by Anya Breton
“If I hadn’t called for him, I’ve no doubt he would have fucked her right there on the grass. I don’t pay a handsome sum to keep it looking better than a golf course so it can be used for that.” His mother huffed through her nose. “He was in view of every window in the back of the house. What if we’d had company? Or a business associate?”
His brother wouldn’t have seen the need to curb his behavior regardless of who might have been watching. Aston tightened his grip on his wrists behind his back. The slight pain was the only thing keeping him from snapping at her. They wouldn’t be in this situation if she’d not coddled his younger sibling.
“You have to do something.”
His knuckles clenched. Aston winced from the increase of pressure. Slowly, he twisted to face the woman who had birthed him. She drummed a nail against the windowpane.
Careful to infuse only neutrality in his tone, Aston replied, “I was under the impression you’d taken care of it.”
“I had a chat with Gemmy.” His mother sniffed as if something foul had entered the nearby air. Her next blink took twice as long as usual. “She obviously doesn’t fear me.”
The pointed look she gave him next drew his spine straight. His own flesh and blood, the woman responsible for his existence, believed he was the scarier of the pair. Though he didn’t enjoy being cast as the monster, Aston couldn’t deny the memory of Gemma Erjon fleeing his office yesterday.
His jaw locked when he attempted to speak. Aston relaxed the muscles. “I will speak to her.” He’d barely finished the words before his mother started for the door, so certain was she that she’d get her way.
“Offer her money if need be. Do something, Aston. Just end this.”
Aston shoved his palm against his forehead as soon as she was out of sight. A sigh slipped from him unbidden. He wished Gemma Erjon had never come home. It would have been the only way for her to avoid heartache. Now he had no choice but to ruin her dreams.
He dropped his hand to his side and then set off in search of his hapless brother.
* * * * *
The phone in his pocket vibrated for the fifth time. Drew didn’t bother pulling it out. He knew who it was.
His fiancée.
What had he been thinking? He didn’t want to get married! Drew could barely commit to a pair of shoes. How was he to suffer one woman for the rest of his life? It didn’t matter that she was stunning—the kind of woman magazines featured on their covers. Or that she was intelligent—smarter than he could ever hope to be. And her family’s wealth…he wouldn’t consider that.
How was he to suffer having only one woman for years to come when he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering to the one across the lawn?
Little Gemmy. Gemma. He’d imagined her in bed last night, his, hers—he’d imagined them both. Drew would do something a bit more hands-on tonight. Provided she was brave.
Little Gemmy wouldn’t have been. But the new, improved Gemmy…she was just what he needed.
He tugged his phone out, remembering too late he’d been avoiding it. Beneath the note that he had twenty missed calls, the digital screen told him it was half-past seven. He risked running into the fiancée if he went out. And if he stayed in, he risked seeking out Gemmy before the appointed time.
Drew paced the living room several times before relenting. He hopped up the stairs to fetch his keys and wallet. Absently, he stuffed them in his pockets and then turned. A figure blocked the exit.
“Going to see your fiancée?” Aston drawled the question in a dry tone that said he knew Drew had no intention of meeting up with Elizabeth.
Nevertheless, Drew shot him a bright smile. “Yes.”
“Good.” Aston’s face was a neutral mask—the one that meant his elder sibling was hiding something. “I thought it was time the two of you experienced life together. I booked a room at this bed-and-breakfast for the week.” Aston shook a business card at him with a number scrawled on the back. “Elizabeth is on her way. She’s expecting you within the hour. It will take you some time to arrive. You should leave now.”
Drew’s face fell in surprise. “I c-can’t… I have a p-prior engagement.”
Aston stepped through the door, ushering Drew back two steps. “Your betrothal to your fiancée is the prior engagement, Drew.”
“I can’t go,” Drew insisted. What would be a believable excuse? “It wouldn’t be right,” he declared after several silent seconds. “Her family believes in no sex before marriage.”
Aston snorted. The follow-up was a derisive, “You can’t honestly expect me to believe you’ve never screwed your fiancée.”
Of course he’d screwed Elizabeth. Many, many times. Drew would have been insane to propose without testing that fundamental question of compatibility.
Aston squared his shoulders with familiar and grating determination emphasized by the words that followed. “You are going if I have to carry you to the car and drive you to the inn myself.”
Drew was in hot water with Elizabeth as it was. If he failed to turn up at the hotel, she would surely cry foul. His mother and brother would slice him to pieces if he was to blame for a failed engagement.
Perhaps Drew could use the week to persuade his fiancée they’d made a rash decision. Together they could come up with a compromise that would please all involved. He’d just have to let her see how frustrating it would be to live with him.
And then he’d return home where Gemmy would be waiting.
Drew started for the door, slowing when Aston failed to move.
Aston crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You can’t leave for a week’s vacation with your lady love carrying only the clothes on your back. Pack a bag, brother.” A silent beat passed and then Aston finished with a low, “Because you’re not welcome in the house until the week has passed.”
Aston ignored Drew’s grunted answer. Likewise, his stomping around the room to fetch a bag and clothes for seven days did little to soften Aston’s resolve. Only when Drew stopped in front of him with his packed bag in hand did the man soften.
