The More I See You Read online

  PRAISE FOR NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR LYNN KURLAND

  “Clearly one of romance’s finest writers.”

  —The Oakland Press

  “Both powerful and sensitive . . . a wonderfully rich and rewarding book.”

  —#1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs

  “A sweet, tenderhearted time travel romance.”

  —Joyfully Reviewed

  “A story on an epic scale . . . Kurland has written another time travel marvel . . . Perfect for those looking for a happily ever after.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “[A] triumphant romance.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “A perfect blend of medieval intrigue and time travel romance. I was totally enthralled from the beginning to the end.”

  —Once Upon a Romance

  “Woven with magic, handsome heroes, lovely heroines, oodles of fun, and plenty of romance . . . just plain wonderful.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Spellbinding and lovely, this is one story readers won’t want to miss.”

  —Romance Reader at Heart

  “Breathtaking in its magnificent scope.”

  —Night Owl Romance

  “Sweetly romantic and thoroughly satisfying.”

  —Booklist

  “A pure delight.”

  —Huntress Book Reviews

  “A consummate storyteller.”

  —ParaNormal Romance Reviews

  “A disarming blend of romance, suspense, and heartwarming humor, this book is romantic comedy at its best.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A totally enchanting tale, sensual and breathtaking.”

  —Rendezvous

  Titles by Lynn Kurland

  STARDUST OF YESTERDAY

  A DANCE THROUGH TIME

  THIS IS ALL I ASK

  THE VERY THOUGHT OF YOU

  ANOTHER CHANCE TO DREAM

  THE MORE I SEE YOU

  IF I HAD YOU

  MY HEART STOOD STILL

  FROM THIS MOMENT ON

  A GARDEN IN THE RAIN

  DREAMS OF STARDUST

  MUCH ADO IN THE MOONLIGHT

  WHEN I FALL IN LOVE

  WITH EVERY BREATH

  TILL THERE WAS YOU

  ONE ENCHANTED EVENING

  ONE MAGIC MOMENT

  ALL FOR YOU

  ROSES IN MOONLIGHT

  The Novels of the Nine Kingdoms

  STAR OF THE MORNING

  THE MAGE’S DAUGHTER

  PRINCESS OF THE SWORD

  A TAPESTRY OF SPELLS

  SPELLWEAVER

  GIFT OF MAGIC

  DREAMSPINNER

  Anthologies

  THE CHRISTMAS CAT

  (with Julie Beard, Barbara Bretton, and Jo Beverley)

  CHRISTMAS SPIRITS

  (with Casey Claybourne, Elizabeth Bevarly, and Jenny Lykins)

  VEILS OF TIME

  (with Maggie Shayne, Angie Ray, and Ingrid Weaver)

  OPPOSITES ATTRACT

  (with Elizabeth Bevarly, Emily Carmichael, and Elda Minger)

  LOVE CAME JUST IN TIME

  A KNIGHT’S VOW

  (with Patricia Potter, Deborah Simmons, and Glynnis Campbell)

  TAPESTRY

  (with Madeline Hunter, Sherrilyn Kenyon, and Karen Marie Moning)

  TO WEAVE A WEB OF MAGIC

  (with Patricia A. McKillip, Sharon Shinn, and Claire Delacroix)

  THE QUEEN IN WINTER

  (with Sharon Shinn, Claire Delacroix, and Sarah Monette)

  A TIME FOR LOVE

  Specials

  “TO KISS IN THE SHADOWS” from TAPESTRY

  LYNN KURLAND

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  THE MORE I SEE YOU

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 1999 by Lynn Curland.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-65832-1

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley edition / October 1999

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To my sister-in-law Julie Gardner,

  for her friendship and her eagle-eyed proofreading.

  I value both very much.

  I would like to express gratitude to the following individuals:

  Tricia Barile, for sanity-saving postpartum advice and for an enlightening discussion of fevers and wounds;

  Claire Lorimer and Ashley Beazer, who contributed a great deal to making the completion of this book possible;

  Leslie and Ashley, for the use of their family name;

  And to the remarkable musicians whose influence upon me at pivotal times in my life cannot be measured: Judith Jane Wright; Richard Lee; Jeff Cooke; Dr. Ronald J. Staheli; Dr. David H. Sargent; Ray L. Arbizu; Dr. Clayne Robison; Randy Kartchner; Dwight Ostergaard; and Matthew Curland. Thank you. My life is better for having known you.

  I have you fast in my fortress,

  And will not let you depart,

  But put you down into the dungeon

  In the round-tower of my heart.

  And there will I keep you forever,

  Yes, forever and a day,

  Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,

  And moulder in the dust away!

