by Lauren Smith
Bastian felt like a damned fool. He’d just snogged a woman in his drawing room without any control over himself. If he were a man who believed in ghosts, he might think that his ancestor Richard had taken over his body. Possessed him. But that was impossible.
Bastian shrugged it off as nerves. He refused to let himself believe anything else. The castle renovations were getting to him. Maybe he was having some sort of psychotic breakdown from the stress.
Yes. That made sense. He was having a mental breakdown.
Jane got to her feet and held out a hand to him. He accepted, letting her pull him up and got a better look at her.
She wore jeans that hugged her shapely body and a thick gray sweater like she was ready to climb aboard his sailboat and float out on the tide with him. Again he was surprised that her natural beauty was such an allure to him. After years of polished, posh princesses, it was strange that a woman like this commanded his attention.
He was hardly a romantic. He’d never seen the need to fall in love or get involved in any messy entanglements of the heart. He took women, gave them pleasure, and sated his own needs. The romance of red roses and chocolates weren’t for men like him. There was no need to buy appreciation from his women, nor did he particularly feel the need to reward them for succumbing to their passions in his arms. He preferred straining naked bodies in sweaty sheets to poetry and dinners for two. Sex was akin to business transactions, and although Bastian knew he viewed it coldly, he enjoyed it. He didn’t need any of the emotional intimacy or love that many women seemed to think was required. And he’d never stopped to consider why that was.
But the idea of taking his time, savoring Jane’s taste and inhaling the faint scent of her wild-orchid perfume while he claimed her, was incredibly tempting.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Isn’t it enough that you mauled me like a wild bear?” She shoved him; her palm made contact with his chest, and he tensed with heat and need. Although upon first meeting her he expected her to be a timid little nose-in-her-book scholar type, she wasn’t. Her politeness gave way to an intimacy that confused him. She wasn’t exactly treating him the way others did, with respect and awe. No…she had just shoved him like she would a brother or perhaps a lover, or at the least someone she was comfortable with. Why had she done that?
Strangely, he realized her rough-and-tumble action fascinated him. Her sensual playfulness was incredibly erotic. None of the previous women he’d been with had ever been playful. They’d been coy and aggressive, but never teasing. He had to admit he liked it. A woman like her, with full curves and strength just ached to be taken hard, ravaged to within an inch of dying from too much pleasure.
He bit his lip so hard blood beaded, and he licked it away. If he didn’t get inside Jane soon, pound into her sweet heat until she screamed he’d… Bastian wrenched control of his body back from that deep inner specter that seemed determined to pin her to the floor and spread her thighs. She was turning him inside out with desire. He hadn’t wanted a woman this bad in a long time.
With every last ounce of willpower, he assumed the mantle of his British upbringing and scrounged deep down for the last bit of his manners. “I apologize profusely for my actions. I have no idea what came over me.” And he meant it. How could he begin to explain what had just come over him?
She didn’t reply, so he studied her for a long moment, those piercing eyes of hers cut straight through to his core. He couldn’t help but wonder…she had kissed him back. She hadn’t tried to push him away or fight him when he’d kissed her. Why?
“You have no idea why you kissed me?” Her tone sounded odd, as though she might know the answer to her own question.
He shrugged, completely at a loss to explain himself. “I haven’t the slightest idea. I suppose it’s all the stress from the renovations. I’ve had headaches for days now, and this is probably one more way my body is reacting. You see now why it’s in your best interest to leave my house. I wouldn’t want you to remain here when things could get…complicated.” He placed a palm on the small of her back, ushering her to the door.
She twirled around, escaping his touch so she could go back and retrieve her briefcase and purse.
“Actually, I don’t mind complicated. Perhaps my being here will help reduce the stress.”
It took all of his control not to reply that the best de-stressing he could use was her on a bed beneath him.
“Miss Seyton, you cannot stay.” He looped his arm through hers, attempting to drag her, albeit politely, toward the door.
She dug in her heels and wedged herself into the doorway. “Wait! Please! What once was broken must be mended.” Her words were expelled in a breathless rush and he froze.
“What did you say?”
Her face darkened as she met his stare. “What once was broken must be mended.”
“Where did you hear that?” He whirled her around, pinning her by her shoulders against the doorjamb.
“I…I don’t know,” she whispered. Her body trembled beneath his hands. “I can’t explain it. It’s like the words were on the tip of my tongue and when you tried to make me leave…they just rushed out.”
His grandmother’s warning. The need to fix his ancestral home. This woman who could be Isabelle’s twin. It was as though puzzle pieces were sliding into place, but Bastian didn’t want to see the puzzle. He didn’t want to face this, whatever it was. He might lose more than he already had. Stormclyffe had taken his father, destroyed his grandfather’s life, and countless other generations going back two hundred years. Anyone staying here was at risk. If Jane stayed, she would be at risk, too.
“Let me stay. Please.” Her begging undid the cold knot inside his chest.
