His room was across the hall from Heath’s, and she prayed fervently that Heath was a sound sleeper as she rapped lightly on Sebastian’s door.
He answered immediately, as if he’d been expecting her, his cold fingers closing around her wrist as he yanked her in suddenly, kicking the door shut.
Penelope gasped, her mouth falling open in surprise as he pulled her into his arms and slammed his mouth down on hers, crushing and bruising her lips beneath his in a cold, intense kiss.
She struggled against him, her arms flailing at him to no avail. He held her tightly, his thick, strong arms locking her against him. His chest was like cold, hard marble, and she felt the contrast between them starkly. As if she were made of hot flesh and blood and he something else entirely.
‘Pene, Becca, Pene,’ he murmured, his lips leaving hers to trace down her throat. He tugged at her robe and she gasped as it fell to the floor, pooling at her feet.
‘Stop, please stop,’ she whispered, struggling in his arms and pushing against him, aware that the only thing separating them was the thin material of her gown. And her state of utter confusion.
‘Never,’ he mumbled against the spot in her throat where her pulse thrummed. ‘I’ve waited so long for you to remember, Becca.’
‘Stop.’ She heaved against him. ‘Remember what? And please don’t call me Becca.’
He raised his head and cold, grey eyes stared down at her, perusing her face intently, assessing and considering her. ‘What? What do you mean? You do remember, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She twisted in his arms and was surprised when he released her. Nonetheless, she took advantage of it and stepped away, smoothing down her nightgown and taking a moment to steady her nerves and rapid heartbeat.
‘You don’t remember?’
Something about the way he spoke made her heart lurch, breaking ever so softly for him. ‘No. Remember what? I remember you watching me, is that it? Sebastian, I didn’t come here tonight for this, I’ve come to ask you to leave me alone.’
He stared at her, his face stricken. ‘Why?’
‘Why?’ she gaped, ‘Because I’m engaged to your brother!’
‘Pfft,’ he waved his hand dismissively, ‘that’s easily taken care of.’
Penelope blinked. ‘Because I’m in love with your brother. If you love your brother as you should, then you’ll cease your constant perseverance of me.’
‘Becca, you cannot mean…’
‘Please don’t call me that,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t know who Becca is.’
‘It’s you.’
Silence greeted his grim words, and Penelope could only stare at him. Is he mad? she wondered, Am I mad for coming to his room? For trusting him even a little?
He stepped forward, his eyes flashing, something in her stunned countenance obviously giving him hope. ‘You do remember, don’t you?’
She shook her head stubbornly, although something nudged the corners of her subconscious. ‘No. I don’t. But you have to stop playing with my emotions. Stop the flowers, the words, the looks…If you cared for your brother you wouldn’t do this. If you cared for me.’
She met his eyes and held them, appearing stronger than she felt. For the first time she realised what he wore and how extremely inappropriate the situation was. She in her nightgown, he in nothing but a pair of loose linen trousers, his chest smooth and bare, the muscles of his body proudly on display. He must have been sleeping before she arrived, as his hair was messy, sticking out in different directions. Her fingers twitched of their own accord with a need to touch him, to smooth down his hair and trace the hard lines of his chest and stomach.
Swallowing hard, she dragged her eyes away from his perfect body and tried not to think about the fact that only a few moments ago she’d pressed herself against his chest, felt the strong, steady thump of his heart against hers.
‘I do care,’ he whispered. ‘You know I do.’
‘Then you must let me go,’ she rejoined.
He shook his head. ‘I can’t. I never can. Pene, don’t you remember me?’
‘From where? From when?’
‘From…a long time ago, another life.’
She gaped at him. What was he talking about? He was mad, she was sure of it. Did Heath know? Did he suspect his brother was a lunatic? Was she marrying into a family of lunatics?
He was moving slowly forward, and she backed away until she felt the firm edge of the bed behind her knees and had to steady herself, grabbing hold of the bedpost just as he reached her. ‘Kiss me.’
