Sommersgate House (58 page)

“Oh Nick, your
head.” Julia started to rush forward in concern. “We need to get
you some ice.”

“
You’re
bloody
well not nursemaiding me. I know from experience you aren’t very
good at it.”

“Well!” Julia
halted with a skid halfway to her friend, clearly affronted.

“
Girl,”
Nick returned, his voice low with anger, “next time I come tearing
into this house and tell you to run, you… better… damned…
well…
run!
”

“
Will
someone tell me what in
the
hell
is
going on?” Roddy Kilpatrick shouted from his position by the doors,
a position from which he had not moved, his shotgun still pointed
at the ceiling, his hair dusted white with plaster.

Coming up
behind him on a wheeze was Margaret Kilpatrick.

“My goodness!”
she panted. “Is there an earthquake?”

Roddy whirled.
“Woman! I told you to stay with the children!” he yelled, his face
going perilously red.

“Ronnie’s with
them, they’re all fine!” she yelled right back, an angry flush
forming on her own cheeks.

Douglas rolled
his eyes to the ceiling in a brief prayer for patience at the utter
bedlam in his house and saw the chandeliers lurch precariously.

“Julia, get
over here,” he demanded because if the house was going to fall on
their heads, it was damned well going to do it when she was in his
arms.

She didn’t
hesitate. Delicately stepping over bodies in her lovely shoes with
her red toenails peeking out of a small, charming indentation in
the toe, she muttered, “Should we do something about him?” She
indicated the writhing Russian with a low wave of her hand.

“He’ll
survive,” Douglas grunted.

She’d come
within reach and he reached for her, yanked her forward, her body
slamming against his.

“Are you all
right?” he repeated his earlier question.

“Yes, fine,”
she answered distractedly, still looking down at the man. Then her
eyes fluttered to his. “I knew you’d be home any minute so I just
waited. You were late, though. That was a bit unfortunate. You’ve
been hit.”

Her eyes were
now on his bleeding arm but he noted that she was completely calm,
as if the house wasn’t at that very moment shirking off a century
old curse, as if bodies didn’t litter the hall and drawing room of
their home, as if she hurled deadly projectiles at villains every
day.

He felt it
tear through him. Feelings, emotions, love, desire, happiness,
safety, beauty, laughter, everything that was Julia, it ripped
through him with a stunning force and nearly brought him to his
knees.

Or, more to
the point, it mended him, taking the jagged, long-unused shards of
his heart and rending them together, complete, functioning and
healthy, the scars simply fading away.

He had not
needed to put her back together.

He had needed
her to do it for him.

His arms stole
around her and he buried his face in her neck.

“God, I love
you.” His voice was hoarse with feeling, trembling with it and he
felt a shudder go through her.

“
I’m so
glad,” she whispered, her head turned so her lips were at his ear.
“I didn’t want to spend my life not telling you how I feel. I love
you, Douglas.” Then she tilted her head back, her throat arching
and he lifted his head to watch in amazement as she shouted
proudly, “Love you, love you, love you.
I love Douglas
Ashton!
”

He would have
kissed her but instead, the instant she finished her declaration,
the night was pierced by a blood-chilling scream.

The house
stilled completely and everyone in the room froze for a moment then
scattered, running out to the grand stairwell.

Douglas halted
at what he saw. He’d dragged Julia with him, grabbing her hand as
he left the drawing room. She slammed into his back then wrapped
her arms around his waist, peeking around him and they both, with
Nick and the Kilpatricks, witnessed something hideous and
momentous.

Douglas could
not believe his eyes.

The ghostly
vision of a woman was struggling at the foot of the stairs with an
unseen attacker who was clearly choking the life out of her.

It was a death
struggle.

And she was
losing.

A raging howl
came from behind them and they all shifted as one and if anyone had
seen them, they would have noted it as almost comical.

But it was
anything but funny.

