The Sedgwick Curse. Shawna Delacorte

turned out.

      “No, nothing. You go on, I’ll see to the front door.”

      “Very well, sir. Good night.”

      Donovan continued to stare out the window, lost in his own thoughts and unspoken fears. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the sound of the doorbell startled him back into reality. He opened the door to the late-night visitor.

      The low, throaty voice floated toward him through the night air. “Hello. I’m Taylor MacKenzie.”

      “You…you’re Taylor MacKenzie?” Donovan stared in disbelief at the beautiful woman standing at the front door, bathed in the soft glow of the porch light. He felt the tightening in his chest as a quick surge of heated energy darted through his reality. Something about her looked so familiar, as if he should know her, but that was impossible. No man with a spark of life in him could ever forget having met this vision who jolted his senses and nearly took his breath away. But still…he couldn’t shake the strange, almost overwhelming sensation of déjà vu.

      The tightening in his chest moved lower in his body as his breathing quickened. His gaze dropped to the swell of her breast, the lacy pattern of her bra faintly visible through the soft material of her shirt. Well-worn jeans encased long legs and hugged the curve of her hips without appearing too tight. He took a steadying breath in an attempt to bring his rapidly escalating yet totally inappropriate desires under control.

      It had never occurred to him that the writer his father had been corresponding with was a woman. He forced his gaze away from her and toward the sports car parked in the circular drive in front of the house. She had enough suitcases piled on the luggage rack and in the storage space behind the seat to be moving in permanently.

      The mysterious explosion at the crypt made the presence of a stranger in the house unwelcome. He wished that he had written to her following his father’s death and withdrawn the invitation to stay at the manor house and use the family archives.

      He did not have time in his life for this unexpected woman, or the desire that flooded his body, certainly not until he came to terms with his father’s premature death and resolved the problem of what had happened at the crypt. He was glad he had decided to put the writer in a bedroom far away from his own suite of rooms. Hopefully it would keep temptation at bay for the duration of her visit. And there was no doubt in his mind that she represented temptation of the most primal kind—temptation combined with some strange indefinable allure that left him puzzled and a bit rattled.

      A touch of hesitation surrounded her words, matching the confused expression on her face. “And you’re Lord Sedgwick?” She extended her hand and offered a pleasant albeit businesslike smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I certainly appreciate your hospitality and cooperation in opening your home and the family archives. It will be a great help to me in my research. Although I must admit that I had pictured you as being older.”

      The title had led her to make the assumption about his age. This man was much younger than she had anticipated, not that much older than her thirty years. His hair, a soft shade of brown, was thick and full. It was long enough to hang over his shirt collar in back and cover his ears. She had an almost irresistible impulse to run her fingers through it. The front dangled across his forehead in a disorganized manner that made him look little-boy innocent and very sexy at the same time—a dangerous combination, but one that she found very compelling. He appeared to be about six foot two—tall, even compared to her five-seven.

      His piercing blue eyes held a haunted look as if they had witnessed all the horrors of a thousand centuries. He seemed to be staring right through her. He was a total stranger, yet somehow she sensed something about him, something very familiar and at the same time unsettling. Something that left her decidedly uneasy as it put her nerves on edge and her senses on alert.

      Something she didn’t understand.

      Donovan made no effort to respond to the woman’s outstretched hand. He simply stood there staring. Her short, windblown hair framed her face in a wild profusion of bright copper. Her large emerald eyes were wide with innocence while still holding a wisdom far beyond her years. A distinct chill stabbed at his spine, a disturbing chill that somehow managed to become entwined with the very real heat of excitement that still nestled low in his body. Confusion clouded her face as she lowered her hand.

      “This is the Sedgwick estate, isn’t it? I’ll admit that driving on your country roads was a little confusing for me, especially at night. I thought I’d taken all the correct turns. I realize it’s late, but my telegram did say I’d be arriving tonight.”

      Her eyes widened as if a sudden thought had just occurred to her. A sense of urgency crept into her voice. “You did receive my telegram, didn’t you?”

      “Uh…yes, your telegram. Of course.” Donovan shook the fuzziness from his brain and extended his hand toward her as he forced a smile. “I apologize for my rudeness. You took me by surprise. I’m Donovan Sedgwick. It was my father, James Sedgwick, who you had been corresponding with. Please, come in.” He stepped aside as she entered the house.

      A tinge of red flushed across her cheeks indicating her embarrassment. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have realized that Lord Sedgwick wouldn’t be answering his own door.”

      “The household staff have retired for the night. I happened to be in the entry hall when you rang the doorbell.” A whiff of her perfume tickled his senses, drawing them even more taut. “I was expecting a man. The name Taylor led me to believe…well, I didn’t realize my father had been corresponding with a woman.” He noticed the hint of surprise that had quickly darted across her face. He felt it, too, the moment their hands clasped. It was an indefinable sensation—a combination of destiny, fate and desire that he found intriguing yet at the same time disturbing.

      “I hope my gender won’t present you with a problem.” Taylor was thankful to have the sensually sparked physical contact broken. She surveyed the cavernous entry hall as she stepped into the room. A large crystal chandelier hung all the way from the top of the three-story cathedral ceiling. Richly paneled walls were lined with paintings she assumed to be the Sedgwick ancestors, and a large staircase with a hand-carved oak banister curved up to the second and third floors, supported by alabaster columns.

      She shivered slightly as her gaze swept across the scene for the second time. The low lights shrouded the elegantly appointed entry hall in a dim gloominess. From what she had been able to observe upon her arrival at the estate, the gardens, grounds and buildings all seemed to be well maintained. The estate projected an image of wealth, but it still reminded her of a movie set from some old Gothic film where sinister happenings enveloped the occupants in a cloak of mystery and danger. An involuntary shiver darted up her spine. Did the rest of the house project an equally ominous feel?

      “This is an interesting—” Her words stopped, her hand went to her mouth as a startled gasp escaped her throat when her gaze fell on the portrait hanging on the wall. She quickly turned to stare at Donovan, then returned her attention to the painting. Her throat tightened and her mouth went dry as she stared at the portrait. The subject of the painting stared back at her with the same eyes and features as her host, but with clothes from a century earlier. An oppressive stillness filled the entry hall. She tried to shed the sudden apprehension that settled over her, pressing down like a heavy weight.

      Donovan followed her line of sight, the expression on her face saying more than words could convey. “That’s my great-grandfather. His name was William.” He pointed to another painting. “That one’s my grandfather, Henry Sedgwick, and this one—” he indicated yet another painting “—is my father, James Sedgwick.”

      “Is your father here? I’d like to meet him after all our back-and-forth correspondence.”

      “My father died two months ago.” His voice was flat, showing no emotion one way or the other.

      “Oh…I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” The unexpected news left her with an odd sensation, a combination of unfulfilled prophecy and destiny that totally baffled her. She tried to shake away the strange and uncomfortable