Borrowed Identity (8 page)

“Did you grow up here?” A curious light brightened Michael’s dark eyes.

“I lived here until my mother went to the hospital for the last time. My father rented an apartment in town after that. He insisted I hold my head high no matter how much the other kids taunted me.” She snorted, a small derisive sound. “Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one constantly stared at and mocked. Anyway, after my father died, I moved back into Moore House.”

“You’re hiding?”

“So?” She glared at him. “What if I am?”

“You’re just punishing yourself. You shouldn’t allow small-minded people to run your life.”

“Now you sound like my father.”

“Thank you,” Michael said. “I take that as a compliment. He seems like an intelligent human being.”

“He was.” She stated quietly. Then she shrugged. “I think I need a drink. Would you care to join me?”

“Sure.”

She walked over to the wet bar and placed a couple glasses on the tabletop. “My father always liked a warm brandy before bed. I could use one after the day I’ve had.”

“Kelly.” Michael’s smooth and sexy voice seemed to wash over her. “Would you like me to sleep in your bed tonight?”

Chapter Five

The look on her face wasn’t exactly flattering. Shock reflected in the blue depths of her eyes. Michael had known the moment the query slid from his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. It sounded like a blasted come-on. She thought he wanted to sleep with her.

Which he did, of course. What red-blooded American male wouldn’t? But he couldn’t make love to her, and he didn’t want her to get the wrong impression.

“When I asked if you wanted me to sleep in your bed,” he clarified, “I meant instead of you. Not
with
you.”

Her eyes widened in confusion. “I don’t get it. What are you saying?”

“You claim someone locked you in the garage.”

“Someone did!”

He held up a hand, stopping what he suspected would be an angry tirade. “Okay. I’m not questioning that. I’m saying I’ll trade beds with you if you want. That way, if someone is after you, they’ll make the mistake of attacking me instead.”

She gasped, and the remaining color drained from her cheeks. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She turned her face away. Her slender frame trembled. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. I’m not that selfish.”

“I doubt it will come to that.” Michael decided to change
the subject. The poor woman was on the edge of a mental collapse. She needed to get her mind off what had happened to her in the garage. “Tell me more about the jewel thief. It sounds like quite a story. How much is fact and how much is rumor?”

“Why don’t I show you?” she offered. “Then you’ll understand.” An exuberant smile curved the corners of her mouth as if she was a child with a delicious secret she couldn’t wait to share.

Boomer shot up the staircase and vanished from view just then.

“I guess he wants to explore his new surroundings,” Kelly said.

She crooked her finger at Michael, gesturing for him to join her.

He trailed behind her, following her through the double doors beneath the point at which the two staircases met. They entered the library and hovered just inside the doorway for a few minutes, as if Kelly wanted to keep him in suspense. He couldn’t believe his eyes as he took in his surroundings. They were standing in an enormous oval-shaped room with an endless wall of bookshelves wrapped around it. There were more books than he could count, stacked ten shelves high. The walls seemed to be in a straight line, but the room was round, each bookcase curving so slightly that it wasn’t noticeable. Paddy’s entire house could have fit in the room. Michael was sure of it.

He stepped to the side and watched Kelly slide an attached ladder along one section of the bookcase. She climbed the rungs and reached over, grabbing for one old tome. The book was huge, and she had to struggle to get a good grip on it.

Michael drew closer in case she fell. His eyes were on a level with her knees, and he couldn’t help that the trousers that covered her lower limbs couldn’t conceal their perfec
tion. He remembered her legs, the way they had looked dripping wet from the shower. He envisioned how the towel had ended on her upper thighs, teasing him with a glimpse of what hid beneath the terry cloth.

Kelly teetered precariously.

She dropped the book a half second before she fell backward, a startled shriek bursting from her lips.

Michael caught her easily and cradled her in his arms. Holding her this time had a startling effect on him. Desire shot from his brain to his toes, leaving no part of him untouched. Electricity crackled in his veins. It had been a long time since he’d wanted a woman so much. Why her? Why now?

