For her part, Miss Julia looked rather stunned and, fighting for composure, simply said, “I figure, Mrs. K, you know what you’re doing so you probably should just get on with doing it.”
And with that, everything had changed. Mrs. K never had the full run of the house and she was having the time of her life.
Mrs. K almost felt like finding the awful woman she’d worked for most of her life and thanking her for bringing Julia’s dreadful father (Julia had, of course, confided the whole story to Mrs. K and Ronnie over coffee) back on the scene. Her actions had triggered a great deal of change, or, Mrs. K had to admit, had solidified the changes that were already taking place. Also, with Monique gone, to Mrs. K’s way of thinking, things could finally progress a lot more smoothly in another quarter if Lord Ashton would just come home.
She was a little surprised at the turn of events. Mrs. K thought that it would be Julia who had to win over Douglas but it appeared that it was happening the other way around. This made Mrs. K’s hope blossom as she knew Douglas Ashton always won, no matter what he attempted.
After Thanksgiving, Lady Ashton left first thing in the morning, Carter stuffing her and the seven Louis Vuitton cases (that Veronika methodically packed) in the Bentley. Even after all these years, Mrs. Kilpatrick didn’t mind seeing her go. That woman had never been very nice to her staff or to her children. To Mrs. K’s way of thinking, she deserved everything she got, especially for orchestrating that nasty turn with Miss Julia and Gavin’s father.
Charlotte, Sam and Julia went out shopping with Ruby, Oliver went out on the rounds with Roddy and Lizzie and Willie went back to school and nary a word was said about Lady Ashton or Dr. Fairfax. Though everyone was far more relaxed and at ease. Sam, Charlotte and Oliver finally left on Sunday morning after spending a lovely weekend at Sommersgate.
Monday arrived and Miss Julia went in to Bristol to start her new job. She was supposed to work Monday through Thursday from ten o’clock until two. But she didn’t arrive home until well after three even though it was only a fifteen minute drive to Bristol. Mrs. K glanced at the clock, it was nearly four and the children would soon be home.
“Anything exciting happen today?” Julia asked as the kettle burbled.
Mrs. K wanted to tell her that everything exciting had happened that day because nothing had happened without Lady Ashton to please. Mrs. K felt a sense of such deep relief, she didn’t exactly know how to handle it. She did not keep an eye out for every speck of dust, every slight smudge on window, mirror or the sheen on the banisters or tables. She didn’t have a pile of laundry to inspect to make certain they were fresh smelling and stain and wrinkle free. She didn’t have to mentally calculate every calorie in every dish she was making. And she didn’t have to calm Veronika’s nerves every time she saw the girl, who was also adjusting to this new feeling at Sommersgate with rapid ease.
All they had to look forward to was Miss Julia’s smiling face coming in the backdoor, a quick gossip over a fresh cuppa, the children’s rushing about when they got home and the rest of the time nothing but peace.
Even the house seemed to be settling into this new regime. The days were getting shorter but at Sommersgate the evening shadows were receding. The weather was becoming chill but in the house the draughts and cold were disappearing. In the evening, when it always seemed so dark, in the house, the edge was off the night. Shadows lost their menace. Rather than seeming alive and frightful, as they always had done, they just became shadows of this piece of furniture or that shape of a tree hit by the moonlight.
Even The Master and The Mistress had been silent. Not even Ruby saw or felt them anymore, Mrs. K knew because she’d asked the girl.
“No, nothing exciting,” she answered and Carter walked in just then with a nod and grabbed the grocery list and one of Mrs. K’s homemade scones. “Make it quick, I want to get that crumble ready for tea.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” Carter grumbled but he did it genially while Mrs. K poured the water into the freshly ground coffee in the cafetière.
“I was reading about The Master and Mistress last night,” Julia told her as she got up to grab mugs, sugar bowl, teaspoons and the jug of milk out of the fridge. “There are a couple books about the Barony in the library and in one, there’s quite a bit about them.”
Mrs. K pressed down the cafetière.
“Learn anything?” she asked as she sat down at the bench across the table from Julia, something she’d done every day this week so far, something she’d never have done, ever, with Douglas or Monique Ashton. But then, both of them rarely came into the kitchen.
