Phoenix Falling (25 page)

"I'd rather shoot a stark naked sex scene with anyone else." She grimaced. "Even if we both play this as pure acting, without a particle of personal emotion, viewers will look at these scenes and think they see you and me. I hate the thought of that."

"So do I."

They rounded a comer and began paralleling the north face of Morchard House. "Apart from you and me being as nervous as ants on a griddle, production is going so smoothly it makes me nervous," she said. "Morchard House, for example—who would have believed we could find a manor house with two facades so different that we could use one building for both of the major estates? It's a real money and time saver."

The older section of the house was Jacobean in style, while a newer wing was Georgian. Careful camera placement would make them seem like two separate structures. Morchard also had several beautifully detailed interior rooms and extensive gardens with ponds, copses, follies, and other scenic settings. The estate was theirs for the next fortnight, since the owners had taken their immense rental fee and gone on holiday in France until the production left.

Rainey shaded her eyes as she peered into the distance. "The location manager said there's a labyrinth at the far end of the garden. I'll have to look for it, if I ever have a moment to explore."

"Do you mean a maze?"

"No, mazes are formed by banks of shrubbery and designed to confuse. A labyrinth is a two-dimensional pattern with only one path through. By walking the pattern from one end to the other, you—well, the idea is to find yourself instead of becoming lost."

The idea was to find oneself? He made a mental note to avoid the Morchard labyrinth at all costs. "How does it work?"

"Concentrating on the path is very relaxing, almost a form of meditation. There's an outdoor labyrinth at Grace Cathedral, that big Episcopal church on Nob Hill in San Francisco. My friend Kate took me there one night after we had dinner, and to humor her, I walked the labyrinth. By the time I was halfway through, I was more relaxed than I'd been in days. I now walk labyrinths whenever possible."

"Beware of finding a Minotaur in the center."

She grinned. "Any monsters who got that far would probably be in a light trance and fairly harmless."

They turned the last comer and saw the production crew ahead. "Looks like it's time for you to chase me through the gardens," she said. "I've been thinking of using this sequence to open the movie and as a backdrop for the credits. What do you think?"

"Sounds plausible. This sets the tone for the movie, both the relationship and the idealized, picture perfect England that Randall is going to lose."

"That's what I thought." As they neared the crew, she said pensively, "As much as possible, I've set up the shooting schedule to keep the scenes in the order they fall in the story. I wonder if that will make any difference in the continuity of the emotions."

"It shouldn't. Any skilled actor should be able to nail his scenes no matter what order they're shot in."

"But I want more than skill. I want inspiration."

"Perspiration is more reliable than inspiration," he said dryly. Safer, too. The last thing he wanted to feel on this movie was inspiration, which would risk cracking the floodgates of memory. That way madness lay.

* * *

Her expression bright with laughter, Sarah Masterson caught up her skirts and darted across the velvety green grass. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that she was being pursued by Captain Randall, his laughter matching hers.

Their families had always been neighbors, but in the past he'd looked on her as a little sister. She'd grown since the last time they'd met, and he'd noticed. Oh, yes, he'd noticed.

Since his return home on leave a fortnight earlier, he'd called on her daily. When they waltzed at a ball the night before, she'd come near to melting in his arms. Half the night she'd tossed and turned, wondering if she'd imagined that light in his eyes, but she hadn't. He really was interested in her, Sarah Masterson.

Afraid to carry the thought too far, she raced up the hill toward the gazebo, driven by the primal instinct that made a doe flee a stag so the male must pursue and win his mate. When she reached the small Italianate structure, she stopped, panting as her lungs fought the constriction of her corsets.

The captain joined her, his breathing hardly quickened. He could have caught her easily, she knew, but he'd also enjoyed the chase.

His tall frame seemed to fill the space between the entrance columns. He was the handsomest man she'd ever seen, and the light in his eyes made her excited and nervous all at once.

He took a step toward her. "Miss Masterson. May... may I call you Sarah?"

Absurd that he should feel shy of her. "You may," she said, blushing at the intimacy of allowing him the freedom of her Christian name. "You did when we were younger."

He drew another step closer. "Sarah, this may seem sudden, and yet I feel as if I've been waiting for this day my whole life."

He took her hands in his and looked at her with Kenzie's green eyes. Rainey blinked, disoriented, as her mind broke character. Hoping the camera outside the gazebo hadn't caught her lapse, she gazed at her suitor raptly, as Sarah would have.

"You were the sweetest and prettiest of little girls, and now you've grown into the sweetest, loveliest young woman I've ever known." He raised her hands and kissed them. "The only woman I can imagine spending my life with. I love you, Sarah. Will you marry me?"

She caught her breath, stunned by the words she'd dreamed of hearing. This magnificent man wanted her for his wife.

Didn't he know that she would give him anything he asked, even the heart from her breast? "Yes, Captain Randall," she whispered. "I will gladly marry you."

His expression turned from uncertainty to exhilaration. "What, no protestations that this is so sudden? No requests for time to consider the matter?"

"I've never been surer of anything in my life."

"Oh, Sarah, Sarah, that honesty is part of what I love about you." He drew her into an embrace. "You must call me John when we are in private."

