Wandering Soul (6 page)

“Where shall we begin?”

Elsa had been staring again. He was polite enough not to mention it, so neither did she. She had to get herself under control.

“How about the library?”

Some rooms hadn't changed much in a century. Her library was full of books and the dining room held a table and chairs. They spent a long time in the entertainment room, talking about movies and television shows and the technology that brought entertainment so effortlessly into people's homes. Dante seemed willing to stand there holding Elsa while she explained everything, but she insisted he at least set her on the couch for that part of the tour.

He was particularly interested in how the remotes worked and asked for a demonstration. His eyes widened in wonder as the first images appeared on the screen. She convinced him to wait to actually start watching something until after they'd gone through the rest of the house. She was eager to show him the studio and the gardens outside, wondering if he'd love them as much as she did.

She steeled her resolve before he picked her up this time. She would not lean into him, no matter how strong his chest felt. She would not melt into his arms, even though they gave her the first glimmer of what it might be to feel safe.

The French double doors that led into the converted solarium were just down the hall. She waited for Dante to pause in front of the doors before saying, “I saved the best for last. This is the studio.”

It was more than a studio, though. It was her sanctuary, her most holy ground. She reached down and opened the doors, watching Dante's face as he took in the room for the first time.

It was her deepest dream that the two of them would eventually spend many hours here together, whether working on a shared project or on their own. The openness of the room might be too much for Dante at first after spending so much time in the basement of his father's theatre. She didn't want to push him too far too fast.

The exterior walls and the ceiling of the studio were made up of windows. In the bright afternoon sun, every inch of the room was illuminated with natural light. Flowers and greenery pressed against the steamy glass on the far wall.

Dante walked to the center of the room, spinning in a slow circle. His gaze rested first on the easels in the painting corner, then passed to the workbenches where sculpting tools were set up. Against the interior wall, there was a sewing corner with a dress form and shelves filled with fabrics, paints, clays and every kind of tool for creativity that Elsa could think of. Her writing desk was nestled against the wall of windows.

“Do you like it?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

A soft smile played at his lips, and his eyes were wide with wonder. “In the past few days, I have managed to convince myself that I had not died and moved to the afterlife.” His voice was low and reverent. “In this room, I find myself questioning that once again, for I can hardly conceive of a more lovely paradise than this.”

Elsa's heart seemed to explode in her chest. Visions of them spending time together in this room played out in her mind like a kaleidoscope. They would leave the second set of doors open to the patio to enjoy the breeze and have tea outside when they needed to let their creative energies replenish.

She imagined them walking through the garden, arm in arm. They would pause beneath the climbing roses. Dante would take the opportunity to lean down to kiss her…

She shook her head to clear it of the last part of her fantasy. He was relying on her to introduce him to this new world. She couldn't—wouldn't—let herself cloud his experiences with her own selfish desires. Besides, if she let herself fall in love with him, she would ruin any chance they had of being friends. She wanted him in her life forever. Passion had a way of burning out, leaving only ash and destruction behind.

“Are you all right?” He frowned down at her, his brow furrowed. His eyes were almost gray against the robin's-egg blue of the afternoon sky behind him.

She forced herself to smile and shook her head. “I'm fine.”

Dante didn't seem appeased. He carried her to the nearest chair, at her writing desk, and finally set her down.

“If you would please indulge me,” Dante said. “It would not do for you to have a relapse of your earlier condition. Neither Winston nor Garrett would forgive me if I let that happen while you were in my care.”

He knelt in front of her so she didn't have to crane her neck to look up at him.

“I'm supposed to be taking care of you,” she said.

“You have already done more for me than anyone in my life.”

“I don't think that's true.”

“My life has not been filled with kindness, apart from the blessing of my mother.” There was no bitterness to his tone, only a sad resignation.

“What about Heinrich?” Elsa realized her mistake just as the words slipped from her lips, but it was too late. She couldn't take them back.

Dante paused for a beat too long. Suspicion clouded his eyes. “What do you know of Heinrich?”

Elsa knew more about Heinrich than Dante could imagine. She'd only stumbled across Dante because of her fascination with his parents. She had never seen two people more in love.

It took years and a considerable amount of money, but Elsa had collected all the art that she knew touched their lives just in the hopes of seeing a couple who were kind to one another rather than violent. It was so drastically different from her parents and all the men that came after her father.

How could she possibly explain all that without driving Dante away? She figured she didn't have to worry about him leaving. Dante had nowhere to go. He was trapped with her.