“Their names, Archibald or ‘Archie’ as he was known and get this…” she paused for effect, “Ruby! I bet that’s why Tamsin named Ruby-girl that.”
Mrs. K nodded, looking fondly at the other woman’s glowing face. “It’s likely. Miss Tamsin was taken with that story, always was from the first moment she saw The Master and felt his lady.”
Julia took a sip of her coffee. “Did you know there are portraits of the two of them amongst the others in the stairwell?”
Mrs. K leaned forward in a small rush of excitement because she didn’t know. In all her years there, she’d never had the time to go sorting through the Sommersgate library (nor did she wish to get caught) to find information about the ghosts.
“Which ones?” she asked.
“Come on, I’ll show you,” Julia invited conspiratorially, grabbed her mug, they went out to the stairway, walked up to the landing and Julia pointed, “Those two.”
Mrs. K stared at two paintings she’d seen nearly all her life, even twice, in that time, had ordered taken down and cleaned.
They stood alone, the only portraits on the wall at the landing, while all the other walls were stuffed full of them, higgledy-piggledy arranged to get as many in the space allowed. They were also the grandest of them all, twice as big as any other painting. The man stood tall, looking a bit like Douglas, or at least he had a similar way about him even if the features were only a touch the same. The woman was dark-haired, fair skinned and lovely. He looked arrogant and haughty. She looked, as Mrs. K always thought, happy. She had a bit of what Mrs. K thought of as a Mona Lisa smile, as if she was content and had a secret.
“That portrait, according to one of the books, was finished only two weeks before her death,” Julia mentioned, indicating Lady Ruby Ashton’s portrait. “She doesn’t look like a woman who had an unhappy marriage, do you think?”
Mrs. K considered it. “I always thought, of all these portraits with their grim faces that she looked the happiest.”
At that point, Mrs. K and Julia could talk no more as the kids rushed through loudly, their voices ringing happily through the halls. Another change that Mrs. K welcomed but also caused great relief for it said the children too were adjusting to the changes Julia Fairfax was causing and, Lord knew, those beautiful children needed, finally, to adjust.
It was time for their homework and for her to start dinner and hopefully a quick apple crumble.
But later, when she walked around to put the house to bed, Mrs. K found Julia again on the landing looking up at Lady Ruby with a wondering gaze.
* * * * *
Julia sat at her writing desk going through her lists. Or, she was supposed to be going through her lists, but instead, she was thinking about him.
He’d done it again, left without a word or warning and now it had been a week since Douglas left.
This time, however, he’d called. Just once, but he’d called. Last night, when the kids were asleep, Ronnie and Mrs. K gone, the phone rang.
For a second, she didn’t know what to do. She was told by Mrs. K that the staff answered the phone unless it was in the study. In the study, no one touched it except Douglas. There was a complicated system of inter-comming via the phone, which meant you had to memorise which number rang to which person (which meant the phone rang everywhere with a specific ring that the member of staff knew meant them) or room. One was Mrs. K, two Carter, three rang only in the kitchen, four was Veronika and it went on.
Patricia always phoned when the kids were awake and not out at one of their scheduled classes so she could talk to them as well, so if it was her mother, it was an emergency.
Late Thanksgiving evening, her mother had the full briefing about Trevor Fairfax and Monique (not to mention Douglas’s actions, which elicited a “You’re joking! Well, well, who knew the boy had it in him?” and Julia thought only Patricia Fairfax would refer to Lord Douglas Ashton as “the boy”). Patricia had made her usual threats of arriving at Sommersgate House imminently to save the day and had been talked down by Julia at the last minute.
If it wasn’t Patricia, then who would be calling, Julia couldn’t imagine and how she should answer the phone, she didn’t know.
She was in her room, the phone on her writing desk (which could be called by dialling number nine) ringing insistently. She grabbed it nervously and said, “Sommersgate House,” as she suspected the staff would do.
“Julia?” It was Douglas.
She felt a rush of warmth in her belly at the sound of his deep voice and just stopped from letting out a little, happy sigh.
Then she shook some sense into herself. What was wrong with her? For goodness sake, he’d just said her name!
She tried to make her voice sound detached when she replied, “Douglas. Where are you?”
