He scowled. “No, it wouldn’t. I made love to you.”
My face, my whole body flushed. “I remember. But you needn’t worry. There were no consequences.” My monthly bleeding had begun the day after his departure.
“No consequences?” He stared at me, but I was looking at my hands and let his gaze burn into the side of my face. “Barbara. I’m sorry I left without a word to you. There was so much to do about Miss Salton, and to be frank, I was still shaken by my encounter with my wife’s spirit. You’re around the dead so much, you probably forget what an impact such things have on us lesser mortals.”
“No,” I said. “No, I don’t forget that.”
Unexpectedly, he took my chin between his finger and thumb and tipped my face up to his. His eyes searched mine. I stared back, half-defiant, half…confused by his behaviour. A frown flickered across his brow.
“Oh for God’s sake,” he muttered. “Sense this.” And without further warning, his mouth swooped on mine, crushing, invading. I lifted both hands to his shoulders and shoved, hard, but he didn’t budge, and in any case, immediately consumed by sudden fear that he would, I clutched his shoulders instead. I didn’t care what it meant for me or the future; I’d always take his kiss, as I’d take his company.
But no one could kiss like that without meaning something. Lost as I was, I knew that, and slowly, slowly, I opened myself under the onslaught, let the deluge of his feelings wash over me.
“Barbara,” he whispered into my mouth. “Barbara, do you love me? Could you love me?”
Stunned, I stilled my lips under his, disengaged them to stare up at him.
“If the answer to either is even the faintest yes,” he said unsteadily, “then agree at least to see me. I asked your mother if she’d any objection to my marrying you.”
Inappropriate laughter caught at my breath. “What did she say?”
“That is was entirely up to you, not her, but that whatever your answer, if I ever hurt you in any way whatsoever, she’d send all the demons in hell after my soul.”
“Well, that’s new. She never threatened Gideon with demons.”
“Will you always compare me to him?” Patrick asked ruefully.
“God, no, there is no comparison,” I said frankly. “You’re such completely different characters that it seems impossible I could ever—” Could ever have loved two such disparate men.
But there were more ways than mine of reading emotion. I doubted my words were necessary to him, because he was smiling as he took back my mouth.
“Rose,” I gasped under his lips. “She left a tiny part of her spirit with me. I know her, her feelings, better than I know you. But I’m not Rose, and you shouldn’t ever imagine I am.”
“I don’t want Rose,” he said, taking me by surprise. “I want you, weird, maddening, and totally wonderful as you are.”
Since he slid onto the floor as he spoke and drew me down under him, deliberately unfastening his trousers with one hand, I had little room to misunderstand him. My blood pounded. Lust pooled between my thighs.
“My mother,” I gasped, like a last-ditch attempt to stem the inevitable flow of events. My skirts were round my hips. He’d freed my breasts from my gown and was kissing them. I never wanted him to stop that. “She’ll come back!”
He raised his head, lifting his burning, clouded eyes to mine for a moment. “If she has even half your empathy, she’ll know exactly what I’m doing to you and walk away before she opens the door.”
“Aren’t you afraid of the demons?” I asked as his hand delved between my soaking thighs.
He groaned. “God, no. I’m afraid of not having you.” He pushed inside me, closing his eyes in bliss. “Right. Now.” He shoved farther in with each word, and I gave up even pretending to argue. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I pulled him right into me and thrust with him.
“So will you?” he panted, holding my head to prevent us skidding across Lady Fairford’s Persian rug.
“I am,” I got out, writhing in bliss as the pleasure surged.
“I mean, will you marry me?”
“Maybe,” I gasped, spiralling off into ecstasy. “I’ll think…oh…oh, God, Patrick!”
He rammed into me again and again. There was an instant when I looked into his tortured gaze, recognized and silently granted his plea for permission by reaching for his mouth with mine, and then he fell, shuddering on to me, spending his hot seed inside me. Not so much a branding as an expression of trust, his and mine.
I folded my arms around him, afraid suddenly that he’d vanish into a dream. “I love you,” I whispered, just in case he didn’t know. I couldn’t bear him not to know. “I love you.”
Epilogue
It was about a week later that we were shown into the drawing room of Lady Jordan’s smart London house.
Caroline rose to greet us, both hands held out. “Oh, wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Did you come together, or is the timing just coincidence?”
Since we’d both received her invitation to call at this time, it would never have been much of a coincidence.
“We came together,” Patrick said, releasing Caroline’s hand.
She glanced from me to him, and her gaze lingered. A faint smile lurked on her lips. Although Patrick spoke as casually as ever, she’d clearly spotted the faintest flush on his face. Or on mine.
“I see,” she said. “And here I’d been flattering myself that I was such an excellent matchmaker.”
“What are you doing in London, anyway?” Patrick asked hastily. “Is Neil with you?”
“No, I left him in Yorkshire.” She waved toward the nearest sofa. “Sit down, Mrs. Darke, and I’ll ring for tea. I came up alone to see my stepsisters. Have you heard the news?”
“What news?” Patrick demanded, throwing himself onto the sofa beside me,
“Augusta is to marry the Duke of Silberwald.”
Patrick let out a crack of laughter. “Well, they deserve each other.”
“Oh dear,” said Caroline, sinking into the chair opposite us.
“Who’s Augusta?” I asked, bewildered.
“Lady Augusta Harvey, the eldest of my stepsisters,” Caroline explained. “My father married the Earl of Alnwick’s widow when I was already married to Neil, so we’re not very close.”
