Sommersgate House (16 page)

“I think there
are a few things you should say to Julia,” he informed her.

Her eyes
narrowed and she tried to stare him down. Instead, he calmly sat,
picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, watching his mother the
whole time.

Once he
replaced the cup in its saucer, he quirked an eyebrow to her.

His mother
sighed dramatically, giving in with anything but good grace.

“Welcome to
Sommersgate, Julia. My apologies for the misunderstanding.”

She looked
Julia up and down and her expression showed she found what she saw
lacking. Then, without another word, she walked out of the
room.

Douglas
sighed.

Then he turned
his eyes to Julia, who was staring after Monique, her face a mask
of pure incredulity.

“Sit down,
Julia,” he commanded quietly.

For once, she
did as she was told.

“
What…
was…
that?
” she
asked, her voice horrified.

“I’m afraid
the gloves are off,” Douglas explained, watching her.

Her eyes moved
to him and he saw they were huge and uncomprehending. She looked at
the paper in her hands and then threw it on the table as if it
burned. She lifted a shaky hand to pull her hair away from her face
and took a deep breath.

“
It’ll
be okay,” she murmured as if trying to convince herself.
“It’ll
all
be
okay.”

Douglas
watched her as she tried to fool herself. This time, with him
standing beside her, she emerged virtually unscathed. Given her
mental state, she was, he knew, no match for his mother’s callous,
unrelenting venom. Even if she had exhibited fire and spirit, she
was exhausted and still coping with the loss of her brother and
Tamsin. She’d be torn apart within a week; he’d give it two at the
most.

And somehow
understanding this went beyond annoying him.

Ten minutes
ago, knowing that Julia and his mother and this arrangement would
be difficult was a simple inconvenience, something he understood
that he needed to control.

Now, watching
his mother square up against the woman he just decided to make his
wife was simply unacceptable.

“Oh for God’s
sake,” Douglas muttered as he rose, frustrated with denying
himself. He grabbed Julia’s hand and pulled her roughly out of her
chair and straight into his arms.

She stiffened
and pushed against him, her hands at his chest, her eyes alert and
surprised.

She tilted her
head back to start to ask, “What are you –?”

He ignored her
reaction and did what he’d wanted to do since her first night at
Sommersgate, indeed, since he first saw her fifteen years ago.

Douglas kissed
her.

While one arm
held her tightly against him, wrapped around her waist, his other
hand slid down her back to splay across the small and press her
hips more tightly against his.

She pushed
against his chest with more strength and moaned a suffocated denial
against his lips, opening her mouth under his. Given this golden
opportunity, he took unfair advantage, sliding in his tongue and
deepening the kiss.

The moment his
tongue touched hers, his body ignited. She tasted of a hint of
coffee with an underlying sweetness that was intoxicating. Both his
arms closed around her pulling her more deeply into him as his
tongue went from invading to coaxing. He used it to tease her and
his hands to mould her against his hard body.

This, he was
pleased to note, worked.

He felt her
hands abruptly stop pushing against his chest and they started to
slide up, stopping when her fingers curled at his shoulders to hold
on. Her lips relaxed and her head slanted to give him better
access.

He didn’t
hesitate in accepting her invitation.

It was then
the kiss went wild.

She clung to
his shoulders, her fingernails biting into his flesh as she matched
his heat, her tongue duelling with his. He felt his blood heating,
his heart pounding, her body remarkably hot through her
clothes.

Finally, one
of her hands lifted, gliding up his neck, her fingers slid into his
hair as she held his head to hers, giving herself fully to the
kiss. She pressed her soft body to his, the heat of her searing his
skin through his clothes as her passion exploded. She gave him
everything he wanted and he took it, gladly, and then took more. He
heard her moan again but this time not in denial but with desire,
the sound of it sending his blood speeding through his veins and he
pulled her body even closer to him, trying to absorb her very
essence.

He had
expected it to be good but he hadn’t expected it to be like
this.

She tasted
sweet and she smelled of tangerines and jasmine. All he could do
was feel her, taste her and smell the exotic scent which defined
her – delicious, tangy, soft, wet and gorgeous. She surrounded his
senses so completely that everything else but her faded away. The
sensations were so extreme, he was sorely tempted to throw her on
the ground and have her right there in the dining room.

His body
tightened at the thought and before he could lose all control, he
tore his mouth from hers and took a ragged breath.

“Jesus,” he
muttered.

She pulled out
of his arms and stood shakily in front of him with the fingers of
both hands pressed to her lips. Her green eyes had darkened to jade
and she was staring at him in wonder.

“Jesus,” he
repeated, this time as a curse to stop himself from reaching for
her again before her reason returned and the moment was
shattered.

He knew,
though, that it was way too soon and Douglas was an expert
strategist. He would never make a move toward a desired goal before
the time was right.

“Why did you
do that?” she asked, her voice low and soft, nearly a whisper, but
there was accusation in it.

“I’m leaving
for a few days, I’m not certain when I’ll return,” he returned
instead of answering her, trying to regain some control.

“No!” was her
startling reply. She sounded frightened and her eyes flew to the
door where Monique had exited.

“Julia,” he
said her name but watched as she looked away from him and seemed to
be fighting to gain some control.

“Fine,” she
replied, changing her mind like quicksilver. “Fine, I’ll be fine,
we’ll all be fine. Just go.”

She wouldn’t
be fine and she was beginning to understand it. And, for some
reason, this pleased him.

“I’ll leave
you my mobile number. Call if you need me or you can always get me
through Samantha.”

She squared
her shoulders and tilted her chin. “We’ll be fine.”

“I’ll leave
you the number, just in case.”