She assessed her tone and thought it sounded aloof and was somewhat pleased with it.
“How are the children?” He, she noticed, didn’t answer her question.
“Fine, in bed, asleep. It’s late, is something wrong?” It wasn’t late, it was nine thirty but she was trying to strike a mood.
There was noise in the background, people talking, just one or two and then they were muffled. When the muffling was gone, she could hear no more voices.
“Nothing wrong,” he replied belatedly and didn’t deign to explain the delay in answer.
“Then why are you calling?”
“Did you start your consultancy?”
She wanted to growl with frustration. Again, he didn’t answer her.
“Yes, I did –” Before she could finish, he went on.
“How is it?”
“It’s good, fine. They’re in a pretty serious muddle but we think we can pull them through without any loss of staff,” she answered, trying to be short and to the point but really she wanted to talk about it. In fact, she was dying to talk about it. It was something entirely different than what she was used to doing and even though it was all familiar, everything was new. It was like starting from the beginning but instead of it being frustrating, it was a fascinating challenge and she was loving every minute of it.
But she didn’t tell him that (as much as she wanted to), instead she said, “I’m fine, the children are fine, the house is fine, everything is fine. When are you coming home?”
There was another pause, this one felt heavy with meaning but she couldn’t put her finger on what that meaning was.
“Home?” he asked and his voice was strangely husky.
Julia reacted to the strange tone in his voice and queried, “Are you all right?” And she couldn’t, even though she wanted to, completely hide the concern.
“No,” he answered, to her surprise and further to her surprise, continued. “I’m shattered and things aren’t going well here.”
“Is there…” she didn’t know why she said what she did, but she felt compelled at this unprecedented sharing of feelings and his announcement of being “shattered”. The very idea of Douglas shattered was incomprehensible. “Anything I can do?”
Again, he didn’t answer her question. “I’ll be back sometime during the weekend.”
“Okay,” was the only way she could think to reply.
“Sleep well,” he bid in a strangely gentle and equally strangely sweet, low tone and then he rang off without letting her say a word. Julia had stared at the receiver in her hand and only then became aware that her legs were trembling.
But that was then, and now it was the next night, much, much later than nine thirty and Julia was making lists. Tomorrow she wasn’t supposed to go to work but she’d been looking through the charity’s budgets for the last few years and she’d hit on a few places they could cut back so she thought she’d go in for a couple of hours. She was also making lists of Christmas presents she wanted to buy. And she was also delaying when she would go to sleep because to sleep was to dream and to dream was to dream of Douglas and she didn’t want to dream of Douglas anymore because she liked it too much.
She’d never dreamed so much in her life. Before Sommersgate, she would have the odd nightmare or wake up with a strange feeling and vaguely remember some images. Every once in awhile she’d recall dreaming of disjointed events that made no sense but weren’t entirely unpleasant.
But now her dreams were vivid and they were always about Douglas. Not things that had happened, not memories, but fantasy scenarios. Full-blown, romantic-movie-type fantasy scenarios that were ridiculous in the extreme but, at the same time, very much not.
Douglas walking toward her smiling, lifting her off her feet and whirling her around with his face in her neck whispering words she never could really hear. Or chasing her through the house, but not threateningly, playfully. She’d always be running from him, throwing smiles over her shoulder and laughing right before he caught her and pushed her against the wall and kissed her until she was dazed and shaking.
And then there were the ones where they were in bed. After those, Julia would wake up smouldering, her breath uneven, her body tingling.
She should let it go and enjoy it, since she wouldn’t allow herself to enjoy it in real life. It didn’t hurt to dream. But it was different, dreaming about movie stars or daydreaming about attractive acquaintances you know you’d never make any advances to, they were safe, because you didn’t live with them or see them all the time.
Dreaming about Douglas wasn’t safe. It was very unsafe because she could get mixed up, she could allow her defences to go down and then where would she be?
And where would she be? Married to a man who didn’t love her, who said she could just move on when Ruby was gone, just… like… that. A man who could have any woman he wanted and would most likely go looking for them once he tired of Julia. He said there would be fidelity but she’d known him long enough (and she knew men-at-large well enough) to know that wasn’t likely. And why did he want Julia in the first place? It just didn’t make sense.
