by Monica Burns
“I see you understand the situation.”
“All I understand is that you’re as arrogant as your brother.”
Angry, she turned away from him, slammed the lid of the trunk closed then stalked to the window. In silence, she stared out over the gardens her room overlooked. Although winter’s cold edge had given way to spring, it was still winter in the keep. Somehow, she doubted even summer’s heat could drive out the pain and grief that chilled this ancient fortress.
“My wife often told me the same thing.” The wistful note behind his words made her turn in surprise.
“Your wife?”
“Katherine.” He whispered the name with a reverence that touched her heart. “She always said I was far too arrogant.”
“You loved her.”
“Of course I loved her,” he growled. “I didn’t believe in the curse like Lucien does.”
“Curse?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Blakemore Curse,” he scoffed. “My brother believes the curse is why our father murdered our mother before killing himself.”
She frowned for a moment as she searched her memory for any mention of such a story. There was nothing she could recall, and she was certain that anything like a curse would have made for excellent gossip amongst the Set. Shaking her head, she watched the spirit’s image fade then brighten. It was clear his energy to maintain his form was lessening.
“You’re weak.”
“Yes, and I don’t have much time. Neither does Lucien. I want your promise you’ll help him.”
“What do you mean Lucien doesn’t have much time?” She breathed in a sharp breath of dismay. If something happened to Lucien— She immediately closed the door on her thoughts. She refused to contemplate what her reaction meant.
“Your promise, madam. I will have it.”
Fear streaked through her as she nodded her head. “I promise. Now tell me what you mean when you say that Lucien doesn’t have much time.”
“If you don’t help him, he’ll die.”
Frustrated, she closed her eyes and exhaled a noise of disgust. “You keep insisting I have to help him, and yet you refuse to tell me how. There’s little I can do to help when you’re so bloody cryptic. Tell me what has to be done.”
For a moment, the ghost looked taken aback. The surprise on his face was slowly replaced by a perplexed look. “But I thought you knew. Isn’t it why you came to the keep?”
“I came to Lyndham Keep to catalog Lucien’s—your brother’s antiquities collection.”
“Then how can you say you don’t know how to help him?”
“Were you this obtuse when you were alive?” she snapped with exasperation. “Simply because I came here to do a job doesn’t mean I know how to help Lucien.”
“But aren’t you Isis?”
Embarrassment set her skin on fire as she stared at the ghost in openmouthed dismay. Wheeling away from the apparition, she stared out the window again as she struggled with the knowledge that the ghost had— Horrified, she banished the notion to the back of her mind.
“You haven’t answered my question,” he said in a bullish tone of voice.
Furious the spirit had been privy to a moment of intimacy between her and Lucien, she grabbed a book off a nearby table and threw it at the spirit. It traveled straight through him to crash into the front of the vanity table. A startled look on his face, the ghost shook his head.
“Madam, whatever’s upset—”
“Upset? I’m not upset, I’m incensed that you would spy on me—on Lucien—during a moment of…a moment of…” She couldn’t finish the thought.
“A moment of… Good God, madam. I am not a voyeur to my brother’s intimate affairs,” he roared.
The affront on the ghost’s face made her blush, and she turned away from him, grateful he’d not witnessed the intimacy between her and Lucien. The ghost’s outrage was like a sharp fingernail across the back of her neck. Spirits often retained many of the emotions they’d experienced in their earthly form, and Lucien’s brother obviously possessed a deep sense of honor and integrity. She’d insulted him, and he was furious.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, but the tingling across the back of her neck had dissipated. He was gone.
Frustrated, she expelled a breath of irritation. Once again, her conversation with the spirit of Lucien’s brother had simply raised more questions and given her fewer answers. Logic. She needed to apply logic. It was the one thing her brother Sebastian prized above all others, except for perhaps Helen and their children. A sudden longing for Melton House and its chaotic warmth welled up inside her.
She adored all her brothers, but Sebastian had always been the rock everyone in the family could cling to. He’d been the one to come to Egypt to help her settle Graham’s personal affairs and escort her back to England. And Sebastian had been the one to teach her how to apply logic when searching for an answer to a problem.
Logic. She needed to approach this conundrum without emotion and with a simple review of the facts. Sitting on the bed, she considered everything she knew. First there was the murder in the keep’s library. It had been Lucien and Nigel’s parents she’d seen lying dead.
Someone had killed the couple in a brutal fashion, then made it appear to be a murder-suicide. Whoever had done such a horrible deed had used a ritualistic blade she’d only seen used in Egyptian magic ceremonies.
The blade resembled a cross. Generally, the handle depicted a god or a pharaoh. But the blade she saw was of a design unlike anything she’d ever seen. The handle was grotesque in form, and it was as evil-looking as the deed it had committed. She frowned. What else did she know?
The collection. Somehow, the antiquities in the library were part of the puzzle too. Nigel had also mentioned her being Isis. But not Isis in the sense that Lucien thought of her. Nigel had meant something else, but she didn’t know what. Did he somehow think she was connected to the antiquities in the library? What else did she know? The curse. Nigel’s ghost had mentioned the Blakemore curse.
