“Who do you see?” He grabbed her ass with his cast covered hand and moved with her, her pretty eyes staring into his soul. “Now.”
“Austin,” she whispered his name, soft moans on her lips, as she brought herself close again. “Been a long time since I’ve been with anyone.”
“That rocker didn’t put out then?” He flipped her on her back and ground his dick into her crotch, she pushed his shirt up and clawed at his back. “Why’d you call me Osh?”
“He rejected me when he found my dick. I… need it… fuck me, I need it. Like I’ve never…” She dragged his jeans down his ass and ran her finger between his ass cheeks, delving one wet finger into him… he’d never seen her wet it. “Want to bury my cock in you… since the moment I laid eyes on you. What the hell are you made of… sugar… got all the boy parts in this place panting for you.”
“Thought you wanted Rory?” God, he wanted her cock in him.
“Rory wants you. Heath wants you…” her eyes went round as he slammed into her, his cock dragging against metal, trying to get to her sweet spot… “Even Daddy… wanted you. But all you saw was him. So… Daddy took me. And it was good. That old hag can’t satisfy him. Not like I can… not like I… Austin?” She froze beneath him. Her finger deep inside him, driving him past what he could bear. Her body shaking as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. “Fuck… it’s… right there, Daddy. Give me a baby. I’ll be careful this time. I’ll give you a son. Better than that useless one who beds… men— Oh fuck, Austin, what have we done?”
Austin couldn’t answer. He smelled summer linen, and the spiced scent of the young master, the one he loved, with all his heart. Enough to allow him to pleasure himself inside his body. Heath’s face, so very young, and happy, below him on the bed as he explored him with callused freckled hands and kissed his sweet lips as his pleasure took him.
“I have to go,” he whispered as the sound of the horses drifted in on the summer breeze. “If he finds me here… he’ll murder me. Or worse.”
“I’ll deal with him. I’ll deal with both of them. I’m not afraid of them. I love you. I will enlist as soon as I’m eighteen… and I’ll take you with me. We’ll be free of them. Of all this. Free to be together.”
Austin rolled to his side, the smell of sex and shame filling his nostrils. Where there had been sweet summer there was only cold. He lay there, on his back, throwing his broken arm over his eyes… and choked back the sob that robbed him of breath. He’d betrayed him. The one he loved. In his bed. In his home.
“It’s this room,” she said, wiping at the mess on his skin with one of the unused cleaning rags. “I don’t know what happened. It’s this room.” She sounded panicked… too damn late.
“I know,” Austin whispered as he grabbed her hand before she touched him. He still wanted. He took the cloth from her and wiped himself. “Doesn’t make it right. Or better. Besides, he… knows. And he didn’t care.”
“He cared.” Jemma hitched her hips and pulled her jeans into the proper place, tucking her dick inside. “I’ll explain it. If I can. He’ll… understand.”
Austin lay there, the air cold on his dick. He didn’t care who walked in now. They’d not been quiet about it. The whole neighborhood probably heard them screwing. “It doesn’t matter. It all makes sense now. It’s this room. This house. This was his room. He… brought me here when he was a ghost. Because it was his room. Where he made love to… the freckle-faced boy he loved… and his wife. It’s where he brought me… as a real man. To make love with a man he’d met the day before. None of this is real. It’s this house. The freckle-faced boy haunts this room… and me. The wife… haunts you. If you don’t get out of here… it won’t be me the next time. It’ll be him.”
