Page 60 of Never Leave Me
The creak of the floor came again, this time more distinct. His eyes flew open, and he stumbled back a step at the sight that met him. It was his room, but everything was completely different—simpler, darker, plainer, and a strange mustiness filled the air along with an earthy scent.
He didn’t take the time to examine everything; instead, his gaze rested on his music room, which had disappeared altogether and looked to be a dark closet.
He took one step forward only to stop abruptly at the sight of a woman emerging from the closet. Not Marian.
Ellen.
Her hair was unbound and flowing over her shoulders, and she was wearing a long, white nightgown. The soft glow of lighting from somewhere in the room illuminated her beauty, leaving no doubt it was her.
“Ellen?”
With a gasp, she halted and laid a hand over her heart. Her eyes widened upon him. Then she released a soft cry before racing to him and throwing herself against him.
As her body pressed into his, he lifted his arms around her in a tight embrace. He could feel every curve of her lithe body againsthis, feel the tickle of her hair against his chin, and feel the warmth of her breath near his neck. She wasn’t an apparition. He really was holding her.
“I don’t understand what’s happening.” He glanced around the barren room again. He was most definitely in the past. And Ellen was too. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh Harrison.” She pulled back just enough that he could see her face, her beautiful blue eyes framed by long lashes, her slender cheeks, her delicate nose. She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. “Are you real?”
His pulse began to beat with new urgency. “Do you have any idea where Lionel is keeping you?”
The ringing of his mobile broke the moment. He blinked and she was gone. He found himself in his room again, the music closet where it had always been, his bedside lamp lighting up his chamber, and his mobile on the bed. It lit up with the number and picture of one of the antiquarians he’d hired to track down the last of the ancient St. Thomas ampullae.
His sights zeroed in on the ampulla on the bed even as a wave of exhaustion threatened to topple him. The granules had taken him back in time. He could think of no other explanation.
He shook his head, trying to stave off another wave of fatigue. Ellen had been so real, so alive. He’d touched her, heard her, seen her. How could he have done that if she was only a vision?
“Ellen?” She’d been right there.
He swept his gaze over the room. But he sensed nothing. Her presence was gone. Every trace of her was outside his reach.
His knees began to give way, and he lowered himself to the bed, too tired to stand. Marian had experienced the same weariness after her crossings. He surmised that the vibration and expenditure of energy and heat during the time overlap depleted the body. Blinking, he fought against the haze.
Somehow, Ellen had gone into the past. Not only was she lost to him in the present, but now she was lost in the past too.
With a groan, he fell back onto the mattress. He needed to ingest more of the residue, go back, and talk to her again. He fumbled for the ampulla, but his eyes closed and sleep overtook him, so that he could do nothing else but give way to the exhaustion.
Ellen stood motionless in the middle of the room and waited.
“Harrison?” She called for him again, but as with the other times, she heard nothing in response.
Earlier in the day after she’d left Marian, a servant had ushered her down the hall. When she’d passed by the room that belonged to Harrison, she hadn’t been able to resist asking to stay there.
Of course, it didn’t look like his modern room, had none of the sleekness or masculine accents and was devoid of anything that might remind her of Harrison. But just being in the same location, picturing his room, standing where she guessed he would be—somehow it had soothed her.
That evening, she’d joined Will and the rest of the household for supper in the great hall. Even though Marian was confined to her chambers, they’d celebrated the birth of another Durham. Then after spending time with Marian and the baby again, she’d retired late.
Even so, she hadn’t been sleepy. And after the maidservant had helped her out of her gown and into a nightdress, she’d dismissed the woman, wanting some time to herself, to think about her predicament and plot her next move.
As she’d walked around the room and examined everything more closely, she’d sensed Harrison’s presence more than ever, so much that she’d even thought she heard him playing his violin. She’d guessed it was only her imagination tricking her and reminding herof that night together in Chesterfield Park when she’d watched him play with such power and passion.
But the music had been so vivid that she’d stepped into the boudoir, half expecting him to be there. And when she’d stepped out, she’d seen him.
Hadn’t she?
“Harrison? Are you still there?”
She strained to hear him, but complete silence surrounded her.
