“All right, Nick,” Julia answered, and snuggled, actually snuggled into Douglas’s body.
“You are,” Douglas said shortly, wanting privacy to reward Julia for the snuggle.
“I am what?” Nick smiled, knowing exactly what Douglas meant and choosing to disregard it.
“Interrupting something,” Douglas clarified.
“Ah,” Nick muttered and leaned against an armchair, thoroughly unconcerned and looking like he meant to spend the evening there. “So, who am I supposed to dispose of then? The man who just tore out of here in a rental or your mother who left half an hour ago? Did she come back?”
Douglas’s body jolted at these words and Julia’s head lifted to look at him.
“I’ll tell you later,” she whispered.
She didn’t have to tell him. Monique brought Webster here.
“She’s disowned,” Douglas stated calmly and Julia shook her head in amusement.
“You can’t disown your own mother.” Her voice held a smile.
“I can when I give her a generous allowance,” Douglas returned.
Julia’s body stiffened. “Well, then you definitely can’t disown her!”
Nick decided his fun was over and made to leave. “I’ll leave you to it and keep an eye out.”
“You do that,” Douglas told his back.
“Nick!” Julia called out to him and then again extended her left arm and wriggled her fingers at the other man. “We’re getting married,” she announced, this time the pride in her voice was unmistakable and Douglas felt…
He felt…
He had absolutely no idea what he felt as it was something he’d never felt before.
Nick had turned at her call and his face lit up for a brief second before he continued to walk away.
As they just about lost sight of him, he yelled out, “About bloody time!”
This made Julia laugh and Douglas found it an immensely pleasant sensation to have her body shake with laughter while pressed against his.
He dipped his head to hers and kissed the laugh off her lips.
“About that seduction,” he murmured against her mouth.
She lifted her hand to touch her fingers lightly against his face, her eyes holding his and, slowly, she smiled.
And that was it, he was seduced.
* * * * *
Julia woke some time later feeling deliciously sated. Her body had a languorous feel that was a heady type of exhaustion that had nothing to do with tiredness and everything to do with happiness.
She was tucked up against Douglas’s left side, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest and his fingers were lazily stroking the area just above her bottom.
“You awake?” she mumbled, her voice husky with sleep.
“Mm,” was his answer.
She stretched slowly, arching her back which pressed her torso into his side and her bottom into his hand. He stopped stroking her and his hand flattened against her, smoothing down and around to cup her backside.
She shifted and lifted herself up on her elbow to look down on him.
The draperies were open and moonlight was spilling into his bedroom. She could see his face in shadowed relief and she allowed herself a moment to think of what a brave man he was. He had survived an abusive childhood and created, all on his own, the masterpiece that lay before her.
She couldn’t help herself, she smiled with pride.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“I’ve no idea,” Douglas replied, watching her, his eyes heavy-lidded, his hand moving on her behind.
“Have you slept?” she asked, twisting around to see the clock on his bedside table and noting it was not nearly as late as she expected.
“No,” he answered.
Her head swung back to him.
“Why not? You must be exhausted.” He had to be after all that had happened that night. She was.
“No, Julia, I’m anything but exhausted.” And his hand tightened on her bottom.
She let out a little, happy laugh even as her body reacted to his words.
“If this is my future, you’ll wear me out in six months, a year tops,” she told him.
“I’ll take my chances,” he returned and Julia noted his voice was throaty, sexy and held a tantalising promise.
She shivered and, like everything else she was feeling, it was a very happy shiver.
Julia lifted her hand from his chest and tentatively touched the small scar on his lip. In all the time it was there, she would never have dared to ask what she was about to ask.
But now, because she was going to be his wife (and felt she had a right to know and this thought thrilled her) she dared. “How did you get this?”
He answered without hesitation, “Knife.”
She yanked her hand away with a shocked gasp and she could almost feel the blood drain from her face.
“Knife? You had some crazy lunatic wielding a knife close to your face?” Her body became stiff, she pushed up to a sitting position, dislodging his hand, holding the sheets to her chest and twisted to look down at him. “They could have… I don’t believe it! They could have really hurt you!”
“What they did didn’t exactly feel good,” he muttered, moving to his side and up on his elbow.
“They could have put an eye out!” Her panic was rising as was her drama. “They could have slit your throat! How on earth did you get in a knife fight?”
“That’s all over now, Julia.” His voice was firm and it gave her a modicum (a very small modicum) of assurance.
The idea of any sharp object hovering near his handsome face, much less slicing into it, made Julia shudder. In an attempt to hide her reaction, she reached out and pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen to his forehead. The minute she took her hand away, the lock fell where it was before. Julia found that endearing and she also found the fact that she had every right to touch him felt splendid. She decided to focus on that rather than envisioning a knife close to his face.
Even so, she felt a point should be made, so she touched his scar again with her finger and said, “Well, I hope they got what was coming to them and I don’t ever meet whoever they were. You don’t carry a knife, do you?”
“No, I’ve never carried a knife.” She could swear his voice held a tinge of amusement.