Eyes wide and unblinking, she stared up at him. She appeared to be as stunned as he felt.

Kelly pressed against his chest with her palms, and he let her slowly slide down his body until she was standing on her own two feet again. He still didn’t release her completely. His hands remained on her arms, reluctant to give up the treasure they’d found.

“The book,” she managed to say at last. “My grandfather compiled the history of Moore House and put it in that book.”

Taking the hint, he went to the fallen book and picked it up, noting that it must weigh more than fifty pounds. Michael set it on a nearby desk and blew dust off the bronzed cover. There was a gold emblem on it, a circular pattern with a black design that seemed to be a family crest.

Kelly came to stand beside him, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. He could smell the shampoo she’d used that morning. The faint scent of wildflowers tormented his nostrils. Being this close to her was absolute torture, no doubt about it.

Kelly opened the book, and Michael tore his attention from her, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. Inside
there were pages of newspaper clippings, photographs and journal entries. He didn’t have time to go over everything. He wouldn’t find clues to solve his mystery in this book. He was only looking at it to get Kelly’s mind off of her tiresome visitor.

“Give me the highlights,” he said. “Break it down for me. Start with the person who built the house.”

“John Moore,” she replied. “The house was erected directly after the Civil War ended. John and his brother Andrew were at odds. John was running a company up north when the war began. His father and his brother expected him to return to South Carolina and fight beside them.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Michael guessed, trying to speed things along.

“No. While his father’s plantation—his brother’s inheritance—was burned to the ground, John was becoming one of the wealthiest men in the country. His father died of a heart attack before the war ended. Andrew lost his wife and unborn child in the fire that took the plantation house.”

“Then what?”

“John moved here with his wife, Anabella,” Kelly said. “He wanted to get away from everything that reminded him of the war. He bought five hundred acres. He planted wheat and invited his brother to see it. John planned on offering half the land to his brother, but he never got the chance.”

Michael had a bad feeling he knew what had happened next. The house seemed to shudder around him with the resurrected memory of John Moore. If there were ghosts in the world, Michael had no doubt this house would be the perfect place for them.

He waved Kelly on, wanting her to continue.

“Before John could make the offer, Andrew killed him. It happened in the middle of the wheat field. Andrew picked up a rock and bashed his brother’s head in. The soil drank
his blood. Rumor has it the land became cursed after that. It hasn’t grown a decent crop since.”

“Right.” Michael laughed. “How much of this is true? Is there any solid evidence?”

“There are papers. The only thing that can’t be proved here is if the land is cursed. Everything else is true.”

“Okay. Who owned the estate next?” Michael couldn’t help it. Curiosity grew like a seed in his belly. Now that he had a taste of the legends of Moore House, he wanted to know everything. Every detail, no matter how minuscule.

“Well, Anabella inherited the house from her husband, of course, but she sold it a year later. A man by the name of William Smith bought the estate. He wanted to farm the land. Unfortunately, something happened every year to ruin his crop, and he lost money fast. The bank eventually foreclosed on him.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly strange,” Michael commented. “Stuff like that happens all the time.”

“True.” She smiled smugly. “William Smith seemed like an ordinary farmer to the outside world. However, some people believed he rode with Jesse James. In fact, there are rumors that Jesse James hid out at Moore House for a few weeks while a stubborn posse was trying to track him down.”

“Jesse James?” Michael smiled, remembering his boyhood fantasies concerning the historic outlaw. “Cool.”

“Yeah. They say Jesse hid in secret passages, but to my knowledge no one has ever found a hidden entryway. It’s probably bogus information. Just another rumor that grew into legend.”

“Have you seen the blueprints?”

“No,” she said. “They must have been lost a long time ago.”

“That’s too bad.”

As she continued to speak about the old mansion, Michael
found himself becoming more and more involved in the legends. Kelly was a natural storyteller and she obviously felt passionate about Moore House. Her face and tone were animated, drawing him in.

