Finding Laura (11 page)

Josie wanted to say yes. She wanted to be able to be strong, to prove at least to herself that Alex had changed nothing in her. But her body had changed, had learned to respond to his touch, and as much as she would have liked to deny that, he knew it as well as she did. He was feeding at her breast, not like a child but like a man hungry for the taste of her, and the hot sensations were driving her mad. With every pull of his mouth, the empty ache deep inside her intensified until she couldn’t be still—or silent.

“No,” she said huskily, her fingers threading through his silky blond hair. “No, I don’t want to leave you. Oh, God, Alex—please …”

“You’ll stay all night?” His mouth toyed with her nipple while his hand slid down over her belly and probed gently between her thighs.

Josie shuddered, her body going as taut as a bowstring when his long fingers penetrated, his thumb stroked and teased. She tried to find the breath to answer him, realizing dimly and with an oddly relieved sense of surrender that if he had asked her to walk through fire or over broken glass, her reply would have been the same.

“Yes. Yes, Alex. Oh—!” She couldn’t help crying out, writhing against him when she felt his teeth rake her nipple gently and his fingers plunge deep. “Alex, for God’s sake!”

“Not for yours?” he murmured, raising his head at last and smiling at her.

A little wildly, she said, “What are you trying to do to me?”

Whether he heard in her voice that she was pushed to her limits or simply lost patience himself, Alex answered
her with his body. He slipped between her thighs, drawing them high around his waist, and slowly entered her.

Josie was so close to the edge, and he kept her there, moving with exquisite care, the strain showing on his face and in quivering muscles. He seemed bent on drawing out the lovemaking until neither of them could stand another moment more, and though Josie wanted to protest, she couldn’t find the breath or a single coherent word with which to do so.

It seemed to go on forever, pleasure that rippled through her in tiny, rhythmic waves that grew more and more powerful, until finally she was swept up in a hot, dizzying whirlpool of sensation so intense that she was blind and deaf to everything except the overwhelming satisfaction of her climax.

Josie became aware of her surroundings once again just as Alex rolled onto his back, carrying her with him. He was still breathing harshly, and she lay with her cheek against his chest and her eyes closed while her pillow gradually steadied into a slow rise and fall.

“That wasn’t fair,” she murmured at last.

His arms tightened around her, and Alex didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “No, I guess not. But you’ve been slipping out of my bed like a nervous schoolgirl for two months, and I couldn’t take it anymore.”

She raised her head and looked down at him gravely. “You never said anything.”

“Would it have done any good?” And when she remained silent, he nodded. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“Amelia—” she began, but Alex was shaking his head.

“Don’t kid yourself, Josie. You don’t creep back to your own room in the middle of the night because you’re worried about what Amelia might say. You do it because in your mind you’ve put this affair of ours into a nice, neat, safe little category. It’s sex. Just sex.”

She frowned. “Isn’t that what you want?”

He gazed up at her for a moment, a little smile playing around his mouth. Then he said, “Sure. But having sex makes us lovers, sweet, and lovers sometimes sleep together—all night—in the same bed. I want that too. But you don’t have to worry. It won’t make us married. It won’t even make us in love. So you don’t have to give up Jeremy.”

Josie moved off him jerkily and yanked the covers up to hide her nakedness. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” He raised up on an elbow, his handsome face a little mocking. “If it’s just sex between us, then it’s no threat to your memories of Jeremy. If you slip back into your own bed in the night, the bed you’ve turned into your marriage bed and keep sacrosanct even though he never slept in it with you, then you haven’t really been unfaithful to him.”

“He’s dead,” Josie said shakily.

“Yeah, but you haven’t buried him. You haven’t let go of him.” Alex smiled slightly, seemingly a little amused. “Oh, don’t look so horrified, Josie. It doesn’t bother me. If you want to wear your widow’s weeds for the next forty years like Amelia and keep Jeremy’s ageless picture on your dresser to smile at every night, that’s your business. Hell, it might even be just the way he’d want you to live out the rest of your life. But since he’d have a bit of trouble performing his husbandly duties as things stand now, I doubt he’d begrudge us an hour spent together here and there. Or even a night. Who else would he expect to see to his widow’s needs, after all? I am his cousin.”

