“No, I wish I were,” he answered despondently.
Her mouth dropped open. “My goodness Sebastian, what a terrible thing to say.... Take it back this instant,” she warned.
He let out a breath. “Sorry, I did not mean it but I can not seem to help myself,” he said, and then turned away and walked back into the library, falling back into the chair.
Grayson stood away, watching the entire exchange. It was obvious something was troubling the young man. He wondered what could be so dire.
Isabelle turned towards the door, spotting Milford coming down the stairs. Her dark blue velvet-riding ensemble made a gentle swishing sound on the rug as she walked back into the foyer. “Milford, dear, please tell me what has gotten into my nephew?” She tugged on her remaining glove.
Milford glanced in Sebastian’s direction and then cleared his throat. “I think this may take a while. Would you care to join me in the kitchen for some tea?” he asked, noting the stunned look on Isabelle’s face. “We decided to send the servants home to be with their families during the storm,” he added quickly, explaining the staff’s absence.
Isabelle frowned. Frankly, she was surprised by that statement. Normally, she would have said as much to Milford, but since Grayson had done the very same thing with his servants, she kept her opinions to herself. Besides, it had certainly worked out to her advantage with the servants gone. Her cheeks filled with color, thinking about how nice it was to be all alone in his big house. They could be as loud as they wanted and there were so many interesting places to have romantic interludes. “That is a wonderful idea,” she gushed excitedly, remembering one of her and Grayson’s previous interludes. It made her answer with more exuberance than necessary. “Oh goodness me, where are my manners?” She turned back toward the library. “Sebastian, may I introduce you to the Duke of Radcliff, Grayson. He owns the bordering property to yours and mine.”
“Hello.” Sebastian barely looked up, giving Grayson a brief nod of acknowledgement.
Milford pursed his lips in disapproval and straightened his waistcoat. He tried to be sympathetic but could not help rolling his eyes. “Shall we?” he inquired, extending his arms behind Isabelle and the Duke, herding them both from the room so Sebastian could mope in silence.
Once in the kitchen, he directed them to the table, and set about boiling water for tea and getting some biscuits from the larder. After he finished, he settled at the table, poured them each a cup of steaming tea, and relayed what had transpired thus far. He obviously left the largest parts out.
After he finished his tale, he stood up from the table, his fingertips pressed on the wood. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have to check on something.” Milford lifted his cup and saucer from the table and set it into the sink, then quickly rushed from the room.
“I wonder who lit a fire under his backside,” Isabelle exclaimed, watching Milford exit the room.
Grayson smiled. “It did seem strange.”
Isabelle shook her head, making her blonde curls dance. She brought her gaze back to Grayson. His hair was falling forward; he looked so devilishly handsome. She stood and walked behind his chair, wrapping her arms around his neck, and leaned into him from behind. “I can tell something is troubling you. What is on your mind?” she whispered into his ear.
Grayson turned towards her, looking thoughtful. “From what I have heard, it does not make sense that this woman, who may or may not be Marguerite, would have actually left the house. Why would she? If she is a stranger, not familiar with her surroundings, what purpose would it serve to leave the creature comforts this house has, and journey out into the elements.”
“I do not know.”
“It just doesn’t make sense, unless she was desperate with no other alternatives or did someone drive her out?” Grayson said the last looking into Isabelle’s lovely green eyes. They reminded him of emeralds. A few pieces of her blonde hair had fallen from her coiffure. Lifting his hand, he tucked a piece behind her ear. She smiled at him in such a way, all cohesive thought left his mind. He pulled her around the back of his chair and settled her onto his lap. She smiled at him with that insatiable look that drove him crazy. He groaned. It was a feral sound, coming from deep within as his mouth seized hers in a hungry kiss.
Isabelle kissed him back. She loved the way he took command of her body. What he demanded, she gave all too willingly. She was no shy miss. She was a woman. She deftly unfastened his breeches as Grayson lifted her gown out of the way and pulled aside her undergarments. His strong hands gripped her hips as he settled her in his lap. “Oh, yes…” she cried as Grayson slid his hands under her buttocks gripping them, and then thrust deeply inside.