Stubbornly, she shook her head, knowing she was doing the right thing by refusing even though a small part of her wished that he would kiss her anyway. That he would ignore her words and actions and take what he wanted, give her what she wanted. Traitor, she cursed herself, strumpet…
But as he lowered his head, she closed her eyes.
His lips were like cold marble, but she reacted to them as if they were smouldering coals, her body set atremble as she wound her arms around his neck. Her heart beat frantically, as if it might beat itself out of her chest, and she shuddered against him, surprised and confused at the tears that sprang from her eyes.
He kissed them away as he lowered her to the bed, holding her close and murmuring her name over and over, wavering between Pene and Becca. She wanted to push him away, her mind screamed at her to, her whole self screamed, reminding her who she was, how she’d been raised, and what was expected of her, but she was powerless. Completely and utterly consumed by something she didn’t understand and didn’t remember. Something bigger than her.
His hand moved down over her body, tracing the outline of her beneath the fragile nightgown before reaching to tug it up, his fingers brushing over her exposed thigh. All the time he was murmuring her name and other indescribably sweet words. Closing her eyes, she fell back on the bed and lost herself in his kisses, in the feel of him towering over her and adoring her with his eyes, his mouth, his touch.
She felt as if she was sliding into another world.
A world where Heath stared at her with hard, accusing eyes.
Her blood instantly ran cold and she felt sick. Pushing against him, she scrambled out from under him until she’d fallen to the floor at the foot of the bed.
‘Pene?’ He reached for her, but she crawled away, grabbing her robe and pulling it on, the guilt and shame curling in her belly. ‘Come back, please?’
Not looking at him, she ran to the door, knowing that if she faltered, even slightly, she would be lost and forever ruined. She hated what she’d done, hated what it might mean for her and Heath should Sebastian ever expose her.
Heath. Where had he been in the last few moments? Almost forgotten, as well as her morals and virtue. Almost.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, pausing at the door, her hand poised on the handle. ‘I shouldn’t have come.’
‘Don’t go…’
She risked a look back at him and instantly regretted it. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands as he stared at her, his face pale and stricken, the hard glint from his eyes gone as he pleaded with her.
For a moment she was torn. Something tugged within her chest, a pang, a yearning to go to him and run her hands through his thick hair. But then she remembered Heath.
‘Please, Pene,’ Sebastian said, but he blinked and she realised he knew he’d lost.
She left, running through the familiar corridors of Broadhurst towards her own chamber. She was almost there when a shadow emerged from a doorway.
‘Penelope.’
She gasped, her heart leaping to her throat. It was Jane Smith. ‘Jane! You frightened me. What are you doing?’
The other girl hesitated, suddenly looking unsure. As if she regretted hiding outside Penelope’s chamber in the middle of night. ‘I have something that I need to say to you.’
‘Jane, I’m not sure…’ Penelope’s voice trailed off uncertainly. She was still shaken
from her encounter with Sebastian.
‘You want to hear this,’ Jane said, her voice low and hushed. ‘It’s important.’
Penelope blinked but didn’t reply.
‘Come and visit us tomorrow. It’s Sunday. I’ll tell mother to expect you.’ Jane didn’t wait for an answer but vanished down the hall, leaving Penelope to stare after her.
Wondering how Jane had known where she was.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Penelope was in her attic trying to capture the Manor at night, just as Heath had suggested. The canvas stood before her, but all she’d managed to create was a brief outline of the manor house and the over-large moon hanging ominously above.
A noise on the ladder caught her attention, and she was glad when she saw Georgina climb up.
Georgina took a seat and stared thoughtfully at the canvas. ‘So many of the Manor,’ she observed, ‘You paint little else.’
‘That’s not true,’ Penelope argued. ‘There are just as many of the parsonage.’
Georgina’s eyes swept over the paintings around the room. An odd and uneasy silence hung between the two of them, and Penelope waited for Georgina to begin. She didn’t have to wait long. ‘We haven’t seen you for a few days. I thought you might be unwell still?’
