Where Magic Dwells
Published by: eXtasy Books
Author : Evelyn Starr
Word Count :79000
Publication Date :2010-08-25
Series : #
Heat Level :
Category : Erotic Romance
- Product Code: 978-1-55410-993-7
He was being tested. In retaliation for crimes never committed, he was being given his once chance in eternity to take that test and pass it. And all that was at stake was his immortal soul.
Turning suddenly, without warning, away from the view through the ruined window, Lydia Celesta bit back a scream.
Or maybe she didn’t bite it back.
Certainly the man sitting directly behind her on a ruined windowsill looked as unnerved as she felt.
The man made no move toward her. He didn’t appear about to make any, but nevertheless Lydia backed off a step. “I didn’t see you before.”
Because he hadn’t been there before.
Not when she’d entered the ruined shell of Port Arthur’s prison church not more than thirty seconds before. That windowsill had been empty, the entire roofless enclosure that had once been the holiest of sanctuaries dead-empty. She’d turned away for just that long, just those few seconds. To gaze down the green and sloping vista between carefully restored gardens and beneath enormous old trees toward the place where she’d been…the one she’d found too busy and altogether intolerable.
No man…no person…could move that swiftly. That quietly.
Nervous, increasingly alarmed, Lydia backed off another few steps, only to find herself up against a wall. Literally, with her back pressed to roughness of ancient, decayed stone, with nowhere to go. No hope for escape, unless she wanted to risk a headlong dash directly past him, to the gaping-empty doorway through which she’d entered.
He was pale. Almost ashen, with the peculiarly translucent and no-longer-there look of a man who’d been ill for a long time. A man who’d been very, very seriously ill, perhaps to the point of dying. Still, he was a fast-looking brute. Surely faster than she had ever been. And handsome, too, though past experience taught her that the better looking the brute, the more potentially dangerous the behavior.
Swallowing hard, she squared her shoulders and tried, hard, to not look frightened half out of her mind.
He looked like a rake.
That was an old-fashioned word, but a strangely appropriate one considering his clothing. He wore a badly torn white shirt. Elegant once, made of finest and smoothest linen, it was little more than a rag now. The style of it was unusually old-fashioned too, the sort of loose-fitting and wide sleeved thing that conjured up the word and the image of ‘cavalier’ inside her head.
Or maybe that was just his hair. It was definitely old-fashioned, long and thick, and tied at his nape with what looked, from a distance anyway, to be a dirty and frayed bit of string or twine.
His eyes were mesmeric.
Lydia couldn’t force her gaze away, even when she knew she should.