She was not amused.
“You frighten me sometimes, Douglas,” she admitted on a whisper.
At that, he surged up and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her neck.
“It’s all over,” he promised and she felt his lips moving against her skin with his words.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak and forcing herself to believe.
Earlier that night, after he’d asked her to seduce him, he’d taken over (of course) and half-dragged, half-carried her upstairs to his bedroom. They made love, well, not exactly made love, it was too hot, too needy, too urgent, too intense to be described as “making love”.
However, the second time, they did make love. It was slow and sweet and she had the opportunity to explore his body, touch him, tease him, taste him before it became out-of-control, gloriously insistent and demanding.
Glowing and satiated, they lay still joined intimately, her face in his beautifully-muscled, masculine throat and she whispered against the underside of his chin, “I’m hungry.”
They dressed slowly, Douglas pulling on a pair of jeans and a burgundy sweater, Julia putting her dress back on. He grabbed another of his sweaters, this one moss green. He yanked it over her head and she swam in it but it would help to keep out the chill and she was touched by his gesture.
They padded down to the kitchen, barefoot and hand-in-hand. The house had been put to sleep for the night and she couldn’t believe that at one time she found it frightening and sinister.
Now it was just home.
She knew its corners and its shadows. She knew where the edges of the carpets were and how to avoid the furniture in the dark. Sh
e was beginning to realise she loved it there, it was Douglas’s and now so was she and thus she belonged at Sommersgate. That sense of belonging made her feel wonderful.
They entered the kitchen and Julia thought she’d have to cook their food.
Instead, they found Mrs. K sitting at the kitchen table, her hands busy with knitting, her eyes trained on a portable television that had been hastily set up, probably by Mr. K.
Mrs. K jumped to her feet when they walked in and ignored Julia’s surprised face.
“Are you ready for your first course?” she asked as if it was perfectly natural for her to hang around until late evening, waiting for them to complete their sexual antics and come in search of sustenance.
Douglas grinned a sexy, devilish grin and then said, “Please, if you don’t mind Mrs. K.”
At that, he turned on his heel and left, dragging Julia with him, not understanding the profound moment he’d just created. But Julia watched her friend from over her shoulder.
Margaret Kilpatrick had never been referred to by Douglas in the familiar of “Mrs. K” as long as Julia knew him. She saw the other woman’s face flush with pleasure and Julia felt her stomach melt.
Mrs. K had removed the red roses and in their place was a magnificent display of the white ones Douglas had brought home with him.
Over dinner, she told him about Monique bringing Sean to the house then, after fervently urging Julia to listen to what he had to say, leaving. She told Douglas about Sean telling her he’d made a mistake at letting her go and asking her to move home to America with him. She explained that Sean even said she could bring the children, that she could sue for custody and even went so far as to declare that he’d use all his money and contacts to help her.
Throughout this, Douglas listened patiently, his face betraying nothing.
She did not tell him about her weakness, about being emotionally drained after hearing what the Kilpatricks had told her that afternoon and the feelings of disempowerment in the face of Sean that she couldn’t help but allow to creep back. She did not confide in him that she was devastated that Sean was going to ruin her much anticipated plans for the evening. That she was worried about a lifetime of the vicious Monique as her mother-in-law for, to bring both her father and Sean back meant Monique truly and completely detested her and that was not a nice feeling. She didn’t tell him that she was at a loss of what to do and what to say because she simply had nothing to say, not to Sean. The moment Douglas arrived, she was trying to think of a way to get rid of Sean and not coming up with any answers as she’d already told him to go but he refused.
What she said instead (looking down at the delicious panna cotta that Mrs. K served as a finale) was, “I asked him to go but he refused. I thought it best to shut myself down, let him have his say and hope you’d be home soon. I knew you’d know what to do and, it turns out, I was right.” She stopped and smiled at him. “Though I must admit, it was better than I expected.” Her smile got bigger. “Much better.”
At this pronouncement, dessert was definitely over (even though she had several more spoonfuls she very much wanted to consume). Without a word, he rose from his chair, pulled her from hers and led her back to his bedroom.
That time when they made love, it was very slow and very sweet. He touched her with a reverence that was mind-altering; it felt almost like he was worshipping her. It felt like he was memorising her and she forced him to allow her to do the same. When, at long last, she climaxed, she was sure her body was going to shatter at the pleasure of it and she cried out his name but it was muffled as he absorbed her call into his mouth and then, very shortly after, she did the same for him.
That was when she fell asleep at his side, satiated and happy.
Now, he held her in his bed, what would soon be their bed, his mouth on just the right spot behind her ear. She lifted her hands and slid her fingers into his thick hair.
“What am I going to do with you?” she whispered into the night.
“Whatever you want,” he growled into her ear and she felt a shiver slice through her at her own words of weeks ago being repeated. She shoved his shoulders gently and cocked her head at him, the corners of her lips quirking.
“Anything?” she queried, her eyes dancing.
His mouth twisted in a diabolically sexy grin. “Just know whatever you do you’ll suffer the consequences.”