The bed bounced beneath him, the springs loud as fuck as she climbed out. “She never laid with him… Austin, not in this bed. Maybe when they went away on their wedding trip. But… he never slept with her. He wouldn’t touch her… he mourned… the freckled boy. Heath Cortlandt… the dead one… He was gay, and he lost his lover. The wife… Amelia… oh god… Austin… her child… probably all of them… they were… HC’s. She gave birth to her husband’s half-brother. In this bed. I can hear her screaming. Just like last night. She’s screaming with pain and terror… and then there’s nothing but silence. There’s a baby crying, but… it’s not in this room. Her baby—”
“Died with her,” Austin mumbled to the ceiling. The nagging little things from the journal tugging at his memory. “The woman. Culla. She gave birth not long before Amelia did. I’m sure of it. She spoke of it in the journal. And it reads like she was writing code… like she was trying to confess but couldn’t. She said something about how she’d thought her bouts of melancholy that caused her to shut herself away from the family would have ended with her brother’s death. She was confessing to the only person she could… herself. Writing down her sins… without implicating herself. She gave birth to HC’s child three months after he died. A boy. A hale and hearty male heir was how she put it. No way Amelia had a hale and hearty bouncing baby boy after being bedridden for months. No way that baby would have survived that birth, with a single midwife in the house. One going to ruin around them.”
“Jesus…” Jemma walked across the room to stand in front of the window. The one they’d stripped of its drapery. The dull winter sun washing her body… her breasts full, her belly round as she paced. The pain radiating from her.
Austin dragged himself out of the bed and pulled his briefs and jeans up. The vision in front of the window fading… as if it never happened, leaving the tall, long-haired beauty. Her head bowed, arms wrapped around her chest… “That poor woman. To die like that. With that old witch… and no husband. Sold to those people for their name, as if it would wash the taint of Irish off their money. They sold her into this accursed place. And they killed her.”
Austin perched on the edge of the bed, as he’d done before. Before he’d lost his fucking mind. His hands between his knees, his head bowed. Shivering in the cold… as if from the grave… his grave. “She wasn’t the first person they killed here. I’d bet my soul on it.”
Jemma sat beside him and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. “What happened to the boy Heath loved? Do you think he was the stable boy that ran off?”
“I don’t think he ran off, Jemma. I think he’s still here. In this room. With her. I think all of them are still here. And we’re trespassing in their cruel afterlife.”
He stood then. Time to face the music. He’d had sex with an employee while on the clock. And the boss knew. Time to get it over with. There was no guilt. He’d done nothing wrong. Given in to a mutual infatuation. The same as with Heath. He’d made no promises. And as soon as he left this place, he’d forget. Heath would go back to New York, back to his Tom Ford wearing life… most likely back to his husband. And Rory… god, Rory.
“Where are you going to go?” She asked from the bed, her voice as lifeless as he felt.
“Home. To Tennessee. I haven’t seen my family in a while. I’m thinking… there was a place in Nashville that offered me a job. I wonder if it’s still open. I can wait tables if nothing else. I’m good at that.”
“That’s not what I mean, Oz.”
“I know what you meant. I’m going upstairs. Going to finish closing up the house. Going to pack. That’s where I’m going.”
“What about Rory?”
“Rory’s a grown man. He can do what he wants.”
“And Heath…”
“What about him?”
“You love him, Oz.”
“It’s this room. Remember?”
“The other morning… that wasn’t in this room.”
“The freckle-faced boy haunts my apartment, Jemma. I’ve seen him. Heath has seen him. Rory thought he was his cousin. The dead Heath spent a lot of time in that stable. Doing what… the live Heath did to me. It’s the whole place. It’s not real. None of it is real.”
Chapter Forty-One
Heath walked the upper floor hallway with his phone pressed to his ear for so many hours he felt naked without it. After a long night with no sleep, breakfast was a pale memory, and lunch was a long way off. And he was pissed about everything when he shouldn’t be.
So, what the hell did any of it mean… or matter?
The damage to the house wasn’t extensive. But it would be expensive to repair. The turret would have to be rebuilt one more time. Or scrapped completely. They’d argued over the detail during the reconstruction until Heath wanted to pull out his hair. The turret wasn’t original to the house; it was an addition in the early 1900s. A vanity piece for the time. Originally the turret didn’t have a floor. It was just a façade with windows that opened to the floor below. Sort of like an expensive skylight.
They’d added a floor and a door for safety reasons. And made sure it was structurally sound. It had been crumbling when the first survey team had gone through the house.