The problem was, she was beginning to like him. She was seeing things about him that she thought were funny or sweet or kind or (the worst) damned sexy.
Douglas and all these things (except the last) were incomprehensible.
She shook her head again. She could like him but if she found herself sleeping with him, married to him, attached to him, then he could find his way into her heart and break it and she was simply not going to let that happen. Not again.
She had been glad, at first, that Douglas was gone. Her defences had gone down and she’d allowed herself to enjoy his presence a bit too much. Now she had time to get them back up again and she felt strong enough for him to come home. She would allow herself to like him, even for them to become friends, but the rest, well, the rest she had to put a stop to it.
It was on that thought that she heard the scratching and her head shot up.
The Master was back!
He’d been gone for days, no scratching, no nothing. Mrs. K said that even Ruby had not seen him. The Mistress also seemed to disappear. Mrs. K, Ronnie and Julia had spent some time that day over coffee speculating about this absence, deciding Sommersgate itself felt more settled with Monique gone. But now, the scratching had returned.
She got up from the desk and wondered if he’d show himself, wondered if he’d come through the glass at her, wondered what he’d do if she said, “Archie, don’t be a naughty boy, just go away.”
She tentatively pulled back the draperies and looked for the spectre.
No shimmering Archie but, instead, there were headlights in the drive and what she could see with some alarm through the darkness were two men. One short and he was helping a stumbling tall one towards the front door, a tall man who looked, she peered closely, her nose nearly pressed against the glass, exactly like Douglas.
Feeling a sense of unexplained urgency, she turned around and fled her room. She met them in the long entry hall that led to the stairwell and what she saw through the darkness cut only by a small side lamp on a table made her skid to a halt.
Douglas was lurching awkwardly and had his arm around the short man who was holding him up. The other man’s arm was held out straight in front of him, pointing a gun… at Julia.
Her heart skipped a frantic beat and she threw her hands up in a reflex response that was the universal sign language for Don’t shoot!
“It’s okay, Nick,” Douglas muttered, “she’s my wife.”
“You’re what?” the man asked, his head jerking around to look at Douglas as he dropped his gun arm.
“I’m not his wife!” Julia cried.
“You’re going to be,” Douglas returned.
“No… I… am… not,” Julia retorted.
“He’s delirious,” the man named Nick put in.
“I’ll say he’s delirious!” Julia responded.
Nick decided their bizarre discussion was at an end. “No, woman, I mean, he’s really delirious. He’s been shot.”
Julia gasped, her heart skipping eleven frantic beats and then seemingly shuddering to a halt.
“Be quiet,” Nick warned. “I need to get him up to his room without being seen or heard.”
They were moving forward and she noticed that Douglas’s left arm was hanging limply at his side.
It was at this time she also noticed the wet looking stain on his coat.
Julia’s hand flew to her mouth, her heart kick started to drill in her chest as her eyes darted around the hall.
“My room,” she stated urgently, thinking quickly and Nick looked at her mutely. “You’ll wake the children. They can’t see him like this, take him to my room. It’s out of the way.” Then she ordered, “Follow me.”
She started ahead but obviously Nick hesitated because she heard Douglas’s deep voice say, “Follow her.”
They got Douglas to her room and Julia ran to the draperies she left open, closing them as Nick deposited Douglas on her bed.
She hustled to the bathroom and grabbed every towel she could see then back and saw Douglas gingerly stripping off a black, long-sleeved t-shirt. Nick already had Douglas’s overcoat off and had thrown it on the floor.
She saw the blood on his back, the bullet hole below his shoulder and rushed forward.
“Holy crap,” she whispered.
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Douglas noted sardonically. “I would say this was at least a ‘fucking hell’ moment.
“Don’t joke!” Julia snapped. “How on earth did you get shot?”
Nick and Douglas looked at each other as Julia began obsessively to lay towel after towel on the pillows as if their smoothed absorbing layer would make the difference and all would become right again in the world. She then pushed Douglas back against them gently, handing him a clean hand towel to press against the wound.
Neither man, she noted, answered.
She decided to let that go and announced, “I’m calling the police.”
