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One Writer's Way
Can they grasp this brief window in time before it’s too late? The blade is about to fall.
Two hundred years ago Captain Cole Wentworth, the master of an elegant Virginian home, was murdered in his chamber where his portrait still hangs. Presently the estate is a family owned museum run by Will Wentworth, a man so uncannily identical to his ancestor that spirit-sensitive tour guide Julia Morrow has trouble recognizing Cole and Will as separate. As Julia begins to remember the events of Cole’s death, she must convince Will that history is repeating, and this time he has the starring role in the tragedy. The blade is about to fall.
Lord, give him air. Julia had engulfed him in an irresistible tide. Her mouth...he must stop eyeing her enticing mouth. “Let’s see the gardens now.”
Like a soldier on drill, Will turned and walked swiftly out of the hall and into the passage that led to the front of the house. Julia practically had to sprint to keep pace with his ground-covering stride. The gentleman in him took over on autopilot and he stopped in the worn flagstone foyer before the paneled entrance.
He pushed open the white door embellished by the carving of colonial craftsmen and beckoned to her. “After you.”
“Thank you.” She walked across the threshold and onto the circular brick porch ringed with an iron railing.
The breeze had picked up with the approach of evening and lifted lengths of her long hair. Her already short skirt danced in the wind. The green-gold light spilled through the trees overhead and down across her blowing mane. His artist’s eye took in the glossy sheen of red, copper, and ginger reflecting the rays. As if this weren’t torment enough, Will glimpsed even more of her shapely legs, almost to her thighs with one gust.
Julia pushed the fabric back down, seemingly too absorbed in her surroundings even to notice. “Just smell that,” she sighed, inhaling deeply.
The warm scent from an avenue of ancient hedges filled the mild air. “Yes. I love the scent of Old English boxwood,” he said.
She flung her arms wide at the green expanse, knotted with herb gardens, and stretching down to the gently lapping river. “Magnificent!”
Will felt weak and emboldened in one, as if he wanted to lunge with a sword and stagger from a punishing blow.
An inner voice whispered, Julia’s back.
What did that have to do with him, he argued.