She didn’t hesitate at his playful threat but pushed him onto his back and then manoeuvred herself to straddle him. Her fingertips danced lightly across his abdomen and she watched as he lifted his arms and linked his fingers behind his head to rest it on his hands
He quirked an eyebrow at her.
At this arrogance, she laughed, she couldn’t help herself. She was beginning to adore his arrogance, it was so Douglas.
She ran her hands across his muscular chest and leaned forward, pressing her breasts against him and nuzzling his neck.
“I love your neck, your throat,” she murmured against his skin, darting her tongue out to lick the length of it. She smelled the cologne she’d given him and trembled. “It’s my most favourite part of your body,” she admitted.
“Your most favourite?” His voice rumbled with desire that was tinged with amusement.
She lifted her head to look at him.
“Well, it’s in the top five,” she allowed. His body shook with silent laughter and she smiled at him, happier still that she could make him laugh and again tilting her head. “Maybe the top ten.”
He took his hands from behind his head and slid them around her waist, tightening there.
She abruptly pulled herself up and reached around to take his hands from her waist and gently forced them across her belly, up her midriff and then over her breasts. With her hands on his, she positioned them there, gently squeezing and using a finger on her right hand to move a finger on his left to scrape across her nipple.
As the sensations shot from her nipple on a heady bee-line straight between her legs, she emitted a low moan, her back arching slightly.
“Jesus,” he muttered and heaved quickly upward, pulling his hands from her breasts to slide them down the backs of her thighs and position her legs so they were wrapped around him.
“Douglas!” she cried, feeling his hardness beneath her and his hands moved again, one to her bottom to lift her up and the other between their bodies. “Douglas!” she exclaimed again, this time in surprise as his hands came to her hips and swiftly, forcefully, he impaled her. She uttered a half-gasp, half-groan and immediately wiggled her hips, grinding further into him as he buried his face in her neck.
“I love it that you’re always ready for me. So damned wet.” His voice rumbled against her neck, vibrating with arousal and she shivered as it slid across her skin and, even though it most likely meant nothing, Julia loved it that Douglas had used the word “love” when mentioning something about her.
“You’re being very bad. I’m supposed to do whatever I want with you,” she scolded him with a breathy tease.
“You were taking too damn long,” he grumbled even though she’d been in control maybe less than a minute.
Then Douglas kissed her, long and hot.
When he moved his mouth to slide down her cheek to her jaw she shakily said, “I’ll see what I can do to speed things up.”
And she did.
* * * * *
While the lovers moved on the bed, across the floor an arctic draught slid slowly, with melancholy, exiting the room.
It took its journey, a journey it knew well, a journey it took day-after-day, week-after-week, for over a hundred years.
In the study, which had been his favourite room, Lady Ruby shifted and formed, becoming the ghostly vision of herself, a vision, until just recently, she only let him see. She hovered at the window where, outside, her husband was.
“Is it love?” Archie asked and Ruby nodded, but sadly.
He shook his head, knowing she meant it was there but it was not expressed. “
Why?”
“Too much pain, they won’t admit it.”
Ruby and Archie spoke without words, communicating telepathically, their mouths not moving and no ethereal sounds came out.
The only sound either of them could make was the hideous scream she cried whenever she was forced to endure, because of the curse, because of the jealous spurned suitor she had angered and his malevolent mother who knew the ways of magic, to relive her violent demise over and over again. Every few months, sometimes if she was lucky, every few years, it would happen to her again, against her will, at the base of the stairs. The unseen hands closing around her neck and squeezing… squeezing… squeezing the life out of her.
“I had hoped…” Lord Archibald Ashton said to his wife, lifting his hand to rest it against the window, a hand he could not force through no matter the millions of times he had tried. Her hand joined his there, separated forever by the glass, separated forever by Sommersgate – a cruel irony for it was the house he built out of love for her.
For his part, he could always see her from the French doors to the entry, see her ghostly form strangled again and again, just like that night. She was always fighting violently against an unseen attacker and he could hear her scream, like he had that terrible night, but he had been held back, now by invisible hands but then, by the men, four of them, and he couldn’t save her.
Once left alone, he clawed at the doors, tried to break the glass, did everything he could to get to her lifeless body that lay at the foot of the magnificent stairwell he ordered made for her. He wanted to hold her one more time but it was as if Sommersgate was protected by an impenetrable magical shroud. For hours, chilled through to the bone, his body becoming exhausted, the freezing cold permeated him, making him sluggish, until, he too, felt his life ebb away. Over the years, as it happened time and again, he could see her, no matter how hard he fought, and he was forced to live through it again and again, never succeeding in saving her, never succeeding in getting to his beloved to hold her one last time.
“He does not understand his love for her, she’s too proud and stubborn to admit hers and open her heart for what she thinks will only result in pain,” Lady Ruby replied and then swiftly moved to reassure her love. “We have hope, the boy, William. He’s like his father. Darling, we just need to wait a few years and he’ll bring love to this house. He will free us.”
Sommersgate House Page 39