She was too familiar with what that felt like. She vowed once more to help him establish himself in her world, to achieve independence. Knowledge was easy to provide for him. A legal identity was another matter.

He stood and took a step back, but she grabbed his hands and said, “There's more I need to tell you.”

What would he say if she bared her soul to him and told him everything? The only other time she'd confided with someone, things had gone horribly wrong, and Dante had much more reason to be upset. Elsa had never felt like a voyeur before, but she'd also never spoken to anyone she observed during her travels. Her entire body was trembling, reminding her that the wounds she had suffered as a child weren't just to her heart.

“You should rest,” Dante said. “We can discuss this later.”

She let out a huge sigh, grateful for the temporary reprieve. She still felt like she might be sick, but it was passing. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against the backs of his hands.

“Perhaps I should call Garrett,” Dante said.

“No, I want you.” Elsa's face tingled with embarrassment. “I mean, I want us to be alone so I can answer your questions. About this time, not… Not how I brought you here.”

She glanced up at him, hoping she had covered for letting that slip out. He regarded her silently for a few moments.

“If you are certain you are well enough.” His voice softened. “I would like that as well.”

Chapter Seven

If Elsa had not explained herself, Dante would have thought he misheard. As it was, the haste with which she spoke, coupled with the way she clung to him, conveyed her desire more clearly than any words. She wanted him near her, though he still had not determined why.

“There's a lounge chair outside.” She gestured to the thick foliage beyond the windows. “Maybe we could sit in the garden for a bit?”

An urge that he could not suppress overcame him, and he reached forward, scooping her up into his arms again. She gasped, but smiled as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He was growing accustomed to having her next to him, feeling her embrace. He found himself smiling back at her.

The fact that she seemed not only to not mind his proximity, but perhaps even enjoy it was one of the most novel things of all about this new world. Dante doubted anything in his previous life could have been as satisfying as Elsa's soft exhalation as she leaned against his chest. Her tremors subsided as he held her.

Another double set of doors led to the garden, much like the ones between the house and solarium. A key rested in the lock of the right-hand door. Elsa reached down to turn it, then pressed the handle. The door swung open onto a stone patio surrounded by lush green plants adorned with brightly colored flowers.

The studio seemed like Heaven, with resources to dabble in so many of the creative arts. But if the studio was paradise, then surely this was the Garden of Eden. Dante stepped out into the bright afternoon light.

Warm gray bricks spread out in a path before him that opened up into a circle like a stone sun. He could see several paths trailing out from that center, with vivid greens and beautiful flowers embracing them. Everywhere he turned, Dante saw color. Beautiful, glorious color. All spectacularly illuminated by the sun.

He lifted his face to the cerulean sky, watching clouds as thick as cotton drift lazily across the horizon. Emerald grass stretched out beyond the garden, ending in copses of bizarrely shaped trees.

Even while traveling with the circus with his mother, Dante had never left the cities where they performed. He'd never been to the country, had never even dared to venture to a park. But here, there was quite literally an entirely new vista.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Elsa said, drawing his attention back to her.

He wondered how even that magnificent view could have distracted him from the beautiful woman in his arms. The light caught every strand of her hair, making it shine more brightly than any gold he had ever seen. Her eyes were honey-brown in the sun. The color had returned to her lips, a rich heliotrope.

Once more, he had the urge to gently trace his thumb across her lips. They parted as he stared at her, and the desire flared, quickly spreading to other parts of his body. His hands were busy holding Elsa. Perhaps he could brush her lips with his own…

She cleared her throat and said, “The chairs are right over there.”

“Of course.” Dante's voice came out a bit breathless.

He walked into the sunburst pattern of stone. Just across from the patio doors, several chairs flanked a table with an enormous umbrella sprouting from its center. He gently placed her in the lounge chair and then set about adjusting the umbrella to make sure that she was protected from the afternoon sun. When he was satisfied, he sat in a chair opposite her, hoping to marshal his thoughts with the help of some distance.

“If you sit in the sun, you'll burn.” She reached to the nearest chair and weakly pulled it toward her in the shade. “Come sit next to me.”

His theory that she enjoyed being close to him was gaining strength by the moment. Dante sought to test it further, watching her expression as he pushed the chair nearer, turning it so they would face each other. As he sat, her smile deepened, her eyes crinkling up at the corners.

She enjoyed his company. He still had no idea as to why. She had all of time from which to choose companions. Why him?

She drew him from his musings. “How is the encyclopedia set working for you?”

