House Of Shadows
Torn between two centuries…and two menThe Great Charleston Earthquake catapults Penrose Heatherton from the 1880s into the present day. Though she’s still residing in Arundell Manor, it’s a very different world…with a different man inhabiting the ancestral estate. And this Carrick Arundell is every bit as brooding and intriguing as his ancestor.Terrified by her new reality, Penrose hides in the mansion’s secret tunnels. Until Carrick finds her, and they discover an immense passion. But their days are numbered. When strange things start happening, Penrose realises she must go back to her own era – or the man she’s come to love will never exist…
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âIf this is our nirvana, then Iâve died happy, Penrose.â
The world had turned inside out. She was staring at candles that burned under the water. They were a different kind of fire.
She looked up at Keat. He was a different kind of man. Not a dark twin to Carrick. And what if this really was her brief nirvana? What if this was the only happiness she could grasp? Wouldnât Carrick want it for her? Of course he would. Carrick himself said, âFire has no choice but grab its moment, whatever moment itâs given, and burn.â
A different century. A different kind of fire. A different man, one she couldnât help but to burn for. Was this the moment sheâd been given? It was. She turned to Keat and said, âTake me to bed now.â
âMy pleasure,â he replied and reached down for her.
JEN CHRISTIE is a writer who has a passion for reading and writing Gothic romances. Jen lives in St. Augustine, Florida, with her husband and three daughters. She has a love of history and her secret desire is to stop and read every roadside historical marker she drives by.
I dedicate this book to my sister Penny, who taught me that life is full of second chances, and they are always worth taking.
Contents
The grandfather clock tolled, echoing on and on. The sound reverberated in the tunnel until Penrose fell to the floor, covered her ears and buried her head in her skirts. The chimes came from everywhere at once, from all around her and even from within her own mind.
She couldnât think, couldnât move. She could only endure. Dust and plaster rained down and pelted her body. Please, she wished, let it be a dream. But she knew it wasnât. A dream doesnât hit you with plaster hard enough to hurt. Long, agonizing moments passed. It was as if time ceased.
Quietness returned slowly. The rumbling grew less ferocious until finally the ground was still, and the clock fell silent. Only then did she lift her head and take a breath. Dust filled her nostrils. Coughing, wiping her eyes and face, she called out in a panicked voice, âC.J.?â
He didnât answer. The only sound was a lone splatter of plaster falling to the floor somewhere in the darkness. She must find C.J. and see if he was okay, but it was too dangerous to crawl around without light.
Remembering that there were candles in the hallway, she began inching toward the door. She planned to grab a candle and hopefully find Carrick so that they could hunt for C.J. together. When she reached the door, she fumbled with the latch until it opened. The house was dark and quiet. Still on all fours, she took a deep, shaky breath and called, âC.J.? Carrick, are you here?â
No answer. She crawled out, stood up and brushed herself off, making sure she wasnât injured. Her hands traveled the length of her torso, but the lack of pain did nothing to reassure her that she was all right. She was not all right.
The air in the foyer was coldâtoo cold for August in Charleston. The house felt different. It smelled odd, of lemons and lavender. Something was wrong. She knew it in her bones.
âC.J.?â Desperation turned her voice harsh. âCarrick? Please! Answer me.â
Still nothing.
Her eyes adjusted to the light, and she saw the grandfather clock standing against the wall. Standing. Not toppled over as sheâd witnessed moments before. She looked around wildly. The table that normally held the candles wasnât there anymore. The chandelier hung still and straight as if it hadnât even moved, let alone swung wildly while the earth shook.
But what took the breath right from her lungs were the paintings. They were differentâwith odd, angular images in them. The more she looked around, the more uneasy she became. Yes, something was very, very wrong.
âCarrick?â she called again, taking minute, untrusting steps toward the great room, her hands pressing the air in disbelief. âCarrick! C.J.? Please?â she kept repeating in a whiny, almost begging manner. She held a last bit of hope that the world would right itself, and sheâd see the familiar features of Arundell. Her Arundell. Not this twisted imitation.
When she entered the large parlor, she saw moonlight and shadows dancing around the room, revealing a dark doppelgänger of the room she knew and loved. The cold air around her made it scarier and even less familiar.
Yes, the bones of the room were the same. The same lofty ceiling, the same shape of the windows, even the familiar gouges in the doorway that marked the heights of the Arundell boys. But the essence had changed.
Everything had changed. She tried to reconcile the two different versions of her homeâone familiar and one notâbut she couldnât. It simply wasnât Arundell Manor.