Douglas caught her arm in a surprisingly firm, almost painful grip.
“No police,” he declared implacably.
“No police?” Julia asked, feeling her brows shoot up. “But you’ve been shot!”
“No police,” Douglas repeated.
“Listen, the doc is coming to fix him up,” Nick put in. “We’ll be okay now, can you go and find somewhere else to sleep?”
“Sleep?” she asked incredulously, like she’d just walk out on this scene and lay herself down on some fluffy pillows and calmly go to sleep. Was he mad?
She looked in Douglas’s eyes and then her gaze dropped down to his wound. There was blood all over his chest… his very well-muscled chest, she noted vaguely. But the wound looked like it was no longer bleeding.
“We need to make sure he doesn’t lose any more blood,” Julia tried to pretend like she knew what she was doing, which she most certainly did not. “When’s the doctor coming?” she demanded to know from Nick.
“Girl, you need to leave this to me,” Nick returned, obviously losing patience.
She stood up to her full height, which, in bare feet, was five foot nine, at least two inches taller than him.
“When, I asked you,” she stated, her voice straining for calm and authoritative (and she felt she didn’t do half-badly), “is the doctor going to be here?”
Nick glanced at Douglas and Julia followed his gaze.
Douglas was lounging against the towel covered pillows holding the hand towel pressed firmly against the wound. He looked for all the world as if he was watching an only slightly entertaining play. When it became apparent that something was required of him, he just shrugged his good shoulder and Nick started to say something but Julia whirled on Douglas.
“You have two choices, Douglas Ashton,” she told him sharply, her temper flaring out-of-control. “Your first choice is to tell me when I can expect a doctor to arrive and your second choice is that I will first phone the police and second phone my mother so she can tell me how to treat you. You are not going to quietly bleed to death on my bed!”
“Calm yourself, Julia, I’m fine. It’s a flesh wound,” Douglas returned.
“It’s a fucking gunshot wound!” she shouted.
“Calm yourself!” Douglas roared in a voice she’d never heard before. He reared up and then gritted his teeth in pain and Julia stepped back, partially in fear, partially in surprise.
She’d seen his face of thunder and been awed and, maybe, a little thrilled by it. But that roar was something else. It was the roar of a man that expected to be obeyed, who was entitled to be obeyed and who didn’t, wouldn’t, maybe even couldn’t abide it when he wasn’t. It was his right, not only by birth and by accumulation but also because, she sensed, he’d earned it.
She took a deep breath and considered his ridiculous command to calm herself when he was lying on her bed bleeding from a gunshot wound. Regardless of his title, station or whatever else, she decided to ignore it. And it took every ounce of courage she possessed because this man, who could go from bland and unmoved to seductive lover to roaring aristocrat to dangerous, predatory deity, scared the living daylights out of her.
Still, none of that changed the fact that Douglas was bleeding from a gunshot wound on her bed.
“Nick, go get the whisky from his study and the first aid kit that’s in the kitchen,” Julia ordered and when Nick didn’t move she whirled on him. “Go!”
Nick glanced at Douglas who obviously gave him the go ahead because Nick left the room.
“Lay back, relax, when he gets back, I’ll, well, I don’t know what I’ll do but I’ll figure out something,” she told Douglas.
Douglas was watching her and she watched him right back, steeling herself against his glittering, intense eyes whose depths she couldn’t read.
Obviously unable to win one of his staring contests, she finally asked, “Are you in pain?”
“Not when I don’t move.”
“Then don’t move.”
“Good advice.”
Julia stopped staring at him and started glaring at him and Douglas just accepted her glare. Nick arrived back and just to do something, she grabbed the whisky decanter and gave it to Douglas.
“Drink,” Julia commanded and Douglas gratefully lifted the decanter to his lips.
“Doesn’t alcohol thin the blood?” Nick asked.
Like lightning, Julia jumped forward and snatched the decanter from Douglas’s grasp.
“Get her out of here, Nick, before I kill her,” Douglas said through gritted teeth, his angry eyes gleaming darkly at her.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Julia boldly declared and cut her eyes to Nick who was advancing on her. “You touch me, I’ll scream bloody murder. Just try me.”
Nick stopped.
Douglas sighed.
