Sommersgate House (56 page)

It looked like
something Marilyn Monroe would wear and Julia loved it.

She was
affixing her diamond studs to her ears, her diamond watch to her
wrist and had moved from humming to singing Dolly Parton’s
I Will Always Love
You
.

She
couldn’t
wait
to give
Douglas his present. If she couldn’t
tell
him she loved him, she was going to do everything she could
to
show
him.

Giving her
cheekbones one last swipe of blusher, she felt the draught against
her ankles and ceased her singing.

“
Well,
Lady Ruby, where have
you
been lately?” she asked the draught as if it would answer
her.

To her
surprise, the icy draught turned polar, freezing her ankles and
drifting up her calves. It was so uncomfortable, Julia jumped away
from it.

“Now, Lady
Ruby, nothing is going to spoil my evening. Run along now and play
with the kittens. They could use a good scare,” Julia suggested
(though, not meaning it), walking swiftly out of her dressing room
and into her bedroom to avoid the chill.

The sun had
long set but, as Julia had been in the dressing for hours, she had
not pulled the drapes. The scratching was there, louder than ever,
and she saw that Archie was outside her window. The spectre was
scratching frantically with both hands, looking like he desperately
wished to come inside. His mouth was moving like he was shouting
but no words were coming out.

Julia stared
at the vision in horrified silence.

The freeze hit
her ankles again, swirling around her calves and thighs and Julia
staggered back from the frenzied Master while trying to escape his
Mistress.

“What’s going
on?” Julia breathed.

She felt as if
the entire house swayed with motive, as if trying to voice some
eerie foreboding.

Then she saw
him by the illumination of the outside light.

Nick,
running toward the front door. She knew from seeing him that
something
was
wrong
because he was running hell-bent-for-leather.

Julia’s heart
leapt into her throat, panic seizing her at remembering another
night not long ago when Douglas had come home with Nick, wounded
and bleeding.

The draught of
Lady Ruby moved, surrounding her, almost squeezing her but she
ignored its clear warning, turned on her heel and fled the room,
running as best she could on her slim heels towards the front
door.

When she
arrived, Nick had forced his way through the heavy front doors
(doors that only Douglas seemed to have no trouble shifting) and
was careening down the hall, motioning to her by flailing his
arms.

He
shouted, “Run, goddammit, Jules,
run!
”

And then the
world tilted, the house darkened ominously, closing in on itself.
It felt as if the stone walls flexed inward, the shadows everywhere
lengthened, stretching out like claws as a gunshot exploded
followed closely by a strange “ping” sound and Nick went down like
dead weight, cracking his skull with a sickening thud against the
flagstone floor.

Leaving Julia
to face three men, all pointing guns at her and speaking what she
knew was Russian.

The Curse

“The Royal
Crescent Hotel has confirmed, of course,” Sam was saying, “you’ll
arrive in the suite greeted by champagne and strawberries –”

“Isn’t that a
bit trite?” Douglas interrupted curtly, wanting everything to be
perfect.

“
Well, I
suppose
you
can call
your intended’s preferences ‘trite’ but I would never presume to do
so. Patty says Julia loves champagne and strawberries.”

His silence
was the only indication of his apology and his jaw tightened at
Sam’s referral to Patricia as “Patty”. All the women in his life
were becoming the banes of his existence.

They were, he
realised, ganging up on him.

Charlotte, Mrs. Kilpatrick, Sam and Patricia called him day
after day to check this detail or that detail of the wedding or of
that evening’s dinner (or tomorrow’s) or of his schedule. Or simply
to check on
him
to ascertain
he’d done nothing to make Julia run screaming into the night and
the clutching arms of certain death.

Their lack of
faith in him was appalling.

Although, he
had to admit, he hadn’t handled their courtship to his usual
exacting standards. However, she had said yes (rather
spectacularly), she was wearing his damned ring (rather proudly),
she was sharing his bed (or her bed or the couch in the study or
the wall of the billiards room, depending on his level of
creativity, a heretofore unknown skill he found, through necessity,
he had in abundance).

“If you want
to buy a ten foot ice sculpture of the Eiffel Tower and set it up
in the bloody garden, I don’t care. Your budget for the wedding
reception, from now on, is unlimited,” he’d informed Mrs. K
(somewhat shortly) just that afternoon.

Instead of
taking offense, the woman seemed downright jolly.

He’d spent
nearly twenty years making a fortune (quadruple fold) and one small
wedding and four pushy, nagging women were going to bankrupt him in
a single day.

Fortunately,
Julia was a calm amidst this storm. With her never ending lists,
her capacity to interpret (and control) her mother’s dramatics, to
find Charlie hilarious and to delegate to Mrs. K and Sam when
needed, she was taking all this on with a level head – all the
while starting a new consultancy, dealing with the children and
giving into a (very) demanding Douglas (though he couldn’t help but
note that the last seemed to be the most favourite of her
tribulations).

“
Why on
earth don’t they phone you with these details?” Douglas found
himself grumbling (actually reduced to
grumbling
) the evening before.

They were on
the couch in his study. Douglas was sitting at one end looking
through some papers. Julia was lying on her back with her feet in
his lap, Fred, The Cat (his name had been grandly, yet
unnecessarily, lengthened by Ruby) sleeping on her belly and she
was reading a book.

“
I think
they’re enjoying torturing you, you haven’t exactly been, um,”
Julia hesitated, Douglas cut his eyes to her and she grinned
sheepishly, “
approachable
for
the last thirty-eight years.”

“I’m not
approachable now,” he ground out. “I’m considering hiring hit
men.”

She laughed,
the sound throaty and sexy and making him immediately want her. If
the children hadn’t been in the house watching television in the
lounge, he would have taken her.