Perhaps if he let her use the library, just for a short while, he could ply her with reasons the curse didn’t exist and then send her on her way. If he was very lucky, he might stop her writing her thesis all together, so no one would come here in search of ghosts.
“If, and I do mean, if I allow you to stay, you will not be permitted to review documents unless I have approved them first. You will go nowhere in this castle unless I have given express permission. I will give you one week. That is all. You will not disrupt me, nor the workmen, nor cause any kind of disturbance. Do you understand?”
She was already nodding eagerly before he’d even asked the last question.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Very well. Then you may stay. But if at any point in time, I feel you are underfoot, I will have you leave, and you will brook no argument.”
“Deal.” She held out her hand.
He released his grip on her shoulders but didn’t shake her hand. Touching her once had led to violent passions. He would not be so foolish as to touch her again.
“Sorry,” she muttered, dropping her hand.
For a moment they just stared at each other, neither of them speaking. He’d never felt so awkward in his life, but something about Jane ruffled his feathers.
She’d broken the spell of tension with a shrug and produced a notebook and pen, flipping to an empty page and started to scrawl notes. “So this has happened often?”
He purposely gave her a blank look, hoping it would dissuade her from further questions.
She continued. “The attempted seduction of visiting ladies?”
He rolled his eyes. What was he to do with this irritating and completely beguiling creature?
“Have you not been listening? There are no visiting ladies. You are the first official guest Stormclyffe has had in half a century. I only started renovations seven months ago and moved in a few months ago.” He ushered her down a hallway, trying to remind himself where the library was. It would be a safe place to put her while he saw to his duties. No doubt she could lose herself in the books for hours, and he could check on her later. It would give him time to secure his more private papers in his office, away from her prying eyes. Even though he’d reluctantly agreed to let her stay, it didn’t mean he had to pro
vide her with any real substantial research material.
“So you didn’t bring anyone with you? A girlfriend I mean?” Her blunt question caught him off guard, and he stumbled a step.
“What? No…I am not involved with anyone at the moment. I’m not one for getting involved at all really. In fact, I plan never to marry.” Where that honesty came from, he didn’t know, but he wanted her to hear it. Maybe that would make her understand what sort of man he was. One who didn’t date women with designs on becoming the next Countess of Weymouth.
She raised a brow as they continued to walk down the long corridor. Much of the castle’s exterior was stonework, but a good majority of the inside had been rebuilt to have a more modern design, well, modern enough at any rate. Bastian knew that most of the interior of the Hall was a combination of Regency and Georgian styles. Richard had been the last of his ancestors to make major changes to the architecture and design on the inside as well as select the furnishings.
She was still gazing at him somewhat reproachfully. “What’s that look for?” he asked.
“Isn’t there supposed to be an heir and a spare or something? You’re an earl. Isn’t that part of your heritage? Continue the family line and everything?”
He chuckled, the sound dark and almost unnatural, startling even himself. “I’m not sure my family line should be continued, given our history. Perhaps it’s best if the line dies out with me.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Then why fix the castle? Why bother if you don’t plan to share the success of restoring your home with a family and making it last for generations to come.”
“Damnation!” He halted and smacked a balled fist into his opposite palm. “Even if I’m the last, it doesn’t mean what I’m doing is irrelevant. I don’t plan to marry, but that doesn’t mean I won’t give my life purpose by rebuilding my family’s ancestral home.” Hadn’t she herself whispered the words? What once was broken must be mended? The Hall was broken by grief, by tragedy, by loss. It wasn’t just the stones, but if he started there, he might heal his family’s wound. A meager hope, one he clung to without any real hope it would work. But what else could he do? Even if he never set foot in the Hall again, he feared the curse would cling to him and destroy anything he cared about. Better to be here alone and try to fix the place. He had to finish what his father started.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just making an observation.” She combed one hand through her hair, tugging it away from her face.
Bastian wasn’t sure what he should have said in response to her apology and was grateful that the library door was a few feet away. After what had just happened, he needed some time to escape her and regain his composure and his control. The violent mood swings he had just experienced in the last few minutes were entirely unlike him, and he suspected her presence was at the root of their cause. Avoiding her at least temporarily might help him solve matters.
There wasn’t much in the way of natural light in the castle, but Bastian’s predecessors had installed modern lightning. A massive three-tiered chandelier hung in the great hall, crystals beading the cables that connected the tiers. The chandelier cast a muted light along the ceiling, the faint glow warming the room below. Cobwebs laced the corners of the halls, out of reach of even the most agile maids. The space between the rafters and the floor beneath their feet was filled with cold air.
“Bastian, this is where the maid died, right? In 1962?”
He froze, shoulders tensing, before he looked over at her. While the papers had published the news of the maid’s mysterious death, no mention had been made nor pictures taken of the location of her body. How the bloody hell did this woman know where the maid had died? He raked a hand through his dark blond hair and scowled. “She was found hanging from the middle rafter.” He pointed straight above them.
She craned her neck back, obviously considering the location of the beam. “How could she have gotten there? The beam isn’t reachable from any place but the ground, and she would have needed a huge foot ladder. Don’t you think it’s odd?”
