A fever dream of desires fulfilled.
Nestled in the shadow of the Appalachians is where Gwen Ashby stumbles upon the William Marshall Academy, and sheâs given a trial position as a literature teacher. The gothic boarding school seems trapped in time yet it feels like home the moment Gwen arrives.
Sheâs charmed by the lovely buildings, bewitched by the eager studentsâ¦and utterly seduced by the headmaster. Edwin Yorke is noble, handsome and infuriatingly proper. But his tweedy exterior and courtly manners conceal a raw sensual power that Gwen longs to unleash.
Itâs strangely thrilling to be the only woman on campusâsave one other. An eerie white-clad figure roams the grounds by night. She never speaks. She leaves no trace. But this ghostly blight on Gwenâs new dream life is the key to the Marshall Academyâs mysterious allure.
RITA® Award nominated title from international bestselling author Tiffany Reisz.
Chapter One
Sheâd never make it to Chicago alive.
Not unless she got some coffee. Stat.
Bone-weary from driving, Gwen pulled over and parked in front of a small diner at the edge of tiny Andover. The August air felt heavy with the heat, and when she inhaled she caught the scent of the nearby Appalachian Mountains in her nose. Everything smelled so warm, moist and aliveâthe rich, dark soil, the beech and maple trees, the leaves taking their last breath of summer⦠So much life and beauty around her, and yet Gwen wasnât part of it.
She took her phone out of her messenger bag and snapped a quick picture of the mountains that rose up behind the town. Gwen stepped inside the diner and fifty years into the past. It looked like it had been plucked from 1960âor at least a sanitized version of 1960âwith the chrome stools that sat belly-up to a white-and-red bar and the waitresses in their paper hats and white dresses. The Rolling Stones crooned âAs Tears Go Byâ from a gleaming jukebox. She couldnât hear the song without thinking of her father singing it to her as a lullaby twenty years ago.
Inside the bathroom, Gwen noted the movie posters hanging in the stallsâBye Bye Birdie and Dr. No. Conrad Birdie versus James Bondâshe knew who sheâd put her money on. Back out in the diner, she ordered two cups of coffeeâone for here and one to go. As she sipped, she mentally calculated how far sheâd come and how far she had left to go.
That morning sheâd left Savannah, Georgia, at 10:00 a.m. Sheâd driven four-and-a-half hoursâover three hundred miles. Sheâd probably sleep in Kentucky somewhere tonight, which would leave about four-hundred miles to go to get to her friend Tishaâs in Chicago tomorrow night. And thenâ¦what? Try to be the best houseguest ever while she job-hunted for a teaching position. Hopefully she would get one quickly and wouldnât have to spend the next six months sleeping on Tishaâs couch.
âMiss?â A man who had to be in his mid-sixties sat two stools away from her and summoned the waitress.
âWhat can I get you, sir?â the waitress asked.
âDirections? Out to old Marshal? Itâs been fifty years since Iâve been to the school. Forgot the way.â
The waitress smiled kindly at him. She patted the back of his weather-beaten hand.
âIâll draw you a map, sir. Easy to get lost out there.â She took a pen from her pocket and doodled a map on the napkin while the older man watched and nodded. âAnd youâll turn here. Be careful, because they took the old sign down.â
âThank you, miss,â the man said and gave her a weak smile. She handed him half a dozen napkinsâwhite with red trim, just like the diner counters.
âYou take these with you. You might need them.â
He nodded solemnly and put the red-trimmed napkins in his pocket.
Gwen watched the scene. Maybe the waitress had pegged him for the sentimental type. Curious about the school, Gwen pulled her phone back out and searched for âMarshal Schoolâ and âAndover, North Carolina.â Nothing came up.
âDonât even bother,â the waitress said to her. âWeâre in a black hole out hereâno 3G, no 4G. You have to drive five miles north just to pick up any internet.â
âItâs okay. I was just trying to look up the Marshal School.â
âThe Marshal Schoolâs about ten miles from here, right on the edge of town. Boarding school. Progressive, the school says. I just say itâs weird.â
âWeird?â
âWeird.â The waitress nodded. âRich parents send their kids off to go to a school where they canât even use their phones? Whatâs the point of being rich?â