A love story that transcends time . . .
When a woman claiming to be a ghost from 1912 appears in Nick Marshal's office and begs for help in solving her murder, he thinks he has lost his mind. A scandal that rocked Hollywood almost destroyed his law practice, so he doesn't need any more fireworks as he rebuilds his life. Still, he is intrigued by Abigail Carlisle's plea, and he needs clients, even if this one insists she's dead. The more secrets Nick uncovers, the deeper he falls for the beautiful ghost.
Abigail believes Nick is her heart's true desire, but how can happily-ever-after happen when she's already dead? The more time she spends with him, the more real she becomes, until Nick can finally touch her.
In a strange turn of events, Nick is suddenly whisked back to 1912, two weeks before Abby's murder, but she doesn't remember him. When he attempts to win her over so he can save her from a tragic destiny, Abby thinks Nick is courting her for her inheritance. But even if he can rescue her and make her trust him again, how can they be together forever?
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
I hope you enjoy Hearts Through Time. I love reading time travel, and I thought I'd give my own little time travel a twist. I hope you enjoy my witty characters, and especially the mystery intertwined within the pages.From the Inside Flap:
starting on page 14
Nick exhaled a relieved sigh, then closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Leave it to Vanessa to make the dead aware of her departure. Thankfully, he didn't have close neighbors in the building.
"Excuse me if I'm intruding."
Another feminine voice broke his concentration, and he spun around toward it. A woman rose from the brown leather chair in front of his desk. Confused, Nick glanced from the woman to the closed office door and back again. When did she get here? His face went red as he realized she must have been in the office waiting for him when he'd arrived with Vanessa. But why hadn't he noticed her until now?
Nick did a double take at the strange woman. She definitely didn't look like a model from a style magazine, like Vanessa did. Instead this woman looked as if she had stepped off the set of a motion picture from the early 1900s.
His visitor smoothed a hand down the side of her ankle-length black dress decorated with entirely too much lace. It contoured her body nicely yet was ultra modest, especially in this day and age. Her brunette hair was swept up beneath a magenta flat hat decorated with an outlandish pink bow, and white-laced gloves encased her hands. Even her proper posture spoke of an old-time society dame. Yet her smooth, young face told him she wasn't old at all--probably somewhere in her mid twenties. And her eyes... He'd never seen such wondrous and intriguing eyes before.
The oddly dressed lady cleared her throat and stepped closer. "Forgive me for interrupting."
Despite the musical lilt to her voice, the trace of British intonation brought to mind the high-and-mighty aristocrats he'd Nick had rubbed elbows with at his last firm. With quick fingers, he straightened his tie and came forward. "Uh, no, ma'am. You didn't interrupt anything important. I'm sorry you had to witness that, um, display just now."
Her lips remained stretched in a thin line. "Are you Mr. Nicholas Marshal?"
He maintained a professional smile, but after what she'd caught him doing, it was hard not to feel embarrassed. Maybe Vanessa had set out to sabotage his first day in a new town after all.
"Yes, I'm Nick."
Solicitor? Who uses that term anymore? Nick wondered. "I'm a lawyer, yes. And you are . . ."
She took another step toward him. "I'm Abigail Carlisle."
He approached to shake her hand, but when her eyes widened and her face paled, he stopped. Maybe she was claustrophobic or had a fear of getting too close to people. "Nice to meet you, Miss Carlisle. Are you seeking my services?"
Her brilliant green eyes flashed, and color crept into her cheeks. "I'm seeking your professional--I mean, your services as a solicitor."
He tried not to grin over what he supposed she'd misinterpreted. Curse Vanessa's hide for making me look this bad!
Nick motioned toward the chair. "Please, then, have a seat." He straightened his suit jacket as he walked around the desk to his chair. "I want to apologize again for that scene a few minutes ago. She was an unexpected visitor."
"No need to explain, Mr. Marshal." The woman arched an eyebrow. "I understand perfectly."
As she sat, he slid his chair closer to the desk. "I'm surprised I didn't see you," he said. "I can't remember passing you in the hall."
Her expression remained solemn, and he dropped his gaze to the delicate shape of her mouth. This woman was definitely a looker, although so different than Vanessa. He looked back at her eyes. They were an intoxicating green--a forest green--and he wanted to stare into them. He wanted to get to know her. Back to reality, Nick, he told himself silently. Clients are off limits!
She cleared her throat. "You didn't see me because going unnoticed is something I have become accustomed to as of late, sir."
