Authors: Lisette Ashton
A broad smile crossed her lips.
If such an incident were happening, Harold would have all the reasons he needed to end his marriage, leaving him free to bestow his precious gift on her.
And then Holbert Manor would be hers.
Behind the cars there was a huge oblong of grey gravel. Its edges were straight in the snow, as though it had been protected by the cover of a much larger vehicle. She gave no thought to it, except that it would be an ideal spot for Harold to park his car.
She stared happily at the ugly old building as they moved closer. Although she had visited countless times before, this was the first time she had arrived outside its imposing façade in the comfort of a luxury vehicle like Harold’s Daimler. Soon the manor house would be hers and then nothing would prevent Sheridan from exacting her revenge.
* * *
‘They’re here!’ Dominic bawled. ‘Action stations. Blue alert. Man the battle stations number one. Klingons off the starboard bow.’
‘Do you want to shout a little louder?’ Robyn suggested. She spoke in a deliberately soft voice, in harsh contrast to his raucous yell. ‘I think there are a couple of deaf seals in Dounreay who didn’t quite hear you.’
Dominic moved away from the window and grinned at her. It was a shamefaced expression that was too likeable for her to begrudge.
‘This is quite exciting, don’t you think?’
She didn’t trust herself to answer that one. Her marriage and future happiness were at stake and Dominic was treating the episode as though it was nothing more than a jape.
‘Is everything ready?’
‘You’ve checked the pictures yourself,’ he said. ‘And, although I do have a reputation for practical jokes, I haven’t gone around taking the pictures off the walls or anything like that.’
She ignored his attempt at humour. ‘Does everyone know what to do?’
He shrugged. ‘They all said they did, but it’s not like we’re dealing with great minds here, is it? Aside from you and me, we’re dealing with a stroppy artist and three models. I can’t see Mensa putting those four on their most wanted list.’
‘You’re not very good at easing my fears.’
He turned, suddenly serious. ‘We’ve tried to do as much as we can. All we can do now is keep our fingers crossed and hope the pair of them play ball the way we want. I guess it’s a gamble, but that’s what life is, isn’t it? Nothing more than a gamble.’
She shrugged. Doubt and uncertainty racked her stomach muscles and threatened to devastate her composure.
‘Are you nervous?’
‘I’m pissing my pants,’ she said flatly.
He glanced behind her, as though he was studying the seat of her panties. ‘That’s a shame. I thought you were just excited because I’m close by.’
The comment amused her, and her wry smile refreshed her failing confidence. ‘Do you want to get yourself in position?’ she asked. ‘I believe I have a door to answer.’
On cue, a fist banged angrily against the old wooden door. There was such ferocity in each blow that it rattled against the weather-beaten jamb. Robyn shook her head.
‘Dear God,’ she muttered. ‘Doesn’t anyone know how to knock discreetly any more?’
If everything went as she planned, it would be wise to invest in a bell for the front door. Or reinforcements for the hinges.
* * *
‘Look at you!’ Harold exclaimed. He stepped into the hall and shook thick flakes of snow from his shoulders. He glared at Robyn, his expression twisted with outrage as he took in her basque and stockings.
‘It’s almost three hundred years since this was a brothel, yet still you have to parade round the place looking like the chief whore.’
Robyn studied him with a serene smile that she hoped he found infuriating. If it had been his intention to make her want to slap him then he had executed his plan to perfection.
‘And a very good afternoon to you too, Harold,’ she said calmly. ‘We’ve been expecting you. Drinks and sandwiches are waiting in the dining room. If you want to refresh yourselves, you know where the amenities are.’ She gestured towards the stairs and turned her back on them both.
‘You’re dressed like a fucking whore,’ Harold exploded. ‘I told you the other night that I was tired of your torrid little ways. I can see now you’ve done nothing to redress the situation. You’ve got your latest lover ensconced in one of the bedrooms somewhere and I’ll bet you’ve been up to Christ knows what over the past couple of days.’
She turned and fixed him with a careful smile.