“My God woman, where have you been all my life?” he murmured huskily, as his lips seized hers hungrily, using his tongue to tease, he licked one of her erogenous zones.
Isabelle moaned in response, not able to form a coherent thought. He filled her so completely, so perfectly, moving in and out of her body, moving faster, and then slowing down. He was driving her into a frenzy of wild abandon. “Next door to you…apparently,” she panted out, and then gasped in pleasure as his lips found her taut nipple.
He laughed, not able to help himself. The sound vibrated his chest. “You are…” He trailed off and then groaned in satisfaction as she tightened around him. He went even deeper, and her body tensed around him even more as they both neared climax. Finally, with one last thrust he pushed them both quickly over the edge.
Grayson held onto Isabelle in the aftermath of their lovemaking, rubbing her back as their breathing returned to normal. He leaned forward, kissed Isabelle’s forehead, and smoothed her hair away from her face.
Isabelle smiled and snuggled against his chest, wrapping her arms around him even more and then suddenly leaned back. “I am what?” she asked, a frown creasing her brow.
“Hmmm, I can not seem to recall.”
Isabelle swatted at his chest playfully. “Yes you do. Now tell me what you were going to say,” she insisted, giving him a wounded look.
He chuckled and then pulled her close and nuzzled her neck. “I was going to say that you are…absolutely perfect.”
Isabelle pulled back and looked at his handsome face and trailed her finger down across the scar on the side. “Well I think you are absolutely perfect as well.”
Grayson gave her a heavy lidded stare; his heart missed a beat with her sweet words.
Isabelle took his face in both of her hands and kissed him soundly on the lips. “Thank you.”
“What are you thanking me for?”
“For saving my life.”
“Now Isabelle, I told you…”
“Shhh,” she said, and placed her finger on his lips. “I am serious, Grayson. You saved me from the worst possible predicament and instead turned it into some of the best moments of my life.”
He gave her another genuine, heartwarming smile. “You have done the same for me as well,” he said, with every bit of sincerity he was feeling.
Isabelle smiled at him, feeling very vulnerable suddenly and then wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders, nestling her head just below his chin.
Grayson closed his eyes and smiled, resting his chin on her head as he held on to her just as tightly. After a few moments of silence he said, “You know, someone may have taken her.”
“Who, Marguerite?” Isabelle lifted her head a bit.
“Yes. But who and why, is the question we have to ask ourselves.”
After a few moments of silence, they both looked at one another and in unison, said, “Devlin!”
“If he has her, he did not go far. He does not have enough upper body strength to carry her,” Isabelle said, making a face. “Besides, there are a few hiding places within these very walls that Sebastian has no knowledge of. We should try those first.” She stood, putting her skirts back in order. “That is, we should investigate after I freshen up a bit,” she said, smiling at him like a smitten schoolgirl before turnin
g and running off to do just that.
Grayson smiled to himself and refastened his breeches. He felt like a strapping lad, fresh from the schoolroom, enamored by his first crush.
Later, when Isabelle returned, she said nary a word. Instead, she crooked her finger at Grayson and beckoned him to follow.
Grayson chuckled and stood, gladly following her anywhere she wanted to go.
WITS END
RAVENHURST
SEBASTIAN sighed heavily and let the curtain slip from his grasp, the same as the mysterious girl had done. He shook his head at the irony of it all and threaded his fingers through his hair, pulling it back away from his face. He had already searched the house three times. He had hoped, no, he prayed there would be some clue as to her whereabouts but he found none. Now he was back in the library with no one but his thoughts for company. The inactivity was driving him to distraction. Would Ravenhurst ever belong to him or would it always be dangling just out of his reach? Just like his ever-elusive would-be bride. Now he had lost two would-be brides within a matter of months. Had he lost them or had they both run? Was he that terrible? Sebastian barked out a self-deprecating laugh. “It would seem so.”