Penelope flushed guiltily. She’d sent a note to Georgina the day after the dance saying she was ill and wouldn’t be visiting as planned. Since then she’d avoided the Manor, wanting to stay away not from the house, which she adored, but from Sebastian, who still loitered there. Plus Jane Smith and her all-knowing eyes. Penelope hadn’t visited the Smiths either, as Jane had requested.
‘No, I’m much better.’
Georgina watched her carefully, her sharp, blue eyes taking note of everything, every flush, every flicker of Penelope’s eye. ‘It’s not me you wish to avoid, is it?’
‘Of course not,’ Penelope rushed to reassure her. ‘You know you could never offend me, Georgie.’
‘What is it then? Harry? I wouldn’t be surprised. But you know better than to take offence at anything Harry has to say. Heath? You wish to avoid him? You wish to call off your engagement?’
Penelope shook her head fervently, surprised at the tears in her eyes. ‘No. Does he wish to call it off?’
Georgina gaped at her. ‘Penelope, no! Why would he? Does he have a reason to? Other than the fact that you’re avoiding him?’
Penelope flushed, looking and feeling shamefaced. ‘No. I don’t think he has a reason to call off our engagement.’ An image of Sebastian looming over her, his eyes full of passion and lust, filled her mind, and her flush deepened.
‘Are you sure?’ Georgina said before adding very quietly, ‘Pene, I saw you.’
Penelope blinked. ‘Saw me?’
‘Go into Sebastian’s room the night of the dance.’
She blanched. ‘Oh.’
‘What were you thinking? He’s Heath’s brother!’
‘I know, but I just went to talk to him…’
‘In the middle of the night?’
‘It was dawn.’ It was a feeble response and she knew it.
‘Are you in love with Sebastian?’
‘No!’ she cried. ‘No. I’m not.’
Georgina gazed at the half-empty canvas. ‘He seems to be in love with you. What you did…’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ Penelope explained, ignoring how thick the lie felt in her mouth. Her mind filled with memories of what she did do. His kiss, his touch, his gaze as it raked over her, his hand on her bare thigh. ‘It’s just…he makes me feel…’
‘Like someone else?’
Penelope blinked at her. ‘Yes. How did you know?’
This time it was Georgina’s turn to look shamefaced. ‘Because I heard you. I’m sorry, Pene; I know I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but when I saw you go into his room…’
Both girls coloured as they realised what the other knew. Penelope could barely meet Georgina’s eyes, her shame was so overwhelming.
‘And…he called you Becca. He said he knew you from a long time ago.’
‘Yes.’ Penelope’s voice was weak.
Georgina was quiet, thoughtful, and she took a few moments to speak. ‘It’s all very interesting.’
‘No, it’s not! It’s terrifying. Honestly, Georgie, I don’t know what to think. I’m in love with Heath. More than anything, I want to marry him, and yet I feel like Sebastian is watching me.’ She clutched her cousin’s hand as she continued. ‘Georgie, he was watching me for days before he arrived. It was him. I saw him. I saw him the day Heath arrived, and I saw him a few days later outside my attic window, on the edge of the forest. He is the one I told you about. And he was watching that day we walked in the garden—he keeps leaving me orange flowers everywhere. Georgie, he leaves them here and in my room. He’s been in my room!’ Penelope’s voice cracked, and she choked on a sob.
‘Oh, my darling cousin,’ Georgina cried, hugging her close, ‘why did you not tell me all of this before?’
‘I thought I was going mad,’ she sniffed.
‘Shush now. He can’t have been spying on you; he wasn’t even here then…’
Penelope shook her head. ‘But that’s just it! He was here. He’s been here forever, watching me!’
Georgina stared at her, and Penelope didn’t know if her cousin believed her or not, but she felt exceedingly relieved at having shared her torment with someone.
‘Pene, you can’t avoid them forever,’ Georgina said after a while, her voice low. ‘Heath is growing increasingly confused. And Sebastian…’
‘Sebastian…?’
‘You will just have to tell him. Tell him it can never be.’