‘Before you start laying down the law again, I think you should listen to an idea I’ve been toying with. And if you were referring to Dominic when you mentioned my latest lover, rather than ensconcing him in a bedroom, I thought he’d be more useful pouring drinks in the dining room.’ Turning her back on him again, she said, ‘Please join me in there, then we can talk.’
‘I have to go to the bathroom,’ Sheridan said. ‘Would you excuse me?’
Robyn heard Harold mumble something to her and felt sure the pair exchanged a kiss before Sheridan headed up the stairs. The thought didn’t upset her. She just felt a little annoyed that her husband was too self-involved to see the hypocrisy of his behaviour. Rather than feeling glad that Sheridan was already going upstairs, well ahead of schedule, Robyn was more concerned that Harold was carrying his briefcase. It was a peculiar thing to take away for the weekend and she made a mental note to mention it to either Amelia or Bernice.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Harold place his briefcase and overcoat in the hall’s cloakroom. Then he followed her into the dining room where Dominic waited for them.
* * *
For the first time in months, Sheridan felt nervous. She wished she had relied on her gut instincts and stayed at home, rather than coming on this journey. Gayle had offered to take her out for a meal, and the rest of the evening after that had seemed fairly well scheduled in Sheridan’s mind. The fact that Gayle was so austere and demanding between the sheets both frightened and excited her. It was an unusual feeling that she wanted to explore and she had vowed, as soon as her revenge was exacted and her dealings with Holbert Manor were over, she would do her best to court Gayle’s affections.
The feeling that she should have stayed at home grew stronger as she sat on the toilet, staring curiously around the bathroom. There were too many toiletries and too many mingled fragrances. It was as though there were a handful of guests staying at Holbert Manor instead of just Robyn and Dominic. The idea disturbed her, and she wondered if it was her imagination or simply the effect of natural nerves now that she was so close to achieving her goal of revenge.
Whatever the cause, she didn’t like the sensation of disquiet.
Her plan had been gloriously simple. Now it was so close to completion, she felt entitled to congratulate herself on a job well done. Holbert Manor meant nothing to her and she didn’t suppose it ever would. However, the building meant a great deal to Yale Walters and she had been determined to use that fact after the bastard had spurned her for Amelia. She remembered the night so vividly she could still feel the unfamiliar sting of tears burnishing her cheeks.
Yale had told her to leave and never bother him again. He had said that he and his models could function more efficiently without her.
She had sworn at him, called him a bastard and threatened him with revenge. She had told him that he would one day crawl on his knees to beg her forgiveness for treating her with such disdain.
He had laughed at her.
He had laughed at her and said that wasn’t going to happen in a thousand years.
The idea of acquiring Holbert Manor had come to her that night. She had realised it was the thing that meant most to him in the whole world. He talked for hours about displaying his work in the derelict old building. He regaled anyone who would listen with stories of how he would one day shock the world by exhibiting his most daring pictures in the ancient manor house with the bawdy history. It was close to his birthplace and its foreboding shadow had left a long and lasting impression on the artist.
And Sheridan had seen it as the ideal tool for revenge.
After making a couple of enquiries she had discovered the name of the building’s owner. A week later she was working for the man and starting to inveigle her way into his affections. A month after that she felt confident enough to manipulate him. Now she was only moments away from owning the title deeds. Once they were in her possession she would find Yale Walters and make the bastard beg for her forgiveness.
Even then, once she had him on his knees, kissing her feet and subjugating himself to her stiffly barked instructions, she could still toy with the idea of denying him his dream. It was all working out so perfectly she found renewed strength in her satisfaction. The feeling assuaged her fears and she took a deep, calming breath.
Things were working out just fine, she told herself.
She flushed the toilet and tugged her panties back on before making her way to the lavatory door. Her fingers were just about to touch the handle when the door was snatched from her reach.
She drew a startled breath and stared into the open doorway. A couple stood there, both of them fixing her with a firm, sullen expression.
She didn’t know the woman but she recognised Christian instantly.
Her heart started to race as the pair of them reached for her. She didn’t dare struggle. She could suddenly see that things weren’t going to go as she had hoped.
* * *
‘Have you fucked my wife?’
Dominic held the glass out to Harold. There was an easy-going grin on his lips.
