Sommersgate House

by Kristen Ashley

  She was leaned slightly forward and her chin was tucked into her chest, her arms crooked, hands resting on the pillow in front of her, the side of one palm lightly pressed against her nose. Her face was relaxed, the sleek line of her jaw partially covered by a soft fall of her hair.

  There was something about Julia in sleep, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it was something he liked.

  Watching her, he felt an odd sense of contentment settle over him.

  He had won; she had agreed to be his wife.

  He always knew he’d win however, he did not count on it taking so damn long.

  Nevertheless, the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory.

  And victory over Julia was exquisitely sweet.

  He pulled the heavy, golden hair away from her neck and kissed her there. She didn’t move, not even a twitch, but then, he thought with an inward smile, she was surely exhausted.

  Douglas was unbelievably energised.

  He rolled off the other side of the bed and caught sight of the clock. Cursing under his breath, he strode to his sitting room, closing the door to the bedroom with a soft click. He picked up the phone and dialled twenty.

  Mr. Kilpatrick answered at the Groundskeeper’s Cottage after two rings. Douglas could hear in the background what sounded like pandemonium.

  The children, it would seem, were either tearing apart the Kilpatrick’s home or ripping each other to shreds.

  Regardless of the tenor of the noise, there was something both pleasing and distressing about it. This was because Douglas had heard it before, time and again, whenever he’d go to Tamsin and Gavin’s home.

  He had never heard it at Sommersgate, not before Tamsin and Gavin’s deaths, nor after.

  Douglas was pleased to hear it again just as he was distressed it had stopped and all the reasons why.

  At Mr. Kilpatrick’s repeated greeting, Douglas shook off these thoughts and, without introducing himself, started to say, “Can you…” but stopped speaking when another phone was picked up and Mrs. Kilpatrick muttered a distracted hello.

  Douglas was forced to start again. “I need you to watch the children for a few more hours.”

  “Is everything all right?” Mrs. Kilpatrick asked immediately, sounding alarmed.

  Douglas found he was at a loss of what to say. He’d never been asked a question when he’d given an instruction. He couldn’t say that Julia was ill or Mrs. Kilpatrick would come racing down to the house. He certainly couldn’t tell them the truth.

  “Miss Julia is,” he fought for a diplomatic explanation and found one, “indisposed.”

  Silence greeted this announcement and then he heard a phone inexplicably clatter down in its cradle. Mr. Kilpatrick assured him the children were safe with them and Douglas rung off.

  He returned to the bed, sliding in behind Julia and fitting his body against the silken length of hers while he slid his arm around her waist. He was debating with himself whether to take a moment to relive the extraordinary events of last night or to press his hand between her legs just so that he could hear another of her husky moans. Then, later, he’d coax her to say his name in her sweet, low voice when her limbs were wrapped tight around him and he was buried inside her.

  While he was uncommonly undecided, she settled into his body, wiggling her ass into his groin.

  Immediately, he chose the latter.

  Before he could move though, she mumbled something sleepily into the pillow.

  His arm curled tighter around her and his lips sought her ear.

  “What?” he whispered and he felt her delicious shiver at the sound of his voice. This made his contentment grow.

  He enjoyed his power over her, her response to his merest touch, the sound of his voice, in fact, he exalted in it.

  She lifted her chin, nearly bumping his head with hers.

  “Wanna kitty,” she mumbled.

  “What?” Douglas repeated, thinking he hadn’t heard her correctly.

  “Used to have a kitty, would sleep in on the weekends and he’d curl up right here.” Her hand fluttered to her waist then fell to rest on his arm. “Had to put him to sleep a couple of weeks before Gavin died.” She took a deep breath and then let it out in a long shuddering sigh. “I miss him.”

  Her voice was husky with sleep as well as longing for her cat.

  She settled further into Douglas and then again whispered softly, “Wanna kitty.”

  Douglas pulled her deeper into his body.

