by Sk Quinn
‘Well. I guess if the boss is telling me to stay—’
Patrick reaches down and playfully slaps my backside. ‘I told you. No more B word.’
‘How can I resist saying it when it makes you so mad?’ I say, a smile creeping onto my face
‘Oh, so you like making me mad?’
‘I love it,’ I say.
‘And why is that?’
‘Because I like showing you that I’m not afraid of your temper.’
Patrick’s lips dart down to plant a kiss on mine. ‘And I love it that you’re not afraid.’
My throat tightens. ‘Patrick … is this all a big game to you?’
Patrick moves his huge, beautiful shoulders. ‘No. We’re meant to be together. There’s no other way. And if you run again, I’ll find you.’
I laugh. ‘And you say you’re not stalking me?’
‘You can only stalk someone who doesn’t want to be followed. Are you telling me you could walk away from this? From me? Could you go back to London and pretend that this was just some throwaway thing? That I don’t mean anything to you?’
‘I’ve thought about running away from you,’ I say, biting my lip. ‘If it wasn’t for Bertie, maybe I would have done.’
‘And I would have found you. Let go now, Seraphina. It’s time to give in.’
‘Give in? How romantic …’
‘If romance is what you’re looking for, you’re out of luck,’ says Patrick. ‘But if you want commitment. Devotion …’
‘Seriously Patrick. What you and I could there be? You’re a Lord. And I’m a nobody. What kind of life would we have together, really? I’m not from your world. I don’t understand it. And you don’t understand mine.’
‘What’s to understand about my world?’ says Patrick.
‘A lot. Come on, Patrick. We’re different.’
‘And the same, too. If you want to know about my world, I can teach you. And I’ll learn everything about your world too.’
‘That’s what scares me.’
‘Why?’
I turn away from him. ‘Because maybe, if you learn about my world, you won’t want me any more.’
‘Try me,’ says Patrick, putting his fingers to my chin and turning my head back to face him.
‘Well.’ I swallow. ‘For a start, my family is totally messed up. I left home as soon as I could, and I’m basically a parent to my little sister. I mean, I don’t mind. Not at all. My whole life is about looking after her, and I’m happy to do it.’
‘I know about your sister,’ says Patrick. ‘Her name is Wila. She’s at the Prince Regent Ballet School. She’s lived with you since you were sixteen, and you took the job here so you could pay her school fees.’
I open and close my mouth. ‘How … how did you know that?’
Patrick laughs. ‘Didn’t you think I’d find out everything I could about you? A good hunter finds out what he can about his prey.’
‘His prey?’ I try to wiggle out from under him. ‘Is that what I am to you? Some girl to catch in your net? Say the right words, figure out what I like and then bam, I fall into bed with you? How many other women have been your prey?’
Patrick’s hands clamp down on my shoulders. ‘None.’
‘Oh, so you’ve never been with a woman before?’ I say sarcastically. ‘Funny. You seem to have a pretty good grasp of how things work.’
I know that’s an ugly thing to say. But jealousy has reared up out of nowhere.
70
‘You’re the first women I’ve ever felt this … obsession for,’ says Patrick. ‘I think about you constantly. I watch you. I know your every movement. I’m obsessed with keeping you safe. And that means finding out all I can about you.’
I stop wiggling. ‘How did you find out that stuff about me?’
‘It wasn’t hard. I had someone check the electoral role. I found out who you lived with and when. Once I had names, it wasn’t difficult to find out more about your family.’
‘So what else did you find out?’ I say, my voice going all high pitched. ‘Do you know that I have a crazy, chaotic mother who can’t pay her bills on time or keep a job down? And a dope-head step-dad who I can’t stand?’
‘I knew some of that,’ says Patrick softly.
‘There’s more,’ I say, hearing the edge of tears in my voice. ‘My brother’s been in and out of prison. And I have no real qualifications. No real education. Probably no real prospects after this job. I’m just a nobody, Patrick. So if you know so much about me already, why the hell aren’t you walking away?’
