Nodding, Nadine moved to the last window. “I warned you something got into him. You left and he was done with this place. Camille’s probably rolling over in her grave.”
“She ought to be. I won’t stay and do this, Nadine. He wanted me to burn an entire crate of photographs. I will not do that to Thomas so he can resent me years from now.”
“Burn them? Is that what he’s doing with all the personal effects?”
Nadine’s shock served to soothe a little of Isolde’s fury. Her lungs relaxed, and the shaking in her hands diminished. But the angry burn still coursed through her veins, and the thought of Thomas’s eventual discovery of what his father had done knotted her stomach all over again. Dimly, she heard the sound of the door opening as her voice rose again. “He’s being completely insensitive to Thomas’s needs.”
Nadine’s eyes went wide, drawing Isolde’s attention over her shoulder just as Angus entered the museum. His gaze held hers, his expression flat and unreadable. Superb—just what she needed, another go-round with him. Already he’d pushed her past her limits and the dark half of her soul rejoiced with her lack of control. If he nudged her any further, she’d have a hard time keeping that seldom-recognized demonic blood in check. Incredible that Angus could push her beyond centuries of discipline and the natural temperance of her mother’s much stronger Selgovae blood.
“I’m leaving. I’ll phone you later, Nadine.” She shouldered past Angus, ignoring the way his sweetened spice cologne called out to her senses.
“You’re right, Isolde.”
His quiet utterance drew her to a halt. Warily, she looked back at him.
“I think I’ll let you two discuss this alone.” Nadine ducked past Isolde, into the hall, where she hurried toward the private household quarters.
Isolde’s heart skipped three beats as Angus reached around her waist, nudged her hand off the door handle, and pulled the door shut. “I am being insensitive.”
His admission so stunned her, her jaw went slack. But before it could drop fully open, she gritted her teeth. It wasn’t like Angus to admit when he was wrong. Either he’d had an epiphany, or he was baiting her.
“You care for Thomas. Perhaps even as much as I.” His gaze no longer burned with anger as it canvassed her face. Softness settled into the corners of his jaw. “You have a right to be concerned about his well being.”
Isolde nodded stiffly, not yet convinced Angus had seen the true error of his ways in a few moments alone with the incinerator.
“I apologize for my outburst.”
Stunned, she blinked long and slow. Angus apologize? She must be hearing things.
Warm hands gathered both of hers. He brushed his thumbs across her knuckles, a gesture that stuttered her pulse and had her once again wishing she’d never looked in that damned crate. She could almost believe genuine affection lay in his hands, in the steady earnest way he looked into her eyes.
“I see Camille in you so often.”
Like that, the skip of her emotions screeched to a stop. She pulled her hands away, unwilling to be reminded that whatever sentiment he felt for her was nothing more than a product of a remembrance of his deceased wife.
“She wouldn’t want Thomas to forget. I won’t burn the photos, but I’m asking you not to bring them up again.”
Unable to speak through her disappointment, Isolde nodded again. Her words wouldn’t matter anyway. She wasn’t staying here long enough to revisit the issue of the photographs. While he had conceded to not burn them, he’d said nothing about preserving Camille’s memory.
“I need your help, Isolde. You’ve been house manager here for years. You alone know what should stay with the house, what came second-hand through donations and replica purchases. You know what would mean the most to Thomas when he’s grown. Would you stay on long enough to help me catalogue them?”
“So you can be free of the home that housed five generations of Hatherlys?” She couldn’t help herself—bitterness escaped against her will. “So you can send Thomas away to school and force him into something he doesn’t want?”
“Aysgarth is the best thing for Thomas. I’ll pay you double your previous wage.”
“He can go to day-school, Angus.” Irritation tightened her words. “Send him to Aysgarth if you want, but don’t send him away. He’s your son! He needs you. Haven’t you realized that?”
“Damn it, Isolde! I can’t deal with everything all at once. I’m doing the best I can.”