He dropped his hands and began to pace the room. Back and forth, he walked until he caught sight of Milford standing in the doorway. “I have been thinking Milford,” Sebastian said coming to a halt in front of the library doors.
Milford eyed him warily, taking in his disheveled appearance and the slightly crazed look in his eye. “Yes, and what have you been thinking about, Sir?’
“I have been thinking about the girl who claims she is Marguerite, although I know she is not.”
Milford schooled his features. “What?” he asked with just the right amount feigned surprise. “Surely you are mistaken. Who else could she be if not Marguerite?”
“I do not know who she is. I just know she is not Marguerite.” Even if Marguerite were to run naked in front of him, she wasn’t capable of making him insane with desire. While the mysterious girl could, with no more than a simple smile.
It did not make sense. Nothing made sense anymore.
Frankly, Milford was surprised to see that Sebastian was so astute. He did not think he would have figured out the differences between Marguerite and Katherine for quite some time. He did not think Sebastian was a dullard or anything remotely close. However, the man had been in a constant state of inebriation since Marguerite had vanished.
In fact, Milford had even begun to speculate that Sebastian must have cared a lot more for Marguerite than he originally let on, which was yet another complication in a long line of them. He noticed Sebastian staring at him with a peculiar look on his face. Milford cleared his throat and took on an authoritative posture. “Very well. Let us consider this for a moment, shall we? If she is not Marguerite, but another person pretending to be Marguerite, what possible purpose could it serve for her to do such a thing?” He wondered if this bit of information would help or hinder his cause. Time would tell, he supposed.
Sebastian did not know. If he had the answer to that question, he would not be so infuriated right now. “I know,” he piped in. “We should go to Hawthorne and see if Devlin knows anything.”
Milford shifted awkwardly; he did not expect that. His eyes widened. “What?” he asked incredulously, remembering all too well their futile attempts searching in the frigid weather the previous evening, “Are you sure we should leave? What if she returns and you are not here?” Milford asked, hoping he might change his mind. His damn toe was still frozen.
“I can not very well sit here and do nothing, man,” Sebastian railed, and then began pacing once more.
The crazed look materialized in Sebastian’s eyes once again, prompting Milford to concede. “You are right,” he acknowledged, watching him cautiously. “Perhaps he can be of some help.” Of course, Milford had serious doubts that would be the case, but refrained from saying so. It was obvious Sebastian needed a diversion.
WHAT IS BEHIND DOOR NUMBER THREE
RAVENHURST DUNGEON
IT was so dark, I couldn’t see. Instantly terrified, I sat up quickly. A sharp pain shot through my head. There was a terrible stink in the air. It smelled like something was decomposing. Where in the hell am I? For a moment, I thought I was down in the pit under my borrowed room but quickly came to the realization I was somewhere even worse.
An image of the room draped in white fabric flashed in my mind and then the hideous woman who attacked me with a knife.
Knife? “Oh no!” I ran my hands over my body, looking for any stab wounds but thankfully, I didn’t feel any. I pushed my hair from my face and the tips of my fingers hit a sticky wetness. I poked at it with my finger.
“Ow!” I pulled my finger away. What did that crazy bitch do, stab me in my head? Was that even possible? Wouldn’t my skull break the knife? Reaching up, I fingered my head, ignoring the sharp pain it caused. Luckily, whatever was done to my head didn’t feel that deep and the bleeding had stopped even though my head hurt like hell. Of course, poking it with my finger wasn’t helping.
The room had a closed, airless quality to it. Lifting my gown, I used it as a filter and tried to ward off a panic attack. If I didn’t, I would start to hyperventilate and I knew I needed to focus to get my bearings so I could get out of here, fast. Crawling up to standing, my head smacked into something. It jangled above my head. I reached out and grabbed hold. Feeling it with my fingers, I tried to figure out what it was. My fingers slid through oblong holes, hooked together. It felt like metal.