‘You’re not a nobody,’ says Patrick, his voice stern. ‘Never, ever say that about yourself Seraphina. I couldn’t care less about your family, your education, or anything else for that matter. I care about you. I want you. All of you. Even the parts of you that aren’t perfect.’
I feel myself smile then, even though I’m close to tears. ‘Me? Not perfect? How could you say such a thing?’
‘You’re far from perfect.’ Patrick gives a half smile back. ‘You won’t do as you’re told, and you don’t listen. You defy me at every turn. And still, I’m in love with you.’
I give a little choky, sobbing sound and sink into the bed, feeling Patrick’s arms wrap around me.
‘Patrick—’
‘Let me in, Seraphina. Let me have you and protect you. I won’t walk away. You have my word. There’s nothing that I could find out about you that would make you any less beautiful to me.’
I look at him, tears in my eyes.
‘Why do I find it so hard to believe you?’ I say.
‘Because you’re scared.’
‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘I guess a man like you wouldn’t know what fear feels like.’
‘Of course I do.’
‘What are you afraid of, Patrick Mansfield?’
‘Of you walking away from me.’
‘Patrick. What are we going to do?’
‘We’re going to sleep together here, in my bed. And in the morning, you’re going to wake up with a clear head. And you’re going to realize that I’m the man you’re meant to be with. You’re going to let down your barriers and let me in. All the way in.’
‘That’s a lot to ask after one night’s sleep,’ I say.
‘Maybe,’ says Patrick. ‘But deep down, you already know everything I’ve just said is true. We’re meant to be together.’
He rolls over and pulls me tighter into him so our noses are nearly touching. Then he reaches down and pulls the duvet from the floor, throwing it over us.
As I feel his hard, strong body beside me, I feel so safe and warm and protected. It really is the most amazing feeling. Being here just feels so right, even though my head tells me it’s wrong.
I press my cheek against Patrick’s chest.
Patrick is right, I realize. I am still holding back. I am still scared. And deep down, I do know that everything he said is true. But that doesn’t mean things will work out …
71
When I wake up the next morning, the world feels different.
I don’t quite see things as Patrick might like me to see them. But as I gaze at his closed eyelids and feel the strength of his arms around me, I feel … softened. Like, I don’t know, maybe, just maybe …
Are you crazy? says a little voice in my head.
Maybe I’m crazy. But the world is a crazy place.
I feel Patrick’s arms tighten around me and his eyes spring open.
‘You’re awake,’ he murmurs, trailing fingers down my cheek. ‘That wasn’t supposed to happen.’
‘What wasn’t?’
‘You weren’t supposed to wake before me.’
‘Why not?’ I ask.
‘Just because.’
‘Do you always wake up before the women you sleep with?’ I say, the words catching a little in my throat.
‘Always.’
Yuck. I hate thinking about Patrick and other women.
Uh oh. Now I know I’m in trouble. But t
hen, I guess I knew that as soon as I saw Patrick that first day, shirt off, covered in melting snow.
‘Who were they?’ I find myself asking.
I try to make my voice sound all innocent. Unconcerned. But Patrick isn’t falling for it.
‘Jealous?’ he asks, those sharp lips of his pulling up into a smile.
‘No,’ I lie.
‘Yes you are,’ says Patrick, pulling me tight against his chest. ‘You, Seraphina Harper, are jealous. And I like it. It means you’re finally admitting that I mean something to you.’ He moves his face so his nose touches mine. ‘But other women don’t matter. They never did.’
‘So women don’t matter to you?’
‘Not like you do.’
‘You’re seriously telling me you’ve gone your whole life without a woman mattering to you?’ I shake my head.
Patrick shrugs. ‘Pretty much. Except my family.’
‘You must have had serious relationships.’
‘They were never serious to me,’ says Patrick. His eyes twinkle in a teasing way, and I pick up a pillow and thump him over the head with it.
‘Oh, that’s so arrogant!’ I say.
Patrick softly grabs my wrist. ‘But true.’