When he
was going to have his fill of her, he didn’t know and he was
beginning to doubt he ever would. Every time he had her, he wanted
more,
needed
more
, she was like a
fucking drug.

“You wouldn’t
dare,” Julia joked, taking him from his thoughts then her smile
drained away as she took in his bland look and arched brow.

He saw a
worried expression crossed her face and then he turned away,
satisfied at her reaction yet unable to stop his lips from
twitching.

She set
Fred, The Cat aside and launched herself at him, a playful attack
he had no idea how to defend. He’d never
played
with anyone, not even Tamsin.

He wrestled
her gently, not wanting to cause her harm but he soon found he
didn’t have to worry because the whole time, she was giggling
herself silly. He couldn’t help but recognise the strange feeling
coursing through him (mingled tantalisingly with desire) was
enjoyment.

She ended the
tussle on her back, Douglas on top, Julia’s arms pulled over her
head with his hand holding her wrists. She was still laughing, her
body shaking under him while he smiled down at her, revelling in
the pleasure of her happiness and that it was Douglas who was
giving it to her.

“You’re just
too funny, sweetheart,” she giggled. “I just love…” she stopped,
gulped then gave a short, strange, uncomfortable chortle of
laughter before finishing, “love your sense of humour.”

Her words
sounded forced and wrong and his body stilled when he heard them
but then she lifted her head and kissed him and he could think of
nothing else.

This time, it
was Sam who broke into his thoughts.

“
The
room will be littered, their word, not mine,
littered
with white roses.” Sam was continuing to
tell him his plans for Valentine’s evening. “They’ll serve your
dinner at nine in the room.”

“Right.
Thanks,” Douglas replied, no longer listening to her, preferring to
think back to what happened on the couch and what it might
mean.

After a
lengthy hesitation, Sam asked, “What did you just say?”

“Right,”
Douglas repeated distractedly.

“Then you
said, ‘thanks’.” Her voice was somehow breathy with pleasure and he
realised he’d never thanked her before.

Jesus, had he
always been such an unfeeling bastard?

Bloody hell,
he had.

A feeling
stole over him that he now recognised. Guilt.

“You did a
good job, you always do,” he offered this statement like a
throwaway comment, immediately uncomfortable with the conversation.
“Are we done?” His voice was now curt.

“Yes,” Sam
answered.

“Good.”
Douglas almost wished her enjoyment of her Valentine’s Day but
stopped himself. She might have a coronary and he had a wedding to
plan and less than a month to do it and he needed her not to be
recovering in a hospital bed.

He
disconnected the call as usual, without a good-bye.

His
anticipation for the night was palpable. He could nearly feel
Julia’s limbs around him, the smell of her in his nostrils, the
taste of her in his mouth. He’d bought her rubies for tonight, a
necklace and earrings to match the dress that Gregory had confided
to him (or, more accurately, to Sam) was red. It was an extravagant
present, a necklace set with seven oval rubies surrounded by
diamonds and diamond-ensconced rubies suspended from diamonds
starting at the stud of each earring. Considering her reaction to
his other presents, he was most definitely looking forward to
giving her the jewels.

Douglas may
have been avoiding feeling anything for most of his life but he
wasn’t unaware that the last several months, and especially the
last several weeks, he was unable to continue in this vein. He knew
his emotions were no longer under his fierce control but he had
little cause for alarm regarding this development considering that
he recognised the dazed feeling he was having (albeit unfamiliarly)
was happiness.

He was not
surprised, Julia was a good woman. She was a beautiful and stylish
woman. She was a gratifyingly responsive, adventurous and
demonstrative lover. She was kind and thoughtful and had worked
miracles with three grieving children, a household of once distant,
now familial staff and the tightening of his own meagre band of
friends.

Sommersgate,
cold, formal, even monstrous throughout his childhood, rang with
laughter, shared confidences, constant hilarity (most of which was
instigated by one or all three of the kittens or children or both)
and happiness.

Lost in these
thoughts, he turned through the gates of his ancestral home.

So lost in his
thoughts, when he turned into the long drive of Sommersgate, he
nearly didn’t notice the Gate House, normally lit warningly against
intruders, now was completely dark and frighteningly quiet.

But he did
notice.

And he put his
foot down on the brake, stopping the car and turned his head to
stare.

Nick was not
going anywhere tonight. Nick had left “the job” with Douglas and
had taken up his position (now officially) as Douglas’s (but more
importantly Julia’s and the children’s) bodyguard.

The rules
were, if Douglas was not at the house and Julia or the children
were, so was Nick.

And as Douglas
was arriving to pick up his fiancée, Nick should have been at the
Gate House.

Even if he was
at the main house, his lights should be blazing.

That was the
deal; those were the rules, that was how Douglas knew everything
was okay when he came home.

Therefore, Douglas had to assume that things were
not
okay.

His stomach
clenched and his chest tightened, he snapped the word “Sam” into
the dark void around him and the car phone started dialling.

“Yes boss?”
Her voice was perky.

“Call the
police,” he had started the Jag crawling forward through the mile
of parkland that fronted the estate and he turned off his lights.
“Tell them to get to Sommersgate but to proceed with caution. I
don’t know the situation yet and I’m going in, I won’t report back.
Then call the SIS, you know who to speak to, tell him the same
thing.”

She was all
business, although her voice betrayed worry. “Check.”

Then Sam hung
up on him.

He forced
himself slowly (and thus quietly) to glide the Jag toward his home,
toward Julia.

He had no
weapon. He had no idea of the time that had elapsed from when the
trouble (he was certain there was trouble) started to now. He had
no idea if the children, Ronnie and the Kilpatricks had already
left the house. He had no idea if Nick had managed to get her to
safety. He had not noticed Nick’s car at the Gate House so maybe
he’d succeeded in reaching her but didn’t have time yet to phone
and report in.