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Table of Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

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  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

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  25

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  29

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  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  About the Author

  1

  Jessica Blakely didn’t believe in Fate.

  Yet as she stood at the top of a medieval circular staircase and peered down into its gloomy depths, she had to wonder if someone other than herself might be at the helm of her ship, as it were. Things were definitely not progressing as she had p
lanned. Surely Fate had known she wasn’t at all interested in stark, bare castles or knights in rusting armor.

  Surely.

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to examine the turns of events that had brought her to her present perch. Things had seemed so logical at the time. She’d gone on a blind date, accepted said blind date’s invitation to go to England as part of his university department’s faculty sabbatical, then hopped cheerfully on a plane with him two weeks later.

  Their host was Lord Henry de Galtres, possessor of a beautifully maintained Victorian manor house. Jessica had taken one look and fallen instantly in love—with the house, that is. The appointments were luxurious, the food heavenly, and the surrounding countryside idyllic. The only downside was that for some unfathomable reason, Lord Henry had decided that the crumbling castle attached to his house was something that needed to remain undemolished. Just the sight of it had sent chills down Jessica’s spine. She couldn’t say why, and she hadn’t wanted to dig around to find the answer.

  Instead, she’d availed herself of all the modern comforts Lord Henry’s house could provide. And she’d been certain that when she could tear herself away from her temporary home-away-from-home, she might even venture to London for a little savings-account-reducing shopping at Harrods. Yet before she could find herself facing a cash register, she’d been driven to seek sanctuary in the crumbling castle attached to Lord Henry’s house.

  There was something seriously amiss in her life.

  A draft hit her square in the face, loaded with the smell of seven centuries’ worth of mustiness. She coughed and flapped her hand in front of her nose. Maybe she should have kept her big mouth shut and avoided expressing any disbelief in Providence.

  Then again, it probably would have been best if she’d remained silent a long time ago, maybe before she’d agreed to that blind date. She gave that some thought, then shook her head. Her troubles had begun long before her outing with Archibald Stafford III. In fact, she could lay her finger on the precise moment when she had lost control and Fate had taken over.

  Piano lessons. At age five.

  You wouldn’t think that something so innocuous, so innocent and child-friendly would have led a woman where she never had any intention of having gone, but Jessica couldn’t find any evidence to contradict the results.

  Piano lessons had led to music scholarships, which had led to a career in music that had somehow demolished her social life, leaving her no choice but to sink to accepting the latest in a series of hopeless blind dates: Archie Stafford and his shiny penny loafers. Archie was the one who had invited her to England for a month with all expenses paid. He had landed the trip thanks to a great deal of sucking up to the dean of his department. He didn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the good old boys who clustered with the dean and Lord Henry every night smoking cigars into the wee hours, but maybe that’s what Archie aspired to.

  Jessica wondered now how hard up he must have been for a date to have asked her to come along. At the time he’d invited her, though, she’d been too busy thinking about tea and crumpets to let the invitation worry her. It had been a university-sponsored outing. She’d felt perfectly safe.

  Unfortunately, being Archie’s guest also meant that she had to speak to him, and that was something she wished she could avoid for the next three weeks. It was only on the flight over that she’d discovered the depth of his swininess. She made a mental note never to pull out her passport for anyone she’d known less than a month if such an occasion should arise again.

  But like it or not, she was stuck with him for this trip, which meant at the very least polite conversation, and if nothing else, her mother had instilled in her a deep compulsion to be polite.

  Of course, being civil didn’t mean she couldn’t escape now and then—which was precisely what she was doing at present. Unfortunately escape had meant finding the one place where Archie would never think to look for her.

  The depths of Henry’s medieval castle.

  She wondered if an alarm would sound if she disconnected the rope that barred her way. She looked to her left and saw that there were a great many people who would hear such an alarm if it sounded. Maybe she wouldn’t be noticed in the ensuing panic. Apparently Lord Henry funded some of his house upkeep by conducting tours of his castle. Those tours were seemingly well attended, if the one in progress was any indication.

  Jessica eyed the sightseers. They were moving in a herdlike fashion and it was possible they might set up a stampede if she startled them. They were uncomfortably nestled together, gaping at cordoned-off family heirlooms, also uncomfortably nestled together. Marcham was a prime destination spot and Jessica seemed to have placed herself in the midst of the latest crowd at the precise moment she needed the most peace and quiet. She had already done the castle tour and learned more than she wanted to know about Burwyck-on-the-Sea and its accompanying history. Another lesson on the intricacies of medieval happenings was the last thing she needed at the moment.

