The Cursed Princes
Book Four
Marina Myles
Genre: Historical/paranormal romance
Publisher: Kensington
Description:
A stroke of paint and a stroke of luck. Will they come together to create magic at the stroke of midnight?
When her demanding stepmother died, Ella Benoit knew just how far their fortunes had fallen, unlike her spoiled stepsisters. So she never expected the bequest from her late father. A chateau in France and the freedom to live her own life, all at once!
The chateau has seen better days, but Ella knows she can put the ruined house to rights. The life-size portrait of its first owner, Jean-Daniel Girard, seems to watch her work with approval, even pleasure. With bright blue eyes, strong features, and an athlete’s body, the viscount is a tempting sight even now, more than three hundred years after his tragic death. But the more she looks at the portrait, the more convinced Ella is that she’s met Jean-Daniel before. In another life, perhaps—or maybe, as the form who haunts the halls at night, invading Ella’s dreams…
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Excerpt:
As Ella passed
the drawing room, she halted. Eerie goose bumps blanketed her arms. Drawn to
the room, she felt as though she’d been in it before.
She crossed the
threshold under a sudden trance. Icy stabs of déjà vu assaulted her because the
ornate furnishings and draperies seemed extremely familiar. Perhaps, she considered, I’ve seen the room in one of Adelaide’s real
estate or decorating magazines.
Taking a few
steps forward, she noticed a huge blank spot on the east wall. The area’s
wallpaper not only showed a variance in color, it outlined a missing,
life-sized painting or tapestry.
How odd. Why had the art work been removed? Where
was it now?
An unrelenting
force summoned her closer to the blank spot. Her inquisitiveness grew. If the
missing object was indeed a life-sized painting, it must have taken forever to
complete. She wondered about its subject. A landscape? More likely, a portrait.
Prodded to start
a hunt, she went through several rooms on Château de Maincy’s main level. She
searched the front parlor, the back parlor, and the music room. Her favorite
was the ballroom. As she entered, a spark met her toes. Wide-eyed, she noticed
that rays of sunshine cast a sparkling aura over its faded parquet floor. A
glittering chandelier hung in the center of the gold-toned room and anchored
the enormous space.
When the
chandelier caught a beam of sunlight, Ella received another spark. She put her
hand to her warm cheeks. She could almost hear strains of a quadrille—and the
drone of chatter as if she were at a party.
Not a party. She
rephrased the thought. A ball.
Eyes blurred,
she slipped into a deeper trance. Suddenly, she was wearing a stunning costume
and was stepping into waltz with a debonair nobleman sporting a mask. The
nobleman pulled her tightly against him. Other guests wearing masks looked on.
It was a
masquerade ball! More scenes flashed before Ella. Warm wind gusted into the
room and then—
Exiting the
trance, she realized that the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Why in
heaven had she experienced that?
Her father had
written that Ella had been at the château before. Yet she had no conscious
memory of the visit. Maybe, she
thought as she rubbed her eyes, the
atmosphere of this house is too seductive to resist.
Still reeling
from the vision, her attention shifted to a long-case clock in the corner. Its
shattered face was visible through a hinged glass panel that hung ajar. The top
of the clock bore a large, vertical gash.
How odd.
Ella inched
closer. The open door revealed that the time-piece had been frozen at twelve
o’clock. She touched the immobile hands—and in the bright light of the room,
she noticed that the clock’s maker had etched his name and creation date into a
groove bordering the clock’s pendulum.
Montbleu ~ 1703.
All at once,
Ella remembered standing in front of the long-case clock, precisely like this.
But how could that be? She must have repressed memories from her visit here as
a child. Yet, she couldn’t explain the vision of herself dancing with the
handsome man.
Once she
confirmed that a life-sized painting wasn’t hanging in the ballroom, she made
her way up the grand staircase. Inexplicably, she felt drawn to where she was
going. When she reached the second floor of the house, she studied a wall of
faded frescoes depicting late seventeenth century life. When something told her
to go on, she padded to the third floor landing.
