What was the old man up to? Was he hiding sweet damsels in his chambers? Had she broken free, braved his wrath to join the ball?

An angel of gold stood teetering on the landing ... almost as if she feared what might happen should she move. Devon's attention devoured every enchanting nuance of the unexpected vision, deciding that only a goddess could be so bewitching. Shimmering in a seductive wave, the soft glittering material of her gown pulsed like a second skin over the boundless rise and fall of her full breasts. Tantalizing to gaze upon, their silken imprisonment struck a blaze alive inside of him. The valley of tempting cleavage hinted at the concealed mounds of vulnerable flesh. A woman full of lush seductive curves stood there in desirable perfection for only his gaze to drink in.

Flexing out his tight fist, Devon wanted beyond reason to touch and feel the ethereal beauty. Caress the silken tresses that must have spun the enchantress' gown of golden threads. Where is God's name did she come from? And why hadn't he seen her before now?

Trying to control his strange reaction to the woman became impossible. To his own astonishment Devon admitted he wanted her. The strength of his conviction told him nothing would prevent him from seeking her out.

Moving cautiously up the stairs, something told him she was oblivious to his presence and her surroundings. Frightening her more than she appeared to be wouldn't do. What drew him to her was so out of character for Devon Chandler, he didn't dare seek an answer.

Stopping before her, on the step below the landing, Devon looked into the liquid pools of unseeing light. They held the damp green of the thickest woods, with velvet rose petal lips that parted as if to catch morning dew drops ... a mouth waiting to be kissed.

He marveled over the deep coppery lashes and brows that framed her lovely eyes, such a different shade than her sun kissed hair. Red and gold all spun together in a soft, rich thickness. Again he quelled the need to reach out and crush the curls in his ardent palm.

How did one wake a sleeping beauty? For the lady was undoubtedly bewildered. Maybe she was truly an angel, lost without wings to escape her destiny.

Pulled beyond his will, Devon's dark head lowered in infinite care. Breathlessly he brushed his lips across her silken softness. Her startled gasp was barely audible. He watched in fascination as her thick eyelashes fluttered, wanting to shout with joy when the green jewels sparked in awakening life.

Deliberately, he moved closer, inhaling the sweet exotic scent of her, like wild flowers from the untamed ocean islands he'd seen in his voyages. He thought the lady as a whole to be unique, a rare commodity. Seeing the flash of fire stirring to life he knew a very vibrant, untamed passion trembled inside the ivory beauty. One he wanted to sample and knew he would fight to control. Devon's body shook under the force of his admission.

"The lady awakes."

Hearing his words left her confused and uncertain. She stared in disbelief at the mysterious presence towering above her. His eyes were so dark, like night shadows, yet alive and warm in sheltering strength. Emma wanted to drown in their swirling riptide, allow them to destroy all the fears.

Fear! The shock waves drove the breath into her lungs. Images and sensations rushed through her. She remembered the thrill of success she felt over the compliments for the Ball. And her gown, how it made her feel and the way she floated through those dances with Mr. Albeit until she was exhausted by the excitement. She'd gone upstairs to catch her breath during the band's break. The memory fell around her like a dark cloak ... maneuvering the bulk of the gown's skirt on the stairs left Emma feeling light headed. She wanted to groan when she remembered that all the upstairs rooms were locked for the plantation's grand tour taking place later this evening. Emma legs nearly gave out before she reached the sitting room in the far hall; as gingerly as possible she navigated the wide skirt around the velvet stool and sat in relief over the support. Holding the gown's hoops down, she found they didn't fly up in her face as she expected. Taking deep breaths she tried to calm the frantic pulsing at her temples. Thankfully no one else was in the room. Feeling a little steadier, Emma took an absent look about the small sitting room.

"But it shouldn't be here!" Gasping, she stared at the mirror. Shaking her head to clear it, the unwanted discovery didn't disappear from the wall behind the door. Angry that her directions had been ignored, Emma stood stiffly before it, her small hands gripped tight at her sides.

"It has to be moved to the nursery." She swayed under the urgency the conviction struck within her. Moving towards it she held back from touching the repulsive mirror, as if she feared the dreadful thing.

Scolding herself, her hands rose to take hold of the sides, but it wouldn't budge. Recalling that it took two men to get it up the stairs, Emma realized her efforts were useless. Before she could release the mirror, a sudden sweep of chilling cold shot through her hands and up her arms, penetrating every inch of her body. Stumbling back from the contact, her hand rose to silence the scream wanting release. There, in the mirror, her reflection became surrounded by a swirl of movement. Flashes of scenes raced around her, too fast, they all blurred together, leaving her as dizzy as if she were on a fast amusement ride. Closing her eyes to fight the sensation, Emma gripped the vanity to stop herself from reeling.

Fighting the terror trying to seize her, she used all her courage to stare back at the mirror. Stealing a cautious look, she felt the relief flood through her. Only her image stared back. "I was just dizzier than I realized ... that's all it could be."