“Okay, just a chain.” A chain! What in the hell was a chain doing hanging from the ceiling. I cringed away from it and lowered back to the ground. “Think, think, think…”
Why would there be chains hanging from the ceiling? Of course, I automatically envisioned the worst possible scenario. My body shuddered and tears sprang to my eyes. Pulling my knees to my chest, I buried my face as an image of Marguerite doing the same thing flashed in my mind. The look of defeat and acceptance on her face. Reflexively, I reached for the necklace and then remembered I left it in the room.
Stupid!
Now I would have to figure out a way to get out of here on my own.
Well I wasn’t good at accepting shitty hands dealt to me. I would not be a victim, I would figure a way out of this pit if it was the last thing I did and then immediately rejected that shortsighted thought. No, I was determined to get out of here and then beat that bitch to a pulp that shoved me down here.
Fine, maybe I would just run in the other direction. The woman had a crazy look in her eye and her disfigured face really freaked me out. But why did the woman hit me and then dump me down here? What did she want?
“For God sake…” Crazy people don’t need reasons... they are just blissfully insane. Sorting through questions for which I could find no ready answer, I stopped thinking about it. It was useless anyway. This wasn’t a movie, where the villain tells the captive why they are going to kill them. No, this wasn’t a movie. It was apparently my delusional reality. I stood back up.
The ceiling was low so I couldn’t stand fully, so I crouched back down and slowly, began to crawl across the floor. The ground felt like wet clay and moved slightly each time I brought my hands down. As I groped my way across the ground, I tried to convince myself it was only mud. My hand landed against something furry that caved and oozed under my fingers. I gagged. It smelled vile, like a rotting carcass.
Frantically, I wiped my hand on another part of the floor and it slid into something sticky this time. I coughed, fighting the urge to gag again. I wanted to scream, but had no idea where the crazy bitch was that attacked me, and I didn’t want her to know I was awake. For all I knew, the Looney Tune dumped my body here because she thought I would rot just like the animal I smashed with my hand.
Picking up speed, I crawled further across the floor, away from the poor rotting animal’s lifeless, tiny, decomposing body. At least I hoped that was what was decomposing
and not something bigger.
Oh, no, if it were something bigger, what killed it? My body shuddered with fear and dread. Oh good Lord, I was going to pass out. I was halfway across the valley of dead and my head butted up against something hard. It moaned mournfully—like a ghost.
I fell backward onto the floor and kept right on moving until my body hit the wall. Barely breathing, I stayed perfectly still, terrified of making a noise. I wasn’t sure how long I stayed glued to the wall but my voice of reason finally made an appearance. What I heard at least sounded human and a human right now was better than all the dead animals. “Hello,” I called out just to see if someone would answer me.
Devlin jerked his head in the direction of the voice, which immediately sent a ripple of pain through his body. His jaw tensed but he kept quiet. He had been hearing too many voices since he was brought to this place. They were all mad. He heard the faint voice again. At least this voice sounded sane. “Hello,” he finally answered. His voice came out as more of a moan than a reply.
Relief flooded me. At least, I wasn’t alone. “Who are you?”
Devlin dropped his head forward, his chin touching his chest. Thank God, he was not alone. “I am Devlin Renquist, the Lord of Hawthorne Manor,” he said, biting back another wave of pain that splintered up his leg.
“Are you all right?” I asked, speaking louder this time.
Devlin gritted his teeth against the throbbing pain. “No. I do not believe I am all right. I think I may have a broken leg.”
Crap. I quickly remembered who he was. Oh freaking perfect. This was just getting better and better. I could only hope I was wrong about him. Maybe he wasn’t that bad. At least he was better than the Lizzie Borden bitch.
“Are you still there?” he asked, sounding desperate to his own ears. “Great,” he laughed; it was a hollow, emotionless sound. “Now I am going quite mad as well,” he mumbled bitterly to the darkness. “It would serve you right, Devlin,” he said darkly to himself, and then began laughing even harder.
A Knight Such as This: Enhanced with Interactive Content: (Time Travel Romance) Book 1 & 2 (Ravenhurst Series) Page 20