He’d claimed her just now.
And it was also a lie, because they could never be.
They stayed locked like that for an eternity, or perhaps only a few moments, it was impossible to tell in the dark.
She collapsed against him, her ear to his chest. John took entirely too much delight in wrapping one of her ringlets around his finger, uncurling it, and starting again.
Finally, after the silence had stretched between them for too long, she said, “I can feel your heart beating.”
“Really?” he murmured. Because he could only feel it breaking.
She sat up, miraculously still joined with him as she blinked languidly with her doe-bright eyes. “But you’re not—returned. I can feel you fading. I can see that you’re diminished.”
She swallowed what he knew was a lump of tears and summoned a brave smile for him, even though anguish shined in her eyes.
“I know.” He lifted his knuckles to run them against her downy cheek, realizing that he could almost see her skin through his hand. He was tied to the ring, and it had given him precious time…
But it wouldn’t be enough to keep her.
Slowly, with infinite care, he finally got around to undressing her. His fingers appreciating every button, buckle, and clasp. Delighting in every slip of skin he uncovered.
She lifted off him and they found a fresh ewer and towel left by the innkeepers, and washed themselves before sliding into bed like a couple long used to each other’s nearness.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He tucked her against him, her back to his front, and he rested his head in his hand so he could gaze down at her. Commit her face to his memory.
For who knew if he would ever see her again after tonight?
She snuggled into him with unabashed relish, greedily drawing from his warmth.
“You should rest,” he murmured. Pressing a kiss to her temple as she covered a yawn with the backs of her knuckles.
“I’m not going to sleep,” she mumbled, her eyes opening a little less each time she blinked. “I’m not going to miss one moment with you.”
“I know,” he said against her hairline. Pressing little love kisses to her eyebrows. Her lids, feathering his lips across them, tasting the salt of the tears she refused to let fall. He didn’t want to say goodbye, either.
“Will you do something for me, Vanessa?”
“Anything.”
He slid the ring that belonged on his pinky onto her ring finger. “Return this ring to Lioncross Abbey for me. Perhaps it can put me to final rest.”
She curled her fingers into a fist. “Perhaps, if I keep the ring with me, I’ll keep you, too,” she slurred, half asleep. “You could be my ghost. You could haunt me.”
Somehow, he knew it wouldn’t work, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her so. His fingers worked over her face, as if learning her features like a blind man. Smoothing at her brows with featherlight touches until her jaw cracked on a yawn.
“Don’t make me sleep.” She fought it valiantly as a recalcitrant toddler. “I haven’t shown you your photograph yet. The glass negative.”
“Tomorrow.” He said the word like a promise. A promise he already knew he would break. “I love you, Vanessa.”
She mumbled something he thought might be the reply he hoped for. It didn’t matter. As much as he desired her heart, he also wanted it free. Because she would live the most extraordinary life, and he was just lucky to be a part of it for one memorable solstice night.
Chapter Eight
Christmas Day—Lioncross Abbey
Vanessa let out a violent sneeze as she once more descended into the dust of the de Lohr crypts, her body and her heart recoiling from what she was about to do.
She’d infiltrated the de Lohr crypt, a monolithic cavern beneath the granite cliffs upon which the incomparable stones of Lioncross Abbey lorded over lush and verdant lands.
If the noble family had been in residence, there’d be signs of life, but as she circled the grounds on horseback, she’d spied none. No gas lamps lit the predawn light, nor did even so much as a drape twitch in the tower.
The castle itself was an impenetrable fortress, but sometime over the past hundred years or so, an enterprising Earl had added on a lavish manner home to the keep and landscaped it in such a way that the gardens at Versailles would weep with envy.
The crypts, fortunately for her, were situated on a dark corner of the grounds and were accessible enough