Through the
French doors they could see the ghost of a man, also fighting
against an unseen attacker (or, to Douglas’s way of thinking, more
than one considering the bulk of his body, his obvious strength and
the desperate nature of his struggle).

The howl he
emitted had been fierce, shaking the windows.

And then
a blaze of fire shot out of the grate by the leather couches but
they all missed it as the ghost man tore away from his attackers
and charged forward, up to and
through
the glass, finding himself for the first time in
over a century in the glorious and grand home he built as a proud
display of love for his adored wife.

He did not
hesitate in triumph at his entry but rushed forward, throwing off
her attacker and catching her body, swinging her around as she
coughed, spluttered and weakly lifted her hands to hold onto his
shoulders.

“
Ruby.”
His mouth
moved but the aching sound didn’t come from there, it came from
everywhere, the walls, the floors, the furniture, the
carpets.

It came from
Sommersgate.

“
Archie.”
Was her
reply, the yearning in the sound was like a caress and it, too,
filled the air like oxygen.

“Oh my God,”
Mrs. K breathed and Douglas felt a strange sensation behind him,
realising that Julia was holding onto him tightly, her arms wrapped
around his waist, her body pressed against his and hers was rent
with silent sobs.

He pulled her
around toward his front, his arms encircling her as she snuggled
into his chest, pressing her cheek against him there all the while
she watched the ghostly reunion.

Douglas looked
again to the beings who had inhabited his home long before he’d
come into the world. Beings Tamsin had sworn existed but he had
never sensed.

They were
embracing, kissing passionately and it was almost embarrassing to
watch even though he could not, for the life of him, tear his eyes
away.

With the
spirits still kissing, the words came from Sommersgate, from the
voices long since stilled in the past.

“
Douglas,
Julia, thank you. We wish you…”

Then they were
fading, still embracing but slowly fading until they were
completely out of sight.

“…
love.”
It was a
whisper and Douglas felt Julia’s tremble communicate itself through
his body.

Sommersgate
was still, quiet, all that it was, all that it used to be, was
gone, fading with the spectres.

Leaving behind
only stones and mortar, wood and glass, iron and granite.

All of it
built in love.

Douglas and
Julia’s home.

The Toasts

Julia stood at
the back of the cathedral, her bridesmaids, Lizzie and Ruby,
milling around her and Will yanking nervously at his collar but
still looking quite dapper in his morning suit.

She’d peeked
into the church to see Douglas and Oliver line up at the front and
to watch Will escort Patricia to her seat. Patricia was wearing
such an enormous, baby pink hat, replete with ruffles and rosettes,
that Julia wondered how her mother managed to manoeuvre herself
down the aisle without toppling over. Her nephew then turned and
tried not to (but definitely did) scurry back to Julia.

It was Julia
and Douglas’s wedding day.

Monique was
not in attendance, she sent word she was deathly ill with the
flu.

Julia couldn’t
have been more pleased at the news but she tried to hide her
reaction when she saw the dark look that crossed Douglas’s face,
though, he said not a word.

The very proud
looking Kilpatricks sat in the front row on Douglas’s side, next to
Charlotte and Nick, with Sam and Ronnie (and their boyfriends) and
Carter and his daughter sitting behind.

Julia thought
happily that was a far better representation of Douglas’s family
than Monique would ever be.

Both sides of
the church were filled to capacity. Julia had protested the guest
list but Douglas demanded that every business and social
acquaintance he had be present.

“If I could,”
he whispered into her neck one dark night, “I’d have the world
watch me make you mine.”

It was, of
course, an atrociously possessive thing to say but who was she to
argue?

For her part,
a great number of her family and friends were there, mainly because
Douglas had bought every seat on a commercial jet flying from
O’Hare to Heathrow. That gesture made the trip a great deal more
affordable for a lot of people.

Finishing this
assemblage, there was enough paparazzi outside to make the BAFTAs
look tame in comparison.