“Quite well, thank you. The knowledge within them is beyond remarkable.” This was an excellent topic. Focusing on his learning would distract him from the fullness of her lips, the thin fabric of the revealing shirt she wore.

“What's your favorite thing you've read about so far?”

“It is difficult to choose.”

“Well, what stands out to you?”

Dante looked over the grounds, soaking in the rich scent of earth and the heat from the patio stones. The sensations relaxed him as he tried to formulate his thoughts.

“I read the books covering transportation. I could scarcely believe the section on airplanes, though the physics behind them was clearly explained. However, there was nothing regarding…”

Elsa's face had paled, her forehead pinched above the delicate slope of her nose. Though he would feel better once he understood how she had brought him here, he could not bring himself to strain her further.

“Forgive me. We were not to speak of this.”

“No, it's okay.” She began chewing on her lower lip—a subconscious habit he'd noticed when she was worried. “You won't find time travel in those books.”

Dante kept his voice as gentle as he could. He did not wish to frighten her away now that she seemed willing to broach the topic. “I take it the occurrence is uncommon?”

“I'm the only person alive that I know of who can do it.”

“But you keep your ability secret, so how can you be sure?”

“If anyone else can do it, they're smart to keep it to themselves.”

He reflected on her words, the vehemence and utter hopelessness with which she spoke. As advanced as this time was, the instinct to persecute others was deeply ingrained in the human psyche. Dante was well acquainted with this. Nothing would inspire fear in people's hearts faster than something they did not understand.

“You have not even told your friends?”

“No one else can know. Please.”

“I will keep your secrets.”

She let out a deep sigh, her smile returning. “Thank you.”

She shifted the conversation back to the encyclopedia set and how well he was assimilating the information. Apparently, the subject of time travel was closed once more.

Dante barely minded. He settled back in his chair to enjoy the conversation and the beautiful view. His gaze did not stray from Elsa.

Chapter Eight

The shadow of the umbrella slowly drifted across the patio while Elsa and Dante talked. She watched him rearrange it several times to keep them in the shade. The third time, she said, “It must be getting close to tea time. We should go help Winston.”

“I will assist him,” Dante said. “You need to rest.”

“I can at least come along.”

“The sun and fresh air seem to be doing you good. We should make use of them while we can.”

“If we're out too much longer, we'll have to light the citronella candles and turn on the box fan in the studio to keep the mosquitoes away.”

“I promise, I will only be a moment.”

She smiled and nodded, even though she didn't like the idea of him leaving her behind. Who knew what kind of questions Winston would ask. It made her heart beat faster to contemplate, but she knew she would have to trust Dante not to tell people her secret.

They were still in the honeymoon period of their relationship, getting to know each other. Eventually, the novelty would wear off and they would need more time to themselves. Time with others. She couldn't be with him constantly. But she could enjoy their time together now.

The afternoon had passed with a dreamlike quality. They didn't just talk about what he was learning, but about art and creativity itself. He was turning out to be even more amazing than she had expected. Considerate, kind, intelligent, artistic. He was everything she wanted and couldn't let herself have.

Dante stood, but paused before he left. His lips parted as if he was about to say something, but instead, he gently lifted Elsa's hand and kissed her knuckles so softly she barely felt his lips.

Fire flooded her body. His warm breath on her skin was like a spark set to kindling longing for a flame. Dante released her hand as he stood, and she had to stifle the urge to reach out to him. He bowed, then walked briskly through the studio doors, as if he was as eager to return as she was to see him again.

Elsa couldn't take her eyes off of him as he left. His broad shoulders perfectly offset his tapered waist. His legs were long, his backside… She should not be thinking about his backside. Or any side of him. Not while drooling, anyway.

Closing her eyes, she leaned back in the lounge chair, taking deep, steady breaths. She had not brought Dante to her time so that they could have a relationship. Well, other than a lasting friendship she hoped they'd develop. He needed to be free to do as he wished with whomever he wished.

There were plenty of women in her time that would be just as flattered by his attentions. He needed to know he had a choice. He needed to be completely independent if there was ever a chance for something more between him and Elsa. Otherwise, she would never know if what he felt was love or gratitude.

He had already said he felt indebted to her, and a sense of obligation would be the worst of all. Her heart bunched up in her chest, reality crushing her dreams underfoot like an empty tin can.

Dante would never be independent. He had no identification, and Elsa had no idea how to get him any. It was the one part of her plan she hadn't been able to figure out. Ironically, she had run out of time.

She could sense that the moments in his life that she could connect with through the ring were almost used up. She couldn't visit the same moment twice. When she had seen he was about to die, she had to bring him back right then.

