The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) (38 page)

“You
are
an artist, Thomas.”

“Then I shall create a scent and name it for you.”

“That wouldn’t be proper.” The butterflies moved lower, and her body warmed even more.

“I’ll call it Lavande d’Amour and no one but you and I will know it’s named for you.” He touched her cheek and let his hand linger.

She allowed it.
 

“I have loved you since the day I first laid my eyes upon you.”
 

Her face burned. “You were just a boy.”

“I’m not a boy any longer.”

“I’m married.” She heard regret in her voice. “We should go now.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t wish to leave. Do you?”

She realized she was leaning her cheek into his hand and began to pull back.
 

He moved even closer and brushed his lips against hers. “Do you wish to leave, sweet Alice?”
 

“Oh no, Thomas. No, Thomas. No.”  

Her kiss was not chaste.

***

Belinda awoke from the dream to see Alice’s spirit sitting beside her, a sad smile on her face. Behind Alice, stood the ghost of Thomas Manning. She looked from one to the other.

We were never together again,
came Alice’s voice.
I shunned him for the sake of my marriage and the children he put in my belly.
 

Thomas spoke.
Parnell thrived, but the Witch took Prudence and still keeps her prisoner to this very day.

“Why?” Belinda whispered.

Prudence can destroy her. She is pure innocence. She was driven from her own body, so that the Witch might inhabit it. Now, Prudence’s spirit is trapped in the east wing and wards are set to keep us from entering. But you can enter, Belinda. You can bring her back to us.
Thomas’ voice was filled with pain and hope.

Please, Belinda,”
echoed Alice.
Only you can help her. Please.

“Why me?”
 

Because of who you are,
Thomas told her.

It’s your destiny to stop the Witch, to save our daughter,
Alice added.

“I don’t understand. Why me?” she asked again.

You will know in time. You have the power. You are chosen.
 

The ghosts faded away, and despite herself, Belinda’s eyes closed and she slept.

Chamber of Horrors

Cordelia approached Belinda’s bedroom, and as she was about to try the knob, she stopped cold.
It’s too late.
Though she didn’t know precisely what that meant, she knew it was the truth.

A cold, sick feeling overcame her. She couldn’t take another step.
I should have never sent her to the east wing.
It was clear to Cordelia that something had happened there - something that had changed things. She had sensed that the governess made contact with the spirit of Prudence Manning while there. That came as no real surprise - more than a few people had the Sight - but what Cordelia hadn’t expected was to find out that the meek, unassuming Ms. Moorland might have the power to free Prudence’s spirit.
But how? How can that be?
She pressed herself against Belinda’s bedroom door and tried to clear her mind. Cordelia knew something wasn’t right about the girl.
But what?

Turning, she started down the hall, back to the dungeon, her mind far away. She considered asking Walter Hardwicke to take care of the governess, but that wouldn’t do. Grant had taken such a shine to her, and even Eric appeared to be smitten by the little tramp. In any case, Belinda’s absence would not go ignored. If Cordelia had learned anything from her centuries of cohabitating with the Manning men, it was that they didn’t let go of their women easily. No, she had to think of something far more clever than murder.
More clever, and more painful.
She smiled.

Finding herself at the dungeon door, she used the ruby-studded key to let herself in. She would think of something. Cordelia was nothing if not resourceful. Closing the door behind her, she stopped short.

The curvy little maid, Dominique de la Cruz, had managed to free herself from her restraints and was near Phoebe Waxwing’s side, attempting, undoubtedly, to release her. Presently, Dominique crossed her arms over her bare double Ds - as if anyone in the room hadn’t seen
those
before - and murmured something under her breath, no doubt a prayer.

Cordelia laughed. “I don’t believe your boyfriend will get you out of this one, Dominique.”

The girl’s dark eyes went wide. “My … my boyfriend?”

Cordelia locked the door behind her. “Yes, your boyfriend. Good old what’s-his-name.” She stepped toward Dominique and struck a thinker’s pose, tapping her nails on her lip. “Ah, yes,” she said. “Jesus.”

“J-Jesus?”