The third-floor access to the room was completely gone. The roof there would have to be rebuilt. Over the mystery room, where the most water damage was.
The fire chief had left barely an hour earlier, giving the all-clear to retrieve anything left undamaged from the room. They’d stayed for hours watching for hot spots and when none presented, they walked through to confirm what everyone already knew. Lightning.
I could have been worse. If it hadn’t been pouring rain at the time, the whole roof would have gone up in flames before the fire trucks could arrive. If they hadn’t left the doors open back in the apartments, they might not have heard the strike at all. And the whole house would have gone before anyone could call 911.
Insurance would pay to rebuild. There was that small comfort.
His board still wanted to scrap the project and sell the place to recoup the financial loss.
Heath didn’t know how he felt about that.
The whole fucking place was a massive mistake. An albatross around his neck, so to speak. But he couldn’t… wouldn’t let it go.
At least, not yet.
So, he threw himself into carrying on as if he meant to carry on.
Sensing his bad mood, Britney and Donna slipped off to pick up food from somewhere. Hell, he didn’t care. He was so hungry he’d eat that crap that passed for fried chicken they brought in the other night.
If he had to eat one more Irish anything, he was going to personally… start a new famine. Fuck… It wasn’t Rory’s fault his food was the closest and easiest to get.
Austin was right, there should be a pizza place on the street. He needed a fucking slice and a beer right now.
Fucking Austin.
Britney tried to steer him clear of the room. She’d tried so hard to distract him but… why did it matter?
It didn’t matter. Just another man who couldn’t keep it in his pants around a pretty face. His betrayal with Rory last night paled in comparison to Jemma.
And that was the thing… Jemma. Why Jemma? He hadn’t taken Austin for the type to be that adventurous. To get in the pants of some ladyboy… no matter how she dressed it up… a penis is still a penis… and Austin was all over… under that penis.
Fucking Austin and goddamn Jemma… he threw his phone across the room. The shattering sound it made immensely satisfying.
The wall crumbled where the phone hit… and Heath surveyed his surroundings for the first time since he’d closed the door on his… employees fucking in… his bed.
His goddamn bed.
The room reeked, the scent of burnt wood and wet soot that had coated his nostrils for hours no longer redolent in the cold air. The gaping hole in the ceiling spilling in bright sunlight with frigid air… now appeared whole and untouched. The room held a chill. And an odor he’d closed his mind to for far too long.
Blood.
And decay.
She sat in the chair. Rocking. Holding the babe to her breast. He suckled greedily, pawing at her breast. His child. But…
“It’s for the best.” She spoke without moving her lips. She didn’t seem to know he existed. “The useless girl is dead. This child will take her place. They won’t… their questions will no longer plague us.”
He felt nothing. The girl had been his responsibility. She wasn’t some doll to toy with. He’d failed, his wife, and… her child?
“Stillborn. Like the others.” She inclined her Patrician head toward the steamer trunk in the corner. “The ground will be frozen solid soon. Take the trunk to the angel. Bury it deep. You’ll allow your in-laws to take the babe. And you’ll mourn your wife. I’ll forget where I found you last night. And look the other way if it keeps you from the other children.”
He hated her. God, how he hated her. Her cold, wicked heart. Suckling yet another of his father’s bastards.
“Don’t you dare disparage his good name. My brother was a good provider.”
“And a rapist. Culla. He raped you.”
“I loved him. He loved me. We… made beautiful children. That his trashy wives did not deserve to mother.”
“What do you call Ruth? And the other children like him. So many Ruth’s I’ve lost count of them all.”
“Unfortunate creature.”
“Made from incest. Brothers and sisters should not have children, Culla, it’s against nature.”
“You lay with men for pleasure. You lay with two men, just last evening. That is not natural. Perverting that young stable boy to the point my brother had to… set him free.”
“Set him free? Is that what you call murder now? You’ve done it so much you can justify it? Tell me, Mother, did my wife die from birthing that child? Or did the pillow, my father’s head rested upon when he bedded her, finds its way over her face, and that of the babe? I heard it cry.”
“A worthless girl. Another worthless girl. Almost as worthless as that abomination you protect. Maybe… you’re not unlike your father in that regard.”
“My father’s tastes didn’t end with the worthless girls, as you call them. That poor creature with no name of his own… Father brutalized that child. But he couldn’t get a bastard on it. Or me… or Osh. Hell, I’m surprised Ella hasn’t popped out—” his head jerked to the side from the force of the blow. She hadn’t removed the babe from her teat to slap him. His mother-aunt was far stronger than anyone gave her credit. Her heart as black as coal.
“Don’t speak ill of your father. I won’t have it in my home.”
“My home. My father passed you over in his will. This is my home. And you’ve terrorized my family long enough. When this child is safely away in Savannah, you will leave this house. Take the money you earned for giving those people, a male heir and go… to hell… if it makes you happy. The children will remain. As I am their legal guardian. The funeral is set for Christmas Eve. You have until Epiphany to vacate this…” He looked around the plain room as if seeing it for the first time. The stench of blood and human decay that haunted this part of the house… becoming smoke and soot and—
Heath’s knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the wet floor. Tears flowing down his face. The rocking chair that sat near a wall, the only piece of furniture left in the room. The chair in which she’d nursed her brother’s children. Where she’d nursed… him and his siblings… the ones who survived or were kept. Who weren’t like that poor child named Ruth after their grandmother… who had turned a blind eye to what the brother did to the worthless extra child. His own twin sister. In this room. The steamer trunk with the embroidered doily covering it… faded with the rest of the… memory.
“Heath?” He felt the hand on his shoulder and covered it with his own, larger hand. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. Don’t blame him.”
Her words made little sense. The chair in the corner rocked slowly, the creaking sound echoing in the emptiness of his soul.
“Do you see that?” He asked her. “Or am I crazy?”
“You’re sitting in cold, sooty, water.” She knelt beside him. H
e smelled sex on her skin when he wrapped his arms around her. “Heath? Is this about Austin and me?”
“I’m so sorry, Amelia. I’m so, so, sorry. I didn’t know. What she did. I… should have known she was jealous of you. For catching his attention. None of his wives had meant anything to him. She’d killed them all, anyway. But you… I’m so sorry. If I’d never touched him. If I’d controlled my lust. My father would have never found out. I would have been safely overseas, and you would have married someone who could love you, for you. I’m so sorry.”
“Heath?” She was on her feet now. Her dressing gown bloodstained from the waist down, her hair a bedraggled mess. The dead babe at her dead breast. “Take care of my baby. Promise me. Promise me that much, husband.”
“I can’t promise. I can’t. Don’t make me promise. When you’re gone – You’re all gone. And it’s my fault. If I’d killed him sooner. If I’d only killed him so much sooner. It would have all… been okay. You would all be alive.”
“Heath!” The voice shouting in his ear wasn’t female. Or… Jemma. It was decidedly male. The fingers cupping his face were long and callused, just like his were. But… not freckled. The nails were manicured, not bitten to the quick. “Heath. Come back. It’s not real. It’s not real. You’re not him. You’re alive. I promise.”
“Austin?” Heath clutched his hand to his face. Holding him, the scent of another on that hand… “Austin… where am I?” He scanned the room, the one they’d found locked away. The steamer trunk and rocking chair were gone. The hole in the wall from his shattered cell phone the only thing left.
“The hidden attic room.” Austin let his hand fall from Heath’s face. Losing his touch… hurt. Heath bent his head. There was nothing between them. Nothing at all.
Everything he’d felt for the man came from this house.
He knew that now.
“It’s freezing in here. The water you’re sitting in is turning to ice. With you in it. We need to get you out of here and into dry, warm clothing,” Austin said, his voice soft and gentle. As if he were speaking to a child.
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