Patrick got up and strolled to the fireplace, where, with the ease of familiarity, he picked up a framed photograph and brought it over to me. It was a posed family group of a young man and six young women and girls, clearly all siblings, well-dressed and serious.
“Augusta’s the beautiful one at the front,” Caroline said.
Augusta was indeed beautiful, though I thought her demeanour somewhat superior and disdainful. The one who really caught my eye was a child with spectacles and a dreamy expression, standing somehow apart from the others without seeming remote or aloof.
“Who is she?” I asked, leaning forward to let Caroline see where I pointed.
“Oh that’s Guin. Guinivere. She’s my favourite sister, to own the truth. She’s grown up now, though not much bigger! She’s fun and quite eccentric for her years. She wants to write novels.”
I looked into the child’s large eyes, which were curiously clear through the spectacles, and just for an instant I imagined myself falling into them. My blood seemed to rush in my ears, dizzying me. A young woman full of sunshine and compassion; a dark, menacing shadow falling over her, eclipsing her.
My breath caught, and I dropped the photograph into my lap. “Silberwald,” I blurted. Some tiny, German country, full of trees…and that shadow, I was sure.
Reluctantly, I let Patrick take the photograph from me, watching rather blindly as he carried it back to the mantelpiece. For some reason, I worried about that girl I didn’t know.
“And so you’re going to marry Patrick?” Caroline asked innoce
ntly.
I blinked, dragging myself back to reality. Patrick’s dark, dramatic face came into focus first, one black eyebrow raised in mocking challenge. Unexpectedly, a strange, sweet warmth fought its way up from my stomach, suffusing my whole person. I found myself smiling.
“One day,” I said. One day soon.
But I could still see the photograph on the shelf behind Patrick’s shoulder. Some hidden threat hung over young Guinevere Harvey. And I couldn’t shake off the suspicion that I was the only one who could help her.
About the Author
Marie Treanor lives in Scotland with her eccentric husband and three much-too-smart children. Having grown bored with city life, she resides these days in a picturesque village by the sea where she is lucky enough to enjoy herself avoiding housework and writing sensual stories of paranormal romance and fantasy.
Marie is the award winning author of over forty sexy paranormal romances—Indie, New York and E-published.
You can find out more about Marie and her books on her website: www.MarieTreanor.com.
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Look for these titles by Marie Treanor
Now Available:
Killing Joe
Gothic Dragon
Ariadne’s Thread
The Devil and Via
Queen’s Gambit
Requiem for Rab
Fairytale Fantasies (with Bonnie Dee)
Cinderella Unmasked
Demon Lover
Awakening Beauty
In…
In His Wildest Dreams
In Her Secret Fantasy
In the Mists of Time
Darke of Night
The Dead of Haggard Hall
Coming Soon:
Darke of Night
The Prisoner of Silverwood Castle
The Veils of the Budapest Castle
Don’t miss the other titles in Marie Treanor’s Darke of Night Series!
Dead men don’t tell tales. They wail them from the top of the tallest tower.
The Prisoner of Silverwood Castle
© 2016 Marie Treanor
Darke of Night, Book 2
Lady Guinevere (Guin) Harvey would much rather be writing gothic tales of intrigue and adventure than dancing attendance on her sister, the newly married Duchess of Silberwald. Until they arrive at Silberwald Castle, a place of enchanting perfection—and gothic shadows.
Ghostly groans and clanking chains lead Guin through ancient, misshapen passages to one of the castle’s many mysteries: a cell where the odd but charming Kasimir is kept chained like an animal. He could be a figment of her vivid dreams, the ghost of a dead, mad prince, or just a political prisoner no one wants to talk about.
Desperate to discover what beast is howling such soul-chilling cries, Guin summons the medium Barbara Darke. But by the time Barbara arrives, Guin can no longer distinguish dream from reality, friend from enemy. Even with all Barbara’s unique talents, they have to face new dangers before they finally discover the terrifying truth of Silberwald Castle.
Warning: Gives new meaning to falling madly in love…
Behind the veils lurk ghosts, evil, magic...and perhaps the true love of her life.
The Veils of the Budapest Castle
© 2016 Marie Treanor
Darke of Night, Book 3
Recently widowed, Caroline, Lady Jordan, escapes the well-meaning fussing of family and friends to the French spa town of Lescloches, where she can mourn in anonymous peace. But before long, she is charmed from her pit of despair by Count Zsigmund Andrassy, a wild young Hungarian soldier, currently in exile to avoid execution.
Zsigmund makes her feel alive. On impulse, she succumbs to his seduction and marries him. But once ensconced in the crumbling Andrassy mansion in Budapest, Hungary, Caroline faces more than the hostility and neglect of Zsigmund’s bizarre family. Zsigmund himself seems different, a man driven by his tragic past.
Strangely drawn to the apartments where Zsigmund’s young parents died, Caroline is haunted not only by her dead mother-in-law but by her own friend, the medium Barbara Darke. Worse, as someone—maybe her own husband—threatens her life, she begins to suspect the house hides not only spirits, but an evil magic that could kill them all.
Warning: Marry in haste, repent at leisure! Would you?
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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The Dead of Haggard Hall
Copyright © 2016 by Marie Treanor
ISBN: 978-1-61923-455-0
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover by Kelly Martin
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: July 2016
www.samhainpublishing.com
The Dead of Haggard Hall Page 23
