Sebastian was relentless in his pursuit of Marguerite, who was not really Marguerite at all. Of course, Sebastian knew nothing about that at this time but Milford was sure it would dawn on him soon enough. He could not help but wonder what Sebastian would do when he found out? Would he still force her hand in marriage so he could get his hands on Ravenhurst?
Of course, there was a lot more to it than keeping his fortune but Sebastian did not know that, yet. He was just another pawn to be used in a much larger game that had started a very long time ago. Pulling his collar up, he let out a chattering sigh. The wind tugged at his hat. He pulled the brim back down and shook off his dark thoughts.
It was too soon to lose hope. All would work out. It simply had to. He owed Darias that much. Milford pulled back on the reins, slowing the animal down to round another sharp turn.
The snow was falling in earnest now. He could barely make out the dark outline of the ravine. He was afraid they would go too close. Hell, he could hardly see his horse’s head. If Sebastian had not known the trail so well, they may have fallen to their deaths in that damnable hole from hell. It was the very same that Sebastian’s father’s life had ended in. Milford’s body shuddered violently from another brutal gust of wind. He pulled his greatcoat back over his legs, hoping Sebastian gave up his search before they both froze to death.
Sebastian was not faring much better. He knew they needed to stop; it was getting too dangerous to continue. He was nearly frozen too, but he was reluctant to stop looking. He tried to tell himself it was simply because he did not want her escaping his grasp again before he got what he needed from her, which was a bride. But deep down he knew there was a bit more to it than that. The wind whipped his greatcoat back. He pulled on the length and recovered his frozen thighs. It would seem the only warmth he could bring into his body came from thoughts of Marguerite as his mind replayed every moment he had spent with her since she returned.
She was so changed, so different than he remembered. He thought of the way she smiled, how it reached up to her eyes. A rare smile lit his face as he thought of how she held her breath when he was near. How she responded to his kisses with such enthusiasm, warmth, and passion. A chuckle slipped out as he thought of how her deep blue eyes blazed with indignation when he told her he was leaving Ravenhurst to go to London after they were wed. No, she did not seem very pleased with that bit of information.
Hell, he thought she would have been ecstatic, but she was not. Actually, she seemed a bit put out, maybe even a bit sad by the news. So why did she leave him? An image of her expressive blue eyes flashed through his mind. Abruptly he pulled his mount to a halt. He lifted his hand and motioned for Milford to stop as well.
“Bloody Hell!” That can not be right. Once again, he envisioned her face. Her deep blue eyes….
“No, no, no! This can not be right.” His mind shouted what his heart already knew.
Marguerite’s eyes were not blue, nor did she have a freckle just above her brow. Nor had Marguerite ever made Sebastian insane with desire…. No, this woman, the one he was falling for…he shook his head, who in the hell was he kidding, had already fallen for, was not Marguerite at all. And if she was not Marguerite, then who in the hell was she? Why did she leave him just as Marguerite had? He closed his eyes against the storm raging outside and the one from within. Icy pellets of snow beat against his body as a feeling of desolation spread through him, snatching away all hope of ever finding true happiness.
JUST DESSERTS
RAVENHURST DUNGEON
BLACKNESS surrounded him on all sides. The smell of death robbed the air of any freshness. Yes, Devlin Renquist was getting a good dose of his own medicine. By all accounts, he was stuck in some stinking hole without water or food, and both of his arms tied above his head.
There was something terribly wrong with his leg. It was bent in an awkward position. He just knew it was broken. Surprisingly, he did not feel the pain as he knew he should, which was a blessing in itself he supposed.
Had he not been so hell-bent on chasing after the woman, he may have kept some of his wits about him. But no, not Devlin. He was chasing a fantasy.
He remembered seeing Sebastian, the blasted do-gooder, and his man, Milford, running out of the front of the house towards the stables. At first, he thought they were following her as well. He was prepared to stop them if necessary. Obviously, she was fleeing from them both.
