Sebastian leaned down to suckle her nipples and found her breasts were creamy perfection. He slowly pulled his shirt from his trousers, undoing the last buttons and pressed his body against hers, skin to skin. He ran his hands over the curve of her buttocks, pulling her closer against his body. He was lost, slipping quickly back to where they left off in the library earlier.
He throbbed to be inside of her, he was so close. He tore his mouth from her breasts, “Marguerite…”
Katherine’s entire body was on fire, and every inch of her exposed skin, screaming hungrily to be touched, squeezed, and caressed. She wanted to eat him alive, she couldn’t get enough of him, and then …her brain registered what he said, Marguerite… not Katherine! She was mortified. Devastated. She felt like someone had just ripped her freaking heart from her body and tossed it carelessly to the ground.
It had the same effect as a bucket of freezing water would have had, if tossed directly upon her. Freezing her, humiliating her; she was such a fool. He thought she was Marguerite, and even worse, she had an awful feeling that he had already done this with her.
Katherine was envious of Marguerite and filled with revulsion at her own foolishness. Of course, he thought she was Marguerite. She now knew Marguerite was a better copy of her own self and had better clothes. She saw that much in the vision. She wanted to scream at him, at herself, for her stupidity and the dumb, idiotic legend.
She disentangled herself from his embrace and yanked the thin, chemise gown back over her breasts. Tears filled her eyes, making her vision blurry. Her chest tightened until she couldn’t breathe.
Sebastian stood perfectly still, his eyes searching hers in confusion. His body felt abandoned and aroused at the same time, his gray eyes became stormy, blazing molten fire.
Katherine covered her mouth to stifle a sob that threatened to escape. Her eyes filled with angry, humiliating, unshed tears. Her resolve faltered as his eyes burned into her own. She couldn’t stand it a minute longer; she hated herself. Why? Why couldn’t she be more like Janice? She wouldn’t care if he thought she was someone else. Or would she?
Yes, even Janice would have cared that much. Katherine tossed out a lame apology in his general direction and made a run for the bathroom. She slammed the door and locked it, resting her forehead against the wood. “Stupid… Stupid… Stupid!” she repeated over and over, letting the tears finally fall.
Sebastian was dumbfounded. He had no idea what just happened. What he did feel was absolute perfection. His mind could not have conjured a more seductive scene. He was so close… again. Then he was literally abandoned. He knew she felt it as well, or did she? Did she remember her heart belonged to another?
Blast her and his own stupid self. He was a fool for believing it was over between the two of them. He grabbed the bottle from the table and paused in front of the door. He lifted his hand to knock, but made himself turn and leave before doing something foolish, like beg her to think of him and forget the fool that abandoned her.
No, he would not let her see his vulnerability, not her, not anyone. Damn, he was a bloody fool. He left her chamber, his body still needing release… perhaps he should venture outside and toss himself into the nearest snow bank, “Bloody hell!”
<>*LB*<>
…Hawthorne Manor, once a thief always a thief
Judith ran full speed through Hawthorne Manor, grabbing anything of value she could get her hands on and stuffing them into her satchel. Her heart was pounding as she dragged her burden into the foyer. She leaned on the hall table to catch her breath, looking about for anything else that may be light enough to carry. “Think, Judith!” she yelled out to the empty room, her voice echoing eerily through the halls.
She caught a glimpse of Isabelle’s portrait in the study, standing beside her creepy brother. He was not unattractive; actually, he was quite the opposite, but something was unsettling about the way he looked, what the artist captured, in his expression. Well, it did nothing for Judith besides give her the creeps. She turned away, but not before she noticed Isabelle’s jewels, sparkling in the portrait.
Not wasting another moment, she lifted her skirts high above her ankles and took off up the curving staircase. She knew she would have to be quick to get the hell out of here before Devlin returned. He was not someone she would wait for again; she may have had some feelings for the man, but after flattening her into the wall, she decided that was not something she signed on for, not again, not ever.
Blast Devlin, he was an idiot. He would surely find his neck stretched, his body dancing for the hangman. There was no way in hell Judith Alexandra Beauchamp was ignorant enough to share that particular fate as well. She would be damned. She was a survivor and knew when to go while the going was good. How else could have she survived this long, if she had not left when it was prudent?
Luckily, she had the wherewithal to make some emergency arrangements if the little game Devlin and she were playing went awry. She only wished she had more time to collect the items she needed so she could leave with a little less haste. Well, there was nothing to be done now. She stuffed the last pieces of jewelry into a drawstring bag. She was about to leave the room, but stopped mid-stride.
Turning around, she walked back across the room to the armoire and opened it up. She pulled out Isabelle’s favorite ermine-lined, dark green cloak with the hood and matching muff. She hugged the items closely against her, smiling as she made her descent to the foyer. All the while, she thought they would certainly keep her warm on a night such as this. Too bad the old bat did not have them. She giggled at her own humor. She took one last look around and reminisced for a moment. Devlin and she did have some good times here. She sighed, oh well. She looked down at the satchel on the floor; which was filled to bursting. She knew she should leave it. She would travel faster, but her greed won out. Putting on Isabelle’s cloak, she loved the feel of it, as she grabbed the heavy satchel anyway. Not looking back, she dragged it and her other newly acquired possessions out the door and into the snow-filled night.
