are leaving soon."

"I know."

He is so much wiser than I am, and I want to impress him, show him I am not a child. "My father says he does not want anything to do with the Irish. He says they are Papists. Now we have to go to Westminster. He says this is where we should have gone all along."

My friend remains silent, and I hope I have not offended him. His own father is one of the Peers supporting King Charles. Our families are on opposite sides. He extends his hand and helps me stand up. His curly, blond hair shines in the glow of the sun.

"Is it true that the commoners in Westminster are called Roundheads because of the short fashion they have adopted for their hair?"

"Apparently so," he says.

"I wonder if Father will have his hair cut that way once we are in London." The idea makes me laugh.

While we walk along the stream back toward Christ Church, my friend listens to my stories. n.o.body else pays attention to me, to what I think, how I feel. I wish he could come to London with us. Life would be so much more exciting and less lonely.

But my chest tightens when I notice an all too familiar silhouette. My mother has been searching for me, and has found me. I stop moving.

"Is there a problem?" the boy asks, with a frown upon his brow.

I nod at the small woman walking toward us. A lined cap topped by a tall black hat covers her hair. She terrifies me. But then I feel his hand taking hold of mine. I turn to him, and his rea.s.suring smile gives me courage. Courage I never thought I had.

Even this elegant boy cannot do anything to protect me from her anger. She grabs my arm and gives me a shake. In her eyes I have committed almost every possible mortal sin. During the ensuing commotion, the rose slips out of my fingers. My mother steps on it, crushing the delicate petals.

I want to bend forward and save what I can of the boy's gift, but Mother s.n.a.t.c.hes my arm. We start walking away. I try to turn and bid my friend farewell.

In vain.

She has a strong hold on me. I can only steal one last glance at him. He stands there, waving goodbye.

I do swear my heart is bleeding.

"MADISON?"

Rupert laid his hand on her arm and gave it a soft squeeze. She wanted to pull herself away, but instead barely managed to turn her head toward his eyes. Concern filled them.

Her gaze reverted to the portrait. Now she understood how Sarah could have fallen in love with the Cavalier. He was hot. In a three-hundred-year-old kind of way.

"You can't find the dead guy cute. He'd be a h.e.l.l of a sugar daddy." Rupert stared at the portrait and read aloud the attribution below: "Robert, Second Earl of Huxbury."

"Who was he?"

Rupert took a step back. "If he's the second, that means he was G.o.dfrey's son."

As Rupert led her back downstairs, she threw a look at the dark corner where Robert's portrait hung. Questions flooded her mind. But when they stepped into the library, Madison's attention returned to the here and now.

The oak-wall shelves were bursting with ancient books. Underneath a set of full-length windows overlooking the landscaped gardens stood a Chippendale sofa. Madison longed to slump down on it and recover from her discovery upstairs.

"This is the most amazing room I have ever seen. It's magical."

The air itself was different, warmer and fuller than in the rest of the manor.

She could feel Rupert's eyes studying her. Did he like what he saw? Shhh, LeBon, stop drooling.

Reverting to the reason for her trip she stated, "I need to have access to the journal."

Rupert nodded and walked toward a modern-looking gla.s.s cupboard at the opposite corner of the room.

"My father has the most valuable items of the collection stored in a special cabinet. It's built to protect the books from sunlight and damp ... and thieves. You need a PIN to open it. The whole thing must cost more than some of the books it holds."

Rupert drew on a pair of white cotton gloves then input a number on the side of the cabinet, after which he slid open the left panel. With great care he brought out a fragile-looking, leather-bound book then pulled another pair of gloves from his pocket and handed them to Madison.

"You know how to handle these kinds of doc.u.ments." She didn't hide her appreciation of his expertise.

"I spent a lot of time going through our collections with Grandfather Charles. He taught me everything I know. That's why I chose to read history."

While remembering his grandfather, the tone of his voice had changed, losing its usual polish. The difference was subtle, but enough for Madison to understand the man had meant a lot to Rupert.