Feeling somewhat better for finding an excuse, she straightened herself, wishing the lingering fear would go away. Strains of music drifted into the room. She needed to get back. But before she could make herself move, something odd about the unfamiliar tune caught her attention. "A harpsichord?" Funny she didn't remember seeing one in the ensemble.

Moving to the door, Emma came to a halt before it. Turning her head as if she would shatter, her gaze rose ever so slowly, halting in shock as they encountered the wall lantern.

"An oil lamp? But they are electric..." The shaking started in her toes, moving at an alarming rate, causing a violent shudder to pass through her as if she'd been struck by lightning.

Her hand closed over the door handle, frantically yanking on it to escape. When the door finally gave way she forced her numb legs to obey her command to move forward. Pulling the door shut behind her, she stood there trying to catch her breath; from somewhere the realization came over her that she was hyperventilating. She concentrated on taking slower breaths, but what she faced in the hall defeated her attempt for control.

Shaking her head in denial, Emma stared in disbelief. Gone was the bright airy hallway. Dark wood and heavy carpet lent a malevolent feeling to the fear seizing her. Here too, were oil lamps mounted on the walls.

"This is crazy, some sick joke!" But voicing excuses that couldn't possibly have been carried out in such a short time filled her with mounting panic. "Calm, stay calm Emma." Hysterics might alleviate the tension coiling in her chest, but it certainly wouldn't help her.

"Downstairs..." Yes, everything would be fine once she rejoined the others.

Each step belied her words. The unfamiliar surroundings, though structurally similar to Sleeping Oaks, held no reassurance. Shivering over the screams echoing inside her head, Emma knew she was in trouble!

The memory slipped away like a dream as a more urgent awareness captured her attention. Where she now found herself seemed a minor inconvenience when compared to the man standing in front of her. In amazed silence her fingers rose to touch her lips, marveling how the warmth of his lips lingered long after their absence.

Had he kissed her? Looking for confirmation at the man, his roguish humor sent creases out from the corners of his eyes. Yes, he did and he wanted her to know. The truth flamed her cheeks, deepening the pleased look he maintained over her.

"Yes, I think the lady is awake. Does she have a name?" Devon swallowed his reaction to the slight rise of her left brow, knowing the reason behind the question entering those gorgeous eyes.

Without thought she answered. "Em ... Emma Browning."

"Miss?"

"Yes, of course." His deep laughter startled her, making her glare back at him.

"The lady has spirit as well." Devon found the prospect intriguing and highly exciting. "May I escort you to the ball, Miss Browning?"

Emma struggled for a moment to control her whirling emotions. It was hard not to give in to the panic. He extended his arm for her hand. No other gentleman this evening had been this formal ... nor so intimate. Struggling with the compelling desire to run, Emma decided she might very well need the support he unknowingly offered, for the unsettling vision hadn't gone away. In fact, it was in all ways as close to reality as living could get!

Taking a closer look at him, she wondered if she could trust this mirage ... was he a dream? Did she honestly have any other choice? "I accept your offer ... under one condition."

"Conditions, Madame, usually require a counter promise."

Raising her brow at the serious change in his tone, she nodded cautiously, wondering if she'd just made a terrible mistake. But then, wasn't she already in the biggest catastrophe of her life? "Mine, sir, is that you do not leave my side, no matter how strange you may find my company."

Devon's gaze drove into hers with unflagging intensity. He suspected her request held the lady's warning and meant much more than formality implied. But he had no desire to let her take flight. Nodding his assent, he never released her intent look. "I hope you mean that, Emma, for I have no intention of doing otherwise."

Seeing her tentative agreement, Devon turned to proceed before her senses or his fully returned. For what they were mutually agreeing to was unconventional to say the least. And convention was something Devon rarely contested.

Her hesitation prevented him from continuing. Looking at her, seeing the wariness tightening her large eyes, he feared he might have lost the advantage.

"And you, sir, what is the counter offer you have for me?"

Brazen little wench. Bowing in salute to her honest effrontery, "First, the name is Devon Chandler."

Emma acknowledged his pronouncement. The sudden hardening in his dark glance made her want to flee, but the fear for what she believed waited below stilled her nerves and sent her chin a little higher in defiance. "And...."

He watched her, noting every change in that beautifully sculptured face. Admiration swelled in his chest for her control. Her gaze was far too expressive, exposing her fear. He wondered how far her desperation would drive her. And what put her in this position? An event so powerful it allowed him to play his advantage and manipulate her to his will, even when he instinctively knew it went against the lady's delicate senses to do so?

"And, my lovely, you will neither leave my side, nor refuse my company once we descend these stairs. Do you agree?"

