Moonlight Wishes In Time (6 page)

Mattie shook her head
. These people were too trusting by far. There was no way she would ever let a stranger stay in her apartment. No way. They probably should have locked her up in a dungeon.

The hallway was dark
, too dark to see anything, and Mattie dashed back to grab the candle. She returned to the door and stuck her head and the candle out into the hallway.

As William had promised, his door was open a crack
. Surely enough time had passed that he must be asleep. She slid out from behind the door and stepped into the hallway, her trusty slippers quiet on the thick carpet.

Mattie hesitated
. If William were going to come dashing out of the bedroom to tackle her, he would do it now. She would be ready.

Silence
. Apparently, the handsome Mr. Sinclair was asleep. Mattie turned to the left toward the stairs and moved down the hallway, holding the candle high and wondering how she could avoid burning off her eyebrows with the silly thing.

She reached the top of the staircase and paused
. Still quiet. No servants arising before dawn to light fires and scrub stone floors. Or was that Cinderella?

Mattie rested a hand on the
smooth surface of the wooden railing and moved down the large staircase. The hall below seemed vast and dark, but little by little, the light from her candle broke through the shadows, revealing a large entryway with doors leading off in every direction. She reached the bottom step and contemplated her next move as her fingers absently roamed over the delicately carved wooden finial of the staircase in the shape of an acorn.

The flickering light of her candle reflected off the
highly polished wood floor. She looked up to see a large chandelier hung over the entryway. When fully lit, it promised to be stunning, as the crystal teardrops would cast a radiant glow around the room.

“Miss Crockwell, do you require something
? May I be of assistance?”

Mattie jumped and whirled around, barely hanging onto her candleholder
. Close behind her on the staircase stood William Sinclair, still dressed in shirt, waistcoat, trousers and shoes, but with loosened cravat. He had shed his coat. He rested a hand on the banister while he watched her carefully.

“Oh, I’m sorry
. I just wanted to see the house.” She wasn’t really sorry and didn’t really attempt to hide it.

“Can you not sleep
?” He stepped down onto the floor and took the candle from her, holding it aloft.

Mattie shoved her hands in her pockets and kept a wary eye on him
. He really looked exactly like the artist’s rendering of the hero on the cover of her book. The resemblance was uncanny. But she hadn’t anticipated the sparkle in his eyes from the flickering candle.

“No, not really
. I don’t know if I should,” she muttered.

He gave a short laugh
.

“You do not know if you should
? I am uncertain as to your meaning, Miss Crockwell.”

He didn’t wait for a response
.

“Please allow me to escort you to the study
. Since neither of us can sleep, we might have a small refreshment and discuss what is to be done with you.” He gave her a short bow and nodded in the direction of a door at the end of the entryway.

Mattie shuffled toward it
. William reached around her to open the door, and she stepped in. He followed her inside and shut the door quietly behind them. She moved to the middle of the room and turned around to watch him light the candles in several candelabras above the massive wooden mantle over the fireplace. The room sprang to life. Dark wood paneling gleamed with a high polish. Shelves filled with books covered three of the walls. Colorful landscape paintings adorned the open spaces between. Luxurious furniture dotted the room—a dark blue sofa and several gilt-edged chairs centered on the hearth flanked by gleaming wooden tables of mahogany. William led her toward the fireplace, settling her on the sofa before moving away to a sideboard.

“May I pour something for you
? Some Madeira, perhaps?”

Mattie recognized the name of the drink from her books
. She had no idea what it really was. Wine? Whiskey? She nodded, noting that he opened up another glass bottle and poured something different for himself.

“What are you having?”
She craned her neck to see what he was doing, surprising herself that she could talk to him in any rational fashion at all. He was the embodiment of the man of her fantasies, right down to the clothing. She swore the cover of the book showed William Ashton in the same yellow silk pantaloons.

“I shall have port, but that would be too strong for you,” William said.

He returned with two tulip-shaped glasses and handed her one with a generous portion of burgundy liquid before he settled himself in one of the chairs facing both her and the fireplace.

“Forgive my appearance,” he said in a politely formal tone
. “I heard your footsteps and thought it best to hurry after you before you found yourself in the cellar or some other such place.” He took a sip of his drink and gave her a small smile, albeit a wary one. “This is a large house. I was not certain you would find your way easily, nor was I certain of your destination.”

Mattie sighed inwardly at the curve of his lips
. A dimple in his chin fascinated her, its boyish vulnerability belying his conservative tone. Could the man be any more handsome? Thick, dark hair curled around the sides of his ears, an errant lock falling across his forehead. Mattie bit her lips together to suppress an idiotic grin. Had she just thought “an errant lock”? She forcibly prevented herself from rolling her eyes as she found herself slipping into the language of her historical romance novels.

“I’m not sure where I was going
. Just exploring.” She took a tentative sip of the Madeira. Never having been much of a drinker, she sputtered at the strong alcoholic taste of the drink. It seemed to burn its way down her esophagus to her stomach.

William leaned forward, his brow knotted in concern.

“Miss Crockwell, are you all right? May I offer you something else?” He reached for her glass, but she pulled away.

“Oh, no
. This is fine. I just don’t drink very much. It’s actually not too bad,” she murmured as she took another, still smaller sip of the potent fruity wine. “Oh, yes, that’s better,” she said with an appreciative nod.