She sat next to him at a square desk in the middle of the room. Their knees brushed against each other, and a shot of electricity ran through her flesh. She flushed and slid her leg away.

Rupert cleared his throat. "So now you have full access to the secret thoughts of old Great-grandpa G.o.dfrey. Please help yourself." He stood and headed back toward the library door.

"You're not staying." Madison resented the empty seat next to her.

"Nope. I'd like to ..." he cast his eyes downward, shuffling his feet, as if the admission had embarra.s.sed him, "but McCain is expecting my dissertation on Monday. If I don't deliver this time around, I'm screwed. We need to head back to Oxford at four, sharp."

He had used her exact word, when she had set the departure time for their day trip. Rupert kept blowing hot and cold. Or maybe he hadn't blown hot at all.

"That early?"

"Yes, I have a surprise for you, but we need to leave earlier than planned."

Rupert Vance had a surprise for her, Madison LeBon. Talking about hot and cold, that felt like a freaking heatwave, El Nino-style.

"I'll ask the butler to bring you some lunch." He switched the topic of the conversation before she could ask a question about the "surprise."

"Don't worry. I brought something with me this morning." She took a small Tupperware box out of her satchel and showed him.

The corner of his mouth rose. "We have a fantastic chef here. You're away from home, and I'm pretty sure you'll appreciate some food cooked in a proper kitchen for once."

Spending most of the day alone with a seventeenth-century hand-written diary was awesome, but a chef-cooked meal was a cherry on top of the toffee pudding. Well, it should have been, but Madison wanted to share the same s.p.a.ce as Rupert for a tiny bit longer.

"All right. If I like the lunch, I might cover up your defection."

"I'm glad we have an understanding." His smile was cheeky.

Cheeky and tender. Madison shook herself. Grow up. You're not a freaking lovestruck teenager.

Before he left the room, she asked the question that had burned her lips since they'd left the mezzanine. "Will you help me find some information on Robert Dallembert?"

He frowned. "It depends on what you want to know."

"Anything. When was he born? When did he die?" She paused. "Whom did he marry?"

"I'll give a call to our genealogist, but I can't promise I'll reach him today. It's the weekend."

The Vances kept their own genealogist on call. How handy.

THE HOURS FLEW BY, and Madison worked hard with one eye on the four o'clock deadline. Jasper the butler brought her lunch, and she scoffed down every crumb of the posh B.L.T., with its homemade bread and extra-thick bacon.

With Jackson's tiny digital camera, she stored photos of the delicate book, like any highly trained CIA agent spying on international secrets. G.o.dfrey Dallembert, the object of Jackson's interest, had been a busy man.

For her own interest, she looked for references about his son, Robert, but failed to find any. Weird that a father wouldn't even mention his own son ...

Checking around the empty room, she sought out Robert's soul, or any energy he had left behind, beyond the centuries. Nothing. Where were her powers when she needed them?

She knew the ident.i.ty of the Cavalier now; however, the puzzle wasn't closer to being solved. Did Rupert's ancestry connect him to the painting? Maybe she wasn't really attracted to him, but just picking up on Sarah's feelings for the Cavalier.

She allowed herself to close her eyes. A steady burning itched under her eyelids. A knock at the door startled her. Rupert stepped in, and she welcomed the respite.

Waving at his wet hair she asked, "Has it been raining?"

"I had a quick swim once I finished my paper." Her eyes widened with disbelief, and he explained. "We have an indoor pool in one of the converted barns. I'm not rowing today, so I have to train one way or the other. No choice unfortunately."

An indoor pool in the middle of a medieval estate, and in the English wet-to-the-bone climate. The dude is walking in high cotton.

"I take you're finished with G.o.dfrey's diary."

She nodded, so he put the journal back in the safe, and soon they were once again in his fancy car.

"Remember the surprise?" he teased her, sparkles in his eyes.

She nodded, sending him a sideways gaze full of questions that he ignored.