I drop the pillow. ‘So what you’re telling me is that you’ve led on lots of poor women?’
‘No. I’m always honest with everybody. What women choose to believe is a different story.’
‘What about Margaret Calder?’ I ask, suddenly desperate to know. ‘Did you have a relationship with her?’
‘No,’ says Patrick, propping himself up on his elbow. ‘Despite what she and her mother might go around telling people.’
‘So no big white wedding for you two then?’ I say.
‘I fucking hope not.’
‘I don’t get it, Patrick,’ I say. ‘I mean, someone like Margaret Calder … she knows your world, she’s educated. She speaks properly. She knows algebra.’ I shake my head. ‘When you could have a woman like that, why would you want someone like me?’
Patrick laughs. ‘You think it’s important to me that a woman knows algebra?’
I redden. ‘I don’t know why I said that. I don’t even know what algebra is. But you get my point. Why me?’
‘Because you’re you.’
I laugh. ‘Oh come on, Patrick. I didn’t even finish school. How can you possibly think we could be a good match? I’m guessing you finished school with flying colours …’
‘In my family, it was expected,’ says Patrick, his eyes seeking out mine. ‘But that doesn’t make it worth anything.’
‘So what is worth something?’
‘You. My mother. My sister. Bertie. The castle.’
I feel a lump in my throat. ‘Patrick—’
‘Accept what I’m telling you, Seraphina. It’s the truth.’ He drops back onto the pillow. ‘What’s worth something to you? What do you love?’
You, I want to say. But … I can’t say it. It just feels too soon. I’m not ready yet. And if I’m honest, I feel that the second those words are out my mouth, Patrick will see me for exactly what I am – a poor girl from Camden – and this beautiful moment will be over.
‘I love my little sister,’ I say truthfully. ‘I care about her finishing her schooling. She’s got talent. I couldn’t bear it if that talent was wasted, just because there wasn’t enough money to pay for her course. And my brother. I care about him too, but he’s more difficult to care about. He doesn’t really care about himself, so it’s kind of more painful.’
‘And your parents?’ Patrick asks.
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘I love them both. I don’t always like my mother. She’s made some bad choices. Choices that have hurt Wila. But it’s not because she’s bad or anything. She’s just kind of too young at heart to be a mum.’
‘I’d like to meet your family.’ says Patrick.
I laugh, and then I realize he’s serious. ‘Patrick, you can’t mean it. I mean, we’re a mess. Not Wila, but the rest of us.’
‘Your family are part of you. I’d like to meet them.’
He really is serious.
‘Maybe one day,’ I say. One day, in a hundred years …
I check my watch. ‘It’s nearly six. Bertie could be awake right now.’
Patrick laughs. ‘I just got too close, didn’t I? So now you have to run away. Don’t forget your glass slipper, Cinderella.’
72
‘I …’ I stammer.
‘Go on. I won’t stop you. Not when you have a job to do. As long as you come back to me tonight.’
I get out of bed and hunt around for my clothes.
Patrick pulls himself up in bed, and I feel the strength of his gaze as I pick up my panties.
‘I need clean underwear,’ I mutter.
‘You don’t need clean anything,’ says Patrick. ‘Your smell is amazing.’
‘I just like feeling clean.’
‘If you want clean underwear, I have some for you.’
I turn to him with narrow eyes. ‘Oh really?’
Patrick climbs out of bed and goes to a dresser.
My eyes follow him. Good god, he’s beautiful. Like one of those Greek statues. All broad shoulders, cut muscles and smooth light brown skin. And so tall.
‘Here,’ Patrick says, taking out a clean pair of men’s boxers and throwing them at me. ‘Try these.’
I laugh as I hold up a pair of tartan boxer shorts. ‘Tartan? Do you wear these for a bet?’
‘No. They’re my favourite pair.’
‘Why on earth …?’
‘My brother bought them for me before I left for Iraq. To remind me of home. Maybe they’ll do the same for you.’
‘Oh.’ My smile fades.
