Chapter Eleven
The Mistress
Julia stood surveying herself in the three-way mirror. She wore a pair of wide-legged black trousers that hugged her low on her hips and a skin-tight camisole, the hem of which only just reached the waistband of her trousers. Over that she wore a see-through black blouse with satin edging at the buttons, collar and cuffs. She’d put in her diamond studs and tied a black velvet ribbon tight around her throat. She kept her hair long but used a blow dryer to straighten its waves. The finishing touch was a pair of silver, strappy sandals, the straps across her coral varnished toes were braided and the heel was stacked in a high, thin, black wedge.
An hour ago Charlotte and Oliver arrived for the Thanksgiving celebrations which were to take place tomorrow. Sam followed twenty minutes later. Tonight they were going to have a light repast in preparation for the gorge-fest that was going to take place the next day.
Even Monique had condescended to join them, more than likely because Charlie and Oliver were coming.
Monique had been on her best behaviour the last two weeks since Douglas’s return. Although she hadn’t been around much to behave any way at all with her whirlwind of brunches, lunches, dinner parties and manicure appointments. When she was around, she kept to herself, not even bothering Douglas and completely ignoring Julia and the children.
Douglas, as well, had been on his best behaviour.
After his bizarre and maybe even unhinged proposal of marriage, Julia had steeled herself for the sexual onslaught that she thought would begin after she pulled herself together enough to leave her rooms to help finish the cookies. Instead, he had been the perfect gentleman, cordial, thoughtful and even, if it could be believed, friendly.
She didn’t trust him one bit, mostly because she suspected he was unhinged due to his out-of-the-blue marriage proposal which proved, to Julia, that Douglas Ashton was completely and utterly mad.
He, on the other hand, was around far more often then he used to be, which she felt under the circumstances, was most perverse.
He was at the breakfast table every morning and was home every night. She knew he went into the office and even took quick day trips to meetings elsewhere in the UK and on the Continent. He might not make tea or supper or Ruby’s bedtime but he was at least home to say goodnight to Willie and Lizzie.
But he didn’t kiss Julia, stalk her around any rooms, say anything outrageous, mention a word to the children, press a heavy, antique, heirloom engagement ring on her finger or any behaviour of the like.
And Julia was immensely relieved (and secretly disquieted) by his behaviour. Even so, she did not let her guard down.
Julia watched and noticed that the children were responding to Douglas being home, Monique being mostly absent and Julia having charge of their care. They clearly enjoyed a settled regime that was far less strict and a house that also included the presence of their uncle.
The day after his proposal, Douglas had asked Sam to arrange an appointment for them at his bank to open an account for her. He’d met her there, already in the manager’s office waiting for her when she arrived. She completed forms and put up with the manager’s oily gushing to Douglas and herself.
The whole while Douglas sat back, one foot casually resting on the other knee, one arm possessively (she knew exactly his meaning this time) draped across her chair, watching her as if witnessing the completion of forms was the height of entertainment (which meant completing the forms was far more gruelling than it needed to be).
When they were finished and standing on the pavement outside the bank, he asked her if she’d like to go for a drink.
“No thank you, I need to get home to the children.” Her voice was filled with acid-fuelled politeness.
“Julia, they won’t spontaneously combust if you’re gone for a few hours.”
She’d given him a narrow look and stalked to where Carter was waiting for her beside the Bentley.
Like the gentleman he was apparently wanting her to believe him to be, he let her go.
The only glitch in his charade was the one time Douglas did come home in time for tea. After dinner, when the children went off to their homework, computer games and television, Julia had settled on the couch in the grand entry in front of a roaring fire that Carter had made. She was reading through some paperwork Charlie had sent her on charity organisations in the UK in preparation for the consultancy she would begin the next week. To her surprise, and under her distrustful eye, Douglas joined her. He had not changed out of his suit but had taken off his tie and jacket and loosened the collar of his deep green, finely-tailored shirt. He carried with him a book instead of work. Not any book, of course not, instead it was a Russian novel, printed in Russian no less.