  “I’ll get you anything you want,” he promised her.

  “Just a kitty,” she answered and then fell back to sleep.

  He’d get her a cat; he’d get her a dozen of them. And a sapphire just like the emerald she still hadn’t taken off. And more than likely a ruby. And a fat pearl surrounded by diamonds.

  He buried his face in her hair and smelled tangerines and jasmine. He discovered last night she wore the scent between her breasts as well.

  He discovered a lot of things last night.

  He discovered that when Julia climaxed, the legs she wrapped around him tightened convulsively, drawing him deeper into her body when he thought he couldn’t go any deeper. He discovered that she had an incredibly talented tongue. He discovered that, even though he’d become excessively fond of her wardrobe, the sexiest thing he’d seen her wear was his dress shirt.

  He also discovered that the sight of her with another man, or, in the case of last night, quite a number of them, turned him into a jealous lunatic.

  He’d never felt a fury the like of last night, nor behaved in the way he did. He lost all control. That wasn’t just unusual, it was unprecedented.

  He didn’t regret his behaviour, not in the slightest. The results spoke for themselves. She was there in his arms, in his bed and he intended for that not to change. Soon, she’d have his ring on her finger and she’d take his name. He’d been certain this was what he wanted, but now he realised this decision was absolute.

  His hand splayed over her stomach, wondering, as he hadn’t used protection (either time), if they’d created a child last night. Something stirred in him at the thought but he brushed it aside. Surely she wouldn’t have allowed him to continue if she needed some protection. Not, of course, that he’d given her much choice. However, a clever woman who looked like Julia, and thus received the amount of attention she did (judging from last night), undoubtedly kept herself protected.

  At the thought of that attention, his hand shifted upward and he cupped her breast.

  There would be no more of that, now she was truly his, and he vowed to himself that would never change.

  He used the pad of his thumb to stroke her nipple. As he was becoming accustomed, her body immediately responded, her nipple tightening. Most women of his acquaintance acted coy or were overeager or were greedy but not Julia. Julia took everything he was willing to give but she gave everything of herself in return, honestly and openly.

  Just then, he heard a noise in the sitting room and his body reflexively tensed, his hand tightening on her breast and Julia grumbled sleepily, her eyes fluttering open, her neck twisting so she could look at him.

  He released her breast, put a finger to her lips and lifted his head to listen.

  Someone was in the sitting room.

  He was out of the bed in flash, pulling on his trousers.

  Where the bloody hell was Nick? He thought.

  No one should be in the house. No one should be able to get through Nick.

  Julia had turned toward him and pulled herself up on her elbow. Her other hand was clutching the covers to her breasts. Her eyes were sleepy and curious and her curls were tumbling around her face and shoulders. He put his finger to his lips this time to keep her silent and she nodded, bemused, as he moved stealthily to the door. If he needed to, he’d find a weapon in the other room and gave the room a mental inventory deciding on his target. If it was one of the children, however, come back for some reason, he certainly didn’t need to go te
aring into the room with a makeshift weapon raised and threatening.

  It was a good decision.

  As he yanked open the door, Mrs. Kilpatrick jerked upright, both her hands flying to her face.

  “My lord… sir.” She stopped and looked crazily around the room as if she was considering diving behind an armchair to hide herself before her eyes came back to him. “Mister Douglas,” she finished, using a name for him she’d never used before.

  Then she gestured to an extravagant tray that lay on a table. It was filled with plates carrying plain, almond and chocolate croissants, a selection of marmalades and jams sitting in little china bowls, a piece of butter moulded into a fleur de lis, a crystal bowl filled with sliced melon and strawberries, a silver coffeepot and two delicate china cups, two stemmed glasses filled with orange juice, a folded newspaper and even a slim crystal vase holding a single red rose.

  “I brought a bit of breakfast. Just croissants and…” she trailed off then started again. “I didn’t have a lot of time. I didn’t want to disturb you but I thought you might be hungry.”