Her gaze flashed in justified indignation over his bold request. The unveiled threat he posed would have been clear, no matter where she found herself to be. If she had a choice she would have enjoyed spitting in his glorious face and denying the power he held. Eyeing him, then the stairs, Emma swallowed the heated retort she wanted to give. Would he be the worst of two evils? If this was a vision or nightmare, she prayed she would wake before she reached the bottom. Closing her eyes, she gave the only answer available. "I accept your terms."

Opening them, she met what she felt might be shock lighting those magnetic black depths. "I wonder, Devon, which of us will regret our pact first?"

Rather stunned by her frankness, Devon let his laughter quickly replace the misgiving she'd glimpsed. "Ah, Emma, if this is any indication of what I have just committed to, I will never find regret in your company. Shall we join the festivities?"

The time for hesitation was over. Silently she prayed his humor would not disappear, for each step and the view it afforded, drove home the suffocating fear over her own mortality. Odd, how she suddenly thought of another man; her dance partner at the Ball ... Emma laughed softly over the roughish wit spoken by her handsome dance partner. Her smile broadened, oh yes, she was happy. The ballroom glittered in colors as he swirled her effortlessly around the dance floor. A councilman from one of the parishes, Monsieur Albeit discovered her knowledge of the colonial dance steps equaled his own and thankfully captured her as his partner. Mr. Albeit was not only a good dancer, but his dark looks and aquiline features made the evening perfect for Emma. They talked of many subjects, but mostly of Sleeping Oaks. It seemed the plantation always held the locals' interest. Fascinated, Emma proved an avid listener to the man's knowledge of the place.

"Everyone has always wondered why the place sat vacant, until now."

"Didn't anyone live here?"

"Non, not since Eighteen twenty-six."

This revelation disturbed Emma, causing her to miss a step.

"Who were the owners then?"

"A puzzle many have tried to untangle, but one that is as elusive as its past. Whoever it was seemed to have vanished."

Seeing Emma's surprise he continued, "Ah but, in this area there were many disappearances. I am surprised your museum did not know the folklore."

"They might, but I'm afraid, I don't. I am a little out of my league at the present."

"Miss Browning whatever your expertise, you have shown New Orleans they have room for improvement." Kissing the back of her hand, he presented her with a formal bow. His dark gaze twinkled wickedly over the high color his flamboyant act stirred to life in her...

The memory's sudden release made Emma feel as if she were standing at the edge of a precipice; her fingers tightened on the strong arm beneath her palm. Devon Chandler, not Monsieur Albeit, stood at her side. She almost giggled over the realization. Nerves always did this to her. She should tell him of course. Taking a cautious look at him ... no, she didn't think he would find any humor in the fact that she believed she had just crossed the threshold of time!

Keeping her legs under her became a challenge as he led her to the familiar, yet alien ballroom. The only thing stilling her panic was the tight hold Devon Chandler maintained on her hand. Emma's head was full of all the crazy thoughts bombarding her. One stood out above all the others ... somehow she stepped back in time!

Meeting the questioning stares as they entered the ballroom was the worst experience of her life. Searching the sea of strange faces quickly reinforced her growing belief over what was happening to her. Unfortunately, she was a stranger to these people. At the moment, knowing what to do or say escaped her capabilities. She could only look. And look she did, at everything familiar that wasn't.

This was Sleeping Oaks, or a marvelous copy, but it wasn't her plantation and neither was it her century...

A silent, numbing shock, enlarged those overly bright green eyes as he watched her. The small quivers assaulting her tiny form increased in their velocity. Whatever brought her here, he feared she'd not expected this, nor did he think she welcomed the sight. The fact she was obviously a stranger to one and all oddly eased his own tension.

Quickly making his decision, nothing was going to stop Devon from doing what he felt became the only option open to the lady clinging to his side for protection. That she didn't realize she sought him barely entered in to his decision. "Emma, I am here beside you as I promised. Are you still with me?"

The man's softly spoken declaration chipped through the ice surrounding her senses. Her fingers ached under the pressure she used to hold onto his arm. "Yes, Devon."

"Good. Shall we greet our host? Your late arrival has stirred all's curiosity, not that I mind ... I'm enjoying their discomfort. In fact, before the evening is out their shock ought to take them into next season."

His words made little sense to her befuddled state, but then, who wouldn't be confused in her position. A dream so real she felt, smelled and breathed it. But even in the madness, a strange warning came pounding in its urgency, demanding she pay attention. Holding back his advance toward the man he undoubtedly referred to as their host. "Devon, why will they be shocked?" Her thoughts were racing trying to assimilate everything at once. Did he know about her? Would he tell them she didn't belong? Tell them what ... she was a time jumper!

"My dear Emma, remember our pact?"

Impatient with his humor and her fright, she hissed at him. "Of course I do."

"We will see, my lady, we will see..."

Before she could obtain any further clarification, the group before them appeared to converge as a pack. Visions of wolves, moving in for the kill, forced her closer to her strange protector's side.