She surreptitiously watched him read it for awhile and determined that he did, indeed read Russian. This shocked her but she was busy ignoring him, and doing very well at it, so could not, or more to the point would not, allow herself to comment (as she very much wanted to do).
Ruby was the first to break their hesitant peace, storming in with a loud complaint that Lizzie was watching a programme different from the one that Ruby wanted to watch.
“Ruby, you don’t need to shout. Uncle Douglas and I can hear you perfectly,” Julia told her niece firmly but kindly. “And I thought we agreed it was Lizzie’s night to choose what was on the telly.”
Ruby flounced away, seemingly accepting her fate but clearly unhappy about it.
Next it was Lizzie’s turn. She wanted something to eat.
“You don’t have to ask, honey,” Julia explained. “Do you want some help?”
“No, I’m okay,” Lizzie replied and slunk toward the kitchen, still in the depths of her despair but Julia had little time to respond to it when Willie arrived.
“Ruby just walked in and changed the programme,” he shouted angrily. “I was watching it and she said you told her –”
Julia started to rise but Douglas lithely beat her to it.
“I’ll take care of it,” he declared to her stunned surprise.
Willie stalked off with Douglas trying to match his uncle’s ground eating strides.
Julia gave it ten minutes then she went in search of them, her assumption being that Douglas would need some kind of assistance.
Willie and Lizzie were alone, eating potato chips in the lounge, watching television.
Douglas and Ruby were not there. Nor were they in the study or kitchen. They couldn’t have gone to the drawing room without her noticing them but she did use the back hall to check the billiards room, morning room and finally the library. No luck.
She climbed the stone staircase, her steps muffled by the deep-pile, rich burgundy runner and she found them in Ruby’s room.
Douglas was seated on the floor, his back to the wall, his long, muscular legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.
Ruby lay beside him on her back, her head on his thigh, her legs cocked with one foot resting on her other knee while she listened with rapt attention to him reading her a story, her eyes gazing dreamily at the ceiling.
Julia silently registered this shocking scene and crept quietly away before either of them saw her. She didn’t like what the sight of that scene made her think or feel so she tamped down any thoughts and definitely all feelings and went back to her work.
Douglas joined her some time later and informed her Ruby was in bed, asleep.
“Thank you,” Julia replied with a brief inclination of her head and a curt tone.
He didn’t respond, just settled back with his book, the picture of patience and good will. It made her want to grit her teeth.
Shortly after, she called to the other two to come and give them kisses goodnight and, once Willie and Lizzie had accomplished this chore, Julia allowed them time to prepare for bed before she rose to go to Lizzie’s room.
“Where are you going?” Douglas asked, his eyes warm on her which made her knees go weak (a reaction she firmly ignored).
“I need to tuck Lizzie in. I do it every night,” Julia replied, ignoring his soft gaze.
She watched as Douglas got to his feet.
“I’ll do it,” he told her, surprising her, and turned to walk away. Then, after only a step, he turned back and asked, “How, exactly, do I do it?”
She forced down a smile at his disgruntled expression, too pleased that he was going to make an effort with Lizzie to be angry and she calmly explained.
He nodded but didn’t move.
“Yes?” she prompted.
“Why am I doing it? She’s twelve years old.”
“Because Gavin did it,” Julia explained quietly.
His face changed almost imperceptibly and she expected him to refuse. However, to her relief and gratitude (which Julia felt but did not express), he nodded again and left.
She didn’t creep up to see it, didn’t think she could bear it and instead she escaped to her own room and refused to allow herself to think about it or, indeed, anything at all.
The night hadn’t, thankfully, repeated itself since. Julia couldn’t have borne up against that gentle of an onslaught. She had to trust that this was a genuine effort on his part and not Douglas using the children to get to her and thus breaking their only rule.