A palpable hush
filled the corridor ahead of her. Then a charged stream of energy rushed
through the hall. Since all the curtains were drawn over the arched windows,
the hallway sat in darkness and shadow. Ella should be doing so many things.
Unpacking. Cleaning. Deciding which bedroom would be hers. But a sense of
urgency prompted her feet to continue.
What will I find in this part of the house? Glimpses
of the valiant but very dead Jean-Daniel Girard?
Gulping, she
opened door after door and peeked in. She finally came to a storage space, with
an additional staircase leading up to an attic. Creeping up those stairs, Ella
surveyed the articles on the landing. Broken mirrors and articles of furniture
draped in white sheets lay strewn about. Tangled strings of cobwebs swathed the
wood paneling.
A glowing beam
of sunlight angled into the room. Ella’s pulse sped. In the corner, she spotted
an item covered with a black cloth. The object reclined against the far
wall—and appeared to be larger than she was. Pushing the curtains open, she
allowed more sunlight to bathe the space. Hands quivering, she moved back to
the draped item and pulled away the black cloth.
The painting’s
gilded frame was stunning. On it, Ella located a nameplate.
Jean-Daniel
Girard—Viscount de Maincy
1677-1703
Slowly, as
though her life was being altered with every centimeter, her stare ascended to
the nobleman’s astonishing face. Instantly, the world fell into a compelling
silence.
Jean-Daniel
Girard was tall, muscular, and inarguably handsome. In fact, his good looks
were so striking that Ella could barely breathe as she gazed upon them. More
than that, she knew she’d seen his face somewhere before. While she racked her
brain about where she’d seen it, her gaze roamed over Jean-Daniel’s sold body,
penetrating aquamarine eyes, and angular features. He could be described as
classically handsome. The epitome of male beauty, really. And thankfully, that
classic quality helped him transcend the fanciful clothing and wig he wore.
Ella took a step
in and studied him some more. True to subjects painted in that era, he wasn’t
smiling. Rather, he seemed a pensive and a bit melancholy. However, she could
tell from the laugh lines bracketing his generous mouth that he grinned often.
Incredibly
lifelike, Jean-Daniel seemed capable of emerging from the painting right then
and there. Ella’s skin tingled.
Her gaze drifted
to the adorable dog sitting at the viscount’s feet. A splendid example of a
hound, it possessed a gleaming brown-and-white coated, an open mouth, and a
protruding tongue. Oddly, the dog seemed
to be smiling.
“I can tell you
loved your master,” she murmured.
Mesmerized by
the man in the painting, Ella stared at his image for what felt like hours. The
more she analyzed it, the more she noticed its “lost soul” quality. She crossed
her arms. No, that wasn’t it. Instead, there seemed to be something underlying
the viscount’s solemn face. As if he weren’t solemn at all. As if he possessed
a sense of unfinished business.
To die so young…
She finally
looked at the portrait’s backdrop. A vivid depiction of Château de Maincy
surrounded Jean-Daniel. A cluster of servants was working in the fields
adjacent to the splendid house. Wide-eyed bluebirds perched on the tree
branches over his wigged head.
So that’s the way the estate looked in its heyday.
Stepping closer,
she zeroed in on Jean-Daniel’s astounding eyes. They seemed to come alive—and
for the briefest moment, he did as well. If only they were on a first-name
basis! The thought exhilarated her.
While she and
the figure locked stares, a new layer of goose bumps sprang up on Ella’s arms.
She retreated. Despite the warmth of the room, a chill barraged her body.
“Jean-Daniel Girard is quite
swoon-worthy, non?” whispered an
unfamiliar voice.
About the Author:
Marina Myles’s love of books began as soon as she read her first fairy tale. During her college days in Dallas, she received degrees in English Literature and Communications—and enjoyed the unique experience of being a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. Now that she lives under the sunny skies of Arizona, she hasn’t left her glamorous life behind completely. After all, she gets to divide her time between her loving family, her loyal Maltese, and worlds filled with fiery—but not easily attained—love affairs.
Author Contacts:
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Represented by Louise Fury of The Bent Agency
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