PHANTOM IN TIME (33 page)

At
home, she ran upstairs to Gran's room. The door was ajar, and she spotted
Isabella at the dressing table putting on makeup!

Bella's
mouth dropped open at the sight. “Gran, are you all right?” she asked, stepping
inside the room.

Isabella
turned to smile at her granddaughter. “I'm having such a good day, I thought
I'd go watch you sing tonight.”

Bella
smiled, noting that Gran did appear perkier than usual, her dark eyes gleaming
and her cheeks even showing a hint of color. “Well, you do look better. You're
sure you're up to an outing?”

Isabella
nodded. “Yetta will come along to help. What's going on with you, young lady?
You're all flushed, as if you've just made some grand discovery.”

“You're
reading my mind, as always,” replied Bella. She crossed the room, pulled out
the article, kissed Gran's forehead, then handed the copy to her. “Look. I've
discovered the actual date of Jacques's LeFevre's murder—and it's less than a
week away.”

“A
week away?” Isabella questioned with a perplexed frown.

Bella
laughed. “Oh, I should have explained. You see, time has been passing
concurrently for me in both the past and the present.”

“Ah,
how fascinating.” Putting on her reading glasses, Isabella unfolded the article
and read it with a scowl.

“What
do you think, Gran?”

The
old woman tapped the piece of paper with a slim finger. “My dear, I think he is
the one for you. I can tell just by looking at his picture. I think you must go
back in time again and prevent this murder—although you must be careful not to
place yourself in peril, of course.”

Tensely,
Bella asked, “You are sure of this?”

Gran
nodded solemnly, handing Bella back the article.

“But
. . .” Bella slowly shook her head. “I don't understand any of this!
How
will I get back to Jacques?”

“The
kaleidoscope will take you there, I'm sure,” Gran assured her. “Isn't that how
it happened before? And haven't you told me you've seen Jacques's ghost again
lately? Surely he's about to take you away again.”

Bella
frowned. “I suppose.”

Isabella
squeezed Bella's hand. “Just continue going to the theater, and you'll end up
where you're meant to be.”

“But,
Gran, this is tearing me apart. I can't leave you!”

“My
dear, what I want the most for you is your own happiness. You'll never find it
unless you overcome your fear and embrace your true destiny. I know now that
you must do so in the past—it's the only place you've been able to give full
rein to your voice.”

Bella
wiped away a tear. “But you won't be able to hear me.”

Isabella
regarded her granddaughter with utter love. “I'll hear you, darling, of that
you may be certain. Even if it's from the gates of heaven . . .”

***

That
night, Bella stood at the back of the stage in her Victorian costume, Gran's
brooch of Cupid and Psyche pinned at her neck. As she sang “After the Ball”
with the chorus, she smiled at Gran, who sat in the front row next to Yetta.
How she wished she could sing a solo for Gran tonight, but as Isabella had said
she seemed able to fully express her voice only in the past.

Was
Gran right? Did her destiny lie in the past? Was she truly meant to become a
diva, to spend her life in another time singing with Jacques? But how could
this be unless she could overcome
all
her fear . . . and save him?

Bella
had placed the Xerox regarding Jacques's murder in the pocket of her costume,
just in case she might make her way back to him tonight. Perhaps such proof
that he was about to be murdered—indeed, that she had traveled through
time!—could bring him to his senses.

The
number ended, and the kaleidoscope began to whirl. Dizziness staggered Bella,
and she wobbled toward the wings—

All
at once she paused as she heard Jacques's voice, singing, “Love's Old Sweet
Song.” Rapture lit her heart. She recognized these feelings, these sensations,
the whirl of light that was about to sweep her into its vortex and carry her
away! She suddenly knew in her soul that she was about to return to him—and,
oh, she wanted to!

Even
as the thought flitted through her mind, Bella found herself spinning away. She
heard Jacques whisper, “Sing for me, Bella,” and she reached out for him,
calling his name. At last she came to a halt in the darkness, and felt a man's
arms slip around her—

Was
it Jacques? Oh, such joy!