She closed her eyes as she struggled to remember his exact words. Of course I loved her. I didn’t believe in the curse like Lucien does. Yes. That’s what he’d said. Not an illuminating comment, but it was more than she’d had before her ghostly visitor had called. The question was, how was she supposed to help Lucien? Even more important, what did he want from her? She heaved a sigh. There was only one way to find out. She needed to stay at Lyndham Keep until she’d done whatever the universe had sent her here to do.
As she crossed the threshold of the library, she waited for the familiar edge to assault her nerve endings. Today the room’s vibration was simply a soft breeze across her skin compared to the usual sensation of ants scurrying about on her arm. Grateful for the reprieve, she took the opportunity to survey the room itself. It was the first time she’d taken the time to do so since she’d arrived at Lyndham Keep. Most of her time had been spent in the adjacent room cataloguing the collection.
The heavy drapes over the tall windows had been pulled all the way back to let in the morning light. Sunshine streamed through the glass, warming the dark wood of the furniture. Inexplicably her gaze was drawn to the area where Lucien’s parents had been murdered. She frowned. Now that she was focusing on the library for the first time, she realized it had changed. The room was different from what she remembered seeing in her visions.
Turning her head, she surveyed the large room with puzzlement. What was different? When the answer came to her, she wasn’t really surprised. It had been completely made over. The fabrics on the chairs, the oval-shaped rug, the tables—everything that had been in the library at the time of the murders had been replaced.
A sudden frisson slid across her skin, and she briefly closed her eyes. They barely knew each other, and yet her body instantly recognized his presence. The sensation unnerved
her. She’d never experienced this type of physical connection with Graham.
“Good morning.” The deep note of his voice sent a pleasurable chill sliding down her back. “I trust you slept well?”
Slowly she turned to face him. He stood just inside the library door, his expression remote as his eyes met hers. Dark and dangerous was the first thing that came to her mind as she studied him. She remembered the silky feel of his black hair against her fingers, and the touch of his firm mouth. The blue of his eyes made her think of the deep and mysterious loch at Callendar Abbey, the Stewart family home. Tension emphasized the thin white scar that ran down his cheek toward his jaw, making her uncertain as to his mood.
She nodded her head in greeting. “I slept soundly, thank you.”
The lie rolled off her lips as she met his probing gaze. Assessment glittered in his eyes as he studied her in silence for a tense moment. Then with a leisurely stride, he moved deeper into the room. He brushed past her as he headed toward the table of artifacts she’d finished cataloging. Heat ricocheted across her skin as his arm bumped lightly against hers. Swallowing hard, she watched him pick up a small mirror that a noblewoman had used thousands of years ago.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” he murmured. “A small piece of history that’s more than two thousand years old.”
The note of awe in his voice drew her to his side, and she pointed to the indentations on the handle. “I’m certain there were jewels of some sort on the handle here.”
“I think you’re right.” He nodded as he peered more closely at the handle.
The magic of her work took hold of her, and her fingers covered his as she made him turn the mirror over. Instantly, her body hummed with exhilaration. Startled by the sensation, she jerked her hand off his to point toward the inscription on the metal.
“The markings…were…they were hard to make out, but I believe this was a wedding gift to a woman from her husband.”
He didn’t speak for a moment, but simply stared at the artifact he held. Laying the mirror down, he sent her a indecipherable look.
“This is exceptional work, Lady Westbury. I’m looking forward to your opinions on several pieces that you’ve yet to unpack.” His autocratic statement made her frown.
“I don’t recall agreeing to stay, my lord.” She winced at her reply.
It was hardly the appropriate response given her recent decision to remain at the keep. But then she couldn’t let him think she was eager to stay. He might misinterpret her reasons for remaining. She watched him pick up a small vial that had once been used to store perfumed oil.
The close proximity of him was making every nerve ending in her body scream for his touch, but she was afraid to move. If he were to realize how much his presence disturbed her— She crushed the thought before it could materialize as she struggled to breathe normally. Replacing the vial, he turned, and the space between them vanished as he bent his head toward her.
“Do you really want to pass up this opportunity?” The husky note in his voice sent her pulse skittering along at an accelerated pace, as his hand swept across the side of her neck.
Suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, she stared into his dark eyes, and trembled at the desire blazing there. Without thinking, she leaned into him until her lips brushed over his. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he wrapped her in his warm embrace.
In an instant, a delicious heat swept her up into a vortex of passion.
Unable to suppress her desire, she gave herself up to the bliss of being in his arms again. His mouth nipped at hers until she eagerly parted her lips for him. Spice and bergamot washed over her senses as she breathed in the sheer maleness of him. Dear Lord, he smelled wonderful.
As his tongue swirled around hers, she shuddered at the possessive nature of his kiss. She should be stopping this madness, but he was impossible to resist. Her fingers slipped through the silk of his black hair as she pressed her body into him. The sensitive nub between her legs screamed for his touch, and instinctively she ground her hips against his in an imitation of what her body was crying out for.