However, it had caused a slight change in Lizzie’s behaviour as she seemed to have a bit more bounce in her step from that night onward. Julia never asked her about it but vowed that even if nothing went right for her and Douglas, she would always be thankful for his one night of kindness.
Julia turned to her dressing table and picked up her perfume. Since that day when Douglas told her (not asked her, told her), he was going to marry her, she hadn’t used her normal scent. She told herself she wasn’t using it because she didn’t want to run out. Instead she put on the expensive French perfume her mother bought her every Christmas. It was a leftover from Sean, who used to buy it for her and she loved it so much she still used it occasionally even though it reminded her of her hated ex-husband.
And, Julia decided, she could use reminding of rotten, selfish men who did whatever vile thing they had to do to get what they wanted.
Everyone was to gather in the library for drinks before dinner and when she arrived, Douglas, Sam and Oliver were there as were all the children.
“You look pretty!” Ruby shouted and Julia stopped to bend down and kiss the top of her head as Ruby ogled her shoes. “I love your shoes,” she drawled out the word “love” dramatically, giving it about five syllables and Julia laughed.
“You can have them when I’m done with them, Ruby-girl,” Julia promised her niece.
“Wicked!” she shouted Willie’s favourite word and the next thing she knew, Douglas was pressing a martini in her hand.
“‘Pretty’ is not the word I would use,” he said in her ear and she flashed him a false courteous smile. “You smell lovely, something new?” he inquired lazily, his amused grin telling her that he was on to her game.
“I’m not surprised you like it. Sean used to buy it for me. He loved it. It seems you two have things in common,” she drawled cattily and walked quickly away.
But when she made her escape and caught his eye, Julia saw he was watching her and she could tell that he was not happy. She tried to tell herself she didn’t care but she knew that comparing him to Sean was out of line and she felt uncomfortably like a screaming bitch, mostly because she’d acted like one. It was something Monique would say. Perhaps they were playing games but she’d never been one to fight anything but fair.
“When’s this feast being laid out?” Charlie, upon entering, greeted the entire room, making the children giggle. “I’ve heard about these American holidays and I haven’t eaten for a week in preparation.”
And this started a night that was surprisingly and welcomingly full of laughter and teasing. Even Monique slipped only once, confiding in a stage whisper to Charlie, “Ruby. I don’t know what possessed them. Such a common name.”
Before Charlie, who looked as if she’d just eaten something foul, or Julia, who was about ready to jump out of her chair, could reply, Douglas did.
“Obviously, Mother, you’re unaware that it’s a family name on both sides. I believe it’s Julia’s grandmother and also some distant ancestor of Father’s who shared the name.”
Monique’s eyes cut toward her son, glittering quickly with ire but then she shook it off and again ignored the rest of the table in order to act the lavish hostess to an indifferent Oliver and openly beleaguered Charlotte.
Julia shot Douglas a grateful look but he ignored it, most likely still angry at her earlier comment and she had to admit, he was entitled to it.
After dinner, Monique didn’t retire to the billiards room with them because the children did.
Once there, Charlie and Julia walked directly to the couch in front of the warm fire. Avoiding the rug of dead tiger hide lying on the floor in front of it (complete with head), they tucked their feet underneath them, settling in to finish the evening drinking wine and gossiping.
The children, Sam and the men engaged in boisterous games of snooker behind them with the mortifying heads of dozens of dead stags staring blankly over their heads. Julia liked this room, albeit not the dead animal pieces hanging on the walls or lying on the floor. Unlike most of the house, it was snug and welcoming, inviting you to stay awhile. Someone had long since disposed of the billiard table and replaced it with snooker and they were at it until it was time for Ruby to go to bed.
“I’ll take her up,” Sam offered. “I’m dead on my feet and don’t often get a break.” She slid a comical look of accusation at Douglas who completely ignored her comment except to raise one, arrogant brow and his lack of response that nevertheless included a response made everyone else laugh.
It didn’t make Julia laugh. Instead, it made Julia’s inebriated mind fill with thoughts of just how sexy he looked with that one brow raised.