Devlin stayed in the shadows ‘til they were out of sight. They were headed in the wrong direction. He did not correct them, either. He knew in which direction she had run and circled around the back of the house as well. He continued to look for the woman whom he thought at the time was Marguerite…what a mistake that was.
Unfortunately, the last thing he remembered was rounding the corner and entering Ravenhurst from a hidden door. He thought himself so clever at the time, so careful. He was wrong. He was hit with such force, he stumbled. He turned, shaken, not comprehending what was happening. His attacker walked closer, arm raised, ready to strike him again. He knew he should run, or at least put up some kind of fight, but he found he could not. The look in her eyes was his undoing. It froze him to his core. The woman was without a doubt quite simply… insane.
Splinters of pain shot through his body as he shuddered from the recollection. This time he welcomed the blackness when it took hold.
WHEN YOU OPEN THE WRONG DOOR
RAVENHURST
SINCE my last visions, I was super jumpy and with good reason, too. I was pretty sure I had almost, albeit inadvertently, gotten Marguerite killed—by Jack the Ripper, no less.
“What a horrific way to go.” My body still trembled and my head pounded with a dull ache behind my eyes. I decided it would be in my best interest to leave the damn necklace hidden away in the drawer until I could talk to Milford about it. And boy, did he have some explaining to do.
Replaying the scene over in my mind, I rubbed my arms. “How can that even be possible?” Granted there were a lot of things recently that really couldn’t be possible, but sending another person to the dregs of London with Jack the Ripper…that was really out there. And if I could really send people to their demises early, on a whim, wouldn’t Milford have made it a point to give me the heads-up about that little piece of pertinent information?
No doubt about it. I was going to give him a ton of crap when I found him, but that was the hard part. I couldn’t find him, Sebastian, or anyone else for that matter since I returned from the pit beneath my borrowed room. I had searched over an hour now and there was no sign of anyone. The house appeared to be completely empty.
I even tried the glass thing again and lifted it in the air for a refill, but that was a bust. Instead, I filled it myself. After the incident with Marguerite, I needed to take the edge off. I found I was doing that a lot lately but in my defense I had some pretty damn good reasons too.
As I looked for another live body, I carried my glass with me. But no matter how much I searched I couldn’t find another living person and that wasn’t even the worst part. I felt like I was being watched the entire time.
Now I was back where I started and I refilled my glass once more. I couldn’t help wondering if I had somehow entered yet another dimension. Really, how long was I down in that freaking pit? Seriously, it couldn’t have been that long. Granted, the house was humongous, but really, how could there not be one person in the house besides me? Goosebumps rose on my arms as my mind spun horrible scenarios…I was all alone in a big house….
Luckily, my stomach growled, stopping my freak-out. The need for food overrode my fear momentarily. I was starving. Grabbing up my glass off the table, I headed down the hall towards the back of the house where the kitchen was located. Maybe everyone was eating… right… “Or they were being eaten.”
Having survived the kitchen creatures, I glumly walked back out of the kitchen. There was no food to speak of inside except a crappy biscuit. I took a bite. It was stale and hard. I tried to dun
k the biscuit inside the glass to soften it up a bit, but the rim was too small.
A door slammed from somewhere and echoed through the hall.
“Damnit!” I looked down at the floor to where my biscuit was now residing and my stomach growled angrily. Maybe I should try the five-second rule and pick it up really fast? It couldn’t be that dirty…
Another loud bang sounded behind me in the kitchens. I knew no one was in there since I just left. Screw the biscuit, I kicked it out of the way as I grabbed up my skirt and took off down the hall.
Full speed, I ran all the way back to the library, and skidded to a halt just inside the doors. Quickly, I slid them shut and turned the key.
“What the hell was that?” I looked down at my now-empty glass and set it on the table. Making my way over to the fireplace, I grabbed the poker. The embers of the fire were more black than red. Bending down, I threw in another log, jabbed at the coals inside and set the poker where it was easily reachable. What I really needed to do was calm down, but once again my mind was having none of that.