Unnoticed? Not dressed like that. Once more he took in Miss Carlisle's garb. The woman would definitely stand out in any crowd.
He opened the drawer, took out his mini voice-recorder, and pressed the on button. "I hope you don't mind, but I always record my sessions."
"That is permissible."
"What can I do for you, Miss--or is it Mrs. Carlisle?"
"I'm not married."
"Then Miss Carlisle it is." Her stiff, aloof behavior pricked his curiosity. In an attempt to draw her out, he flashed his most charming smile. She did not so much as bat an eyelash in return. It stung his ego just a bit, since women usually melted beneath that smile. Nonetheless, he wasn't here to make her weak in the knees but to gain her trust and represent her.
She repositioned herself on the chair, pulling her shoulders back primly as she faced him. "I have searched for you for a long time. You are the only person who can help me."
The urgency in her tone made him pause. It was in total contradiction to her outward, ice-queen appearance. What an odd thing to say. "Really?" he asked. "Why do you think I'm the only person who can help?"
"I don't think, Mr. Marshal. I know."
Nick cocked a skeptical brow. "How do you know?"
A flash of hesitation, or perhaps embarrassment, skirted across her face. "My maternal grandmother" --Miss Carlisle paused to draw a short breath-- "told me one day I would find the man who could help me."
Nick knew he should be amused at the absurdity of her story, but instead he felt intrigued. "And she actually said my name?"
"Well, not exactly," Miss Carlisle replied, "but it was close enough. She gave the initials N.M., and she said you would be a solicitor."
"Solicitor? When you use that word, you are referring to an attorney?"
She shrugged, her head bobbing to the right. "They mean the same thing, do they not?"
Disturbing tingles crawled up his back, the sort of sixth-sense sensation one experiences while walking through a cemetery in the pitch dark of night or after a scary movie. Nick shook off the feeling. Was her grandmother some kind of fortune-teller? "So how do you know N.M. is me?"
Finally, a timid smile touched her mouth. "Because you are speaking to me right now."
He shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Miss Carlisle."
She closed her eyes as though in pain. "I knew explaining my situation," she spoke the words carefully, as though testing its meaning, "would be difficult, but I'm at quite a loss for how to clarify myself."
"Please try, Miss Carlisle, because you have me confused. Why exactly do you need an attorn--er, a solicitor? And why do you believe I'm the man your grandmother spoke of?" More to the point, why are you dressed like someone from the Titanic? The last question would have to wait until he ascertained her reason for seeking him out.
Her breathing quickened as a touch of trepidation touched her stony expression. "Mr. Marshal, the reason I know you're the man who can help is because you--you can . . ." She cleared her throat. "You can actually see me."
Nick stifled a chuckle. "Of course I can see you. You're sitting right in front of me."
"True, but your lady friend could not."
He silently cursed Vanessa again. "I don't think my friend was paying much attention at the time."
"When she walked into the room first, she looked my way, but she didn't see me."
He flipped his hand. "I do apologize for that. Vanessa can be a little self-absorbed at times."
"No, you don't understand. The reason she couldn't see me is because, well . . ." Her green eyes locked on his with something akin to fear shadowing their depths. It brought about a surge of protectiveness Nick was not entirely used to experiencing.
"I'm a ghost," she ended in a whisper.
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
Book Description Brigham Distributing 0. Paperback. Book Condition: New. 1935217925 Brand new softcover book. ; When a woman claiming to be a ghost from 1912 appears in Nick Marshal?s office and begs for help in solving her murder, he thinks he has lost his mind. A scandal that rocked Hollywood almost destroyed his law practice, so he doesn?t need any more fireworks as he rebuilds his life. Still, he is intrigued by Abigail Carlisle?s plea, and he needs clients, even if this one insists she?s dead. The more secrets Nick uncovers, the deeper he falls for the beautiful ghost. Abigail believes Nick is her heart?s true desire, but how can happily-ever-after happen when she?s already dead? The more time she spends with him, the more real she becomes, until Nick can finally touch her. In a strange turn of events, Nick is suddenly whisked back to 1912, two weeks before Abby?s murder, but she doesn?t remember him. When he attempts to win her over so he can save her from a tragic destiny, Abby thinks Nick is courting her for her inheritance. But even if he can rescue her and make her trust him again, how can they be together forever? ; 6" x 9". Bookseller Inventory # 51749
Book Description Brigham Distributing, 2011. Paperback. Book Condition: New. Never used!. Bookseller Inventory # P111935217925