Lizzie and Willie were allowed to stay up later than normal due to the holiday and loudly protested when the time was nigh for their beds.
And Julia found it difficult to insist they go. Lizzie, that night, had allowed her grief to crack and, although it was a slow process, it eventually ruptured during the snooker games with her uncle. Surreptitiously glancing their way, Julia had seen both of them teaming up against the others and she couldn’t help but feel immense relief that Douglas was making more overtures to their niece. She saw him encourage her and even lift her gorgeous hair off her cheek to tuck it tenderly behind her ear.
Upon seeing that, Julia could almost have kissed him, if she was in such a mood, which she, of course, was not.
But she had to insist they went to bed mainly because they’d be bears the next morning. And when Julia’s insistence was met with the children’s denials, Douglas insisted.
This, of course, worked and Lizzie and Willie called goodnights and slunk from the room.
“All right then,” Charlie started, rising from the couch when they had the room to themselves, “it’s time for me to wipe the floor with you.”
Charlie and Julia had been steadily drinking for the last several hours. Julia had a martini before dinner and, since then, so many glasses of red wine, she lost count.
When she rose to join her friend, she felt light-headed and realised, belatedly, that she was a little drunk.
This made her giggle to herself until she noticed Douglas’s eyes on her and that sobered her immediately.
She made her way gingerly to the snooker table as Oliver and Charlie argued about the teams. Apparently Charlie was an accomplished snooker player and also, clearly, quite competitive. Julia ignored them and Douglas and sipped distractedly at her wine. All she hoped was that she wasn’t on Douglas’s team.
“That’s settled then, boys against girls,” Charlie announced to Julia’s relief. “Jewel, do you know how to play snooker?”
“No,” Julia replied truthfully. “You should have asked me before you chose teams. I won’t be any help.”
“Never mind,” Charlie replied airily.
“It’s kind of like pool,” Oliver supplied helpfully.
“I’m rubbish at pool too,” Julia explained on a grin. “But I’ll give anything a go.”
“Come over here, girl,” Charlie beckoned. “I’ve got a strategy.”
Julia approached, Charlie whispered her outrageous strategy and Julia laughed out loud when she heard it, even though she knew she’d never carry out her part in it.
The “boys” won the toss and Douglas broke. Julia had no idea how to play snooker but it looked like it wasn’t such a good break, the balls barely moved except one red one fell into the pocket.
Her face must have betrayed her thoughts because Oliver leaned over and said, “Not exactly like pool. That was a damned good break.”
Douglas went ahead and accomplished a bunch of “potting” of balls while Charlotte bugged her eyes out at Julia, wanting Julia to start the strategy. Saving her from disappointing her friend, Douglas missed a difficult shot and Charlie was up, showing she was nearly as good as Douglas… just not quite.
When it was Oliver’s turn, Charlie commenced her “strategy” and she was shameless, sidling up to him as he made his shot and distracting him with her hand on his bottom at the last minute, making the ball fly wide.
“It’s going to be like that, is it?” Oliver reared up and towered over her in mock severity.
“Whatever do you mean?” Charlotte asked, her hands out to her sides and eyes wide with sham innocence.
Julia moved to the table, did her best to line up her shot with Charlie’s coaching and missed by a mile.
“You’ll get it next time, tiger,” Oliver teased and Julia grinned at him but Charlie reproached him good-naturedly.
“Don’t be condescending, darling, it doesn’t suit you.”
Douglas started again, ignoring the witty repartee and in no time he was on another roll when Charlie came over to Julia and pushed her into Douglas. Tipsy, she couldn’t right herself before she fell forward and nudged his hip, jarring him and making him send the ball flying in the wrong direction.
He slowly rose and turned to her. She prepared herself for an unpleasant confrontation but instead he simply lowered his cue and looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes.
“I’m sure you can think of some better way to distract me,” he goaded, his eyes challenging her.
Her stomach flipped at the look in his eye.