“That
is
who you were praying to, isn’t it?” Cordelia looked at the ever-present rosary that dangled between the maid’s breasts. “Drop your arms, Dominique.”

With reluctance, she lowered them, and stared at the floor.

“That’s a good girl.” Cordelia frowned at the rosary. Holding out her hand, she said, “Give it over.”

“But I-”

“Give it over or I’ll yank it from your pretty little neck.”

Dominique obeyed.
 

Cordelia eyed the holy artifact with distaste and tucked it into the pocket of her dressing gown. “Sit,” she said.

Dominique went to her knees and Cordelia looked around the room.
 

Phoebe, bound, blindfolded, and gagged, occupied the chair, her arms behind her and her ankles tied to the chair’s feet.

Justine Chambers was tied down, ankles in stirrups in the metal gynecological chair.

Seth Rawlins, a studded leather harness gag tied around his head, stood suspended by wrist cuffs that hung from the ceiling. His back and ass were welted where Cordelia had gotten carried away with the riding crop, and she could see the word “SLUT” engraved in the skin across his chest where she’d used her new impression paddle on him. His manhood was flaccid and nearly purple due to the tightness of his cock harness, and his head hung down.
 

“Heads up, stableboy, or I’ll make you wear the posture collar.” As she passed him, she gave the head of his withered penis a hard flick with her fingers. “Both heads.”

Seth recoiled from the pain, writhed in his snare, and mumbled around the built-in ball gag of his head harness.
 

After loosening his cock collar a notch in order to get the blood flowing, she turned to Dominique. “You,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Get up on the cross.” She pointed to the wooden fixture that hung against the wall.

Dominique’s eyes went wide. “No, please … anything but that.” She looked as if she were about to cry. “It’s … it’s sacrilege.”

Cordelia tossed her head back and laughed. “It’s, it’s
sacrilege,
” she mimicked. “Get on the fucking cross, now, bitch. Your boyfriend is waiting.”

The maid moved to it and spread her hands.
 

After tying her in place, Cordelia stepped back and admired her work.
 

Choosing a leather-thonged cat o’nine tails that she referred to as “Angel Maker,” Cordelia moved to the maid and went to work on those ridiculous double Ds.

As the maid howled out her pain, Cordelia sighed with relief, her tension dissolving, her mind clearing. Now, perhaps she could put the more serious issues at Ravencrest into proper perspective.
 

Caught in the Pool

As she headed to the indoor pool for her early morning swim with Eric Manning, Belinda tried not to think about the dreams, but it was difficult. The feeling of being Alice Manning - living in her head, seeing through her eyes and feeling her emotions as she and Thomas gave in to their desires … it overwhelmed her, but not in a bad way. If anything, she felt compassion for the long-ago lovers. She now understood why, on her first night in Ravencrest, Thomas had come to her bed to seduce her: Somehow, some way, he had mistaken her for Alice, his true love. Alice herself had imparted that knowledge and Belinda had accepted it without question, even though she didn’t quite understand.
 

Thomas is so like Eric.
As she approached the doors to the pool house, she smiled to herself. Right now, Thomas and Alice’s request that she enter the east wing to rescue Prudence didn’t worry her, perhaps because she had yet to wrap her mind around it. Instead all she thought of was the romance of the star-crossed lovers … She put her hand on the latch.

“Allow me.”

Belinda jumped when Eric’s hand brushed hers as he reached for the handle and began pulling it open. “Thank you!”

“Ladies first.” He smiled down at her. “Daydreaming?”

“Gathering wool is more like it.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t hear me approach.”

She blushed and was glad he couldn’t see her very well in the shadowy pool house.

The door closed behind them and they walked to Poseidon’s throne and set their things down.

On this bright summer morning, the sky shown blue through the skylights, though the sun’s rays were still too low to pierce the depths of the cobalt pool. The clean, warm smell of chlorinated water filled her nose and the splash and lap of it, her ears. Eric spoke again, his voice echoing through the huge room. “Care to do some laps?”
 

“I would.”

He pulled off his red T-shirt and stepped out of his sandals. “Shall we go for six?”