Julia was
wearing what Gregory termed his “masterpiece” (in a short time, she
had become known widely as Gregory’s “muse”).

Her wedding
gown was a simple, long, backless, sleeveless, boat necked, ivory
silk dress, the silk being the most extraordinary material Julia
had ever touched. Cut on the bias, it fit superbly, flowing all the
way down to her feet where the very pointed toes of her ivory pumps
peaked out. The back hem fell in a graceful train three feet long.
She wore ivory gloves up to her middle upper arms, a choker made of
four rows of pearls separated by bars of diamonds imbedded in
platinum, a matching bracelet and a set of earrings that had a
teardrop pearl suspended from a beautiful diamond (this an “early”
wedding gift from Douglas making her wonder what the “during” and
“after” wedding gifts would be – for her part, she carried with her
a secret that was Douglas’s present that she prayed he would
adore). She carried a bouquet made completely out of perfect white
roses.

As usual in
Julia’s life, the day had not run smoothly (to say the least).

She had
started it in her rooms surrounded by her girlfriends from
Indiana
and
England,
everyone wanting to help but doing nothing but getting in the way.
Charlotte, Gregory and Patricia had a fight over how Julia was
going to wear her hair even though Julia and Sylvie, the stylist,
had long since decided on a style.

“She must wear
it up, something soft, with curls at the back and tendrils around
her neck with baby’s breath,” Patricia demanded (and Julia thought
it sounded like something a girl would wear to a prom).

“Down!
Straight! Edgy!” Gregory clipped out, speaking (as per usual) in as
many exclamation-point-ending, one-word phrases as he could
(Gregory, at last, a match for Patricia’s dramatics).

“A sleek,
elaborate up-do, with the front of her hair parted severely,
smoothed over and tucked in…” Charlotte declared and then went on
for several more words.

Julia
let Charlotte win because that was the closest to what Sylvie and
Julia had decided
and
because
Charlie happened to be the editor of a glossy fashion magazine and
likely knew what she was talking about.

Then Patricia
decided she was not sure about the gloves.

Then Patricia
launched into her (oft-heard) lecture about how high heels would
ruin your back.

Then
Patricia doubted the wisdom of having only
one
wedding colour, ivory, saying they should add a
last-minute infusion of something else, like pink.

And so on.

Before
preparations to her toilette began in earnest, Douglas had walked
into Julia’s rooms causing Patricia to shriek and Gregory to
hyperventilate, waving his hand in front of his face like a wilting
Southern belle.

“You can’t see
her before the wedding!” Patricia exclaimed, her voice shrill.

Douglas
ignored his very-soon-to-be mother-in-law and just stared at Julia
with an intense ferocity that she had learned from experience
looked at lot worse than it was. Before he could say what he came
to say, Julia spoke mainly because she’d had enough.

“You sure you
want to do this? You’ve got a good fifteen, twenty years having to
put up with this crazy old bat.” She indicated her mother with a
frustrated jerk of her head.

“Well, I
never!” Patricia cried.

“I wish!”
Julia retorted.

Charlie
giggled.

Julia swung
back to Douglas. “If you’re going to pull out, pull out now. It’s
not too late. You’re rich enough, you can buy us an island where we
can live in sin and install ground-to-air missiles to shoot her
down should she try to chopper in.”

Apparently
Douglas decided whatever he came to say that had caused that
intense look was not nearly as important as exiting the room with
all due haste.

Which he did
but only after he quirked an arrogant brow at her while he awarded
her with one of his diabolically sexy grins.

The Night of
the Russians (as Julia now referred to it) or Archie and Ruby’s
Release (which was another way she liked to term it) or Villainous
Valentine’s Day (another of her favourites) ended with nearly more
drama than it began.

Not five
minutes after Lady Ruby and Archie had faded from sight, the police
crashed through the house in a noisy rush, one of them actually
breaking through the glass of the French doors. This caused
everyone, already tense, to go wired.