“I’m sure she can!” Charlie took up the gauntlet for her with glee and Julia nearly groaned. She bugged her eyes out at Charlie who just bugged hers right back.
At that point, the game descended into total farce. Oliver destroyed Charlie’s shots, Charlie destroyed Oliver’s shots and when it was Julia’s turn, Douglas approached a tense Julia, murmuring about “coaching” her.
“I think I should help my own teammate, thank-you-very-much,” Charlie barged her way forward, slipped against Julia, who had lined up her shot, sending the cue flying into the ball, which went off in a wild trajectory across the table. Julia was too occupied to notice what happened to her wayward shot as Charlie falling into her sent her backwards, straight into Douglas. One strong arm closed around her waist to steady her and she immediately became aware of his warm body behind her.
“That’s her shot!” Oliver crowed.
“It is not! It was a mistake. She tripped.” Charlie went off to argue with her husband and Julia pulled herself firmly, albeit it tipsily, away from Douglas’s arm.
Therefore, she stumbled again, cursing the drink as his hand shot out to steady her.
“I’m fine,” she said and thanked the Lord above there were no words to slur in that statement. Then she turned and he dropped his hand.
“I can see that,” he replied, amusement dripping from every word.
She lifted narrowed eyes to him.
Douglas was amused?
“Are you making fun of me?” Julia asked.
He didn’t answer, he simply lifted a brow.
“I hate it when you lift that brow,” she outright lied. “It’s so superior.”
“That’s apt, especially in snooker,” Douglas returned.
“We’ll see about that!” she snapped, this time accepting his challenge herself.
It was his turn and as he lined up his shot, she got in front of him, as close to him as she dared, and looked down on him as he bent over the table.
“Oo, that looks like a difficult one,” she remarked in a sugary-sweet tone with false wide-eyed wonder. “Do you really think you’ll make it?”
He lifted his head to gaze at her levelly over his shoulder, turned back and, within a split second, potted the ball.
Oliver hooted, clapped and then shouted, “Well done, mate!”
Julia wanted to stamp her foot in frustration.
Charlie was having the time of her life.
“Don’t give up!” she cheered from across the room.
Douglas chose his next shot and, with a lot of wine-fuelled courage and Charlie’s urging, she sidled up next to Douglas as he leaned over the table. She bent over behind him and, as he pulled the cue back, she screwed up her courage, leaned in deeper and blew in his ear.
The shot flew wide and she straightened quickly, jumping up and down and clapping her hands as Charlie came over and gave her a whirling, girlie hug.
But her joy faded when Charlie released her and Julia saw the set look in Douglas’s eye.
The gloves, Julia knew immediately, were off. She shivered at the knowledge but she was unsure if her shiver was of dread or anticipation.
Oliver practically tackled Charlie the moment before she took her shot. Charlie yanked Oliver’s cue clean away from him before he took his. And as Julia lined up hers, Charlie coaching her, she concentrated on what Charlie was saying and not what Douglas was doing. She didn’t know where he was, couldn’t see him at all and became so flustered, she jumped several inches when his body settled in behind, beside and above her, surrounding her, it seemed, everywhere. She looked over her shoulder at him as his hands covered hers on the cue.
“Let me,” he whispered in her ear, “show you how it’s done.” Crack went her cue and she potted the ball.
Charlie shouted with glee.
Oliver groaned. “You aren’t supposed to help them!”
Shot after shot, Douglas showed her which to take, helped her line them up and leaned over her, his body warm against hers, his arms around her helping her hold the cue and snapping it against the ball as she (well he, really), potted the rest of the balls on the table.
Charlotte was in throes of ecstasy at “winning” and it was so infectious, even Julia started jumping up and down. Charlie and Julia hugged. Charlie hugged Douglas for helping and then she hugged Oliver for good measure. Swept up in it all and having had way too much to drink, Julia hugged Douglas and kissed him on the cheek.
Not one to miss an opportunity, his arms came quickly around her and, grinning down at her, he muttered, “You can do better than that.”