It lasted half a second. Aston homed in on something behind Drew, something he didn’t understand. And then the man growled. “What time is she coming?”
“Huh?” Drew sounded daft. He quickly revised his response. “You’re the one who set up this rendezvous at a B and B. You tell me.”
Aston’s eyes swiveled back, fixing hard on Drew’s with a force that was nearly tangible. “Not Elizabeth. When is Gemma coming to your room?”
“She’s not—”
“When?” The word exploded from Aston like a cannon at the Fourth of July show.
“Two,” Drew relented.
“Go.” The coldly spoken single syllable and Aston stepping aside were the only suggestions Drew needed to flee his brother. Seconds later, he scuffed across the gravel to his car. He didn’t relax until the house was no longer visible in the mirrors.
Maybe seven days away were just what he needed.
* * * * *
Aston softened his lips into an approximation of a smile after allowing his knuckles to drop away from the door. He wasn’t sure he’d ever gone to the servants’ quarters. Strange, considering it was an outbuilding on his property.
A pale face peeked out from behind the curtained window to his right. The delicate white fabric quickly hid it. But the door didn’t budge.
Aston snared a bit of Air magic to enhance his sense of hearing. Soon Gemma’s breathing was discernable—quick, short puffs just beyond the wall. Her failure to open the door tried his patience and stretched his feigned smile thin.
He’d lifted his fist for a second rap when she shifted into action. The door opened a quarter of the way, only enough to show a sliver of her blue sundress. Her pretty features were alert in either fear or concern—he couldn’t tell with so little showing.
“Priest Haizea?”
Aston ignored her unsteady greeting to give her a renewed smile. “May I come inside for a moment?�
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A flash of suspicion darkened the one eye he could see. The emotion was gone before she opened the door fully and stood back. He stepped inside, taking in the beach-cottage-style interior with its white lace curtains and breezy blue furnishings amid whitewashed plank walls. Gemma indicated for him to continue into the adjoining living room. Aston’s gaze touched on the seashells and beach photographs decorating the space as he moved.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asked with some hesitance at the edge of the room.
He didn’t want anything from his housekeeper’s house but this conversation would be awkward enough without an excuse to stay a few minutes. Aston sent her another look meant to soothe. “A glass of water?”
There was a barely perceptible tightening of her jaw before she gestured at the seersucker sofa in front of him. “Make yourself comfortable.” She flitted away before he could move.
Air magic allowed him to follow her progress through the space, both audibly and visually. Using unheard frequencies, he magically mapped the interior of the servants’ quarters. An image rather like the sound-wave mapping of ocean trenches formed in his mind. The shape of a female crossing the kitchen to fetch a glass out of one of the rectangular cabinets was easy to see. He settled into the cushion, secure she couldn’t sneak up on him.
A mere minute and a half later, she returned with a clear glass of water and crushed ice. He took it, giving a slight nod in thanks.
Aston adopted a mild expression when he opened his mouth next. “Won’t you sit?”
She settled onto the white wicker chair across from him. Her knees were locked together, ankles crossed in the ladylike fashion his mother used when in polite company. But her nails dug into the armrests, giving away Gemma’s true emotions.
“It’s been some time since we had a chat,” Aston began in the tone he used with his coven members. “How was your trip?”
“Good.” Monosyllabic answers didn’t bode well for the conversation he needed to have with her.
“You’ve graduated with your bachelors?” At her mute nod, he asked, “Do you have a job lined up?”
“No. It was hard to do any interviews while I was in a foreign country. I plan to look now that I’m back.”
His smile was sincere now because he understood the motivation behind her response. She didn’t want to be seen as a freeloader. “I’m sure there’s no rush,” he assured her as he set the glass of water atop the coaster on the side table to his left. “You’re welcome at Haizea House.”
Gemma’s attention dropped to her lap. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Her irises snapped up again to meet his without warning. The strength glistening back at him was almost startling. Was she fighting fear of him?
When it should have lifted his opinion of her, it instead angered him. Why did she fear him when an entire coven looked to him for guidance? Or was it a broader problem? Did the coven fear him too?
Uncertainty jabbed at his anger. The mixture of bad emotions made him foolish.
“But if you need help leaving,” he began in a hard-edged voice, “don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“I’m sorry?” The smooth column of her neck was shockingly enticing. Aston could imagine kissing each bit of skin until she shook and pleaded for more.
He shot to his feet, pacing to the far window where he wouldn’t see her. “You’re not going to let up on Drew, are you?” It was an accusatory statement spoken in his most caustic voice. He’d meant it as a question but it certainly hadn’t come out that way.
The ghostly Air image in his mind allowed him to keep track of her. White contours in the shape of Gemma shifted against black, showing her draw up in an offended line.
“You’re only going to get hurt,” Aston continued. “The only person Drew could ever care for is himself.”
“You don’t know him.” Her unwavering delivery caught his attention. Aston craned his neck to look at her. Though still stiff, Gemma didn’t appear any more or less bothered by his presence.