  Before he could respond, Julia’s shocked voice sounded from behind Douglas.

  “Mrs. K!”

  Douglas turned to see her standing there, not in her dress or his shirt but, instead, wrapped tightly in his dressing gown.

  Mrs. Kilpatrick looked at Julia, she blinked and then, he could swear, the ends of her lips twitched upward.

  “Miss Julia, I brought breakfast,” Mrs. Kilpatrick told her.

  Gone was the stammering, Mrs. K bent and gamely made a few adjustments to the tray, straightening some lace-edged linen serviettes unnecessarily. “It’s not much but it’ll do in a pinch. Enjoy. Don’t worry about the children; Roddy’s taken them off to the ice rink. You’ve got hours.” She emphasised the last word meaningfully and then threw Douglas an encouraging look that both surprised him and made him want to roar with laughter.

  He had the insane urge to walk up to his housekeeper and kiss her cheek. Instead, Douglas said not a word, simply nodded. If he’d opened his mouth to speak, he would surely have laughed.

  He did, however, allow himself to grin.

  Julia, who had turned scarlet, muttered an embarrassed, “Uh… thank you.”

  Mrs. Kilpatrick smiled at Julia and Douglas witnessed stark adoration shining in her eyes. It struck him that this woman shared his home for nearly the length of his life and she never looked at him in that way. Julia had been there two months and Mrs. Kilpatrick would have laid down her life for her.

  For some reason, this pleased Douglas immensely.

  The older woman turned to him and he nodded at her in approval and she slowly, hesitantly, to his disbelief, winked at him.

  Then she was gone.

  He turned his eyes to Julia, who was staring at the door.

  “She must think I’m a tramp, a tart,” Julia burst out. “Oh my God, this is terrible!”

  “Do you think,” Douglas started and Julia turned humiliated eyes to him, “that she would bring you breakfast if she thought you were a tart?”

  Julia looked at him, at the breakfast, at the door Mrs. Kilpatrick just exited through, back at Douglas and then she said, “Doesn’t she bring all your women breakfast?”

  Douglas’s lingering grin immediately turned into a scowl.

  “No,” he replied shortly, walking toward her, “she has not once, in my debauched past, brought breakfast to a woman in this room.”

  Well certainly not unless he ordered her to do so but Julia didn’t need to know that.

  Julia ignored his tone and his comment and skirted around him to head toward the breakfast tray.

  Douglas sighed. He would not be amused if she was going to begin resisting him again. He crossed his arms on his chest and watched as she sat on the couch in front of the food and reached for the coffeepot.

  “Coffee?” she asked, lifting the pot gratuitously and failing to meet his eyes. He nodded and she poured, adding no milk or sugar and walked to him to hand him a cup. He continued to regard her, wondering at her mood, as she made her own, one sugar and a splash of milk. She deposited the pot on the tray, grabbed the cup by its saucer and an almond croissant and headed across the room.

  To the door.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded to know.

  “To my room, to wash my face, brush my teeth, take a shower,” she replied, her tone carefully blasé and she continued moving.

  “You can do that here,” he told her.

  She stopped and turned to him, her mouth opening to speak when a knock came at the door.

  “Yes?” he called before Julia could utter a word and Mrs. Kilpatrick popped her head around the door.

  “Just brought you a couple of things, Miss Julia, toothpaste, your face wash…” she sidled in and stood, carrying a toiletries bag. She looked confused for a moment as Julia’s hands were full so she moved to Douglas and, as he had a free hand, gave him the bag. “Thought you might want an easy morning and not have to run all over the house. You’ve been busy lately, you deserve a break.” She stopped at the door, offered them both a cheeky smile and then closed the door softly behind her.

  Julia swung widened eyes to his as her jaw dropped and Douglas raised his brow at her.

  He could swear he heard her make a growling noise and she retraced her steps, put down her cup and croissant, walked to Douglas, snatched the bag out of his hand and tramped to his bathroom.