The
lights went up again. Blinking, Bella found herself standing in the St. Charles
Opera House a hundred years back in time. The spectators, clad in Victorian
attire, were clapping. She also heard the roaring of thunder and the pounding
of rain on the theater roof. Lord, it hadn't been raining back in the present!

Glancing
at the man who held her, she gasped as she recognized not Jacques but Andre
Delgado, who appeared very pleased at her abrupt appearance and was grinning
down at her lecherously.

Oh,
Lord, which number had she interrupted
this
time? Before Bella could
ponder further, the orchestra swelled with a poignant Saint Saens intro, and
Andre began serenading her with the opening strains of “My Heart at Thy Sweet
Voice.“

The
song, although not sung by Jacques, stirred Bella deeply. Despite the
awkwardness of her arrival in another man's arms, she felt a flood of
overwhelming bliss to know she had found her way back to Jacques, that he must
be near, that she must sing for him, just as he had bid, that she must express
all the emotions welling in her heart for him. Thus on the refrain, her
powerful, exultant voice rose with Andre's.

Andre's
face came alive with pleasure when Bella's voice joined his. The two sang
several brilliant choruses together, Bella's soprano blending beautifully with
Delgado's deep baritone. They finished their duet to thunderous applause and
many bravos. Bella smiled tremulously at the audience, only to gasp when Andre
leaned over and kissed her passionately. The crowd went crazy, stomping and
cheering, while Bella was mortified, sickened by the unwanted kiss, trying
without success to wrest herself from Andre's salacious embrace.

At
last he released her, winking at her wickedly. Panting in outrage, Bella narrowly
resisted an urge to slap his arrogant face. She turned on her heel and stormed
into the wings—

She
all but collided with Jacques, who stood before her in white-faced fury.

“Jacques!”
she cried in delight. “Thank God you're still alive and I've made my way back
to you!”

Jacques
grabbed her wrist in his steely grip. “Where in hell have you been, you
heartless hussy?” he demanded in an enraged whisper. “Do you realize I've been
going insane with worry these past days, to the point of insisting the authorities
drag the river for your body?”

She
blanched at his harsh tone. “Jacques, I—”

But
once again his vengeful voice cut her off. “And what in hell do you think you
were just doing, singing a duet with that scoundrel Andre Delgado? And kissing
him!”

“It
was just—I mean the song—”

In
his rage he remained heedless. “You're coming with me,” he snapped, dragging
her into the corridor.

Chapter Thirty

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You're
coming with me.

It was
like that other time, only now Jacques was consumed not by passion but by rage.
He was dragging her out, not into the balmy night but into the driving rain.

“Where
are you taking me?” she cried, her words all but drowned out by the deluge as
she struggled to wrest her wrist out of his strong grip.

He
merely tightened his hold on her. “To my town house. We must talk.”

Flinging
globs of hair from her eyes with her free hand, Bella fumed at his
high-handedness. “You arrogant beast! You're not taking me anywhere against my
will.”

“Watch
me.” With that, Jacques heaved her over a shoulder and headed toward his
carriage, which was parked in a porte cochère at the rear of the alleyway.

With
the rain pelting her, her stomach feeling as if it had been punched, and blood
rushing to her face, Bella was about as comfortable as a sack of potatoes
dunked in a well. Breathless, infuriated, soaked to the skin, she pounded on
Jacques's back, to no avail. Seconds later, she was unceremoniously dumped on
the seat of his carriage. She heard him shout an order to Luis, then he joined
her inside and slammed the door.

Bella
was struggling to breathe. “Let me out of here!”

In
the darkness, his eyes gleamed with anger and his voice was harsh. “No.”

Bella
made a dive for the door—

Jacques
caught her wrist, glowering at her as the vehicle sped off. “No, Bella! The
carriage is moving and you'll be hurt.”

She
flounced back and glared at him. “Then make the coachman stop and let me out.”

“No.”

Enraged,
Bella lunged again for the door. With a blistering curse, Jacques seized both
her forearms and forced her back into her seat.