<>*LB*<>
…Ravenhurst, regret leaves a bitter taste in your mouth
Katherine opened the door to the bathroom and walked to her borrowed room. It was so empty now. She went over to the bureau and pulled out a fresh gown. It was another pretty thing, all white and ruffled, with flounces at the hemline. It had darling, mint-green leaves embroidered down the neckline and on the cuffs. The robe was decorated much the same. It was a sweet ensemble. She pulled it quickly over her head, covering her body completely in an expanse of white, frothy fabric. She made a face in the mirror. She looked like a stranger, even to herself. Her eyes were overly bright and her lips swollen from Sebastian’s kisses.
She looked wide-eyed, innocent, and naughty all at the same time. She felt sure this was how girls enticed the lords of the estate. Of course, she wouldn’t have minded enticing one particular lord. Damn shame he thought she was Marguerite.
She leaned forward, fixing a piece of her hair. How would she feel tomorrow if she had thrown caution to the wind and searched him out? He did not even know who she really was, which in itself was freeing in a way, was it not? The more Katherine thought about it, the more she talked herself into thinking she had been a bit hasty in her original decision. Perhaps she should not have ended the evening so early. Who knows what kind of evening they may have had with one another? Who knew if she would ever meet a man so delicious again? Yes, shallow. Nevertheless, if truth be told, who would she prefer to sleep with for the first time? One of her exes? Uh, no… The man of her dreams? Who just left her borrowed room after stealing her breath with his kisses and making her body tingle all over? She had kissed plenty of toads. None made her feel the way he did. She wasn’t a child. No, she was an adult, perfectly capable of making her own choices when it came to rolling around in bed. There was no one to judge. Why not? Yes, why not indeed? With her new resolve, she grabbed the handle of the door and the metal felt cold. “The hell with it,” she sai
d to the empty room as she pushed the door halfway open. A gust of frigid air blew directly on her back. She felt like she was standing outside, in the snow, in a freezer. It was that cold. She took a reflexive step back. Maybe she was being too hasty. Maybe she should find the source of the breeze first, and think about throwing caution to the wind a bit longer. Once the deed was done, there was no going back. Well, at least she didn’t think she could go back, so she had better be sure.
Katherine walked around the edges of the room, tracking the breeze and ended up directly in front of the Narnia armoire. Well, that was typical. It was sitting at an awkward angle. How did she not notice that before? Weird. She crossed her arms and stared at the huge piece of furniture. It was odd, she could have sworn it was on the other side of the room before. She must be losing it. Or had she already lost it? At least, she had yet to lose the most important it.
Her face flushed with heat. She ignored it and pushed on the armoire. It moved easily, just like the door in the library.
It looked heavy, but really wasn’t. She walked around to the back and pulled it forward. It screeched loudly across the floor. Was the damn thing on wheels?
She bent down, looking under it, and found carved gargoyle talons gripping the clear orbs that rolled the armoire. Oh great… perfect… that was just what she needed—more gargoyle crap. She looked behind it. Something or someone had pushed it away from the wall. An intense chill shot down her spine. She took a step forward and stopped, again to question her sanity. Since when did she become a detective? Of course, she’d seen enough CSI episodes to know you never go investigating alone. Really, just who in the hell did she think she was? Marg Helgenberg or Nancy freaking Drew?
Let’s get real, she was neither. Katherine was a chicken, as in Kentucky Fried. It was black as pitch behind the armoire. She grabbed a candle off the mantel, lit it in the fire, and walked back to the opening. Wind poured through opening, gusting up the stairs. It blew the candle out. Great. She ran back across the room and lit it again, using her hand to block the flame this time as she peered into the opening, “Is anyone there?” she called out, her voice echoing eerily in the darkness.
The wind tore at Devlin’s hat and greatcoat as he made his way slowly through the falling snow. He had no idea how long his search was taking, but it became altogether impossible to see, since the snow began to fall in earnest once more. He chuckled lightly at the irony of it all, a hollow, bitter sound.
He was actually lying to the staff when he said a blizzard was approaching. And look! Now he was out in the middle of one. He pulled his mount to a halt, seeing the trail he was following ended at the base of a tree. At least, that was where he thought it ended.
He retrieved the bottle of brandy he took when he left and dismounted. Taking a hefty swig, he let the fiery liquid burn slowly down his gullet. Wiping his hand across his mouth, he looked across the horizon. He did not even feel the cold any longer. Everything suddenly seemed so useless.
What a shame! He had it all so neatly tied up; but he got sloppy, too arrogant and self-assured. Truly, he knew better than to entrust that idiot, Judith, with anything or anyone, for that matter.
But no, once again, he let his more basic desires control his better judgment, and to what end? Didn’t his very own mother fall into the same trap? Didn’t she trust a titled gentleman to rescue her from the drudgery she had lived in every day? She entrusted him with all her wealth and money, and soon became nothing more than a street whore, just like Judith. Of course, his mother did what she could to care for him.