She didn't know what to do. Even broaching the topic would raise questions about who Dante was, where he had come from, and most importantly, how he had arrived. If the wrong person found out, they would both wind up in a lab.

If he decided he wanted reconstructive surgery when she told him about it, who knew what his bloodwork would show. Elsa had already tested the waters with Garrett to see if Dante sounded like a good candidate, but even if she paid the bill, Dante would still need identification before anyone would operate on him.

There were too many variables, too many things she couldn't control. She closed her eyes, pushing all the thoughts away. He was here, now. He was safe. She would keep him that way.

Imagining them as a couple was a dangerous dream to have in the first place. She knew firsthand the harsh realities of how relationships could change people—bring out the worst in them. She needed to keep that reality as a shield, to protect herself from wanting too much, from hoping for more.

She could dream up as many “happily ever after” endings involving Dante as she wanted. But he was a real human being, with human failings. A human temper.

“Elsa! Are you okay?”

Elsa jumped at the unexpected voice coming from the side of the house. She glanced over at the path to see Rachel running toward her.

This was a nightmare. Rachel was Elsa's chattiest friend. As Jazz's assistant in the gallery, Rachel's outgoing nature was useful. When trying to keep something private, she was the last person Elsa would want to involve.

The white of Rachel's jeans was blinding in the late afternoon sun. A matching white purse was slung over her shoulder, and she wore a pale blue blouse that was almost the same color as her eyes. With the addition of her perfect features and supermodel height, she was absolutely stunning.

“Garrett said you were sick. Are you sick?” She pulled Dante's chair closer to Elsa and sat.

“I've felt better.” Elsa smiled and pulled herself up higher in the lounge chair. Rachel grabbed Elsa's hand and squeezed it, her enthusiastic grip chasing away the last lingering sense of Dante's gentle touch.

The sooner Elsa could get Rachel to go home, the better. Dante would be back any moment, and if Rachel saw him, the questions would be nonstop. Elsa didn't have the answers ready yet.

“Is there anything I can do for you? What do you need?”

Rachel was in full manic mode, her exuberance seeming to suck up all the energy in the area. Normally, her awe of pretty much everything was endearing. At the moment, it was sapping Elsa of what little strength she had recovered.

“I think what I need most right now is rest.” She hoped Rachel would get the message and leave.

Elsa should have known better.

“Let me keep you company, then. I haven't seen you in so long.”

That much was true. Rachel had been conspicuously absent for a couple of months. Now that she had brought this to Elsa's attention, her curiosity was piqued.

“Why is that?”

“I'm not supposed to say.” Rachel looked at the ground, her expression as sad as if she was five and had just dropped her ice cream cone. Then a smile spread across her face, her mood switching so quickly it made Elsa dizzy. “But I can trust you to keep a secret.”

If only she knew…

Rachel scooted her chair even closer to Elsa, beaming. Whatever this new secret was, Rachel was over the moon about it.

“I met someone.”

“I should have guessed.” Elsa smiled and asked, “And who is this new love of yours?”

“I'm not supposed to say.” Rachel's gaze once more trailed off toward the ground. This sad look vanished even faster than the first. “He's an artist! He has a new exhibit opening at the gallery soon.”

“You know Jazz doesn't like it when you date the artists displaying at her gallery.”

“Yes, but all the best artists display there. No one can discover the next hot trend like Jazz can. His career will be spectacular with her help.”

“Just remember your own career. You can learn a lot more from Jazz than from one of her clients.”

“How can you be so unromantic when you've written a dozen bestselling romance novels?”

Rachel dropped Elsa's hand and leaned back, pouting. Elsa knew men were often devastated by that look. Luckily, she was immune. Arching an eyebrow, she scowled until Rachel looked away.

Rachel's tone was a bit petulant when she said, “I wouldn't have gotten involved with him if I didn't think it was serious.”

“Rachel, you always think it's serious. Remember when you dated that bicycle delivery guy for a week and started picking out china patterns?”

“Hello, I'm an interior designer. Anyway, that was different. That guy was totally wrong for me. This one is an artist. An artist!”

Elsa sighed. From the breathy way Rachel said the word, it was obvious he wasn't just an artist. He was what Rachel thought of as
an artist
. Which meant he was probably one of the most sensitive, moody, temperamental men that Elsa would ever have the misfortune to meet. She'd met artists Rachel dated before and hadn't liked any of them. She especially disliked how they treated Rachel.

