everyone eventually left. Not so in this case, at least not yet.
The white gown she’d been wearing on the veranda last night was draped over the bed’s footboard. The sheer fabric had revealed only a few details, but enough details to set him on edge and keep him there. Striding across the room, he passed his palm over the gown that was as soft as her skin. He knew that much, even though he hadn’t touched her. Yet. But he would.
Last night, he’d warred with what was wise and what he wanted. Many considered him predatory, territorial in both business and in pleasure. Until recently, he’d lived for the thrill of the chase, the rewards of capture. Selene Winston had resurrected that desire. Though he’d made a solid effort to ignore his baser urges, he was still a man. A man on a mission.
He planned to draw her into his world with a slow and carefully crafted seduction, guiding her into the darkness he’d created. She might be reluctant at first, but eventually she would come without reservation. Willingly. Openly.
She would provide a respite from his remorse, a means to temporarily forget what he hadn’t done. More importantly, what he had done…to Chloe.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Selene drove into St. Edwards and pulled her sedan in front of Abby’s Antiques, a place she had visited several times. The shop was situated along a row of small businesses that lined the single downtown street, an ancient red brick church serving as the town’s cornerstone. After only a moment’s hesitation, she left the car and entered the glass door, the subtle chime announcing her arrival.
The proprietor, Abby Reynolds, a fortysomething tiny woman with bobbed auburn hair and kind hazel eyes, looked up from behind the counter positioned at the back of the store and greeted Selene with a smile. “Hello, Ms. Winston. I thought you’d left town.”
“As it turns out, I’m going to be here awhile.” Selene skirted the helter-skelter antiques as she traveled down the narrow aisle, basking in the blessedly cool air flowing over her. If only she could bottle some to take back to the plantation.
When Selene reached the counter, Abby pushed her black glasses up onto her head and set aside the book she’d been reading. “You’ve decided to stay?”
“Yes, thanks to you. Remember that ad you showed me? As it turns out, it’s a plantation west of town, and I’ve been hired to oversee a complete restoration.”
“Maison de Minuit.” Selene immediately noticed the wariness in Abby’s tone and the stiffness of her small frame. “That should be challenging.”
“Yes it will be, and that’s why I’m here.” Selene set her purse on the counter and folded her hands next to it. “Do you happen to know a local contractor who’d be willing to take it on?”
The woman shook her head. “You won’t find anyone here who’ll go out there.”
Exactly what Ella had told Selene earlier. “What is it about the place that has everyone avoiding it like the plague?”
“Well, there’s the matter of the lovers who supposedly died there, and the voodoo woman who lived there after that. And the somewhat insane Giles Morrell who fortunately wasn’t there very long. Take your pick.”
Selene wondered if Grace happened to be one of those lovers. “Do you know any details? Names, that sort of thing? I’d like to know a little bit about the plantation’s history.”
Abby shrugged. “I’ve only been in town a couple of years. When I have heard people speak about the place, it’s been brief, as if they’re afraid to talk about it. And there’s also the woman who mysteriously disappeared about a year ago.”
“What woman?” Selene couldn’t mask her surprise or uneasiness.
“Supposedly Adrien Morrell was holed up with her for over a year,” Abby said. “Ralph Allen works for a delivery service and used to make runs out there every week or so to deliver packages. He says he saw her looking out an upstairs window a couple of times.”
Surely Adrien didn’t have an unidentified woman locked up in the mysterious bedroom. A totally ludicrous thought, Selene decided. Still…“But as far as anyone knows, she left?”
“The deliveries stopped suddenly, and no one’s seen her since. Except Ralph swears he passed a coroner’s car coming from that direction one morning.”
Selene swallowed hard. “She died?”
Abby showed her discomfort by shifting her weight from one hip to the other. “There isn’t any real proof of that. No death notice or anything. But Mr. Morrell has enough money to pay for silence, so I guess anything’s possible. If he wanted her dead, he could arrange for it, even if he didn’t do it himself.”
Selene wasn’t sure she wanted to explore those possibilities, though she didn’t really view Adrien as a murderer. But what did she really know about him? Not much, other than he was a physically attractive, powerful man. “Maybe she just left on her own accord.”
“Maybe she was a ghost.” Abby attempted a reassuring smile. “You know how it is with gossip, Selene. People are like coon hounds with a rawhide bone. They chew on it for a while, then bury it for a time, but they always bring it out, along with more dirt.”
Selene wanted to believe that that’s all it was—idle gossip from the depths of idle minds. Rumor or not, she was still uneasy. “Do you know anyone who knows about the plantation’s previous owners? Maybe a historian of some kind?”
“Unfortunately, the town doesn’t have a library, otherwise I’d point you in that direction. You could try the courthouse, but I don’t know how far back their records go. They don’t even have a computerized system yet. And they lost quite a bit during a flood in the 1920s.”
That sounded like a surefire dead end to Selene. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try that.”
“Good luck,” Abby said. “In the meantime, I can ask around and let you know if I find someone who knows the history.”
“That would be wonderful.” Selene rummaged through her purse, withdrew a pen and paper, jotted down her number, then handed it to Abby. “This is my cell phone. You can call me anytime.”
Abby reached beneath the counter, took out a notepad and began to write. “I’m going to give you the address of a friend of mine, Linda Adams. She’s in Baton Rouge and she specializes in antique restoration.” She tore off the page and slid it in front of Selene. “She can help you with fabric selection and anything you need done with the furnishings. Her husband’s a contractor and he’s worked on several historical homes in the area, so he might be willing to help you out.”
Selene took the paper and tucked it into the side pocket of her bag. “Thanks so much. I’ll pay her a visit today.”
After giving her thanks and a goodbye to Abby, Selene slid into her car for the trip to Baton Rouge. But before she could pull out into the street, a name jumped into her mind, as clear as the sound of the church’s bell now tolling in the town square. The name meant nothing to her at all, but the voice that spoke it did.
Adrien Morrell’s voice.
* * *
“Who’s Chloe?” Following the query, Selene watched her dinner companion’s expression herald first shock, then caution.
“Where did you hear that name?” Ella asked.
“In town.” She didn’t dare tell her exactly where the name had originated—in her mind.
Ella sent her a suspicious glance before pushing the pile of peas around on her plate. “That’s not possible. No one in town knows about her.”
“They believe a woman named Chloe was here for a while with Mr. Morrell, and then she was gone. Rumor has it she died.”
Ella dropped her fork, pushed her plate aside and folded her hands tightly before her on the table.