While she bade farewell to Rupert's ancestral home, strands of energy wired her senses. Around her, the echoes of the past whispered into her ear their haunting melody.

She had to come back to Magway. She had to see her Cavalier again.

Chapter 10.

THE AFTERNOON LIGHT was fading, and Madison stared blindly through the car window.

"I left a voicemail on our genealogist's mobile. I should hear from him soon," Rupert volunteered, while his attention remained on the road ahead of them.

Touched he hadn't forgotten his promise, she thanked him. But her traveling buddy didn't say another word until a road sign indicated Stratford-upon-Avon. He turned and parked his car in a small side street.

"I thought you were in a hurry to go back to Oxford." She stared through the car window.

"I promised you a surprise. Shakespeare was born here. You ought to see his birthplace. If you don't, it'd be like going to New York without visiting the Empire State Building. And I love showing off my culture" Then he added sheepishly, "If you're nice, you'll even get a treat at the end."

Madison had never really set foot in New York, at least not beyond Grand Central Station. But Rupert wanted to do something for her, so she opened the door of the car, her heart beating fast with the thought of spending more time alone with him.

He was soon by her side, playing the tour guide through the cobbled streets. Although she doubted tour guides smoked Marlboro Lights while on duty. Cigarettes had always been a turnoff for her, but watching Rupert's long, elegant fingers, her mouth went dry. She imagined those same fingers stroking her arms, her legs and pretty much everywhere else.

And his lips caressing the tip of the cigarette. Good heavenly days...

Shake yourself up, silly girl.

Only she couldn't. Rupert had taken hold of her hand. He didn't seem to be aware of it; instead he kept talking. But the contact of his skin and his firm hold on her ignited a pit of delicious frustration in her belly. Her knees went all gooey but she forced herself to match his pace. She wanted for his fingers to intertwine with hers...

They walked past the house on Henley Street where Shakespeare was born, the church where he was christened, and the place where his daughter Susanna had spent her years.

When Madison closed her eyes to listen to his voice, a corset circled her waist, a French hood topped her hair, the embroidered linen of her skirt slid underneath her hand. The cars and the modern world faded away. She knew she'd traveled back in time, not through another of her visions but merely with the sound of his voice. Excitement and fear rushed through her body.

"Now has come the time for a little treat after your hard day of work." Rupert stared down at her with clear mischief in his eyes.

He had stopped their impromptu tour in front of an old-fashioned-looking coffee shop.

"You want a coffee?" she asked.

The corner of his mouth curled up. "Chocolate! Hot, sweet chocolate with lots and lots of marshmallows."

Yummy. "I'd love that." Madison had to keep her tongue from licking her lips in antic.i.p.ation.

"I know. You asked for some at the Anchor Inn, remember?" She did, but the realization he had paid attention to her order on that day rendered her all mushy inside. "This place is the best place in England. I vouch for it."

She failed at refraining a giggle. He opened the door for her and they stepped into heaven... or the nineteenth century. Everything inside was decorated as Madison imagined a drawing room would have been under Queen Victoria's reign. St.u.r.dy, dark, polished wood everywhere, elegant sofas, flowery wall-paper. The warmth dispensed by the fireplace in the right corner seeped through her. Her muscles relaxed.

Rupert was looking at her expectantly. "Do you like it?"

"What's not to like?"

He undid the tight knot of her scarf. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm getting the order." He nodded towards a small couch next to the fireplace.

She dropped her duffel coat and satchel on the floor and settled against the plump cushions. A mouth-watering aroma drifted towards her, a melange of cinnamon and caramel... and fresh-baked brownies.

When Rupert walked back towards her, he carried a round silver tray. He settled the bowls on the table and sat next to her. Quickly he removed his thick navy jacket and threw it on top of Madison's coat.

She cupped the porcelain bowl, all dainty and warm, and let its warmth spread through her palms.

"I've added a hint of vanilla," he said, his hands and overall posture mirroring that of Madison's.

"Good initiative."

Rupert lifted his bowl and tipped it toward Madison. "Cheers!"

"Cheers!"