Having such a good time for the first time in months, and more than slightly tipsy, she lost herself and without hesitation threw her arms around his neck and kissed him smack on the lips.
He leaned into the kiss and made what she intended to be a quick peck something more. Not much but it was harder, longer and more meaningful. Her head shot back when it was over but he didn’t drop his arms.
“That’s not fair,” she whispered.
“Who said I play fair?” he whispered back.
She became aware that the joviality had left the room and she broke free of Douglas’s arms to see Charlie watching her speculatively and Oliver pretending he didn’t notice anything.
“Time for bed, we girls have cooking to do tomorrow.” Charlie, thankfully, waded into the silence. “Goodnight you two,” she said, the couple came forward and hugs were exchanged.
However, Oliver’s was strange and when Julia looked up into his hazel eyes she realised Charlie wasn’t the only one who was speculating about what she saw.
They walked out together, Charlie and Oliver ahead of Douglas and Julia.
Julia stopped in the hall behind the morning room. She would carry on down the back hall while Douglas and the rest went through the morning room and lounge to get to the stairwell.
The other couple went on and she turned to Douglas. “Goodnight.”
He caught her wrist when she started away and pulled her back.
“Don’t I get a goodnight kiss?” he asked and his tone, (dare she believe it?) was almost playful.
“No,” she answered immediately, all of a sudden not in the mood to be playful, all of a sudden sober as a nun and reminded she was not treading cautiously.
He chuckled and pulled her closer anyway. Completely ignoring her change of mood and her answer to his question, he dipped his head and swept his lips against hers.
“You’re,” she couldn’t think of what to say, “too much,” she finished on a hiss.
“Thank you.” His tone was sarcastic and Julia realised that now his mood had changed. He inclined his head, dropped her wrist and started to walk away.
She stopped him by calling his name.
At her call, without hesitation, he turned back.
She bit her lip as she watched him, took in a breath through her nostrils and let her lip go on an exhale.
“That comment, earlier tonight, about Sean was uncalled for,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, you’re nothing like him.”
He watched her for a second then repeated, “Thank you,” but this time he meant it.
Then, without another word, he walked away.
Julia was in her room, taking off her shoes and trying (with difficulty and not a great deal of success) not to think of the events of the night and just how much she enjoyed them (from start to finish, except, of course, her catty comment) when she heard it. Or, more to the point, since it was nearly always there, didn’t hear it.
The scratching was gone.
She lifted her head as she dropped the second shoe and looked at the window, the draperies closed on it. She’d only lit the bedside lamp when she entered, not having the energy to light more.
That was when she felt it, the draught at her ankles, and she looked down, pulling her feet up on the bed. She saw the misty fog swirling and then it moved away, where the window scratching always took place and Julia watched the mist in frozen, horrified fascination.
It rose off the floor and she stared as it took form, swirling around as it shaped itself slowly into the body of a beautiful, young woman dressed in a flowing, empire waist gown, its misty, shredded ends streaming round her like they were alive.
Julia stared in open-mouthed terror when the ghost said something, her mouth moving but nothing coming out. Julia found herself leaning forward as if to hear and then without warning, the spectre shot forward, right toward Julia.
Julia let out a frightened, muted scream but she wasted no time. She leapt off the bed and ran to the door. Yanking it open, she tore down the hall and only when she was well into the dining room did she allow herself to look back to see… nothing.
But it was too late, she’d looked behind her so she wasn’t looking where she was going and she slammed straight into a solid barrier. A human barrier. A human barrier that grunted in surprise. A human barrier whose arms came around her like vices.
They both fell to the (thankfully thickly carpeted) dining room floor. He on his back with nothing to break his fall, Julia right on top of him.
She pulled herself up, one hand on the floor, the other on his chest and saw through the darkness it was Douglas.
“What the hell… are you… doing?” he asked, his voice winded and irate.