Robyn closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She wished things would start going as she had planned. Admittedly, she had been able to grab a discreet word with Amelia in the kitchen, but that was all. Here in the dining room she could see things degenerating to a fistfight if Harold had his way. She struggled to find the right words to calm him before he got out of control.
‘Don’t be so contentious, darling,’ she began softly. ‘I want to talk to you.’
He wasn’t listening. He glared ferociously at Dominic, pointedly ignoring the offered glass of brandy. ‘I’ll ask you again. Have you fucked my wife?’
Dominic’s smile broadened. ‘Is that a question, or an invitation?’
Robyn saw the veins in Harold’s neck begin to pulse. He snatched the glass from Dominic’s hand, spilling half its contents with the angry gesture. He downed the drink in one swallow and hurled the glass towards the fireplace.
The pyre of coal and logs was burning gloriously with the aid of the chill winter’s wind. Long, greedy flames licked their way up the smoke-blackened chimney, filling the room with their heat. The glass shattered in an explosion of crystal. The remainder of the brandy added a flutter of purple to the inferno. But aside from those small flames the gesture was surprisingly unspectacular.
‘Have you fucked my wife?’ Harold repeated.
‘A gentleman doesn’t discuss such things,’ Dominic said quietly. ‘Would you care for another drink? This time, I can try and find a glass that doesn’t offend you.’
Robyn glared at Dominic, wishing she could tell him to shut up. His infuriatingly placid manner was more likely to upset Harold than a vigorous display of bluff and bluster.
‘Could we save the inquisition for later?’ Robyn suggested coolly. ‘Dominic and I have some ideas we’d like to share with you. It could be very profitable for the three of us.’
‘I don’t care about –’
‘
Very
profitable.’ She emphasised the first word.
Harold stared at her suspiciously. He glared at Dominic, as though telling the man that their business wasn’t yet finished, then demanded a second drink and sat heavily at the head of the table.
‘Make it quick, and don’t expect me to be impressed. I’m in no mood for a proposition regardless of how profitable it’s going to be.’
Robyn shook her head and smiled at him. ‘Hear us out, Harold. We have an idea that’s going to make
Art
magazine hit the international headlines.’
He glowered at her and looked sceptical but intrigued. She saw him glance to his side. At any moment he would start worrying about Sheridan’s absence. Determined that he wouldn’t break the mood of the moment and spoil any more of her plans, she rushed into the sales spiel that she and Dominic had rehearsed.
* * *
‘I’m getting angry now,’ Sheridan hissed.
She struggled against the pair of them. They held her in a relentless grip, hands and arms struggling to cover her mouth. She fought them, determined to break free.
‘Let go of me, or I’ll scream,’ she threatened.
The snow fell heavier. Its veil through the windows twisted the light and cast long shadows along the landing. The air was gloomy, adding to her mounting fear as the couple dragged her past doors and unseen paintings.
‘I mean it. I’m going to scream if you don’t let me go,’ she told them. Her voice was already becoming strident. ‘I’ll do it good and loud. And, if that doesn’t work, I’ll really start to get violent.’
‘Let her go.’
She turned towards the voice, recognising it instantly.
Recognising him instantly.
‘Yale?’
Even though she had recognised Christian she was still amazed to hear Yale’s voice. It seemed like for ever since she’d last seen him. She squinted towards the darkened doorway, trying to discern features on the grey silhouette.
‘Yale, is it really you?’
His arms were open and held out for her.
‘It’s really me. Come here, Sheridan.’
She broke away from her captors and rushed to embrace him. His torso was naked and her hands brushed his bare flesh as she hugged him. Her naked stomach was touched by the warmth of his exposed body. The sensation sent a gentle tremor scurrying through her.
‘God, but I’ve missed you,’ she told him.
‘It’s been a long time,’ he agreed.
He returned the embrace with controlled passion. His hands moved over her body, tracing the contours and exploring the intimate flesh beneath her skimpy clothes. His touch sparked quickening thrills of excitement. Aside from the pleasure she had enjoyed with Gayle, Sheridan couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so excited.