“I’m cleaning the wound,” Julia announced into the void.
“Well, Doug, that sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it?” Nick asked, sounding like he was trying to placate a wounded beast so he could draw out a thorn. She’d never heard anyone but Tamsin call him Doug and she wondered who this Nick character was. He looked rough and, regardless of his height, he looked like a man you wouldn’t mess with. Lastly, he was also obviously trusted implicitly by Douglas.
Douglas didn’t reply.
She searched through the first aid kit and found only minuscule cleansing wipes that were smaller by half than your average handi-wipe.
“What,” she turned slowly and showed the wipe to the men, “am I supposed to do with this?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned back to the kit, rifling through it. “Don’t you have any rubbing alcohol, any hydrogen peroxide? This kit is a joke.”
“She’s trying to kill me, Nick. She wants me dead so she can take the children back to America.”
Julia whirled around “Rubbing alcohol won’t kill…” but she stopped when Douglas’s head shot up.
“Doctor,” Douglas muttered and Nick immediately left the room to fetch the doctor.
Julia and Douglas surveyed each other like opponents on a battlefield.
Julia broke the silence. “Douglas, is there something you want to share with me?”
“Not now, Julia.”
“I’ll tell you something for nothing,” she said, her anger taking over her nerves and making her lapse into the Midwestern twang her mother tried for years to breed out of them. “If you die, I’m going to kill you.”
To her shock, her idiotic threat made him grin. What he thought was worth grinning about in this grim situation, she could not imagine. Furthermore, she had to steal herself against just how devilishly sexy his damn grins made him, gunshot wounds or not. Before she could respond to the wickedly handsome look on his face, the doctor was at the door.
Julia watched as he inspected the wound then looked up and spoke to Nick and Julia.
“One of you stay to help me, the other one, leave us.”
“I’ll do it,” Julia immediately offered.
“No!” both Douglas and Nick shouted.
“You’re outvoted, luv,” the doctor said kindly and Julia, without a fight so the doctor could see to Douglas without delay, left.
Instead of going toward the house, where the kids might hear or see her, she went to the chapel.
The chapel, as it was unused nearly all the time, was unheated. She hadn’t put on her robe or slippers and only had on a pair of thin, knit, mint green, drawstring pyjama bottoms and matching lace-trimmed camisole.
She paced through the darkness to keep herself warm and she counted to keep her mind busy. She did not want to think of what her life had become. She did not want to list in her mind the many reasons her life had descended into sheer, unadulterated madness.
But as the minutes ticked by, her control slipped and she started listing. She couldn’t help it, it was habit.
There was Monique, the Super Bitch, out there somewhere, Julia knew, conniving to make Julia’s life a living hell. There was Douglas, lying on her bed with a gunshot wound in his shoulder. That same Douglas who wanted her to marry him for what had to be nefarious reasons and kept kissing her for no reason at all. There were the ghosts of separated lovers haunting this creepy old house. Then there was the house itself, spooky beyond belief and…
“Doc’s done,” Nick said from behind her, making her jump.
She rushed through the chapel, down the hall and back into her room.
Douglas was lounging back on her pillows and the bloody towels, shirt and overcoat had disappeared. His chest was cleaned of blood and his shoulder was wrapped expertly in bandages.
“Are you his intended?” the doctor asked her.
“What?” she forced her gaze away from Douglas who had his eyes closed and seemed to be sleeping.
“His intended? He said you were getting married,” the doctor explained.
Thinking that he may not tell her important information if she said no, she said, “Yes.”
Douglas’s eyes opened and he grinned again.
She wanted to stamp her foot in frustration but she forced herself to turn calmly to the doctor. “How is he?”
“He’s fine. Didn’t hit anything major and went clean through. I’ll want to have a scan of it tomorrow but he needs rest tonight. No moving the shoulder. I’ve given him something for the pain.” He looked at Douglas. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He clasped his case closed and Nick left with him.
Julia stared down at Douglas suddenly deflated and overcome with relief that everything was going to be okay. Not relieved that he’d shown up in the middle of the night with a gunshot wound, a wound which somehow didn’t send him into shock and a wound which he would not allow her to phone the police to report, but that particular discussion would have to wait for tomorrow.