“A ghost. I saw the ghost of The Mistress. In my room!” She was lying fully on top of him but she was looking back over her shoulder.
She felt hands grab her waist tightly and she was flipped expertly on her back, this time Douglas on top.
“What are you doing?” she cried hysterically from her new, unexpected position.
“I need to… breathe,” he forced out and took a deep breath and then a second one. “You knocked the wind out of me and your weight wasn’t helping.”
“I saw the ghost of The Mistress,” Julia repeated, looking up into his shadowed face and ignoring his justified complaints because, well… there a haunting was afoot!
“There is no ghost of The Mistress, it’s just a myth,” Douglas replied calmly, his breath returned to normal.
“I saw her,” Julia snapped in the face of his calm, slapping his bicep with her hand to express her annoyance (and also anxiety). “She formed from a mist, right in my room!”
He looked over his shoulder then back at her. “No ghost and no mist,” he declared.
Tentatively, Julia lifted her head to look over his shoulder, grabbing them both with her hands for leverage. Like Douglas, she saw nothing.
“I swear I saw her,” she whispered unsteadily, lowering her back to the ground.
“You’re drunk.”
“I am not drunk!” she hissed (even though she kind of was) as she let go of his shoulders and slapped his bicep again.
“The Mistress doesn’t show herself anyway. She’s always just there.”
Her eyes rounded at his words. “You know about this? The draughts, the whispers… the screams?” she asked him, her tone accusatory, as it bloody well should be.
“Of course, I’ve lived here all my life,” Douglas answered. “I’ve never seen it, felt it or heard it but I know about it.”
Julia gasped then snapped, “That first night I was here, you made me think I was a crazy person.”
“If you believe in ghosts, you are a crazy person,” he replied.
She started to squirm out from under him but he pulled her back.
“Let me up,” she demanded.
He hesitated only a moment then knifed away from her, lithely got to his feet and bent over, grabbed her hand and pulled her effortlessly to her own.
“I take back my apology,” she informed him angrily. “You’re a jerk.”
She couldn’t see his smile but she heard it in his voice. “And you’re mad.”
“I know what I saw,” she told him haughtily.
“Would you like to show me?”
“I can’t go back there!” Her voice was edgy with fear and she didn’t care one whit. “Maybe she’s waiting.”
“You could come with me to my room,” he suggested smoothly. “The inn’s full tonight, but I have a big bed, plenty of room for the both of us.”
“You’re impossible,” she hissed in return.
“And you’re adorable,” he replied instantly, his tone warm and teasing.
Julia gaped because Douglas Ashton had just called her adorable.
Not to mention Douglas playful and warm and teasing, all in one night? It was too much to take. And, try as she might, she couldn’t stop the warm tingles that his easy, sweet compliment gave her.
“Fine, I’ll go back,” she announced and walked by him, deciding her best bet was to ignore the whole thing but when he didn’t move she turned back and demanded, “Well? Are you coming?”
“Are you inviting me to your room?” he returned.
“Of course, you have to make sure it’s safe.”
“Protect you from a ghost?” he asked incredulously and she was certain, even though she couldn’t see it, he’d raised that damned brow.
“Yes!”
He regarded her for a moment then chuckled but did not move.
She sighed angrily.
“Well?” she prompted.
He hesitated only briefly.
“Lead on fair damsel,” Douglas muttered, Julia saw his shadowed arm gesture for her to move forward and she was too frightened to utter another angry rejoinder. She walked on and, at her door, she stopped.
“You go first,” she whispered.
He spared her a glance then walked through and surveyed the room while she stayed at the door.
“No ghosts,” he called to her.
“Did you check by the window?” she called back.
“Julia,” he replied with patience that was strained but in an amused way, “there are no ghosts in your room.”
She walked in hesitantly and when she saw the room was clear of spooky spectres, she moved around in order to turn on every light she could all the while he watched her. She was trembling and edgy and expected to see the apparition at any moment.
When she got near Douglas, he caught her arm with his hand to stop her and he dipped his head to look closely at her.