With a choked sound, Josie flung back the covers and scrambled from the bed. She didn’t look back at Alex, but was highly aware of his silent attention as she found her clothes scattered on the floor and dressed hastily.

“You said you’d stay all night,” he reminded her coolly.

She threw him a single incredulous look and fled from his bedroom as if something with teeth and claws pursued her. She was automatically quiet as she hurried down the dimly lit hallway, carrying her shoes, and didn’t realize she was actually holding her breath until she was inside her own bedroom and leaning back against the door. Then her breath escaped raggedly, catching at the end in a dry little sob.

She felt a little sick, and more than a little shaken. Alex had never before been cruel to her, never. He had never taunted her about Jeremy, and he’d certainly never uttered anything like his mocking words of tonight. So why had he tonight? Why had he said things he must have known would upset her terribly? It was so unlike him.…

Growing gradually more thoughtful and less shaken, Josie undressed again and went into her bathroom to take a shower. Her movements were automatic, her thoughts wholly occupied with Alex. Finally, as she was drying her hair, she toyed with the idea that he had said what he had because he had
not
wanted her to spend the night in his bed—whatever he said. Was that possible? He had asked her numerous times to spend the night in his bed, but he’d never protested when she had refused—until tonight. Yet when she had given in and agreed, he had almost immediately begun taunting her.

Why?

Josie put on a nightgown and robe, chosen without thought from her dresser drawer, and when she looked down at herself she had to wonder yet again if she was, in fact, becoming Amelia. The gown was black, high-necked, long-sleeved, and not in the least sexy, the robe a dark and dull gray. Did she feel the need to mourn Jeremy even in her sleep? Or was this some kind of symbolic apology to her dead husband after she came from the bed of another man?

She looked at the silver-framed picture on her dresser
that showed a darkly handsome, smiling man, and for the first time, she wanted to turn it facedown.

“Damn you,” she said softly.

There was, of course, no response, and Josie paced around her bedroom for some time trying to sort through her tangled emotions. In the end all she knew was that she wouldn’t sleep at all if she didn’t go back to Alex and at least try to find out why he had behaved that way.

She opened her bedroom door very quietly and began to slip out into the hallway, then froze. She and Alex shared the second floor of this wing of the house—or had—with Peter and Kerry, who had separate bedrooms, and with Daniel. As Josie looked down the hallway, she saw Alex come out of the bedroom that had been Peter’s. He was fully dressed, appeared to be carrying something clenched in his right hand, and looked a bit grim.

Instead of going to his own bedroom, Alex continued on to the end of the long hallway and knocked lightly on Daniel’s door. It was opened almost immediately, with Daniel also fully dressed and wide awake despite the lateness of the hour.

They were too far away for Josie to hear what was said, but the low conversation went on for some time, with Alex opening his hand at one point to show Daniel whatever it was he held. Finally, Daniel nodded and drew back into his own room, and when Alex started to turn, Josie jerked back into her own bedroom.

She heard Daniel’s door close quietly, then another door a few moments later, and when she looked, the hallway was empty.

With all thoughts of going to Alex pushed aside now, Josie softly closed her own door and went to sit on her bed. Her earlier uneasiness had returned, and now it was stronger. Much stronger.

What was going on?

•   •   •

“H
OW MANY PRELIMINARY
sketches will you do?” Amelia asked.

Laura looked up from the first tentative strokes of her charcoal pencil and smiled. “As many as it takes. I did warn you.”

Amelia smiled. “So you did. Don’t worry, child; I’m perfectly willing to sit for you as long and as often as you require. If I may talk, that is. If not, we may have a problem.”

“Talking is fine,” Laura told her. “In fact, it may help me. Doing a portrait is capturing a personality, and that isn’t accomplished by the eyes alone.”

“You
do
know how to go about it,” Amelia said in satisfaction. “I knew you would.”

“Let’s reserve judgment on that until we see the results,” Laura suggested ruefully, not at all sure of herself.