“Well, now that I know you’re okay, I’ll go upstairs and sleep,” she announced.
“Why don’t you sleep here?” Douglas suggested, his voice slightly slurred making her think the painkiller was working.
“As comfortable as that chaise lounge is, I don’t want to sleep on it.” She was grabbing her slippers and robe but she heard him pat the bed.
“No, not there, here.” He was watching her, his eyes half-shut and she had to admit, he looked unbelievably sexy. He had a very nice chest, well-defined abs and she just noticed the snug black jeans…
She tore her gaze away. “I’ll find a bed upstairs, there’re plenty.”
“No,” Douglas returned. “Mother keeps them unmade. Doesn’t like the sheets gathering dust. Only made up for guests. The children will hear you if you make up a bed.”
“Then you stay down here and I’ll sleep in your bed.”
His eyes went from half-shut to fully-open, regarding her sharply. “Julia, you don’t sleep in that bed until I’m in it with you.”
Her stomach flipped at his words, his tone and his look.
To hide her fluster, she said with false bravado, “Well, at this point, I’m not entirely certain what you’ll do about it considering the… shape… you’re…”
She trailed off as he stood up and stalked, absolutely stalked, toward her.
He didn’t stop until he was towering over her.
“If I have to, I’ll open this wound and carry you back down, or join you up there. Your choice.”
She stood there, stunned.
“I’ll find a couch,” she offered.
“Julia, I’m tired, I’ve been shot, for Christ’s sake, just get into the bed.”
“Why?” she asked shakily.
“Because I want you to. Because I need something warm and soft and alive beside me tonight. Something that smells good and feels good. After what I’ve seen…” he stopped when her eyes widened in curiosity at his words. It was then the shutters closed over his features, he gave up and turned away from her. “Forget it, find your couch.”
She stood there and stared at him as he fell back on her bed and closed his eyes.
And she couldn’t help but wonder, what exactly had he seen? What on earth could make Douglas Ashton’s renowned composure slip?
Pulling herself from her thoughts, Julia went around turning off the lights and making up her mind (or making up excuses, depending on how you looked at it).
It wouldn’t hurt, just tonight; he’d had a painkiller which eventually should kick in.
And he’d been shot, for goodness sake.
And he needed human companionship and gone so far as to admit it. She couldn’t say no as she knew exactly how that felt.
She decided tomorrow she could go back to being aloof and unaffected by him.
Tonight, she was going to give Douglas what he wanted.
Just this once.
She climbed into bed cautiously and no sooner had she begun to lay back, his arm shot out and pulled her closer.
Then he hissed, “Bloody hell, your hands are like ice.”
Hastily she explained, “I was in the chapel, I didn’t want to children to hear me pacing. It was cold.”
“Get under the covers,” he ordered and she jumped out of bed as he rolled off the other side. He carefully took off his boots as she ran to put on a pair of socks so her feet wouldn’t freeze him, returned and got under the covers where he already was.
Just as before, the minute she lay her body down, he pulled it towards him. The way they were laying she had no choice but to rest one hand on his chest and her cheek on his good shoulder. She felt his muscles tense at the coldness of her hands but he said nothing.
She felt like a fool.
“I’m sorry my hands are cold,” she whispered.
He made a noise that sounded a lot like a grunt.
Then, silence.
She tried to relax and couldn’t.
So she asked, “Where’s Nick?”
Another grunt and no further reply so she assumed Nick wasn’t coming back.
She waited another moment.
“Who is Nick, by the way?” she inquired, not able to stop herself.
“Julia, if you don’t shut up, I’ll be forced to shut you up and although I have a feeling we both would very much enjoy what I have in mind, it might cause me to bleed to death. So, I’m asking you please, just be quiet and go to sleep.”
“Okay,” she relented, too terrified to say anything else.
“And don’t be scared of me,” he demanded in that tone that again said he expected her to obey even though his demand was impossibly ridiculous.
“Okay,” she repeated meekly, trying to get him to relax as she could tell by the muscles flexing under her hands that he wasn’t. “Goodnight. I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispered.
At that, he pulled her closer.
And, much sooner than she ever expected, she fell into a dreamless sleep.