“You really are frightened,” he stated softly.
“I told you!” she cried. “I saw it! She was standing… floating… forming, whatever! Right over there!” Julia pointed at the corner. “And what’s more, The Master scratches at the window every night. I hear him and I saw him once too.”
“Who told you this story?” Douglas asked, his voice and face now beginning to betray anger.
“No one, I saw him and heard him and felt her. I asked Mrs. K…” She stopped when his head tipped back and his eyes moved to the ceiling.
After a few seconds, his gaze locked on hers. “Mrs. Kilpatrick told Tamsin these stories too when she was a little girl. Tamsin believed them all her life, just like you do now.”
“Well, Tamsin didn’t tell me. Neither did you. But I saw or felt them both and I know Ruby does as well and so does Veronika.”
“It’s an old ghost story. Someone puts it in your mind and you see it.”
“So,” she stood with hands on her hips, “there was no old baron who died trying to get in this house while his wife was locked inside and mysteriously strangled?”
“That story is true,” he admitted.
“See!” Julia threw up her arms, dislodging his hand.
When it was clear she wasn’t going to listen to him or calm down, he grabbed her and pulled her into the safety and warmth of his strong arms and, Julia had to admit, she felt exactly that. Warmth and safety. Intense warmth and safety.
Oh dear.
“Julia, listen to me,” Douglas ordered quietly when she automatically relaxed in his arms. “You’re safe here. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
She stared into his eyes and they were so serious and so grave, she believed him.
“Promise?” she asked on a whisper, sounding childish but she didn’t care because, bottom line, she’d just seen a ghost! Douglas nodded and then something occurred to her. “What were you doing in the dining room?”
He smiled and his arms tightened. “Coming to see how sorry you were about your comment earlier this evening,”
It was such an audacious thing to say and do, and the night had been so pleasant, she threw back her head and laughed, then tilted it forward and rested her forehead against his chest. After she caught her breath, she looked at him and noticed he was grinning down at her.
That grin warmed her even more and made her stomach clench pleasantly.
Even so, she informed him, “I’m not that sorry.”
“I figured not.” He was still smiling.
She realised belatedly that this had gone on long enough. She stiffened in his arms, pulled away and said, “I’m okay now, Douglas, you can leave. But… um, thank you.”
He didn’t try to reach for her again and she fought against a strong sense of disappointment she knew she shouldn’t have.
“Are you going to send my electricity bill even higher by sleeping with all these lights on?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she lied without remorse.
He stared at her a moment and nodded again.
Then he carried on with his unusual sweet Douglas behaviour which meant his hand came up and he cupped the back of her head. Bringing her forward, he kissed her forehead. It was a strange and, she had to admit, gorgeously intimate gesture that made her feel something deeper than warmth. It was sweeter and it was also very, very frightening.
Then he walked away and she had to fight again to tamp down more disappointment as she watched him go.
The door closed behind him and she was forced to acknowledge, against her better judgement, even if it was only in her own mind, that she had a wonderful evening that night (apart from the ghost, of course) and Douglas had contributed to that wonderful evening, more than a little.
She washed her face, slathered on her moisturiser, put on stretchy pair of black pyjama bottoms and a plum-coloured tank top and slid into bed, keeping every light burning.
She was just settling down with her book when her door opened and she jumped a mile.
It was Douglas.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she cried, pulling her covers up to her neck.
He still had on his deep tan corduroys and black turtleneck and he lifted his book to show her as he went around the room, turning off all the lights but the floor lamp in the turret.
She watched as he settled in one of the chairs there, rested his feet on the ottoman, opened his book and, eyes on the pages, he murmured, “Go to sleep, Julia.”
She stared at him dumbfounded because he knew she was frightened and, in knowing, did something about it.
Julia felt her stomach clench, again not unpleasantly, as she watched Douglas read.
Then, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she set aside her own book, cuddled into the pillows and, for once, did exactly as he commanded.