The Sedgwick Curse. Shawna Delacorte

smile and tried to project a gracious manner. “Of course not.”

      Taylor looked across the gallery of Sedgwick ancestors that preceded William, then the ones Donovan had identified, before returning her attention to her host. “No painting of you?”

      “No…not yet. I suppose it’s something I’ll have to do one of these days—tradition and all that.” He was momentarily lost in thought, in a world of his own that he was unwilling to share with anyone else. Having the traditional portrait done was the last step in replacing his father as lord of the manor, a step he could not quite bring himself to take. The emotional turmoil and the circumstances connected to his father’s death were still too painful for him.

      Taylor studied Donovan as he stood there. This was not at all what she had expected. He was a very attractive, sexy and desirable man. She could not deny that he made her pulse race and her breathing quicken. The thought crossed her mind—and not for the first time since boarding the plane for her transatlantic flight—that perhaps all of this had not been such a good idea after all. She should never have misrepresented herself, pretending to be a writer in order to gain access to the Sedgwick family archives for her own personal reasons.

      At that precise moment she wished she was safely back in Wichita, Kansas, tending to her secretarial duties at the University rather than having taken a three-month leave of absence. But it was too late for that.

      “Well.” Donovan whirled around to face Taylor, feigning an affability he didn’t feel. “I’m sure you must be tired. I imagine you’d like to go to your room, unpack and get settled in.”

      She raked her gaze across the entry hall again, the lavish setting in direct opposition to the ominous feeling that shoved at her reality. A tremor of apprehension darted through her body—a tremor that had a dark cloud of danger and foreboding attached to it.

      “I heard the doorbell and…hey, who do we have here?” The upbeat, cheerful voice came from the bottom of the staircase. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

      “Alex…” Donovan turned to face his cousin. “This is Taylor MacKenzie, the writer I told you would be staying here for the next two weeks.” He returned his attention to Taylor. “Miss MacKenzie, this is my cousin, Alexander Sedgwick. Alex is here to help me get this year’s festival off to a good start.”

      “Please, call me Taylor. Miss MacKenzie sounds so formal.” She offered Donovan a dazzling smile.

      “And you may call me Donovan rather than Lord Sedgwick.” His words trailed off, as if his mind were on other things. “The title passed to me only two months ago. I haven’t had it long enough to be comfortable with it yet.” What he did not say was that he felt as if he did not really deserve the title even though it had been in the family as many centuries as the estate had. The title should still belong to his father.

      “And you may call me whatever you like, as long as you promise to call me.” Alex’s attention and words were directed to Taylor as he extended a teasing smile followed by a quick but blatantly obvious survey of her physical assets.

      She looked from Donovan to Alex, then to the painting of William Sedgwick. An uncomfortable chill swept across her skin. There was no mistaking the distinct family resemblance shared by the three men.

      Alex crossed the entry hall to where Taylor stood, his outstretched hand grasping hers. “So, is this the man from the States who’s researching a book about British country festivals?” He flashed a sexy grin as he again looked her up and down. “You certainly don’t look much like a man to me. Of course, Donovan is stuck out here in the country away from London and doesn’t get out much, but even he couldn’t make this sort of a mistake.”

      She felt the heat of embarrassment return to her cheeks as she lowered her gaze. This made twice that she had been embarrassed since arriving at the estate and she hadn’t even gotten past the entry hall. These two men, cousins who bore a dramatic similarity in appearance, were quite different in their demeanor. Donovan seemed very serious, a little distracted and what could even be called moody, but undeniably sexy. Alex, on the other hand, unabashedly flirted with her in an open and easy manner.

      Donovan rang for Bradley, who made an immediate appearance. “This is Taylor MacKenzie. Please show Miss MacKenzie to her room and have someone bring in the luggage from her car.”

      He returned his attention to Taylor. “Bradley will see to your needs. Breakfast is served at eight o’clock. We’ll have a chance to talk then.” Again the heated desire swept through his body as he took one last look at her before turning to go to his suite of rooms in the new wing. “Good night, Taylor.”

      “Good night, Donovan.” His abrupt attitude and departure surprised her and left her slightly unsettled. It was almost as if he was desperate to get away from her as fast as he could.

      “Well, I guess that’s my cue to leave. Good night, Taylor. I’ll see you in the morning. Unless—” Alex flashed a wry grin as he winked at her “—there’s something I can do for you tonight. I’m sure there’s certain needs that I can handle far better than Bradley….” He allowed his voice to trail off as he openly leered at her.

      She shot a quick glance at Bradley, but he showed no reaction to Alex’s words. She forced a polite chuckle, not at all sure how to interpret Alex’s attitude and what he had said. “I can’t think of a thing. I’ve had an incredibly long day and am definitely tired. I’m going to collapse in bed and get a good night’s sleep.” She turned her attention to the somber-looking man standing at the foot of the stairs.

      “This way, Miss MacKenzie.” Bradley showed Taylor to the second-floor room that had been prepared for the visiting writer. He demonstrated how to turn on the heat in the bedroom and acquainted her with the idiosyncrasies of the bathroom’s ancient plumbing, then he departed. A few minutes later her luggage was delivered.

      Taylor took in her surroundings. The four-poster bed dominated the well-appointed room. The furnishings were obviously antiques and looked very elegant, but not particularly comfortable. She undressed, then slipped into the large football jersey she had commandeered from her ex-fiancé a few years ago. Even though the room had been cleaned, a stuffiness clung to everything, attesting to the fact that it had not been occupied for quite some time. She opened one of the windows just enough to let in some fresh air, climbed into bed and turned off the lamp on the nightstand.

      Sleep, however, eluded her. Overly tired—that was her explanation. Perhaps reading for a little while would help her fall asleep. She turned on the lamp and picked up the book she had started on the plane. She read only a couple of pages before her exhaustion won out and she succumbed to sleep.

      IT WAS WELL PAST MIDNIGHT when the shadowy figure moved silently down the hallway, then entered a linen closet on the second floor of the old wing. He moved a cupboard aside, then slid back a small panel and peered into the adjoining room. The soft light from the reading lamp fell across the woman’s face. Three large pillows propped up her back. A book rested in her lap. She appeared to have fallen asleep while reading.

      Without even a whisper of sound, the secret door that led from the hall linen closet into the clothes closet in her bedroom swung open. The centuries-old house was filled with hidden doors and secret passages, and he knew all of them.

      He stood inside the closet and watched her from behind the hanging clothes. Her long, dark lashes rested against her upper cheek. The gentle rise and fall of her breasts told him she was sleeping. She was his. She always had been and always would be…till death do them part.

      He had time. It was still two weeks until the festival. It would be just as it should have been a century ago. It had been his intention that they should pledge their love to each other the night before the beginning of the festival, even though a couple of months earlier her husband had grown suspicious of his attentions toward her. But this would be different. This time there would not be any interference.

      He stepped out of the closet and silently crossed the room, coming to a halt next to the bed. He reached out his hand and lightly touched her