Penelope felt her heart twist and constrict, pressing against the confines of her ribcage. ‘Yes. I’ve done that. He knows. But Georgie,’ she raised her tear-streaked face to meet her cousin’s, ‘I’m scared of what that means. I’m scared that he will never let me be. Never let Heath and I be together.’
‘Oh Pene, you are being dramatic now,’ scolded Georgina, although her voice was heavy. ‘You and Heath have a wonderful future together, I can see it already. And Sebastian will move on. Maybe we can marry him off to Anne.’
Penelope managed a small smile. ‘Maybe.’
‘Cheer up. Now,’ Georgina took charge as only she could, ‘I want you to come back with me to the Manor. Everyone is waiting to see you, poor Heath is going out of his mind, and don’t worry about Sebastian. I’ll tell Harry to keep him occupied. You need to come with me. Come and see your Heath; he loves you so much.’
‘Yes, I’ll come,’ Penelope smiled warmly. She yearned to see Heath again and told herself she’d ignore Sebastian.
And maybe, just maybe, she would ask Jane what the girl had to tell her.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Present day
I had a raging headache.
Groaning, I rolled over and stared out the window at the brilliant blue sky. All the days seemed to be clear lately, and I wondered if it would ever rain again.
Idly, I traced through my thoughts, waiting for my dream to resurface, waiting to remember. Waiting…waiting…
It didn’t happen.
I was so startled I actually cried out and sat bolt upright, blinking into the bright morning light. Where had the dreams gone? Heath? Sebastian? Georgie? Where was Penelope? The only reason I’d ever stopped dreaming of a past life was because they’d died. He’d gotten to them.
My last dreams were always of being murdered.
My mind raced back to the last dream I’d had, the last memory. Georgie had come to see Penelope. But more had happened since then; I was sure of it.
Climbing out of bed, I went to look out the window, staring at the house next door. It looked as inconspicuous as any other house: blue shingles and white shutters, a wide verandah wrapped around it, and well-manicured gardens.
It certainly didn’t look like it housed a murderer.
Drawing in a ragged breath, I
limped downstairs, vowing to never drink again.
Taking two aspirin, I decided to go to the library early and do some work. My Jane Eyre assignment still needed finishing, and I’d been too distracted by Marcus to focus properly lately. That would have to change, I promised myself. I couldn’t let a guy, even a really cute one, distract me from my goal of getting out of Brookdale.
Getting dressed and grabbing my bag, I scribbled a note for Meredith, who was still asleep, before making my way to the library. Keeping my eyes firmly averted from the house next door, I wasn’t overly surprised to hear their front door open and footsteps fall into step beside me.
The chill, which brought a rush of goosebumps up my arms, suggested whom my companion might be.
‘Abbie.’
‘Sebastian.’
A quick intake of breath confirmed that I’d shocked him. I felt a little smug at that.
‘Of course. You remember that name?’
I shrugged. ‘Sure.’
‘You remember other names?’
My heart tripped as I thought of the others, and I was surprised at how smooth my voice sounded. At least to me. ‘You read my diary. You know I do.’
‘I didn’t get a chance to read it all.’ He paused, and I didn’t dare look at him. I quickened my pace, not because I wanted to outrun him—I knew I couldn’t—but because I wanted him to know he wasn’t welcome. ‘But I did get a chance to admire the drawing you did of me.’
I trembled but didn’t speak. He’d been in my room. It was him that had torn the page from my journal. He didn’t even bother to hide it.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
‘Why don’t you just follow me and find out?’ I retorted, voice heavy with sarcasm.
He laughed, the sound hollow and familiar. ‘You are spritely, Abbie! With such a poison tongue. I like it!’
‘Don’t. I don’t want you to.’
He touched my arm and I jumped back, startled. But it had achieved his desired response. I was looking at him now.
Blinking, I still had a difficult time reconciling him with the Sebastian in my dreams. They were the same, and yet entirely different. Without thinking, I told him so.
Time After Time Page 20