A persistent knocking on the glass stopped Isolde’s immediate response and silenced Angus. They both turned to find Thomas standing outside, worry scrunching his features. He pushed open the door. “Why are you yelling at each other?”
Angus sighed heavily and shoved a hand through his hair as Isolde bent to eye-level with Thomas. She set her hands on his shoulders and forced a smile. “We’re just having a disagreement.”
“Isolde was leaving. I asked her to stay. We—”
“You can’t leave, you just got here,” Thomas cried. “You have to see the tadpoles.”
Every ounce of annoyance Isolde felt toward Angus drained out through the soles of her boots. She bowed her head, defeated, and gave in to a slight nod. No way could she disappoint Thomas by leaving tonight. He’d be miserable when he left for Aysgarth, and while she couldn’t risk falling more deeply for Angus by staying the summer out, she’d stay a while longer.
After all the time she’d spent here, all the outings she made with Thomas when she wasn’t managing the tourists, she owed him that much.
Lifting her head, she focused on Angus and pointedly said, “I will be in my old rooms.” Refusing to allow father or son a response, she calmly exited, grabbed her bag by the wall, and headed down the hall.
Chapter Four
Angus took a sip of brandy then set the snifter on the end table beside his chair. Steepling his fingertips beneath his chin, he rolled the aged liquor over his tongue before swallowing, and stared at the shelves of leather-bound books that covered the library wall. In three hours, he had neither heard nor seen Isolde. She hadn’t joined him for dinner, and she hadn’t bid Thomas good night as she usually did.
Though he should have been relieved to have a few hours reprieve, her absence bothered him more than her scathing truths. In the weeks since she’d been gone, he’d pushed her out of his mind. Now, with her reappearance, he couldn’t ignore how much he’d looked forward to the quiet time they once spent together when Hatherly was at rest..
He’d missed her. Incredibly so. And instead of welcoming her back, he’d treated her like she was irrelevant. He’d been a monumental jerk. All because somehow, some way, Isolde managed to tap into a side of him he couldn’t comprehend. A side that reacted before logic could intervene. A side that was as passionate and willful as she.
Now, he owed her an apology, which galled him more than his boorish behavior.
Grumbling, he dropped his head onto the back of the velvet-covered chair and closed his eyes. There must be a way to convince her to stay until the transfer of ownership went through. One that wouldn’t find them eternally at odds, because other, more demanding parts of his soul wanted far more than just Isolde’s help. He yearned to hold her, to feel the soft press of her body against his as she wound her arms around his waist. He craved the sweetness of her kiss.
But like an idiot, he’d offered to pay her. Which threw them both right back to the absurd rules that she couldn’t indulge in the passion they both felt as long as she worked for him. What was he supposed to say now? That he’d changed his mind and her work wasn’t worth payment?
That would go over like thrown boulders.
Not to mention the dilemma of satisfying his lust didn’t resolve the more immediate problem of Isolde’s intrusion on the decisions he made for Thomas. He didn’t know how else to tell her that her job was to manage the household items, the antiquities and antiques that he couldn’t make heads or tails out of. His was to be the parent.
Angus sat forward suddenly. That’s exactly what he’d do—apologize for insulting her and make it clear that he’d stay out of her hair. She could do whatever she felt was best with the things that came from Camille’s family so long as she left the parenting to him.
She wouldn’t like it, but it would make the lines clear. Establish a few boundaries that might well help him get his desire under control. It wasn’t like he intended to create a life with Isolde—he wasn’t in any state to offer that sort of stability.
A strange chill descended on the room and prickled the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Frowning, he surveyed the library, certain someone had entered. The maid coming to turn down lights she believed he’d forgotten. Or perhaps Phillippe, coming to inform him that the perimeter security was set and he was retiring for the night.
But no one lingered in the doorway. Odd.
