He had expected it to be good but he hadn’t expected it to be like this.
She tasted sweet and she smelled of tangerines and jasmine. All he could do was feel her, taste her and smell the exotic scent which defined her – delicious, tangy, soft, wet and gorgeous. She surrounded his senses so completely that everything else but her faded away. The sensations were so extreme, he was sorely tempted to throw her on the ground and have her right there in the dining room.
His body tightened at the thought and before he could lose all control, he tore his mouth from hers and took a ragged breath.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
She pulled out of his arms and stood shakily in front of him with the fingers of both hands pressed to her lips. Her green eyes had darkened to jade and she was staring at him in wonder.
“Jesus,” he repeated, this time as a curse to stop himself from reaching for her again before her reason returned and the moment was shattered.
He knew, though, that it was way too soon and Douglas was an expert strategist. He would never make a move toward a desired goal before the time was right.
“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice low and soft, nearly a whisper, but there was accusation in it.
“I’m leaving for a few days, I’m not certain when I’ll return,” he returned instead of answering her, trying to regain some control.
“No!” was her startling reply. She sounded frightened and her eyes flew to the door where Monique had exited.
“Julia,” he said her name but watched as she looked away from him and seemed to be fighting to gain some control.
“Fine,” she replied, changing her mind like quicksilver. “Fine, I’ll be fine, we’ll all be fine. Just go.”
She wouldn’t be fine and she was beginning to understand it. And, for some reason, this pleased him.
“I’ll leave you my mobile number. Call if you need me or you can always get me through Samantha.”
She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin. “We’ll be fine.”
“I’ll leave you the number, just in case.”
“Why did you kiss me?” she asked again, her voice stronger, her eyes flashing, her tone demanding.
Why did he kiss her?
And, more to the point, why had he decided she would be his wife?
Because of her poignant story about the children kissing their parents good-bye?
Because in less than a week, the children were already responding to her when over four months under his mother and his nominal care they were more and more withdrawn and detached, going through the motions of childhood without anchor?
Because his mother was such a bitch and any relationship he had with Julia would drive her insane, an idea which, he had to admit, he found he liked very much?
Because of her charm and grace and the way she looked just as resplendent in blue jeans as she did in satin?
Because of that green dress, her long legs, her shapely ass and her flashing eyes?
Because he’d been waiting fifteen long years to have her underneath him and he decided he was finished waiting?
Or simply because he’d just decided she’d make an excellent baroness, that perhaps Tamsin wasn’t so crazy after all and this lovely creature before him would do spectacularly well in a life by his side?
“To say good-bye,” was all he said to explain.
She stared at him like he was mad.
“Call me if you need anything,” he finished.
And before he grabbed her again, which was exactly what he wanted to do, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Chapter Eight
The Game
Julia lay on her bed and stared at the dark ceiling. The scratching was at the window but she’d drawn the drapes.
She had to draw the drapes because last night, she’d seen what was scratching.
It was Ruby’s imaginary friend. Except, he wasn’t imaginary. He was real. Not real, exactly, a ghost. A man, handsome and tall and wearing an old-fashioned suit from some time that Julia didn’t know. He had dark hair and dark eyes and the only good thing about him was that he wanted to get in but he couldn’t. She knew that because she saw him try… and fail.
“Damn,” she whispered, tossing in her bed, “damn, damn, damn!”
The last two weeks had been an absolute nightmare.
A nightmare named Monique.
The woman was awful, she was truly awful.
Julia tried to find something good or nice in everyone and every night she’d been wracking her brain trying to find one teeny, tiny, little characteristic that Monique had that was likable or even acceptable.
There were none.
The staff feared her, Veronika most of all. And Julia could see why. At the best of times, Monique was imperious. The worst of times, she was scathing. Julia had witnessed her coldly tearing apart Veronika for missing some speck of dust or not polishing the banister to a high enough sheen and she’d been astounded by the woman’s sheer evil. She acted like Veronika had thrown a wild crack party and accidentally burned the house down.
And the children didn’t know what to make of her or the relationship between her and their aunt. She was no less dictatorial with the kids though she cut herself short at any disdainful remarks. Most likely because, if she tried, she knew Julia would scratch her eyes out which made Julia wonder how Monique had been with the children before Julia had arrived.
And Monique didn’t waste any time.
In fact, it started the day after Douglas left.
On Monday, Monique had been absent all day, staying in her room or her morning room and completely avoiding Julia and ignoring the children.
On Tuesday, she sent Mrs. K to find Julia and invite her to the morning room for tea.
Ruby was, pointedly, not invited.
Julia appeared as requested, hoping to negotiate a truce. Monique was dressed in a pale pink blouse and cream tailored trousers with a pair of expensive matching pumps. Her dark brown hair was swept up in a neat chignon. Her smooth, high cheekbones shone with artfully applied blusher.
She regally inclined her head toward a chair covered in flowered chintz, which was, Julia guessed, her invitation to take a seat. The morning room, just as the drawing room, was decorated in ice blue and white but in this room it seemed only slightly less formal, no less cold.
Julia sat and Monique asked with feigned sweetness, “Tea?”
“No thank you, I don’t drink tea,” Julia replied.
Monique ignored her and poured tea into a dainty, china cup, added a wedge of lemon and handed it to her.
Julia held it, stunned into immobility by the woman’s rudeness.
“Let’s not misunderstand ourselves, you and I,” Monique said, sipping from her own cup and gazing dispassionately at Julia like she was something that crawled out from under a rock.
“Monique,” Julia started, in hopes of laying the tentative groundwork to heal relations, “I just want to do what’s right for those children and get along with you and with Douglas.”
“Douglas, my dear, is what I’d like to talk to you about.”
Julia tensed and Monique didn’t delay in explaining exactly what the tête-à-tête was about.
“Your brother, God rest his soul,” she touched her hand to her heart in false grief, “convinced my somewhat misguided daughter that he was worthy of her attention. But I shall tell you right now what I should have told him. He was not worthy of my family and you, particularly, are not worthy of my son. I know what kind of woman you are. I know what those pictures showed. I know your intentions. And I will not allow you to…”