“Stop
it, Bella! You're scaring the hell out of me! We're going to my home, and
whether you like it or not, we're going to have this out. Furthermore, try to
fling yourself from a moving carriage again, and, by damn, I'll—”

Heedless
of his warning, Bella made a third attempt to grab the door handle. This time
she found herself seized and hurled facedown across Jacques's lap. She felt his
hand slam down on her bottom—

She
could not believe it! The cad was spanking her! Raging at the indignity, Bella
struggled like a madwoman, kicking and screaming, but Jacques held her fast and
swatted her at least half a dozen times!

“Let
me go!” she shrieked.

His
hand hesitated. “Will you promise not to try to fling yourself out of this
carriage again?”

“Hell,
no!”

He
swatted her again, hard, and she yelled her fury over the sting of mortifying
tears.

“Will
you promise?” he reiterated, his voice more daunting than the thunder.

“Yes!”
she cried.

At
last Jacques released her. Trembling, Bella clambered onto the other seat,
stared at his taut features and blazing dark eyes. Humiliated to the core, she
struggled not to disgrace herself by sobbing. “You beast! I hate you! And to
think I was worried about abandoning you—you big bully.”

“So
now I'm the bastard?” he asked, incredulous. “You left me—for four damn days,
woman! I've been losing my mind with worry. You told me you would
never
sing for me again! Now you reappear as if nothing has happened, and sing your
heart out for that lecher Andre Delgado—and then you kiss him in full view of
the audience!”

Tears
were spilling from Bella's eyes, and her throat was burning. “I sang for
you,
Jacques,” she choked out, shuddering.

For
a moment he seemed to waver, his features blanching with anguish and
uncertainty. Then outrage once again tightened his expression. “Oh, you did,
did you? And who in hell do you think you kissed?”

“He
kissed me, damn it!”

“That's
not how it looked to me!”

“Oh,
leave me alone!” Bella cried helplessly, turning away, curling up into a ball
on the seat and sobbing.

She
heard him groan.
“Chérie,
please don't cry,” he beseeched.

“Go
to hell!”

She
felt him sliding next to her onto the seat. “No!” she exclaimed, trying to
shove him away.

Heedless
of her resistance, Jacques pulled her into his arms, holding her against him
and letting her exhaust her shrieks and struggles.

His
attempt to comfort her only made her feel all the more emotionally devastated.
“Please, leave me alone,” she pleaded, hiccupping.

He
kissed her wet hair and spoke with profound sentiment. “That's the one thing I
cannot seem to do. I cannot leave you alone,
ma
chère,
because I
love you so.”

An
agonized moan escaped her. Totally arrested by his words, Bella gazed up at his
face and viewed the same turbulent, intense emotion that was already tearing
her apart. “Oh, Jacques.”

He
leaned over, his trembling, wet lips capturing hers with incredible tenderness.
Passion flared between them like wildfire. Moaning, Bella kissed him back with
feverish need. Jacques roved his hands over her face, her throat, her breasts,
and plunged his tongue deeply inside her mouth. Bella slid her fingers into his
wet hair and held his face to hers, opening her lips wide to him. Distantly,
she knew she should be furious—by all rights, she should kill him. But for that
brief moment, all that really mattered was that Jacques
loved
her, that
he was alive, that she had missed him desperately and it felt so wonderful to
be in his arms again—

“God,
I've missed you so . . . you drove me insane,” he murmured.

“I
didn't mean to.”

“Where
in hell have you been, you wayward wench?” he asked roughly.

“I—I
got lost in time.”

He
chuckled, nuzzling her neck. “Now you're talking out of your head.”

“Well,
you're enough to drive any woman crazy!”

Jacques
kissed her again, thoroughly demonstrating the point as he drove her to sweet
madness. His hands caressed her breasts, her bottom; she eagerly stroked his
muscular shoulders and arms.

Reality
intruded once more as the carriage jolted to a halt, and Jacques whispered,
“Come inside and let's finish this in bed.”

Gazing
through the window at the pale facade of his town house, Bella at once
recovered her righteous anger. Heavens, had she lost her mind? Was there no end
to Jacques's arrogance? How dare the cad assume she would docilely have sex
with him after the way he'd behaved! He had dragged her forcibly from the
theater, spanked her, and now he expected—oh!