He found himself smiling, watching her face light up as she spoke. The urge to reach out and stroke her cheek grew stronger with every word she uttered. But touching her would mean interrupting the stories. His professional curiosity was piqued. He had to know about the people that Moore House had supposedly destroyed.

C
OLD FINGERS OF EXCITEMENT
mixed with fear of the unknown tingled Kelly’s spine. She felt she should be whispering the tales to Michael under a blanket while holding a flashlight. Or not talking about them at all. These stories, the darker side of them, still had the ability to frighten her. Although she didn’t believe in ghosts, she did believe in evil. She’d seen evil, had felt it as her mother turned on her with that scalding pot of water.

A tiny thrill came from talking about the legends. If Michael was going to marry her, live with her at Moore House, then he had every right to know the truth. She hoped he would come to appreciate the house as much as she did.

“William Smith sold off parts of the estate to try to keep his head above water,” she continued. “Ten acres here, another twenty there.” She shrugged. “That’s why the estate is so much smaller now.”

“Who bought the house after Smith?”

So he was bored with William Smith already. She felt as if she was losing her audience, but she knew how to kindle his interest. “It’s all right here.” Kelly turned a few pages of the book. “A rancher by the name of George Monroe bought it. He had three grown sons. One of them was married. The wife had an affair with one of the brothers. When her husband found out, he and his brother fought over her.
In the process, they fell over the banister where the stained angel is and both died.”

Michael cut in. “What happened to the girl?”

“George Monroe was overcome with grief. He had the girl hanged out back, from a branch of the tallest oak tree. Those were odd times. The father managed to convince the townspeople she was a witch and had put a spell on his sons.”

“That’s brutal.”

“Yes,” Kelly agreed. “It is.”

Next came her favorite owner of Moore House. “Monroe sold the place after his sons were killed. It stood empty for a short time. Then an heiress named Elizabeth Barrington bought it in the 1920s. She was young and beautiful, full of life. She threw the most lavish parties here. People came from all over the state to attend her gatherings.”

“I get the feeling something bad happened to her,” Michael said.

“Oh, yes. Elizabeth caught her boyfriend in bed upstairs with one of her closest friends during a party.”

“Ow.” Michael perched on the edge of the desk. His knee accidentally bumped Kelly’s thigh. A shock of recognition shot through her. She was more aware of him than ever before. With the awareness came uncertainty and a growing excitement.

She plunged on, continuing with the story. “Elizabeth killed her boyfriend using a silver candlestick.” Kelly took a deep breath before adding, “But people that were at the party claim the boyfriend and best friend weren’t even in the house at the time Elizabeth said she saw them together. Her boyfriend showed up late. Elizabeth took him straight upstairs with her. He probably thought he was in for some loving, but she killed him.”

“Were there any witnesses to the crime?” Michael asked.

“More than one. They caught her with the bloody can
dlestick in her hands. She dropped it, screamed and ran from the room, leaving her stunned guests to marvel at what she had done. They looked for her, searched the entire property.” Kelly shrugged. “No one ever found her. She disappeared. Eventually the house was auctioned off by the state to cover her debts.

“The next owner of Moore House was Walter Fuller. He was the alleged jewel thief. He was also the last owner before my grandfather.”

Michael shut the book, staring down at the Hall family crest as if waiting for it to speak. His dark, sultry eyes swung up to meet hers, filled with a hint of skepticism. “Amazing. So tell me, why would you want to live here now? After everything that’s happened?”

Kelly wrapped her arms around her middle and forced her eyes to focus on his. She would not let herself look down at the scars on her forearms.

“This is my home,” she stated. “I’m not afraid of a curse. I live here because I want to.”

“You’re hiding. Just like Jesse James.”

Hurt filled her chest. “Why are you being so mean?”

“I’m not.” He took her hand. “I’m sorry if it sounded that way to you.” He stood before her and brought her hand to his lips, kissing the tips of her fingers. “You are an incredibly beautiful woman. I just hate to see you lock yourself away in this fortress. You have so much to offer the world.”