Granted it was just a door slam, probably from the wind…right…the wind. Oh, I knew I was being a chicken…again. Maybe it was Sebastian or a lone servant left behind? Of course, I did not see or hear any of them when I was calling out earlier, or when I searched the house. So if they weren’t in the house, then who in the hell made the noise?
My skin prickled and my eyes instinctively went to the corner where the decanters were. They were filled with a hefty amount of liquid courage. I didn’t even need to think about this one. Purposefully, I walked over, to the sideboard and poured myself a huge glass, and downed it, trying to kick-start my false sense of bravado.
After, I finished a glass off, I felt much better. My false sense of bravado was in high gear—so the alcohol was working. Taking a deep breath, I pushed my hair away from my face and pressed my shoulders back like a soldier ready to do battle. I marched across the library, opened the door, and kept right on marching down the hall, made a right, and clomped up another set of stairs. Once I made it to the top of the stairs however, my false sense of bravado started to dwindle. Apparently, fear was kicking liquid courage’s ass.
Suits of armor lined either side of the hall. There was a tall window at the end. Each step I took sent my mind back to an alternate existence…to the future, when I was wandering about in this same place. I knew what I would find at the end.
Even though I didn’t really want to go in the direction I was headed, I was pulled that way just the same. Stopping at the end of the hall, I shivered. It seemed to have gotten even colder than moments before. When I exhaled, my breath filled the air around my head like cigarette smoke. It was that cold.
The sound of my borrowed boots hitting the parquet tiles rang out in the darkness as I stepped through the archway and into the gallery. This time there was no music, nor the feeling of giddiness from too much champagne. No, this time I felt completely alone and really scared, and yet I still walked further inside.
“Oh my God, what is wrong with me?” Obviously, I had lost my freaking mind. I made it a point to stay away from the portraits, and instead, walked across the room to a door that was mostly hidden by a large curtain. There was a faint light coming from underneath.
Pulling the curtain away, my palms were suddenly damp, although it was freezing. I wiped them on the folds of my dress and turned the knob. The door swung open easily. I waffled on the threshold, not wanting to go in there and yet I took a step.
The room stunk and I covered my nose and mouth. I couldn’t take a breath. The smell made me feel sick. It reminded me of something from my childhood. I hated the smell, and yet I kept right on walking into the room. “I must be crazy.”
The room looked long forgotten. Large pieces of fabric covered the furniture, which really looked like sheets from a bed. The further I went into the room the smell did not seem nearly as bad as when I opened the door. Bending down, I lifted the edge of one of the sheets. Underneath were the gilded legs of several chairs and a sheet-music stand. To my left was a piano, its outline unmistakable under the fabric. Under another sheet, I found a harp.
Obviously, this was a music room. The ceiling was a domed ceiling, painted in light shades, depicting another gang of cherubs floating amidst the clouds.
“What is with these people?” I didn’t know which were worse, the gargoyles or the fat-bellied cherubs. My gaze settled on a much larger object draped in yards of white fabric in the corner. My skin prickled and I forced myself forward, somehow needing to see what was under it. Taking a breath, I lifted the edge of the fabric, and yanked it off in one swift movement. I felt like a magician, except I wasn’t saying Ta-Da. White, powdery dust floated in the air. I looked at what I’d uncovered. It was another painting. I gasped and wished I kept it covered. It was of a woman, her face horribly disfigured. My stomach clenched. How awful! “What sicko would paint something like that?”
My question was answered rather quickly; the woman in the painting smiled.
I was not able to process what I was seeing, and realized too late that it was not a painting at all, but a mirror.
The smile on the woman’s face was not a welcoming smile either. It scared the hell out of me. Something glinted in her hand. An image of Jack the Ripper flashed in my mind. I turned around but I wasn’t fast enough.