She looked up to see William staring at her with a bemused expression
. The burning in her stomach had evolved into a warm sensation, and she pulled her legs up under her robe and relaxed against the back of the couch, suddenly feeling quite at one with the world. She swirled the rich liquid in her glass and sipped again. It was definitely getting better and better.

“Was it something I said?” she asked with a quirk of her eyebrow as he continued to stare.

He gave a start.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re staring at me, Mr. Sinclair.”

Mattie thought his cheeks bronzed, but who could tell in a room lit only by the romantic flicker of candles
?

“Forgive me
. I know it is rude, but I am not quite sure what to think about you, Miss Crockwell.” He relaxed into his chair, but Mattie noticed an unsteadiness to his hand as he raised his glass to his mouth.

Her lips twitched
. The poor man, she thought. He had no idea what to do with her, did he? She took pity on him.

“How can I help, Mr. Sinclair?” she asked.

“You could begin by telling me how you came to be here, Miss Crockwell,” he said.

Mattie shrugged with a nonchalance she didn’t feel
.

“I really don’t know
. You’ll think I’m crazy—which I know you do already—but one minute, I was on my balcony chatting with the moon…and the next thing I know, I woke up in your kitchen.”

“Is it a habit
where you come from to…em…
chat with the moon
?” His lips twitched despite the fact that he continued to regard her as a scientist might observe a specimen in a laboratory.

“Sometimes,” she said with a self-conscious smile
.

He dropped his eyes to his glass and studied it for a moment as
he twirled the liquid.

“I must confess to doing exactly that when I found you, Miss Crockwell
.” His expression, when he looked at her, seemed uncertain.

“What’s that?”

“Em…engaging in a conversation with the moon. Wishing on the moon, one could say,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders and a faint smile.

“Really
!” Mattie took a rather large swallow of her wine, enjoying the warmth in her throat. She felt quite cozy in the library at the moment, seated across from a gorgeous man who had the longest legs she’d ever seen, and who happened to also make wishes on the moon.

“And what were you wishing for, Mr. Sinclair, may I ask?” Mattie
asked, surprising herself again with her newfound boldness. Good gravy! Was she flirting? Shy, quiet Mattie? Who was lost in some sort of time warp?

William rose abruptly
.

“May I refill your glass?”

“Oh, yes, please. It’s lovely. Very fruity.” Mattie was faintly aware that her body had relaxed into a lounging position on the settee, one arm draped over the back, her legs extended down the length.

William returned with her glass and resumed his seat
. He tossed back another swallow, and Mattie followed suit.

“And so
, you were saying?” Mattie prompted, an imp egging her on.

“I beg your pardon?”

“About wishing on the moon? What could a handsome man like you, with obvious wealth”—she waved an airy hand about the room—“and comfort possibly need to wish for?”

A flicker of candlelight revealed a definite bronze tinge to his cheeks
. He crossed and re-crossed his legs.

“Many things, Miss Crockwell,” he prevaricated
. “What was it that
you
wished for?”

“Oh, you know, the usual things
.” Mattie knew he’d given her the slip, but her brain wasn’t working well enough to seize the moment.

“Yes
? The usual things? Such as?”

Mattie took another swallow of the pungent wine.

“Life, love, a handsome man in a cravat and yellow silk trousers—that sort of thing.”

He coughed, and Mattie thought he looked a bit startled
. Had she said something she shouldn’t have, she wondered? What had she said?

“I see,” he murmured with a slight smile
.

“Yes, I knew you would,” she mumbled as she took another gulp and slipped a little f
arther down on the settee. She wasn’t sure what he saw at the moment, but that was okay.

Through hazy eyes, she watched as W
illiam jumped up to retrieve the glass that dangled precariously from her limp fingers. She wouldn’t have dropped it, she thought.

“Miss Crockwell, are you unwell
?” He set her glass aside and bent to examine her with concern.

Mattie, feeling a complete lack of inhibition at the moment, reached for the ends of his cravat and pulled him towards her.

“I think I’m drunk, Mr. Sinclair. Kiss me now before I pass out.”

Mattie felt him attempt to pull away, but she didn’t seem to care at the moment.

“Madam! Miss Crockwell, please. This is most unseemly. I cannot take advantage.”

“Resistance is futile, Mr. Sinclair
.” She grinned at the hackneyed line, but it seemed so appropriate for the moment.

Mattie wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her
. To keep his balance, he went down on one knee at the edge of the settee. As his warm lips touched hers, Mattie sighed with the gloriousness of the kiss. Stars exploded, and she knew no more. 

****

Mattie opened her eyes to a faint gray light peeping into the room from around the edges of the heavy velvet drapes. She gasped and bolted upright, pushing aside the heavy coverlet. She looked down at her pajamas—a white cotton camisole and her favorite pink baggy flannel bottoms with a pattern of red and purple hearts. Where was her robe? A glance down the length of the bed showed it was draped across the foot. She turned to look at the pillow next to hers. Her last memory had been of kissing William. Well, mauling him, really. The pillow next to hers was plump. There was no sign anyone had slept on it the night before…or so she dearly hoped.

A stab of pain assaulted her head, and she pressed her palms to the sides of her skull
. She hadn’t had a hangover since her college days, more than five years ago. What had possessed her to drink so much? On an empty stomach? She certainly didn’t remember much after grabbing William’s cravat and kissing him. 

At the memory, Mattie slid back down onto the pillow, wishing she could ease the ache in her head, and even more desperate to erase the memory of forcing William to kiss her.