  She didn’t take long and when she came back, fresh faced, her hair pulled back in a messy bundle secured with a clip, he was seated in an armchair, sipping his coffee and reading the paper. Without access to his dressing gown, he had shrugged on his dress shirt to ward off the slight chill in the room but hadn’t bothered buttoning it.

  It smelled of her perfume and he decided he liked that.

  Very much.

  She sat on the couch and reached for her coffee, her movements jerky, her face duelling between bemused and mutinous.

  “Is something wrong?” Douglas inquired, wondering how long courtesy would require for him to give her to have her breakfast before he dragged her back into the bedroom.

  Or perhaps, he would have her on the couch.

  Julia interrupted his pleasant reverie.

  “Well, she might have brought your other women breakfast,” she continued doggedly with the idea of his “other women”, “but she probably didn’t bring them toothpaste.” Julia looked from her coffee to him and then grabbed the croissant. “It would seem she approves!” she exclaimed as if this idea was impossible.

  “Firstly, there are no other women.” When Julia looked like she would interrupt, he added, “Anymore. And secondly, yes, I would say her behaviour indicates approval. Why is that hard to believe?”

  Julia took a bite of croissant and contemplated this piece of news while she chewed. She did not, however, answer.

  He folded the paper and tossed it on the table.

  She jumped.

  He sighed again at her reaction before he said, “Julia. We need to talk.”

  She swallowed the bite of croissant as if it had the heft and width of an anvil. “About what?”

  “About last night,” he replied.

  “What about it?” she asked, giving him a sidelong glance.

  “You agreed to marry me.”

  At that, she paled and faced him head on.

  “You do remember agreeing to marry me?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing.

  “Of course!”

  He felt his body relax and hadn’t realised he’d tensed in preparation for her response.

  However, there was something wrong, she was acting cagey and guarded. Or, more cagey and guarded than normal.

  Her last husband hadn’t handled her well, to say the least, and Douglas forced himself to move cautiously.

  “Come here,” he commanded gently.

  She hesitated, her eyes darting around looking for escape. He leaned forward, pulled her coffee cup out of her
hand and set it in its saucer and then divested her of her croissant. Then he grabbed her hand and tugged lightly. She rose to her feet with a deep, ungracious sigh and stepped the two paces toward him. He opened his legs and positioned her until she was standing between them, staring down at him, his hand still holding hers.

  “Is something bothering you?” he asked softly.

  Something dark crossed her eyes and she shook her head, then nodded, then ended with moving her head in a circle that encompassed both.

  Douglas waited patiently.

  “I… well, I wasn’t exactly prepared for what happened last night,” she admitted.

  The realisation dawned on him what she was referring to and he felt a strange sensation that was part expectation, part hope and part triumph.

  “Are you using birth control?” he queried.

  Her body jerked.

  “What?” she breathed then her hand ripped out of his and flew to her mouth as her eyes grew wide. “Oh my God.”

  Apparently, he realised, she was not referring to that kind of preparation.

  He stood which brought him to within an inch of her. He was pleased to note that she didn’t try to move away. He slid his hands around her waist, settling them loosely at the small of her back, enjoying this casual intimacy tremendously. “If you weren’t talking about contraception…”

  Her face cleared and she lifted her hand and waved it blithely between their two faces, nearly knocking him on the nose.

  “Not to worry,” she proclaimed. “Sean and I tried to have children for years and couldn’t. He went to get checked and they found nothing wrong with him. So, obviously, it was me who was unable to conceive. Sean didn’t want to go through all the rigmarole of the infertility clinic…” she didn’t finish but heaved another sigh, though he didn’t know if it was of relief or resignation.

  Douglas continued to stare at her.

  “Did they find something wrong with you?” he asked, his voice quiet, finding himself far more interested in her answer than he would have imagined himself to be.

  “Sean told me I didn’t need to check, he was okay and –” she started to explain.