It was late Monday morning, and she and Amelia were in the conservatory at the rear of the house, which was flooded with light and vibrant with lush green plants and potted flowers. Amelia had begun to show her the house, but they had barely covered the ground floor when they’d reached the conservatory, and Laura had suggested they stop here for a while so she could sketch.

She had made the suggestion for more than one reason. Though Amelia didn’t act frail, the old lady quite likely was, and Laura thought a short rest could do no harm. And the house was so huge that Laura felt quite overwhelmed; she needed a bit of time herself before going on. And lastly, the background this room provided, so luxuriant and vivid, was a wonderful contrast to Amelia’s black and silver coolness.

She sat as Laura had requested in a fan-backed wicker chair, while Laura sat at a slight angle in another wicker chair. Requesting no particular pose—“just try to relax”—Laura had ended with a subject who sat almost rigidly upright with hands folded in her lap.

Laura took what she was given and began sketching with a bit more confidence, listening with half her attention as Amelia talked on.

“This room would probably be a good one in which to work when you finally begin the actual portrait, Laura. Plenty of light. Though I don’t think this background—”

“We’ll decide on a final background before the portrait’s begun, Amelia. But I want to sketch you in several different places.”

“Probably wise,” Amelia decided. “By the way, you’ll meet a few more of the family today at lunch. Alex, who is a cousin of mine, is at the law office, of course; he’ll be taking over as our family lawyer, and so he works in the city most days. And Anne—my granddaughter—took it into her head to go shopping today. But you’ll meet my daughter-in-law, Madeline. And, of course, Peter’s wife, Kerry.”

Laura glanced over the top of the sketchpad to see her subject smiling pleasantly, and wished she could capture in charcoal or oil that bland tone of voice that seemed so odd under the circumstances. If it was a part of Amelia’s personality, then it was certainly a fascinating part—if a little eerie.

“I want you to make yourself at home here, Laura,” Amelia went on. “When we aren’t working on the portrait, I hope you’ll feel free to wander around and really get a feeling for the house and gardens. I’ve lived here for sixty years, so this house
is
me. I’ve put my mark on it, from the attic to the cellar. This house will tell you much about who I am.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Laura murmured, using a thumb to gently smudge the line defining Amelia’s cheekbone.

Amelia kept talking, musing about the time she had spent in this house, the parties held here in years past, the detailed planning of the gardens. She talked quietly, almost gently, seldom requiring a response from Laura, and Laura
became so absorbed in her work that she looked up with a start when Amelia chuckled and asked her if she realized they had been here for two hours.

“I’m sorry—” Laura began.

“It’s quite all right, child, I’m fine. But I believe I’ll go and make sure lunch is almost ready, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course. I think I’ll stay here and tinker with this a bit.”

Amelia rose gracefully as if she had not spent two hours sitting in the same position. There was no cane in evidence today. “May I see the sketch?” she asked.

Laura hesitated. “If you don’t mind, Amelia, I’d rather wait until I’ve made another sketch or two. Give me time to get the feel of this, if you will.”

With a smile, Amelia said, “Certainly, child. I’ll be back in just a few minutes.” She almost glided from the room.

Left alone, Laura studied her sketch with a frown. It was okay, she thought. Not great, but not bad. She tinkered a bit, adding shading here and there and trying to get those dark eyes right, then finally closed the sketchpad with a sigh. Sketches weren’t perfect. They weren’t supposed to be. They were preliminary work designed to familiarize an artist with the subject.

She gazed toward the rear of the conservatory and the atrium doors that opened out onto a veranda above the gardens, not really seeing anything. She had tried not to think too much about anything since arriving here, concentrating on Amelia and the commission. But she hadn’t been able to ignore the odd stillness of this huge house, the sense of tension she felt here.

It felt almost empty, this house, an impression reinforced by the fact that she had seen only Amelia since arriving here. Amelia had even opened the front door to her, and though she had said that the cook/housekeeper was working in the kitchen, and that a couple of maids
who came daily were upstairs cleaning, there was no sound to betray any of them.