Through her skirt, his erection was hard and full against her thigh. Unbidden, the memory of an erotic papyrus she’d studied recently filled her head with wicked thoughts. What would Lucien do if she tasted him like she’d seen illustrated in the ancient scroll? Would he like her mouth on him? The thought of pleasing him in such a way pulled a quiet whimper from her as she reached for him.
As if aware of her intentions, he captured her hands and pinned them behind her back. He bent her backward slightly so her throat was exposed. Roughly, his mouth moved downward to where a layer of ruffles hid the open vee that plunged down to her breasts. The moment his mouth caressed the slight swell below her throat, she moaned softly.
Christ Jesus, she tasted like the desert. Hot and sweet on his tongue. With one hand, he parted the frothy ruffles at her throat to reveal the shadowed valley of her breasts. Beneath his fingertips her jasmine-scented skin was as soft as the petals of the flower itself. He drank in a deep breath of her fragrance as his mouth brushed lightly across the top of her breasts. Eager to taste her, his tongue flicked out to stroke her skin and she gasped.
Once again he sampled her, before his tongue slid into the valley between the rounded curves of her breasts. With slow, deliberate strokes, he imitated the carnal act they both wanted. The sweetness of her made his cock ache. Bloody hell, he wanted her. Needed her.
He pulled her into the small room off the library. The moment the door closed behind them, she ran her palm across his erection. He groaned and caught her hand to push her away from the hot weight pressing against his stomach.
“Lucien, please,” she whispered against his mouth as she gently nipped at his lower lip. “Let me touch you. I want to please you.”
Her voice was a siren call that was impossible to resist, and he didn’t stop her as she quickly unbuttoned his trousers. As she released his engorged length he drew in a ragged breath and welcomed the velvet heat of her hand wrapping around him. Unable to help himself, he groaned at her touch.
“Damn, that feels good,” he muttered as he leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. Her fingers tightened around him, the fire in her touch biting into his iron-hard rod as she stroked him. “That’s it, yâ sabāha, yes.”
Hot and firm, her fingers slid over him. It was the unexpected warmth of her moist mouth that made him grab the door frame with a sharp jerk as he suppressed a loud cry of pleasure. His eyes flew open, and he looked down to see her tongue flick out and curl around the tip of his erection before she took him back into her mouth. Captivated, he watched her take in the length of him. A second later he jerked as her tongue swirled around his rod.
One hand braced against the door, he cupped the back of her neck to gently hold her in place as he slid his cock in and out of her mouth. He watched in fascination as she took every inch of him without protest. Christ Jesus, he loved the way she was sucking on him.
His gaze never wandered as she gripped him with her beautiful lips. Soaked in the heat of her mouth, he struggled to remain upright as she increased the rhythm of her strokes. God, she was incredible. No woman had ever sucked him like this before. His body throbbed from the heat of her touch, and he groaned as she looked up at him with her mouth wrapped tightly around him.
Her tongue laced its way around him one more time. Then with a quick movement she took him all the way into her mouth and her fingertips brushed against his ballocks.
“God, yes, Isis. Yes,” he rasped.
A familiar surge lunged through his engorged length and before he could move, he exploded in her mouth. As she drank his seed, she continued to use her mouth to pleasure him. Shuddering, he closed his eyes.
Bloody hell, but that had to be the most incredible experience he could ever remember. Had Westbury taught her how to suck on a man’s— His thou
ghts slid to an abrupt halt as he struggled not to envision her with her husband. Harsh and swift, his blood boiled at the thought of her with Westbury or any other man.
He wanted to obliterate her thoughts and images of every man she might have ever been with. With a quick movement, he jerked her upright to face him. The startled look on her face barely registered with him as he met her wide-eyed gaze. She was his and his alone, and he’d kill the first man who came near her.
The primeval nature of the emotion was brutal and harsh in its potency, and the force of it lashing through him made him freeze in his tracks. These were the thoughts of an irrational man. A mad man. He’d never had thoughts about a woman like this before. Where the hell was his self-control?
Her soft floral scent drifted across his senses, and he almost gave in to temptation before clenching his jaw. No, he needed to keep his wits about him. The little he had where she was concerned. The thought made his fingers fumble with the buttons of his trousers as he adjusted his clothing. Clearing his throat, he met her troubled gaze and frowned as her cheeks flushed with pained embarrassment.
“I apologize, my lord,” she whispered in a stilted tone as she turned her head away.
The humiliation in her soft words slashed at him like a hawk’s talon. Damnation, she thought he found her behavior appalling. If anything she’d nearly driven him mad with her erotic touch. He caught her chin with his fingers and forced her to look at him.
“Giving me pleasure does not require an apology, yâ sabāha.”
Hazel eyes flickered with an undefined emotion as her gaze met his. When he released her, the silence between them filled the small room. Clearing his throat one more time, he shoved a hand through his hair. Christ, he’d not felt this awkward since his first woman.
He watched her as she turned away from him to fiddle with the contents of a nearby crate. Her rigid shoulders betrayed her tension, and there was a vulnerability to her profile that filled him with a relentless need to protect her. Keep her safe from everyone, including himself. Bloody hell, he needed to get out of here. He was mad to even think such a thing.