Torn between encouraging Rachel to leave and making sure she wasn't getting into yet another bad relationship, Elsa said, “Maybe we can have lunch next week and talk about it.”

“Oh no. I don't think I can get away with that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he's a very private person. No one's supposed to know that we're dating. In fact, he doesn't know that I'm here visiting you.” Rachel gave an impish grin. “He thinks I'm running an errand for Jazz. And technically, I am. I just decided to take a little detour on my way to the contractor.”

Elsa's stomach gave a sudden sideways lurch, the hair on her arms standing on end like a live wire had passed too close to her skin. “He doesn't want you talking to your friends?”

“He's kind of figured out that I have a little bit of trouble keeping things to myself.” She shrugged her slender shoulders as if that made it all right.

“Rachel, that's part of who you are,” Elsa said. “Has he ever thought of just not telling you things he doesn't want other people to know?”

“Hey!”

“Well? This guy can't expect to keep you in a cage so you don't ever talk to anyone. You're a people person. If this guy can't appreciate you for who you are, he's not right for you.”

“You don't even know him.”

“The people who really love you figure out how to let you be you while maintaining the relationship.”

At that moment, Dante emerged from the studio doors, carrying a tray with a pitcher of iced tea, two glasses and some cookies.

“I trust you will enjoy…” His voice trailed off as he saw Rachel sitting at Elsa's side.

Elsa couldn't help but wonder what Rachel looked like to him. She was petite, her flaxen hair hanging around her face in waves that seemed as wild as her spirit, yet somehow not at all disheveled. And she had the blue eyes that were supposed to go with blonde hair, along with the creamy complexion and rosy cheeks.

Rachel also knew how to dress, and Elsa realized with a shock of embarrassment that Dante had only seen her in pajamas since that first night at the theatre. She reached up and straightened her tank top self-consciously. Rachel was so much better at being blonde than Elsa was.

Rachel seldom used her looks purposefully, but when she did, it was devastating. She knew just how to pout, just how to veil her eyes, and just how to swish her hips to get any man's complete attention whenever she wanted it. It had never bothered Elsa before, but now, with Dante staring at both of them at the same time, she felt completely outclassed.

Not that it should matter to her. What did matter was Rachel's inevitable reaction to Dante.

Rachel turned around slowly in her chair, her gaze scanning his clothes, his face and his mask. Even the way he stood set him apart from other men. No one's posture was that good anymore.

“Oh my God,” Rachel said. “You're finally writing the book!”

Rachel let out a squeal that was closer to a shriek, clapping her hands as she leapt up from her chair and practically skipped across the patio. Dante frowned as she ran in circles around him, like an over-excited terrier.

Elsa started to swing her legs over the side of her seat, but Dante quickly crossed to her, Rachel trailing behind. He set his tray on the table, then lifted Elsa's legs back onto the lounge chair. “Elsa, you know you are supposed to be resting.”

Elsa could hear the strain in his voice.

Rachel let out another squeal. “Oh my God. Where did you find this guy? He's perfect!”

“Rachel…” Elsa warned.

But the momentum of Rachel's excitement would not be denied. Dante turned to face Rachel, blocking her path to Elsa almost protectively. Elsa felt a flutter in her stomach at the thought.

“Is he from the theatre?” Rachel asked. “From the play you've been going to every weekend? I bet that's it.”

“Rachel!”

Elsa's tone must have snapped Rachel a bit back to reality. She finally tore her eyes away from Dante and glanced at Elsa.

Elsa took a deep breath before speaking. “This is Dante. He's a friend who will be staying with me for a while. And I'm sure he doesn't like being ogled like that.”

“Then he shouldn't be so gorgeous!” Rachel said, smiling as she sat back down in one of the chairs at the table.

Dante looked like he'd been slapped. He took in a sharp breath, every vertebra perfectly stacked atop each other, but didn't say anything.

He probably thought Rachel was teasing him, playing a cruel joke, like Giselle often had. But flirting came as naturally to Rachel as breathing, and she really did have a point. Dante was absolutely gorgeous. Elsa's heart sank a little, as she added that to the list of things he needed to realize before she would consider him independent.

“Are you an actor from the play Elsa funded? Are you helping her with her book?”

Elsa stifled a groan. She was going to tell Dante about all of this, but not now. Not like this. Elsa was desperate to make Rachel stop.

“Rachel, please. Leave him be.”

“I am here to help Elsa in whatever way I can,” Dante said, his voice smooth, but with a cold evenness that Elsa had only heard him use with people from his time. People who had tormented him.

“Wow, you even sound like him.”