Heart of the Maze

Description

Hidden secrets, guilty pleasures...

For generations, members of Devlin Easterly’s family have each been born with a special gift, but no matter which way their talent manifests, they all know when they have met the one they are destined to share their lives with. Devlin is no different. Within hours of meeting Cilia Makepeace he knows their futures will be intertwined. He opens his empathic abilities completely to her and nothing in his life will ever be the same.

Finding herself in trouble is nothing new to Cilia Makepeace. Finding herself in love however, is something else entirely. For most of her life Cilia has avoided physical contact with others. Afraid of the dark visions that sometimes follow her touch and how they alter her perception of the people she receives them from. That is, until she meets Devlin Easterly, Third Duke of Rutherford. Devlin fans the flames of desire from their first kiss, causing her to long for a future she thought beyond her grasp. Does she dare risk her heart knowing she may receive a vision that would change her view of Devlin forever?

Chapter One

“I killed him.”

The harsh whisper slipped past Cilia’s lips, the sound barely recognizable as her own voice. Thoughts skittered through her mind. Dear Lord, what now? This is all Henry’s fault. If he had only admitted his perfidy in stealing his mother’s necklace instead of shifting the blame, then perhaps Aunt Gertrude would not have tried to recoup her loss in such a drastic manner. She begged her aunt repeatedly to listen that terrible day, but ertrude refused to believe her precious Henry could do anything so deceitful and would not listen when Cilia attempted to explain. Rather than contacting the magistrate—much to Cilia’s dismay—her aunt took matters into her own hands.

Her life had become a tangled maze with little hope of ever finding its heart. Deliberately pushing away her melancholy thoughts, Cilia hurried to the chamber door to check if the lock was secure. An hour previously, she had cursed its confining presence, yet now, gratitude filled her for the scant protection it offered. She pressed her ear to the crack near the frame. Drunken laughter drifted from the main salon below. Her breath escaped in a rush. She would have some time.

The room Mrs. Bidwell had shoved her into two days ago held nothing of use to help her escape. So she focused on the rather large dead man, known only as Lord Willy, lying face down beside the bed. She sighed, removing the key from the pocket he dropped it into earlier was a repugnant necessity she wished she could do without. Her nose wrinkled. The oversweet scent he applied so liberally did little to cover the fact he had not bathed in some time. She spared a quick thank you that at least the chamber pot she had hit him over the head with had been empty.

“Lord, but you are heavy,” Cilia mumbled. When she finally managed to pull him onto his back, a low moan escaped the dead man. She scrambled backwards, away from the body. Her breath came in shallow gasps. The room pulsed and dimmed around the edges.

“Oh no, not now!” Ever Since she was a little girl, her visions had started in this manner. Seemingly at the vagaries of fate, small slivers of past, present or future deeds played out before her. She found herself floating above a finely appointed room. Lord Willy was there, towering over a shaking servant girl. Tears traced their way down the girl’s face but she did not utter a sound; she was no more than eleven or twelve summers old, still slight and delicate.

“Mark me well.” Malicious glee appeared to ooze from his every pore, like grease from cheese left too long in the sun. The young girl did her best to bob a curtsy. Fear made her clumsy. She stumbled. Before she fell, Willy caught her by the upper arm. He pulled her inexorably closer. Her nose touched his.

“Take yourself to my bedroom and wait for me there. If you do not, you and your grandfather will be turned out without reference. Do you understand me?”

When she did not respond immediately, he shook her by the arm and asked again.

“Ye-yes, milord.”

His eyes probed hers; a satisfied smirk curled his lip. He released her arm, but not before running his free hand over her chest, kneading and pinching.

Cilia came back to the present. Her stomach heaved up its meager contents. Tears traced their way down her ashen cheeks but did little to wash away the sickening vision. This had happened already. She was certain of it. Lord Willy groaned and raised a hand to the lump on his forehead. She scrambled to reach the chamber pot once more.

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