  “—Of course the castle here at Marcham, or Merceham, as it was known in the 1300s, was one of the family’s minor holdings. Even though it has been added to during the years and extensively remodeled during the Victorian period, it is not the most impressive of the family’s possessions. The true gem of the de Galtres crown lies a hundred and fifty kilometers away on the eastern coast. If we move further along here, you’ll find a painting of the keep.”

  The crowd shuffled to the left obediently as the tour guide continued with his speech.

  “As you can see here in this rendering of Burwyck-on-the-Sea—aptly named, if I might offer an opinion—the most remarkable feature of the family’s original seat is the round tower built not into the center of the bailey as we find in Pembroke Castle, but rather into the outer seawall. I imagine the third lord of the de Galtres family fancied having his ocean view unobstructed—”

  So Jessica and he heartily agreed with the sentiment, but for now an ocean view was not what she was interested in. If the basement was roped off it could only mean that it was free of tourists and tour guides. It was also possible that below was where the castle kept all its resident spiders and ghosts, but it was a chance she would have to take. Archie would never think to look for her there. Ghosts could be ignored. Spiders could be squashed.

  She put her shoulders back, unhooked the rope, and descended.

  She stopped at the foot of the steps and looked for someplace appropriate. Suits of armor stood at silent attention along both walls. Lighting was minimal and creature comforts nonexistent, but that didn’t deter her. She walked over the flagstones until she found a likely spot, then eased her way between a fierce-looking knight brandishing a sword and another grimly holding a pike. She did a quick cobweb check before she settled down with her back against the stone wall. It was the first time that day she’d been grateful for the heavy gown she wore. A medieval costume might suit her surroundings, but it seemed like a very silly thing to wear to an afternoon tea—and said afternoon tea was precisely what she’d planned to avoid by fleeing to the basement.

  Well, that and Archie.

  She reached into her bag and pulled out what she needed for complete relaxation. Reverently, she set a package of two chilled peanut-butter cups on the stone floor. Those she would save for later. A can of pop followed. The floor was cold enough to keep it at a perfect temperature as well. Then she pulled out her portable CD player, put the headphones on her head, made herself more comfortable, and, finally closing her eyes with a sigh, pushed the play button. A chill went down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold stone.

  Bruckner’s Seventh could do that-to a girl, given the right circumstances.

  Jessica took a deep breath and prepared for what she knew was to come. The symphony started out simply. She knew eventually it would increase in strength and magnitude until it came crashing down on her with such force that she wouldn’t be able to catch her breath.

  She felt her breathing begin
to quicken and had to wipe her palms on her dress. It was every bit as good as it had been the past 139 times she had listened to the same piece. It was music straight from the vaults of heav—

  Squeak.

  Jessica froze. She was tempted to open her eyes, but she was almost certain what she would see would be a big, fat rat sitting right next to her, and then where would she be? Her snack was still wrapped, and since it really didn’t count as food anyway, what could a rat want with it? She returned her attentions to the symphony. It was the London Philharmonic, one of her favorite orchestras—

  Wreek, wreek, wreeeeeek.

  Rusty shutters? Were there shutters in the basement? Hard to say. She wasn’t about to open her eyes and find out. There was probably some kind of gate nearby and it was moving thanks to a stiff breeze set up by all the tourists tromping around upstairs. Or maybe it was a trapdoor to the dungeon. She immediately turned away from that thought, as it wasn’t a place she wanted to go. She closed her eyes even more firmly. It was a good thing she was so adept at shutting but distractions. The noise might have ruined the afternoon for her otherwise.

  Wreeka, wreeka, wreeeeeka.

  All right, that was too much. It was probably some stray kid fiddling with one of the suits of armor. She’d give him an earful, send him on his way, and get back to her business.

  She opened her eyes—then shrieked.

  There, looming over her with obviously evil intent, was a knight in full battle gear. She pushed herself back against the stone wall, pulling her feet under her and wondering just what she could possibly do to defend herself. The knight, however, seemed to dismiss her upper person because he bent his helmeted head to look at her feet. By the alacrity with which he suddenly leaned over in that direction, she knew what was to come.

  The armor creaked as the mailed hand reached out. Then, without any hesitation, the fingers closed around her peanut-butter cups. The visor was flipped up with enthusiasm, the candy’s covering ripped aside with more dexterity than any gloved hand should have possessed, and Jessica’s last vestige of American junk food disappeared with two great chomps.

  The chomper burped.

  “Hey, Jess,” he said, licking his chops, “thought you might be down here hiding. Got any more of those?” He pointed at the empty space near her feet, his arm producing another mighty squeak.