Belinda, trying not to stare, trying not to compare his chest to what she’d seen of Thomas’ in the dream, pulled her cover-up off and draped it on Poseidon’s arm beside Eric’s T-shirt.
 

Eric’s eyes traveled down her body and back up to her eyes so quickly that she might have imagined it.
 

“Belinda?”

“What?”

“I asked you how many laps you’re up for.”  He smiled, the corners of his blue-gray eyes crinkling just as she’d seen Thomas’ do in the dream.
They’re exactly the same color, too.

She felt a little dizzy. “Just two for now.”

“That’s all?” He studied her. “You do look a little tired. Did you sleep poorly?”

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

“I hope you’re not having bad dreams.”

Quite the contrary.
She shook her head. “No. I just kept waking up. It’s my own fault - I should have closed the drapes.”

He nodded. “I hope those little earthquakes the other night didn’t make it hard for you to sleep.”

She smiled as they approached the edge of the pool. “I’m a native. Those were nothing.”

“Excellent. Ready?”

“Ready.”  They jumped into the pool then grasped the edge.

“On three,” Eric said. “One. Two. Three.”

Without a thought, Belinda pushed off.
 

At first, she kept up with him but by the time they were at the midway point in front of the tall diving board and dressing rooms, she slowed, dizziness overwhelming her. She came to a stop to catch her breath and shake off the disorientation.

Treading water, she looked around. The entry to the dressing rooms was a looming black maw, so she turned her head, looking at the splash of Eric’s feet as he sped toward the end of the pool.
He’s so fast!

A scream shrilled through the room, ricocheting off the walls. Belinda gasped and whirled to face the diving board, her pulse hammering in her throat. The shriek cut short, its echoes reverberating from all directions.

Belinda watched in horror as the diving board depressed then bounced up. Below, something touched her ankle, something cold and bony, something slimy. She heard a splash, like someone diving into the water. Jerking her leg away from the hand, she began swimming, panicked, toward the edge of the pool, her breath rasping. As she kicked her feet, the cold touch returned, tightening around her ankle like a fleshless fist. She tried to scream as she was pulled under water.

Down, down, down. Belinda fought against the force, her lungs ready to burst. She writhed, kicked, panicked. The grip was tight and painful. Through blurred vision, she saw nothing but the blue pool floor, the constellations a blur of stars and moons.

Cool hands tightened on her shoulders and she felt herself being pulled upward. But the force around her ankle was stronger. With a hard yank, it pulled her deeper.

Then she saw something else. A man. He was moving toward her in quick strokes. She saw Eric’s wide eyes then he disappeared from view and hooked a powerful arm - a warm arm - around her waist.

He propelled her upward.

They broke the water’s surface with an explosive splash.

Coughing, Belinda drew air into her starved lungs in a long, desperate gasp, her arms vise-tight around Eric’s shoulders as he paddled them toward the edge. He gripped the lip of the pool with one hand; Belinda didn’t realize she was crying until he drew back and looked into her eyes.
 

“What happened? Are you all right?” He searched her face, his arm still snug around her.

There was no embarrassment, only a blend of relief and horror that she couldn’t contain. She wept openly, her arms around his neck. “Oh my God,” she said. “The scream. And then …” She didn’t know how to explain the cold, bony grip that had pulled her down.

Eric cupped her chin. With his thumb, he wiped the tears and water from her face.
 

Belinda swallowed, suddenly aware of their closeness, of his body, firm and warm, against her. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of blue. She watched a bead of water slip down the side of his face, past the ridge of his cheekbone, over the strong, hard edge of his jaw. His lips were wet. Wet and full and slightly parted. His breath puffed out and warmed her neck where the skin had begun to chill. Without thinking, she placed a hand on either side of his face. “Eric,” she said. “You saved my life.”

He blinked at her and licked a droplet of water from his lips then gently pushed wet hair off her face.

Their lips met, pressing hard, their teeth gently grazing as their tongues explored. She took him all in, his taste, his scent. Her hands raked through his hair and she tugged him closer.