Unexplainably, Thomas leapt into Angus’s mind, and he eased to his feet. The pull of fear laced around his lungs, unjustified, but present all the same. He shook it off with a short exhale. Thomas was asleep in his bed. His room sat directly over the library. If anything had upset his son, Angus would have heard the cries, the stumbling out of bed.
Now she’s got you imaging things, old man.
Time to get that apology out of the way and establish boundaries that would make them both more comfortable.
Right after he checked on his son.
****
Seated at the narrow desk before a wide window, Isolde looked up from her laptop and the email she was composing to her brother Cian. She cocked her head. Around her, the air churned with agitated energy. Dark energy that had no place in Hatherly. Unease filtered down her spine.
Though Beltane was two nights away, her sire had no reason to come so close to these halls that she could sense him. He was still a good deal off, several miles at least. But close enough instinct lifted and warned her Drandar was near.
Because she was the last of the siblings who supported his demise? Because he anticipated she would find the next portion of her mother’s spell book? Or because he sought revenge for the damage she had dealt him on the last sabot? He still possessed strength enough that an unsuspecting attack could render her useless for several months. She wouldn’t put it past him to strike when least expected, just to insure this coming sabot couldn’t further his weakness.
But what Drandar didn’t know was the might of her mother’s blood that flowed in Isolde’s veins. She’d shown him only a fraction of her increasing power, only a minute glimpse of Nyamah’s former strength. It coursed through her now, equally as agitated as the surrounding elements, hungry for Drandar’s eternal destruction.
Isolde closed her eyes and breathed deeply, focusing on her center. With a murmur of the ancient Selgovae language, she drew on the lightness in her soul and quieted her spirit. The years of prayer, the years of studying the magical phrases had become so much a part of her that she seldom noticed the darkness occupying the other half of her soul. The same darkness that ticked just beneath the surface, wanting nothing more than for her to embrace her sire’s vile calling.
As a light springtime breeze sifted through the partly open window, the misplaced energy dissipated. Isolde exhaled in relief. While she looked forward to the confrontation with her sire, here wasn’t the place. She refused to let Angus and Thomas become a part of the nightmare.
Precisely why she couldn’t stay longer than a day. Seeing Angus today had pushed her control to impossible limits. True he’d provoked her anger, but he’d also stirred something else. A dangerous part of her soul that fed on the prospect of his death. She needed to leave before her heart surrendered and the curse awakened. Even if she was capable of overpowering it, the torment would be unimaginable.
A sharp knock at her door made her jump. Half-expecting to find Drandar standing in her room, she braced herself for the inevitable. But when she faced the door, only the quiet tick-tock of the mounted cuckoo clock greeted her.
Damn it, she didn’t need the additional torment of her sire’s presence tonight. Why had he been so close? Because the Beltane ritual held at Thornborough Henge drew him early?
With a shake of her head, she pushed the questions aside and went to the door. Her eyes widened at the sight of Angus standing in the dimly lit hall. “Yes?” she asked curiously.
“I wanted to talk to you, Isolde. May I?” He gestured at her room.
By the sharpness in his voice, she could tell she wouldn’t care for the conversation. Nevertheless, she opened the door and stepped aside so he could enter. “What about?”
He passed a hand through his short dark hair and rubbed his cheek. His gaze skipped down the length of her body, across the thin ankle-length cotton of her nightgown to her bare toes, then slowly lifted to her face. “This afternoon—”
“I have nothing to say about this afternoon, Angus.” Isolde folded her arms across her breasts, all too aware of the way he filled up the small room. At once, she wished she’d grabbed her robe off the post at the end of the bed. Standing before him in her nightgown, no matter how plain and unrevealing it might be, left her feeling naked.
“Hear me out, please.” Again, his gaze dipped.
Isolde glanced down her body and choked back a groan when she realized the way her arms pushed her breasts against the low-scooped neckline. Hastily, she dropped her hands to her sides. “I’m listening.”