“It wasn’t a suicide.” His voice was harder than stone. “My family believes someone killed her.”
She stilled, going so silent, it was as if she forgot to breathe.
“So who did it?” She caught up with him as he started walking again.
His gaze flicked to hers, a pulse of heat shooting between them. She licked her lips unthinkingly, and his gaze followed the movement, and he felt to the need to draw a deeper breath. The sexual tension between them was thick enough that he could have sliced it with a blade. She kept pace with him as he kept walking until he paused at a pair of tall gilded doors.
“Here is the library. Please follow me.” He moved ahead of her and opened the door. Her little gasp made him smile. If there was one place that would garner such a reaction, it would be the library of Stormclyffe Hall.
“I’ve never…it’s so…” Words seemed to fail her.
He laughed, genuinely pleased at her reaction. He had struck the little American speechless at least for the moment.
“This way, I’ll take you to the family archives.” Once more he had his hand on her lower back and guided her toward the documents, which would distract her for the rest of the day.
He hoped.
Chapter Three
A kiss. A tangle of limbs, melding mouths, and a climax that had ripped her apart inside. It had changed her from the inside out. Jane rested her fingertips on her lips, falling deep into the hazy memory of their fiery passion.
It hadn’t been a daydream. One minute they’d been talking and the next… Something had taken her over, and like a stranger in her own body, she’d flung herself at Bastian and kissed him—more than kissed him. He’d had his hand between her legs, and he had made her come. It was wild, insane, and erotic. It was also disturbing. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought she’d been possessed. When they were together, there was this electric charge that seemed to twine about them, tugging them closer and closer until they shared the same breath, the same heartbeat. Kissing Bastian had been natural and right, even though she’d never met him before in her life.
She had tried to act like what happened meant nothing, that some temporary passion had swept them both away, but she couldn’t shake that feeling of sharing her body and losing control to someone else. And even more frighteningly, she couldn’t erase the memory of her lips forming one name over and over as she came apart in his arms.
Richard.
Had the stories of this place gotten to her? Was she going mad from the stress of her dissertation and the desire to end the bizarre and nightmarish dreams that haunted her almost nightly? Those seemed like more plausible explanations, but she couldn’t dismiss the sense that the answers to what was happening here and to her were just within reach. As though veiled by a cloud of mist, she couldn’t make out the shapes clearly. Solutions and answers were buried deep in the mire and fog.
As she trailed behind Bastian, she was torn between admiring his tight ass molded in charcoal slacks and admiring the beautiful interior of the castle. He hadn’t prepared her for the library though. Nothing could have.
None of the photographs of the Hall had ever revealed the library’s interior. She had assumed it was because it was like any other library in any other castle or manor house. How wrong she was.
The room was awash in bold reds and a range of pale yellows to deep golds. Wall panels were decorated with art that looked so familiar.
“Is this what I think it is?” She pointed to one of the panels with a red-painted background and a Chinese scene in yellow.
His lips twitched. “If you’re thinking of William Alexander’s book Views of China, then you are correct. Richard apparently enjoyed the text immensely and had an artist replicate many of the etchings.”
She smiled. “I can see why. The culture and the life… Can you imagine what it must have been like for Alexander?” William Alexander had been an
English watercolorist who visited China and made drawings of the scenery and life during his time there. His Views of China was a highly valued and much-admired work. Even the Brighton Pavilion Palace, which was built in Brighton for George, Prince of Wales as a seaside palace, boasted similar scenes inspired by Alexander’s book.
Bastian’s expression softened. “I would give so much to see through the eyes of the dead, to see what they have seen, to experience times I cannot fathom.” He looked away then, his gaze roving the two-story-high shelves of the library, but Jane couldn’t tear her attention from him.
How many women had fallen under his spell? A man haunted by his family’s past, a dedicated scholar, and as brooding and captivating as Lord Byron. If she let her thoughts run away with her, she knew Bastian would distract her from her dissertation.
Focus, Jane, focus.
The last thing she needed was to fall for him. After Tim, her heart couldn’t take it. She’d only just managed to stitch the bleeding, torn organ back together. Bastian would not be the one to tear it apart again.
They strolled farther into the room, and she tilted her head back to better admire the lotus-shaped chandeliers. Intricate paintings decorated each of the petals on every chandelier. In the middle of the wall to the right, a vast fireplace rose up with columns on either side, adorned with twining serpents. Unable to resist the urge, she hastened over to touch the pale Swedish green marble that formed the snake. The serpent’s features had been sculpted so precisely that she half expected it to come to life and bite her.
A massive mirror hung above the fireplace, and it reflected the windows on the opposite side of the library. A lush landscaped garden seemed to stretch for miles beyond the fireplace. The deceptive placing of the mirror created an enchanting illusion that one could walk through the mirror into an alternate world. A marble dragon perched atop the mirror’s gilt-edged frame. Its wings were spread wide, jaws gaping open as it silently roared.