Unfortunately, the only way she knew was to lift her skirts for coin, while waiting in vain for his father to return. She schooled him to be a gentleman of means, which, she assured him, was his birthright, although he was never as convinced as she was. She dressed him in finery and educated him. She told him he was their equal, the upper class. She never once admitted to herself or him that he was no better than the very people they both disdained. She told him repeatedly that his father was a very powerful man, and would someday come for them.
But alas, that never happened. He was sure he would soon meet his own mother’s fate until the auspicious day he met Isabelle. She was older by at least two decades, but she was attractive and had a way with men, especially younger ones. She so loved younger men. She did not care one whit if they had no money, for she had enough for both of them, as she often told Devlin in the afterglow of their lovemaking.
She was married once and widowed quickly. Devlin never knew what malady took her first husband, and he really didn’t care, especially since his demise left her a very wealthy woman. As an eccentric, she had little use for the rules of society. She openly flaunted her younger gentlemen in front of the town. Her so-called friends, the harpies, turned green with envy as they bedded old, doddering fools while she had her choice of virile partners.
Devlin was no fool; he knew she used him in her own way to rebuff the standards society had placed upon her. He couldn’t complain; she was a skilled lover.
He laughed at the absurdity of it all. Of course, she was skilled; she had a lot of practice. But that never really mattered, she was a means to an end, and wealth was what he so readily sought.
They were quite a pair, the two of them, and truthfully, he never minded that she was older for a moment. He was even starting to become quite fond of her and their arrangement. That was until he met Marguerite, who was a beauty beyond all comparison. He was smitten at once.
Of course, Isabelle was no fool, and she sensed a change in him. Isabelle simply could not satisfy Devlin as she once had, so she quickly arranged a betrothal between Marguerite and her nephew, Sebastian. She constantly droned on and on about what a wonderful man he had become, and continually reminded Devlin that he, Sebastian, was an earl and had a vast amount of money and lands, and blah, blah, blah.
It made Devlin sick every time he thought about that blasted, do-gooder Sebastian touching any part of Marguerite. He could never appreciate her the way Devlin did. Why was Sebastian allowed to fill his heart’s desire, and Devlin was not? It made him ill to think too much about it.
Mayhap that was the actual start of his undoing. Had he not reached beyond his means, or been satisfied with the cards dealt him, perhaps everything would have turned out differently. His life was not so bad, after all. Was it not enough that he had, not one, but two women, begging for his ministrations in bed? Or that he had all the money available to spend that he could ever want or need, if only he asked Isabelle nicely? She was not tight with her purse strings either; actually, she was quite the opposite. She purchased his clothing, bought him the finest horseflesh, and had a carriage made just for him.
He was in the perfect relationship, but he found he wanted more. Was that the way of it? he wondered. Even if he did have Marguerite, would he someday look at her while thinking to himself she was not enough either?
Mayhap that was why he thought Judith was different. Was he trying in his own way to save her from the same fate of his mother? Could saving Judith from the streets somehow make amends for not saving his mother? He often hoped she could fill the void he found within himself, but she was only a short reprieve as well. It all seemed so useless at times.
And even now, he no longer knew what drove him to where he found himself. He had everything, but it was still not enough. Now he was close to losing everything he had worked so hard to gain. With Isabelle free, she could have made it to Ravenhurst by now. It was only a short ride away. He took a heavy breath. Yes, it would only be a matter of time before he found himself with nothing more than he started with, in the gallows.
Judith and her burden were loaded carefully on Isabelle’s mare. She was a friendly, docile horse and they plodded steadily through the snow. She felt sure she was making good time until the blasted snow started falling again, making her unsure where she was. Somehow, she got turned around and now had no idea where she could be.
Damn Devlin. She shivered from the cold and p
ulled her stolen cloak more snugly around her body, loving the warmth it provided. She snuggled deeper into the folds; at least Isabelle was good for something. She laughed aloud. Her cloak was good for something, not Isabelle, never Isabelle; she was a bat. She continued onward, her horse swaying back and forth in a rocking motion, much like being astride one of her many lovers. Judith was caught up in her musings, so she did not notice the satchel slipping off the horse. The mare stumbled, pitching Judith forward. She pulled back, regaining her seat. She turned in her seat to check on her goodies. She gasped. The satchel was sliding off the back of the horse. She quickly turned further in the saddle, using every bit of her strength to pull her treasures back up onto the horse’s back.
Once the feat was accomplished she let out a whoop of laughter. The horse reared, startled from the sound. Judith yanked hard on the reins, the horse danced backwards, spooked. A sharp branch jutted out and cut into the flank of the horse. The horse whinnied, tossing its head back and forth. Judith struggled, trying to get the horse under control, but it was simply too much. With one buck, Judith flew forward over the neck of the horse and landed face first in the snow. The satchel tumbled behind, clanking loudly on the ground. Judith lifted her face off the ground, only to see the back of her horse speed away, in a flurry of fur and snow.
Forgotten Time (Ravenhurst Series, #1) A New Adult Time Travel Romance Page 13