She’d known why he knocked at her door.
“No,” Aston argued. “I’m afraid you’re the one who doesn’t know my brother. The man you want is a romanticized version of the truth. The real Drew is a womanizer. He has no real job. He refuses to do anything he views as boring, distasteful or pointless. And Drew believes everything is boring, distasteful or pointless unless it involves partying or sex.
“Even if you, by some miracle, manage to capture his heart for longer than his usual few weeks, Drew can’t provide for you. His only income is an allowance I can cut off at any time. I will if he doesn’t follow through with this commitment. This marriage would secure an unbreakable alliance with the western counties. But if you’ll leave and give up this foolish idea of persuading Drew away from his fiancée, I will provide for you.”
His fingers began to hurt from the pressure of clenching them into a tight fist. One knuckle at a time, Aston relaxed them until both hands were slack at his sides. At least a minute had passed, he was sure. Yet she hadn’t responded.
Aston turned a tight circle to face her. She gazed at him from beneath angrily hooded eyes. Her arms were crossed over her chest with enough strength that they lightly vibrated from the exertion.
Very quietly she asked, “Are you trying to pay me off, Priest Haizea?”
“I’m trying to do what is best for us all.” He hadn’t meant to sound defensive but her wintery expression and cold response had certainly put him there.
“What do I get if I give up this foolish idea and leave?”
Was she becoming amenable to the idea? It was hard to tell since her mannerisms hadn’t thawed. Cautiously, he asked, “What do you want?”
“This is your proposition, Priest Haizea.” She shot the words at him in an accusatory tone that wiggled beneath his skin.
Aston attempted to maintain control with a pathetic, “I don’t know what you need to get by.”
“How would I know?” She snorted. “I’ve just graduated and never truly lived on my own. So what do I need to get by?”
“A million?”
Gemma’s jaw dropped wide. “A million,” she echoed in disbelief.
“Two?”
Her pitch lifted. “Two?”
“Do you need more?”
“I don’t know,” came the acidic reply. “How high are you willing to go to run off the housekeeper’s daughter?”
He flinched. “It has nothing to do with—”
“Oh!” The frustrated syllable spanned two beats as she jumped to her feet. “It has everything to do with that.” Her nostrils flared twice before she dropped her attention to the wood floor. Her chest lifted in a shaking breath. And then bit by bit, Gemma regained control. She lifted her gaze, fixing him with the turbulence of her swirling emotions. “Please leave, Priest Haizea.”
The authority she employed was something she must have learned away at school because he’d never witnessed Ellen being half as commanding. Who was Gemma Erjon now? Had he ever known her?
There was still a question between them. “About my offer…”
A noticeable thickening in the air around him hinted that she was nearing the limit of her control. Still, Gemma’s voice was composed, albeit dark, for her reply. “I don’t want your bribe, Priest Haizea. Please leave.”
Aston watched her a beat longer and then he walked to the door.
Chapter Five
Gemma couldn’t sit still. She had enough nervous energy flowing in her to power the entire house for weeks. Cleaning consumed some of it. Twice, she’d rearranged her little bedroom. Gone now were the trappings of her childhood. A bag of stuffed animals she’d give to charity was all that was left.
Once she’d exhausted the cleaning in the bedroom, she started on the common room she shared with her mother. From there, she attacked the bathroom. Too soon, everything was spotless and she had to find something new to occupy her time.
Reading was pointless because her m
ind continually distracted her with replays of the kiss on the lawn in the afternoon and the horrible conversation in the evening. Nevertheless, she sat on the sofa trying to scan the same passage even as her eyes strayed to the clock. There was far too long to wait before she could sneak into the main house.
Melodramatically, she draped herself over the sofa. A heavy sigh scraped out of her throat. Would this day never end?
Television was her next time sink. But nothing kept Gemma’s attention, despite the hundreds of stations. She headed up the stairs for a long soak in the tub. Then set about getting ready.
She was perfect by midnight. With two more hours to wait and a mother who insisted upon quiet after the witching hour, Gemma had no idea what to do. Stretched atop the bed, she grabbed her book and then set an alarm in case she accidentally fell asleep.
The next two hours would be the longest of her life.
* * * * *
Aston yawned for the umpteenth time as he sat in the cushioned chair at the foot of his brother’s bed. He couldn’t focus on the words inches in front of his face. Reading glasses weren’t doing what they were prescribed to do. But it wasn’t their fault.
He’d been awake since five. Nearly twenty-four hours. He needed to crawl into bed.
First he had to confront Gemma. Again.
How did he accomplish that? His appearance in his brother’s room would be plenty confrontation. But there would need to be words—something he could say to warn her off Drew for good that didn’t involve an offer of money. All night, he’d considered them. And the longer he considered, the more disgruntled he became.
He’d always held a fondness for Gemma. She’d seemed a bright member of the coven—a warm soul who enjoyed life without overindulging. However, her return and subsequent activities made him question his perception. How intelligent could she be if she was pursuing Drew, knowing his romantic past and his party lifestyle?
Perhaps she would fail to turn up for the rendezvous.