“Why did you
kiss me?” she asked again, her voice stronger, her eyes flashing,
her tone demanding.

Why
did
he kiss
her?

And, more to
the point, why had he decided she would be his wife?

Because of her
poignant story about the children kissing their parents
good-bye?

Because in
less than a week, the children were already responding to her when
over four months under his mother and his nominal care they were
more and more withdrawn and detached, going through the motions of
childhood without anchor?

Because his
mother was such a bitch and any relationship he had with Julia
would drive her insane, an idea which, he had to admit, he found he
liked very much?

Because of her
charm and grace and the way she looked just as resplendent in blue
jeans as she did in satin?

Because of
that green dress, her long legs, her shapely ass and her flashing
eyes?

Because he’d
been waiting fifteen long years to have her underneath him and he
decided he was finished waiting?

Or simply
because he’d just decided she’d make an excellent baroness, that
perhaps Tamsin wasn’t so crazy after all and this lovely creature
before him would do spectacularly well in a life by his side?

“To say
good-bye,” was all he said to explain.

She stared at
him like he was mad.

“Call me if
you need anything,” he finished.

And before he
grabbed her again, which was exactly what he wanted to do, he
turned on his heel and walked away.

The Game

Julia lay on
her bed and stared at the dark ceiling. The scratching was at the
window but she’d drawn the drapes.

She had to
draw the drapes because last night, she’d seen what was
scratching.

It was Ruby’s
imaginary friend. Except, he wasn’t imaginary. He was real. Not
real, exactly, a ghost. A man, handsome and tall and wearing an
old-fashioned suit from some time that Julia didn’t know. He had
dark hair and dark eyes and the only good thing about him was that
he wanted to get in but he couldn’t. She knew that because she saw
him try… and fail.

“Damn,” she
whispered, tossing in her bed, “damn, damn, damn!”

The last two
weeks had been an absolute nightmare.

A nightmare
named Monique.

The woman was
awful, she was truly awful.

Julia tried to
find something good or nice in everyone and every night she’d been
wracking her brain trying to find one teeny, tiny, little
characteristic that Monique had that was likable or even
acceptable.

There were
none.

The staff
feared her, Veronika most of all. And Julia could see why. At the
best of times, Monique was imperious. The worst of times, she was
scathing. Julia had witnessed her coldly tearing apart Veronika for
missing some speck of dust or not polishing the banister to a high
enough sheen and she’d been astounded by the woman’s sheer evil.
She acted like Veronika had thrown a wild crack party and
accidentally burned the house down.

And the
children didn’t know what to make of her or the relationship
between her and their aunt. She was no less dictatorial with the
kids though she cut herself short at any disdainful remarks. Most
likely because, if she tried, she knew Julia would scratch her eyes
out which made Julia wonder how Monique had been with the children
before Julia had arrived.

And Monique
didn’t waste any time.

In fact, it
started the day after Douglas left.

On Monday,
Monique had been absent all day, staying in her room or her morning
room and completely avoiding Julia and ignoring the children.

On Tuesday,
she sent Mrs. K to find Julia and invite her to the morning room
for tea.

Ruby was,
pointedly, not invited.

Julia appeared
as requested, hoping to negotiate a truce. Monique was dressed in a
pale pink blouse and cream tailored trousers with a pair of
expensive matching pumps. Her dark brown hair was swept up in a
neat chignon. Her smooth, high cheekbones shone with artfully
applied blusher.

She regally
inclined her head toward a chair covered in flowered chintz, which
was, Julia guessed, her invitation to take a seat. The morning
room, just as the drawing room, was decorated in ice blue and white
but in this room it seemed only slightly less formal, no less
cold.

Julia sat and
Monique asked with feigned sweetness, “Tea?”

“No thank you,
I don’t drink tea,” Julia replied.

Monique
ignored her and poured tea into a dainty, china cup, added a wedge
of lemon and handed it to her.

Julia held it,
stunned into immobility by the woman’s rudeness.

“Let’s not
misunderstand ourselves, you and I,” Monique said, sipping from her
own cup and gazing dispassionately at Julia like she was something
that crawled out from under a rock.

“Monique,”
Julia started, in hopes of laying the tentative groundwork to heal
relations, “I just want to do what’s right for those children and
get along with you and with Douglas.”

“Douglas, my
dear, is what I’d like to talk to you about.”

Julia
tensed and Monique didn’t delay in explaining
exactly
what the tête-à-tête was about.

“
Your
brother, God rest his soul,” she touched her hand to her heart in
false grief, “convinced my somewhat misguided daughter that he was
worthy of her attention. But I shall tell you right now what I
should have told him. He was
not
worthy of my family and you, particularly, are not worthy
of my son. I know what kind of woman you are. I know what those
pictures showed. I know your intentions. And I will not allow you
to…”

But Julia was
no longer listening to her. Monique had made a fatal mistake in her
little interview. She could have attacked Julia, which would mean
that Julia would have tried to react kindly or at least
diplomatically.

But she should
never have said a word against Gavin.

Julia put her
cup down with such force that it clattered, stood up and stared
down at the woman.

“
Don’t
you
dare
speak about
my brother to me ever again, Monique. Do I make myself
perfectly
clear?” she whispered, her
voice an enraged hiss.

For a
moment Monique looked startled but she recovered quickly. “Should I
remind you that it is
my
home
you are living in,
my
sheets you
are sleeping on,
my –
”

“I beg to
differ but on the death of your husband, is it not true that all of
that became Douglas’s? If you have an issue with me staying here,
I’ll ask you to skip chats such as this and take it up directly
with your son.”

And without
allowing Monique to say another word, she’d walked out.