Clearing his voice, Angus lifted dark eyes to hers. What she read there made her breath hitch—appreciation. The same spark of desire that had lit his gaze on the fateful night he broke all their boundaries and kissed her.
By the ancient spirits, she ached to feel his hungry mouth on hers.
“I owe you an apology.”
“Which you already gave me.” Hurry up and leave.
“Right then.” He cleared his throat again and furrowed his brow. “About Thomas. While I appreciate your interest in his well-being, I came to establish some boundaries.”
“Boundaries?” This ought to be entertaining. The man didn’t know the definition, and if he thought he could assign her a specific role when she’d long-ago deviated from regular employee, he’d bumped his head somewhere. “Is this another lecture where you remind me you’re the boss and I’m merely the employee?”
“Damn it, Isolde. Stop putting words into my mouth.” He raked his fingers through his hair once more, a clear sign that her challenge made him uncomfortable, and turned his back to her. “It should be my decision what, or how, he learns about Camille. I will stay out of your hair and let you do your job, if you will relinquish that right to me.”
“I can’t.”
He whipped around, incredulous. “You can’t? You most certainly can.”
“No.” Isolde shook her head. “If he asks me, I won’t lie to him.” Exasperated, she threw her hands into the air, then let them slap against her thighs. She couldn’t abide by this. The loss of the Selgovae lands, the way her people had been forced to abandon all that marked them as existent, burned each day she awakened. Now, the tribe was merely myth, lost amongst time, mentioned only once in the annals of history. “You are denying him his birthright. You’re selling the very land of his ancestors.”
“That is my choice!” He thrust an arm toward the open window as anger stained his cheeks a faint shade of crimson. “As trustee to the estate, I have the right to keep or part with any portion I desire.”
“And why, Angus? Because it’s easier for you? Because if Thomas doesn’t remember then you don’t have to explain why you did so?”
A low growl issued from his throat, and he slowly curled a hand into a fist. To his credit, though, he didn’t bellow. Instead, his voice cracked sharp, but firm. “No.” With an audible exhale, calm returned to his features, though his posture remained rigid as stone. “Because I’m trying to protect him.”
“Like hell you are. You’re protecting yourself.” She held his stare, defiant and unbending, daring him to confront the truth. �
�You’ve hidden Camille away because you can’t block her out any other way.”
His nostrils flared as he drew a sharp breath, and his mouth pursed into a harsh line that warned her not to continue.
But Isolde had witnessed enough. Her people had been forced to abandon the Selgovae lands. Staying would have killed them all. Angus, on the other hand, was giving up Thomas’s heritage by choice. He couldn’t possibly know how that loss would affect his son.
Pushed over the edge by Angus’s inability to admit the truth, she stabbed a finger at his broad chest. “You’re ridding yourself of Hatherly because you can’t stand to confront Camille’s memory. Not because it’s best for Thomas.”
Chapter Five
Because he couldn’t confront Camille?
Like Isolde had dealt Angus a physical blow, her words slammed into him and stole his angry retort. His gut hollowed out as he stared at Isolde, then swiftly filled with the punch of indignation. He would never use Thomas as an excuse. That she would think him capable of such cowardice stung.
“You need to leave.” Isolde turned toward the door.
His hand shot out before he could stop himself and latched around her delicate wrist. With a tug, he pulled her back around and grabbed her by both upper arms. He took a step forward, glared down into her startled expression. “I confront her every time I look at you.”
Not because Isolde resembled his deceased wife physically. But because for the first time since Camille’s death, Isolde made Angus feel alive.
Drawn by a force he couldn’t comprehend, he pulled her to her toes and slanted his mouth across hers. Kissing her was the only way he knew to temper the emotion that raged through his system. He had missed her laughter, missed the way her smiles warmed him from the inside. Missed how Isolde McLaine and her refusal to accept her place as employee both infuriated and delighted him at the same time.
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