They brought the hot beverage to their mouths. A couple of the mini-marshmallows slid through her lips and she let them melt on her tongue. She closed her eyes. The sensation was divine, its effect heightened by the heat of the flames in the fireplace brushing her face.

Madison let herself drown into the moment, her knee against Rupert's. She could feel him immobile next to her.

When she opened her eyes again, heat spread through her cheekbones, across her nose. Rupert stared at her, like he stared at her, oblivious of anything else around him.

Their gazes locked. She swore she could hear both their hearts beating in sync.

"My mum used to take me here on our drives from London to Magway." His eyes didn't leave Madison. "It was a tradition... but I haven't come back here since my last time with her."

"You became too cool for chocolate, marshmallows, and spending time with your mama," Madison teased him, taking another sweet sip.

A shadow pa.s.sed over his face. "Something like that."

Madison thought he was about to say more, but he reverted his attention to the chocolate. They remained silent for a few minutes, comfortable in each other's close proximity.

Because it was the first of December, a string of Christmas cla.s.sics had already played out since they had stepped into that sweet paradise. Tom Jones' baritone voice was currently warning them it was cold outside. Madison knew that, and, really, she had no intention to ever step a foot outside that place.

The weight of Rupert's gaze had reverted on her. His half-smile was topped by a grin in his eyes.

"What?" she asked.

"You have some white foam at the corner of your mouth." His index finger waved lightly. "May I?"

Her mouth dried in antic.i.p.ation. Because words failed her, she answered with a tight nod. Rupert leaned toward her, took a small napkin from the silver tray and wiped it gently over where the cream must have been.

"There, all clean now."

His thumb stayed at the corner of her mouth, shifted an inch to brush her lower lip.

His eyes were moving back and forth between her own eyes and her mouth, settling there.

Was he going to kiss her?

He was going to kiss her.

Please, G.o.d, have him kiss me.

But Rupert's cell rang, returning them to the present. Without hiding his irritation, he took the call. Madison swallowed her disappointment. Hard.

She couldn't guess the content of Rupert's conversation with an "Archie" as he limited his answers to "yes," "great," and a final "thank you."

She bit her tongue and didn't ask who Archie was.

"It was Archie Blake, our genealogist, returning my call. He'll have a look at our second earl for us."

Madison's throat tightened. "It sounds as if he told you a little bit about him in the meantime."

"As a matter of fact, yes, he did. Robert's death created the first hiccup in my family history. His death nearly ended our line."

"He died ..."

Rupert looked at her askance. "The guy lived in the seventeenth century." Turning his attention back to the cell still in his hand, he added, "He died in 1651, not even a year after his father, G.o.dfrey, and left behind a struggle for the t.i.tle."

"How did he die?"

"I didn't ask. Sorry. But his wife followed him to the grave quickly afterwards."

Madison pinched the skin of her right palm. What she'd heard already dashed any hope of Robert and Sarah living a long, happy life together. One year at best. She didn't want to know more. But she had to.

"He didn't mention the name of the wife?"

"She was a Lady Elizabeth something, from a Royalist family up north."

Madison brought her hand to her mouth to cover the gasp this revelation caused.

The Cavalier never married Sarah. They were indeed the Romeo and Juliet of their time. Social and political divides had crushed any hope for their love.

Unless Sarah died before she could marry Robert.

BACK IN OXFORD, opposite Christ Church College, Peter paced along a hidden corner of St. Aldate's. How long had he gone back and forth on the same stretch of pavement? He didn't care. With all his muscles tensed, he kept his neck lowered, his head tucked down and his hands clenched into fists. The frozen gesture held his emotions in check. Always had, always would.

His mumbling stopped when he turned his body toward the entrance gate of the college. When would Sarah be back from Magway? Since her return to Oxford he'd kept her on a tight leash. He had managed to scare her yesterday, when he made her fall from her bicycle. Today, however, she had evaded him. He could not prevent her from going on this journey with the n.o.bleman.

Peter stood straight, the cold wrapping his body in its November grasp. He pulled his jacket tighter around him as a barrier to the wind.

The reality of this modern world interfered with the flow of his consciousness. The cars thundered by and the electric lamps shined an intrusive light on his face. But at its core, nothing had changed. He loved Sarah and he hated her. His emotions confused him, tore him apart.