‘Put them on.’ Patrick strides towards me. ‘They’ll suit you.’ He picks up a strand of my red hair.
I laugh. ‘Fine. I’ll wear them. I guess they’re better than yesterday’s panties.’
I climb into the boxers, then pull on my leggings.
I stoop down to pick up my panties again, but Patrick stoops down with me and snatches them from me.
‘I’ll look after those,’ he says.
I raise an eyebrow.
‘So I can remember the night you almost let me in,’ Patrick finishes.
‘I don’t know how I can let you in any more …’
‘Easily. Just agree to be mine. To be with me.’
I shake my head. ‘I just don’t see how I can do that Patrick.’
‘Try harder.’ His words are fierce. Then he shakes his head and looks away. ‘Go. Go see Bertie. You need time to think. I can’t force you to let me in. Nothing means a thing until you open yourself up to me.’
‘This is hard,’ I admit. ‘Be patient with me, Patrick. I am trying. I promise I am. But right now, there’s so much at stake.’
‘Come back tonight,’ says Patrick. ‘That’s an order.’
‘I—’
‘Come back to me,’ Patrick demands.
‘I need space, Patrick. To think things over.’
‘You’ve had space.’
‘I need more.’
73
This time, leaving Patrick is harder than it’s ever been before. It’s like my heart is a little bit glued to him. And pulling away hurts. But I do it, because I need to look after Bertie, and that comes before anything else.
As I leave Patrick’s room, I have a weird feeling – like someone is watching me. Not Patrick – someone else. I look around, and think I see a shadow move under a doorway. But … maybe not.
No.
Probably I’m just seeing things.
I have a lot to think about as I head to Bertie’s room.
I do need space and time, but … being away from Patrick is getting harder and harder. There’s an emptiness inside me as I walk away from his room. The corridors feel colder the further I move away from him
This is so much more than just sex I realize, with a jolt. My feelings for Patrick –
it’s like nothing I’ve ever known before. And the idea of going back to London and never seeing him again …
Okay – I won’t deny the physical attraction. I mean, who wouldn’t be attracted to Patrick Mansfield? He’s a very beautiful man, with an amazing athletic body and a chest that could stop traffic. But it’s more than that.
I don’t know why. I can’t explain it. I barely know him, really. And yet, I do.
And Sharon is right, I realize – the fact he’s a real man, not a boy pretending to be a man … it scares me. I’m not used to someone wanting to protect me.
I’m thinking all these things when I get to Bertie’s room. But when I open his door, I’m in for a shock.
Bertie isn’t there.
I frown at the perfectly made bed and the neat stack of books on Bertie’s bedside table.
‘Bertie?’ I call, but there’s no reply.
His bathroom door is open, and I can see he’s not in there.
My chest feels tight.
I turn on my heel and run back through the castle.
‘Bertie!’ I call, as I run down the corridors. ‘Bertie!’
By the time I reach the great hall, I’m nearly in full panic mode. All sorts of horrible thoughts are whirling through my mind. Bertie has gone into the woods again and gotten hurt … Bertie has wandered into the village on his own …
I’m all geared up to head back to Patrick’s room and beg for help, but to my relief, there in the great hall is Bertie. He has a bowl of cornflakes in front of him.
‘Bertie!’ I say, running to him. ‘Oh my god. Oh thank goodness. You weren’t in your room. I was so worried.’
I hear the clank of plates in the kitchen, and Vicky calls out, ‘Sera? Are you okay hen?’
‘I was just worried about Bertie,’ I say, trying to catch my breath. ‘But it’s okay. Thank goodness he’s here.’
‘And he’s eating breakfast!’ says Vicky, her rosy face appearing at the serving hatch. ‘Look.’ She points at the half-eaten bowl of cornflakes, and I notice the spoon in Bertie’s hand.
‘Wow,’ I say, sitting down beside Bertie. ‘That’s fantastic. You came down here all by yourself to get some food?’
Bertie nods.
‘When you’ve finished that bowl, would you like to try something else? Maybe some eggs or something?’