A searing pain shot through my head. I staggered forward. Warm blood slipped through my fingers and splattered onto the floral carpet, turning the little white flowers red. My body gave out and I crumpled to the floor. My last thought was of Sebastian…he would think I left him too.
KEY SEVEN
REGRETS
RAVENHURST
SEBASTIAN, with Milford trailing behind, made it back to Ravenhurst before they both froze to death. He was still battling with the idea that Marguerite was not Marguerite. It was more of a feeling than an actuality. But if she was not Marguerite, who was she then? And why did she have such an uncanny resemblance to Marguerite? Could they be related? They had to be. But if so, why did she come to Ravenhurst pretending to be Marguerite? The only thing he seemed to know for certain was that she did not leave him of her own accord. He had no idea how he knew this. Perhaps his pride would not let him admit another woman had left him. Either way, whoever she was, he had to find her. He just had to.
Milford pushed open the front door, and dragged himself into the foyer, welcoming the warmth of the house. He peeled his coat from his body, shook the clumps of snow off, and hung it up to dry. Jerking on his gloves, he removed them from his frozen fingers and dropped them on the hall table. Lifting his hand to his mouth, he tried to blow the feeling back into them. His gaze slanted up the stairs. Something felt very wrong. He heard Sebastian enter the house behind him. Milford looked back over his shoulder at Sebastian as he removed his own coat and hat. Snow had painted his brows and the ends of his dark hair white. It hung in heavy clumps. Sebastian looked past Milford, up the stairs. Milford wondered if he felt it, too. She was not here. Oh, good Lord, what had he done?
Sebastian brushed past Milford and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He raced down the hall, his heart plummeting a little more with each step he took. He pushed on the door to her room; it slammed open, straining against its hinges. He walked inside. Shoes were all over the floor and a plaid gown was thrown over one of the wingback chairs. There was a small towel lying on the rug. He picked it up. It was damp. He looked in the bath. It was empty, but the floor still had pools of water on the tiles. He did not know why this surprised him. He had just gone out on a vain search to find her. But he had felt for sure she would be at Ravenhurst when he returned. But she really was gone. He felt it down to his bones. That simple fact did not stop him from looking in every room, just the same. It was another vain search.
Milford trailed behind him, looking for any signs of what may have befallen her. He even snuck away and looked in the room that was locked. She was not there either. She had vanish
ed.
WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS
RAVENHURST
THE following day, a gust of wind blew through the front doors of Ravenhurst as Isabelle swept into the foyer with Grayson right behind.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling widely as she hurried past him to shut the door. Isabelle’s body practically purred when he was near. They had been spending almost every waking moment together since he brought her back from her winter’s slumber. Slow was not a word one would often find in Isabelle’s vocabulary. Life was just too damn short.
Sebastian heard the commotion in the front hall and jumped from the chair he had been in since the evening before and ran to the doorway. He pulled up short. Rubbing his hands over his face, and groaned.
“Goodness dear, is that any way to treat your elusive Aunty?” Isabelle pulled a long, black, kidskin glove from her hand, one finger at a time. “I can guarantee if you knew what has happened to me lately, you would be wrapping your arms about me and thanking the heavens for my return.”
Sebastian walked forward and dutifully gave his aunt a kiss on her cheek and a brief hug. She was chilled from the cold, reminding him of his own search not so long ago.
“My boy, what is it?” she questioned, sensing something was wrong. Leaning closer to his face, she reached forward and took his chin in her hand. “Tell me what is troubling you,” she implored, releasing his face.
Sebastian ran his hand through his hair and then dropped it at his side. “She’s gone,” he said tonelessly.
“Who is gone?” Her brow creasing as dawning took hold. “You are speaking of Marguerite?”
A Knight Such as This: Enhanced with Interactive Content: (Time Travel Romance) Book 1 & 2 (Ravenhurst Series) Page 19