She turned her face up for his kiss, not certain what to expect. The warm, gentle pressure of his lips was deeply pleasing. As her eyes drifted shut, she became acutely aware of him through her other senses. The taste of his mouth, the warmth of his body, the roughness of his breathing, his provocative male scent. From this day on, she would know him from every other man in the world even with her eyes closed.

The kiss lengthened, became joined by caresses that made her blood pump urgently through her body.

Once more her concentration broke. She'd been a fool to think she could play this scene without personal emotions erupting. Sarah's innocence took Rainey back to the night Kenzie had asked her to marry him, and for a brief, mad moment she'd dared hope it would work.

But it hadn't. The sorrow of that was so intense that even her actor's discipline couldn't keep tears from her eyes. When his hand brushed her breast, she lost Sarah entirely and stepped back with a gasp that wasn't in the script.

Kenzie's expression showed that he was also having trouble separating himself from the role. Improvising dialogue, he drew her down beside him on the bench that circled the gazebo. "I'm a beast," he said with suppressed violence as he stroked the tears from her cheeks. "You're so pure, so innocent, and I have frightened you."

"I'm not frightened," she assured him. "Just—overwhelmed by happiness."

Moving back to the script, he said, "I wish we didn't have to wait to marry, but next week my regiment sets sail for North Africa."

He would leave her so soon to go into battle? "How long will you be gone?"

"Only a few months. We're being sent to quell a rebellion by some fanatic natives, so it shouldn't take long. When we've rolled up the rebels, I'll resign my commission and come home to you." He smiled tenderly. "I've had enough of adventures. Now I'm ready to build a home and family with you."

Despite his reassurances, she felt an icy chill down her spine. Not sure if it was a premonition or simply concern, she said intensely, "However long it takes, I shall wait for you, John."

"My dear, dear girl." He kissed her again. This time, she kissed him back with a fervor born of fear.

Alter a few seconds had passed, Rainey pulled back and said, "Cut." Shaken by the emotions searing through her, she said, "Don't print this. We're going to have to reshoot from the time I enter the gazebo."

Greg frowned. "I dunno, Rainey, I thought it looked pretty good. Come check it on the video monitor."

No way was she ready to watch herself lose control, but neither could she ignore Greg's professional judgment. "Okay, print, but we'll do another take on the gazebo scene."

So low only she could hear, Kenzie said, "Doing several more takes should safely take the excess emotion out and reduce the scene to nice, clean actor's skill."

She scowled. "Don't try to tell me that you won't prefer that."

"I'd much rather act this role at arm's length," he agreed. "But will that give you the movie you want?"

"What I don't want is a devil's advocate!"

"Comes with the package, TLC." He gave her a wintry smile, then rose and left the gazebo while Greg prepared for the next take.

She sat unmoving on the bench, mentally cataloguing the number of scenes between Sarah and Randall yet to come. If she ever came face-to-face with Jane Stackpole in the future, she'd throttle the girl with her bare hands.

At least, she would if she managed to survive this movie.

* * *

By the end of the day, Kenzie felt as if he'd been drained dry and crushed for recycling. Each of the scenes between him and Rainey had required several takes, with the quality deteriorating every time. The first takes were invariably the best, but every one was wrenched painfully from his and Rainey's viscera.

His mood was not improved when he returned to the pleasant country hotel that had been temporarily taken over by
The Centurion
. His efficient, unobtrusive assistant, Josh, had carefully laid that morning's edition of the
Inquirer
on the antique desk in Kenzie's sitting room. Blaring across the corner of the tabloid was a flash proclaiming, "Kenzie's Past Revealed!"

Praying this was a false trail, he turned to the story inside. At the top was a sexy photo of Jenny Lyme looking misleadingly earnest and reliable. "Kenzie's longtime ladyfriend tells all!" If the
Inquirer
wasn't careful, they'd run out of exclamation points.

Jenny's "revelations" were the tragic, colonial past she'd invented the night they had dinner. Though she mentioned that she was only making an educated guess, Nigel Stone was willing to race off with her speculations.

He also managed to imply that Kenzie and Jenny had been lovers more or less continuously since their student days, including during his marriage, but once again the reporter avoided saying anything actually libelous. Kenzie tossed the newspaper aside. With any luck, Stone would follow that red herring off to Africa, and the newspaper campaign would gradually fade away.

But he couldn't escape the uneasy feeling that his luck wouldn't be that good.

Chapter 19

Kenzie stood at attention as organ music rumbled through the church. The elaborate arrangements for Randall's wedding reminded him of why he'd asked Rainey to elope. If he'd had to go through these complications in real life, he'd have lost his nerve and bolted.

Of course, even if he and Rainey had chosen a formal wedding, he wouldn't have received a personal message from Queen Victoria commending him for embracing wedded bliss, and looking forward to more fine sons to defend the Empire. Having been pressured to go through with the marriage by his beloved, both families, his sovereign, and the British press, John Randall was a basket case by the time his wedding arrived.

Flower girls, bridesmaids, a maid of honor. It was the Victorians who'd invented the modern white wedding. They'd even started the custom of having the bride dressed in a gown that resembled a wedding cake.

As the music crescendoed, Rainey appeared at the far end of the church aisle on the arm of Richard Farley, who looked mightily distinguished as her father. She was a beautiful bride, radiant with the absolute certainty usually found only in the very young. Kenzie forced himself into John Randall again.