“But…” she began, and then she could think of nothing else to say. She didn’t want to contradict him. She wanted to be important to him.
“But nothing. You’re not ready, and I’m not going to push you. In the mean time, I’ll just have to work on my patience.” And without another word, he reached up and slowly buttoned a button on her blouse.
“I can do it myself,” she said, and she moved to do just that.
But as she got to the third button, he said, “You missed a button.”
“How can you even see that?” But when she felt the front of her blouse, she realized he was right.
He merely chuckled and moved away. He pulled open the door that led into the ballroom and light spilled into the small room. He looked back and met her gaze in an earth-moving look that all but peered right into her soul. “Let me know whenever you want to resume where we left off.” Then before she could get her buttons right, he managed to slide the framed works of art into the ballroom without her help.
Surprise rippled through her when they stepped back into the ballroom and found not only was it empty of work men, but it was nearly finished. The floor was completely intact, and Torrie walked on it carefully. It would need a coat of varnish or whatever floors needed to be sealed, but otherwise it looked finished. The walls—where they weren’t to be papered, and the ceiling sparkled due to the glitter mix that was in the paint. The ceiling had been painted in such a way that not only did it twinkle like stars, but the roller marks were done in swirls. All of it reflected in the soft light of the chandelier in the center of the ceiling and the several sconces that graced the walls and the columns.
“Good grief, they’re done all ready.” Torrie glanced at her watch. She reached out and tapped her watch with one finger. “My watch must be wrong. There’s no way it could be after five. We weren’t up in the attic that long.”
“Maybe it just didn’t seem like that long. I did spend more than a few minutes kissing you,” he pointed out. “And we danced for quite a while, remember?”
“Of course, I remember.” But had it lasted that long?
“Also, we explored. And we studied the paintings for some time. And don’t forget, it took a bit of work to get them down the stairs.”
She looked around the room, taking in all the work that was completed, as she was confused by the lost time. “I guess I know what Rip Van Winkle must have felt like,” she muttered, “because I know we weren’t up there that long.”
“Argue it all you want, but look out the doors leading to the balcony. See how dark it is. Of course it’s still raining, too.”
“No wonder I’m starving suddenly,” Torrie said. “We stayed up there right through lunch. And this time, it wasn’t my fault.”
He shook his head and chuckled before he carried the painting of the children to the fireplace and set it down carefully. “I’ll have Alice make us something.”
“No, don’t. I should go. Not only did I not see Eleanor all day, but neither did you, and you should have some private time with her. Leave the paintings where they are. I’ll be back in the morning, and I’ll have the work crew hang them. You don’t need to move them around.” