At the Midnight Hour

by Alicia Scott

  “Were you married long?” he asked at last, his pale blue eyes expressionless against the firelight.

  He could see her take a deep breath, steadying herself. Her hands slowed their agitated motion.

  “I loved him all my life,” she told him quietly. “From the time we were kids and he would push me on the swings in the playground to the time we went to our high school prom. We were always together. It seemed we always would be.”

  She said the words with such simple conviction. He hadn’t anticipated just how sharply they would pierce him. He could see her with this perfect man all too easily. And all at once, it made him feel empty.

  “Then you grew up together?” he asked, his voice giving nothing away.

  She nodded. “Maddensfield, North Carolina, isn’t that big, and our parents had been friends for a long time. You could say it was classic small-town America. But,” she said shrugging, “I liked it.”

  He gave her an intense, shadowed look. “Then what are you doing here, Liz?” He gestured around the darkened library with its dull leather-bound books and deep walnut wood. “This is a long way from home.”

  She nodded, and he could see her eyes glitter with suppressed tears. But she took another deep breath, and gave him a watery smile.

  “I had to get away. I had to start over. So this is where I am.”

  He gazed at her, not wanting to push even as the next words burned in his throat. He told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself to keep quiet, he didn’t care. But it seemed his body was determined to ignore him tonight because he found his lips moving without command.

  “Do you like it here?” he whispered intently in the library. “Is it...not so bad, after all?”

  She hesitated, and he felt the hesitation stab him straight in the chest. Of course she didn’t like it here. Who would like living in a mausoleum like this? And he was certainly no better for her. A dark foreboding man that lived in a dark foreboding house. The things he’d said, the way he’d treated her... Certainly he was a far cry from this perfect man she’d loved all her life and married. Not that he cared, he thought savagely.

  “Andrew is a great kid,” Liz replied finally from the couch. She knew she ought to say more, but no more words would come out. She still didn’t know what she thought of this place, she realized suddenly. The child looked like an angel, and probably deep down truly was, but he’d put her through hell before he’d shown it. And the house was intimidating and overwhelming, not to mention downright terrifying at three in the morning when the power was out and branches scratched at bedroom windows. A woman had died here, something Liz was having a hard time forgetting.

  Then there was this man beside her, with his wintry blue eyes that never gave anything away. Sometimes she thought he might be a lost soul, like Andy. Sometimes she wasn’t so sure he had a soul; he had so much control, even when he kissed her. And sometimes she wondered what a man with so much control was capable of....

  “Alycia was murdered.”

  “I doubt we’ll ever know who did it.”

  All at once the library seemed too dark to her. She stole a glance at Richard.

  He had turned once more toward the flames, the expression on his face intense, but once again unreadable. He looked like granite, each facet carefully chiseled out, from the high cheekbones to the pitch-black hair. His body echoed the solid strength, the overwhelming control.

  In contrast, she thought abruptly, Nick looked young and boyish in her mind. His blue eyes had been open and laughing, not the winter chill of Richard’s. And his face, while handsome and strong, had still looked wholesome and untroubled by life. Richard’s face, on the other hand, appeared to have been carved from cobalt and was unrelentingly stern.

  The two would appear to have little in common.

  Except...

  Richard attracted her, she thought bleakly. She was an idiot to keep denying it. He’d already kissed her twice, dark, dangerous kisses like nothing she’d ever experienced. They had been hard, demanding kisses of a man. Even now, her breath stopped at the thought.

  Sitting in this dark and strange library, the past seemed so far away. There was just the haunting sensation of the love she’d once had and that now was gone. In contrast, the man beside her was intensely alive even with his brooding ways. When he looked at her, she felt it all the way to the pit of her stomach.

  All this from a man who may have killed his wife.

  Her nerves came back full force, and she found herself shifting restlessly on the sofa. Richard didn’t seem to notice, his eyes still captured by the flames. Whatever was going on in his mind, his face gave none of it away.

  “What about,” she began, licking her dry lips, “what about you and your wife?”

  He turned to her and, if possible, his face was even darker than before.

  “What about her?” he asked coldly.

  Her hands once more trembled, but she forced herself to continue. She worked with this man, lived with him. She wanted to know. She needed to know.

  “Did...did you love her at all?”

  His eyes returned to the flames. “Once upon a time, isn’t that what the storybooks say?” He leaned over to pick up his brandy glass from the table, swirling it.

  “But there was no happily-ever-after?”

  He nodded, drawing a burning sip of the amber fluid. “You still wonder if I killed her, don’t you?” he stated baldly, the words harsh but expressionless in the silence of the library.

  She felt suddenly miserable. But she forced herself to keep her chin up. “You said most people suspected you,” she said stonily. “And I understand that your marriage wasn’t a happy one....” Her voice trailed off, and she found herself shrugging weakly.

  “Seventy-five percent of marriages are unhappy ones,” Richard said tonelessly. “Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. But I don’t think the remaining twenty-five percent end in murder. Most people just suffer in silence.”

  From the couch, Liz nodded, but she couldn’t help thinking that he still hadn’t answered her question. No, he’d simply reverted to quoting safe statistics, so much like Andrew.

  “So you didn’t kill her?” she found herself asking boldly, though the words were still hushed.

  He turned to face her fully, his eyes a cold, pale blue as he looked at her with thinly veiled rage.

  “You asked me that same question two nights ago,” he reminded her angrily. “Then, you told me you didn’t know me well enough to believe my answer. What about now, Liz? You’ve sat at the dinner table with me, held a midnight vigil, seen my lab.”

  Kissed me twice.

  He didn’t say those words out loud, but he didn’t have to. They hovered between them, the unspoken desire each was acutely aware of, stirring to life.

  Liz turned away.

  “I don’t want to believe you’re capable of murder,” she said finally.

  It wasn’t enough, and they both knew it. She didn’t want to believe he was capable of murder, not she didn’t believe he had killed his wife. Not she believed in him.

  Richard’s jaw tightened with barely suppressed bitterness, but he forced himself to do nothing, to say nothing. Even after all these years, the control came at a harsh price.

  He stood, swallowing the last of his brandy and setting down the glass on the mantel with a resounding click in the silence.

  Against his will, his eyes found her one last time. God, he wanted to hate her, he wanted to keep her shut out of his dark and bitter world. But even now, when his blood simmered with anger and his fists clenched with the effort of control, he found her beautiful.

  Even now, he only wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss her until she cried his name in breathless surrender. He wanted to ravage her until she could see nothing but him, think nothing but him. Until his name fell from her lips as a gasp, as a prayer.

  And then what, Richard? the voice inside him whispered cynically. Would she believe in you then?

 
; “Good night, Miss Guiness,” he said abruptly. “And thank you for the conversation.”

  And then, without giving her another chance to speak, he stalked from the room.

  Long after he’d left, Liz remained staring at the doorway. Once more, the intense emotions swirling in the library faded with his absence. Now it was simply herself and the low burn of the forgotten fire.

  Sitting there alone, she wished she had the courage to call him back. She wished she understood even a little of this dark man who filled her thoughts and tormented her nights.

  And she wondered at the bleakness that seemed to fill her heart.

  Chapter 7

  Saturday morning dawned bright and brisk. As it was her first day off since starting her new job, Liz pulled on a pair of worn jeans, covering them with an old blue sweater. After brushing her hair briskly, she pulled it back in a casual ponytail. A pair of silver hoops completed the outfit.

  Now the question was, what to do?

  She needed to go outside, she decided once and for all. A long walk would do her good. Perhaps somewhere along the way her equilibrium would be restored and this nervous feeling would leave her stomach for good. This house...sometimes she swore it had a life of its own, and it seemed determined to suffocate her with its stale memories and ghosts.

  She paused in the doorway, and unbidden, thoughts of Alycia filled her mind. There was so much she didn’t understand yet, or even know. Maybe this afternoon she would pay a visit to the town library. A small frown furrowed her forehead as she thought about it. Considering how involved she was becoming with the household, going there to conduct a little research would probably be best.

  With a short nod of her head, she left her room. Walk first, then town library.

  In the foyer, Blaine was standing with Jillian, Parris and Greg. All four looked up as she approached, and she flashed a friendly smile. Except for dinner, she’d hardly seen the group at all. They appeared to keep their own frantic schedule.

  As she approached the bottom of the stairs, Blaine whistled at her.

  “Hey, nanny, I like the outfit,” he gave her an appreciative grin, winking broadly.

  Behind him, Jillian frowned slightly.

  “It’s my day off,” Liz informed him, ignoring his suggestive eyes and purposefully keeping her tone light. She didn’t know enough about the group of friends to know if Jillian and Blaine were involved, but she had no intention of treading where she clearly wasn’t wanted. “I’m planning on going for a nice long walk,” she said easily.

  “Oh, don’t do that,” Blaine replied immediately. “Come riding with us instead.”

  “What a smashing idea!” Parris piped up in his best fake English accent. His hazel eyes swept over her jean-encased legs with as much relish as Blaine had examined them. Liz felt on the verge of blushing, when Greg bailed her out.

  “We always ride,” he said simply, his tone much more natural than that of the others. “Jillian loves the horses, and Blaine and Richard maintain the best stable. If you join us, we’ll be the Gang of Five again.”

  Jillian stiffened immediately, and Liz instinctively backed off with a wave of her hand. Unfortunately, neither Blaine nor Parris seemed to notice Jillian’s discomfort.

  “It’s settled,” Blaine announced grandly. “She’s coming.”

  “No, no,” Liz tried. “Really, I just want to walk.”

  “It’s too late for that,” Jillian interrupted suddenly, her voice cool while her blue eyes frowned at Blaine. “He has his mind set, so you may as well give in gracefully. In case you haven’t noticed, Blaine always gets his way.”

  The undercurrent in those words made Liz uneasy, but none of the others seemed to notice. They simply took it for granted that she would join their jovial group and it would be a grand time for all.

  “What’s this?” came a deep voice from above. They all looked up to see Richard standing at the top of the left-hand stairs. Though it was only midmorning, he appeared to be coming down from the tower, rather than heading up. “Organizing another one of your outings, Blaine?”

  Blaine nodded at his older brother. “Yes, we’re all going riding. And Liz just agreed to grace us with her beautiful presence.”

  Richard’s eyes swept over to Liz, his gaze emotionless as usual. But his eyes had a way of lingering, a way of smoothing down her figure like a caress. She had to repress the shivers that crept along her spine.

  “So you’re getting to ride,” he said to her, his voice low and soft in the vaulted room.

  Liz barely nodded, discovering suddenly that she’d lost her voice.

  Richard’s eyes returned to the group, speculative and grim.

  “Come now, older brother,” Blaine goaded. “Why don’t you join us, as well? Or will your lab become jealous?”

  Liz glanced at Blaine sharply, but his face was empty except for his large, playboy grin. It might have been simple innocent teasing, except the room had suddenly gone thick with tension. Greg began to shift uncomfortably, while Parris had an open scowl of dislike on his face. Jillian appeared as unruffled and cool as ever in her smart Hunter garb, except, of course, when her eyes fell upon Liz. Then her jaw tightened noticeably.

  At the top of the stairs, Richard’s gaze returned to Liz. She looked as fresh and beautiful as ever. Her pulled-back hair revealed the clean, simple lines of her face, the rosy, healthy glow of her complexion. And she was smiling, that glowing open smile that pulled at his gut. Didn’t she know she was supposed to have more reserve? Didn’t she know what that smile did to him?

  He turned back to Blaine, dear brother Blaine who looked at Liz with wolfish eyes. Richard’s voice was clear when he spoke, his eyes betraying nothing.

  “All right,” he said simply. “I believe I will join you.”

  Blaine’s jaw practically dropped to the floor. “Pardon?”

  “I said I’ll join you.”

  “But—”

  Whatever he was about to say, Blaine abruptly cut himself off. Instead, he nodded with blue eyes that had suddenly become dark and disturbed. From where she stood, Liz could see the anger settle raw and uncomfortable on his face. He was definitely not happy with his older brother’s unexpected answer. Feeling the tension ratchet up yet another notch, Liz smoothly spoke to ease the troubled atmosphere.

  “Why don’t you meet us at the stable, then,” she called up to Richard. “Surely one of us can get your horse ready for you while you change.”

  “Yes, a groom can see to that.”

  “Then we’ll meet you there,” Liz affirmed, starting to usher the group out the door and put an end to the unease.

  Above, Richard nodded, watching as the group walked out of the house. He stood there a minute longer, his eyes following Liz’s vanishing form through the doorway. When she was out of sight, he finally proceeded down the stairs and journeyed to his room. He probably had riding clothes stashed somewhere, he thought to himself. After all, he’d ridden before.

  A very long time ago.

  * * *

  At the stables, Liz found the same pair of boots she’d used earlier in the week. She hung her coat on the peg, knowing she would get warm quickly enough from the riding, then turned around to see Blaine leading a different horse over to her.

  “She’s beautiful,” Liz told him, reaching out a hand to the dark red mare. The horse sniffed Liz’s hand with its smoky-colored nose, then nudged Liz for attention. Liz complied by rubbing the horse’s nose with a bright smile.

  “She’s almost as beautiful as you,” Blaine told her. Liz was about to chide him, but when she looked up she found that for the first time, his eyes were serious.

  “Come on,” she said, trying to keep the mood light, “my legs aren’t nearly as nice.”

  There was another intense moment, then Blaine relented with a smile. “Well, nanny,” he told her, “I think your legs are absolutely fine. Why don’t I help you saddle up?”

  “Oh, it’s okay,” she tried to tell him, b
ut he had already taken out a brush and was grooming the horse’s glossy coat. Not wanting to make too big a deal of it, Liz selected a hoofpick and examined the mare’s feet.

  Bending down, she could see Jillian behind her, with another horse. The beautiful blonde was watching Blaine, and the look in her eyes was far from happy. Liz finished all four of the hooves, and straightened.

  “What’s her name?” Liz asked as she picked up the bridle, keeping her voice casual. It was obvious to her that Jillian was interested in Blaine, and in all honesty, Liz wished Blaine would pay more attention to the blonde.

  “Honeysuckle,” Blaine said, putting away the brush. Liz arched an eyebrow.

  “Somehow, I can’t see Richard naming anything Honeysuckle.”

  “He didn’t,” Blaine replied calmly. “Alycia did.”

  Liz paused for a moment with the bridle, then forced herself to resume her task. It made sense, she reminded herself as coolly as possible. Alycia, after all, had been married to Richard for two years. Of course she’d done things like select horses and name them.

  Still, sometimes it seemed there were reminders of the woman everywhere. How could Richard stand to be surrounded by so many tokens of his dead wife? It was like living in a haunted house.

  “So this was Alycia’s horse?” she asked, her voice surprisingly level as she selected one of the few available Western saddles.

  Blaine shook his head, turning to his own mount. “Alycia rode her once, then decided Honeysuckle’s coloring didn’t suit her.”

  “Didn’t suit her?”

  Blaine flashed her a crooked grin from over his shoulder. “Exactly. See, Alycia was beautiful and knew it. She liked everything around her to reflect that beauty. Basically, life was one big accessory. Sometimes, I wondered if that was why she married Richard. After all, his tall dark looks were the perfect foil for her own china doll image.”

  Liz just nodded, not knowing how else to react to such a statement.

  “So what horse did she ride?” she asked finally.

  Blaine jerked his head toward the horse Jillian was saddling. “The white mare, Lady Godiva.”