At last. They were here. The n.o.bleman stopped his extravagant carriage, and Peter took a few steps away. He didn't want them to recognize him.

The fingers on his right hand dug into the palm of his left. What were they doing? Probably already "making out," as they said nowadays. Peter did not expect better from sinners like them.

Sarah stepped out of the car, as did Dallembert. He took her satchel from the trunk of his automobile and handed it to her. If only Peter could hear what they were saying ... He leaned forward and his eyes focused on his prey.

It was happening all over again. The arrogance of the n.o.bleman melted when he looked down at Sarah. She comported herself well, feigning modesty, but l.u.s.t radiated from their unconscious courtship. When Peter had proposed to her, Sarah had sworn to him her love for the Cavalier was real, overwhelming. She had no choice, she'd explained when he confronted her.

Now, Sarah had found the Cavalier again. For the first time, they were reunited. Peter's wandering spirit would not let that happen. Oxford would be the theater of their love once again, as it had been so many centuries before.

Shutting his eyes, he winced at the burning fire of his jealousy. He had tried hard to forget, to seize the opportunities the capricious roll of fate had provided him.

His attempts had all been in vain. He had always known that, one day, Sarah and Robert would find each other again. That one day he would again be wronged by their love. His fate was sealed a long time ago, on that dreadful afternoon in the clearing.

No. He would fight this. He had won once. He could win again. Shaking himself from the powerful clutch of his memories, he saw a range of new possibilities. He would spy, he would befriend, he would lie, and he would kill. That prospect made him rejoice, brought him comfort. His fate was to demand and execute justice.

Chapter 11.

I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW long it takes Davies to get us coffee," Pippa hissed, glancing in the direction of the conference room's exit. "The museum's shop is a staircase away, and the seminar should start any minute now." She turned her head back and nodded toward the stage. "Madison, your Doctor McCain is the s.e.xiest panelist I've ever seen." She moistened her lips with obvious appet.i.te and her emerald eyes squinted.

After her trip to Magway, Madison had hurried to meet Pippa and Ollie at the Ashmolean Museum, where Jackson moderated a symposium.

"Chill out, missie." Madison put a calming hand on her friend's wrist. Pippa's skin felt cold. "And I'm not talking about Oliver's delayed coffee delivery. McCain's my tutor, for G.o.d's sake."

"Yeah, as if ... You're in Europe now. People are more relaxed about these things. Each time the two of you talk, sparks fly. He doesn't fool me. The guy has a crush on you, and you on him. You'd be happier with him than with Rupert Vance." Pippa shivered and wrapped herself in the coat that had been lying on her knees.

What was this obsession with Rupert? Pippa had had plenty of other men since then. Madison wanted to defend herself, but Ollie arrived, his hands full of scalding paper cups. As they sorted out the drinks, a bespectacled academic signaled the start of the symposium. Silence reigned over the room.

Madison didn't welcome the ban on talking. Conversation kept her from lapsing into disturbing thoughts. Her emotions had blurred since coming back from Magway. She faced a mountain of unsettling questions, and distraction was the simplest way of dealing with them.

In vain, she tried to focus on the panel. Although the speakers' mouths opened ... rounded ... closed, the sounds didn't reach her ears. Instead, her brain threw questions at her, questions she had no answers to.

Were Robert Dallembert and the Cavalier the same person? She couldn't mistake their physical likeness or ignore they had lived through the same troubled times. Those had to be more than coincidences.

She shifted in her seat, straightened her legs and crossed her ankles. When Pippa gave her a sidelong glance, Madison forced herself to control her restlessness. She took off the silver ring she wore on her index finger and started fiddling with it. A present from her grandmother, a family talisman.

Her thoughts kept on unraveling the implications of the Cavalier's ident.i.ty and his connection with Rupert Vance. Today, the stakes had risen. The characters in the painting had existed, she was sure of it. She had to track down Sarah and Peter, and find out how they had been connected to Robert Dallembert.

RUPERT STRETCHED HIS battered legs. Today's trip to Magway had been an excuse to miss training. Tomorrow the torture would start again.

He glanced at his friends gathered around the wide table in his conservatory.