Immortal Billionaire. Jane Godman
is ridiculous!” Lucinda had been pacing the length of the terrace but she paused now, her face suffused with fury. “This should be done properly. Mr. Reynolds should have been given the task of finding Sylvester’s closest relatives. That would be Guthrie and me. We should be his heirs. We could challenge this—”
Matt’s calm tones cut across her heated ones. “I hope you won’t. You’d look very foolish. It is up to Sylvester to decide who he leaves his money to.”
Before Lucinda could reply, Guthrie returned with a tray laden with drinks and proceeded to dispense these. The interruption lightened some of the tension. “It’s like an old-fashioned horror story,” Guthrie commented cheerfully.
“Don’t be absurd.” Lucinda frowned at him.
“No, I mean it.” He lowered his voice dramatically. “Who will be the first to succumb to the curse of Corazón? The first one to go is usually the quietest. My money’s on you, Jonathan.”
“Thank you.” Jonathan raised his glass in a mock salute.
“Connie won’t be first,” Guthrie continued. “The prettiest girl always lasts until close to the end.”
“It’s interesting that no one wants to leave,” Matt said. “Which means none of us are taking the story seriously.”
“Do you think Sylvester believes so strongly in the curse he is convinced he will die young? Is that why he has never married?” Ellie turned to Matt for answers.
Matt shrugged. “I’m not in his confidence. Sylvester doesn’t strike me as an overimaginative person, however.”
“If we chose to stay and don’t remain pure of heart, surely we risk becoming victims of the second part of the curse?” After remaining quiet for so long, Jonathan seemed to have found his voice. It was laden with doom.
“You mean there’s a chance we could die young? Within the next few weeks?” Ellie’s voice became more high-pitched with each word. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“We’ll just have to think pure thoughts and do pure deeds for the next three weeks,” Guthrie said as he drained his glass. “Who’s for another?”
Since Jonathan’s words had cast a gloom over everyone’s spirits, no one took him up on his offer and Guthrie was left alone among the bottles as the others wandered away.
Matt caught up with Connie as she strolled along the edge of the beach. “You were very quiet back there. Everything okay?”
She turned her head to smile up at him. “I’m not sure what to make of it all. Do you believe the curse story?”
“No, but I think those sorts of things can have a powerful influence. Once they take hold of an individual’s imagination, they can do some damage. If anyone back there actually believed their darker traits might be enhanced by this island—that they will develop a heart of malice while they are here—then the power of suggestion could be strong enough to make it happen.”
There was enough light cast by the moon and from the house itself for her to see his expression. A mischievous smile lit up his features. “So we might see Lucinda change from the dear, sweet girl she is now into someone altogether more unpleasant.”
Connie couldn’t help laughing. “When you put it like that, it does sound foolish to think a place can change someone’s personality.” She looked at the house. It was so beautiful; how could it possibly be bad?
“Do you believe the past can influence the present?” His voice was suddenly different. Some of the humor had gone, to be replaced by a sudden urgency.
Connie shivered slightly. Wasn’t she living proof it did? Every day? “It depends. Are you talking about living memory or the distant past?” She’d spent so long worrying about what the next ten minutes might bring, tonight was the first time she’d thought about the past in a true historical sense—beyond the pages of a book—in a very long time.
Matt ran a hand through his hair. “To be honest, I don’t know what I’m talking about, or where the hell that question came from. I’m going to blame Guthrie for mixing an overly powerful drink and go in search of a strong coffee. I’ll leave you to your stroll.”
Slipping off her shoes, Connie stepped up to the water’s edge, feeling the grains of sand crunch and slide between her toes. She wondered if she was the only person who felt safer here, despite the curse. Or did the other five all have equally powerful reasons for staying? I have faced the prospect of dying young every second of every day for the last four years. What does another few weeks matter?
Sylvester’s proposition meant nothing to her, except as a means of escape from fear. If she was still here in three weeks’ time—and she’d become used to thinking of her future in much shorter time scales—she’d deal with the implications then. Perhaps Mr. Reynolds could help her? If she survived and emerged as one of Sylvester’s heirs, surely she’d have more options. She smiled. One of Sylvester de León’s heirs. The thought was too ridiculous for words.
The thought that she was here at all, thinking about Sylvester, imagining that there was something in his eyes when he looked at her, was all too far-fetched to be true. Perhaps that was another reason why this talk of curses hadn’t affected her as much as it had the others. Her heart rate had still not recovered from the intensity of that magnetic blue gaze. Unlike everyone else, her biggest challenge would not be to withstand the effects of the curse; it would be to resist the lure of the island’s owner.
As she turned and walked back, the view of the house, golden and welcoming in the darkness, was stunning. It beckoned to her as nowhere in her life had ever done, stirring emotions she didn’t understand. Sweet wistfulness twined its way around her heart, slowing her limbs and softening her gaze. Decorative arches were lit by lamps and light shone from each of the windows. The walkways through the gardens were also now lit and Connie caught glimpses of pretty fountains shimmering with reflected color. As she walked toward them, she experienced the oddest feeling of déjà vu. The thought amused her. Because my life has been all about spending time in the garden of a billionaire’s island mansion. Moving closer still, the feelings persisted. It was much more than a brief sensation of having been here before. It was an emotional pull accompanied by a strange, proprietorial pride.
There were four identical Spanish-style fountains, each hexagonal in shape with mosaic tiles in green, white and blue decorating their bases. The walkway between them was lined with fragrant blue sage flowers and a stone bench had been set at the end, affording a perfect view over the whole area. Connie surveyed the scene with her head to one side.
Perfect. Just like the old house at Valladolid.
The strange thought, quick and fleeting, was gone as soon as it had entered her mind. Connie shook her head. What did she know of old houses in Valladolid? This strange night was getting to her in more ways than one.
As she drew closer to the fountains, she could hear two men talking. They were walking toward her. Recognizing Sylvester’s voice, she pulled back into the shadows. She wasn’t ready for a conversation with him yet. She might never be ready for that.
The other man was Matt. Clearly he had been sidetracked from his coffee, and he was the one speaking as they drew level with Connie.
“Sylvester, this plan of yours is ridiculous. You’ll marry and have children of your own. There is no need for this—” Connie could hear the frustration in Matt’s tone as he ground out the words, then paused to seek the right one to come next. “Theater.”
“No, you couldn’t be more wrong. I will never marry. No child of mine will inherit Corazón.”
“I don’t wish to pry, but are you ill, Sylvester? Is that what this is all about?” Matt sounded concerned. “Because we can get you the very best doctor money can buy.”
As the two men continued on their way, Connie heard Sylvester’s laughter. It was a bitter, mirthless sound, carried to her clearly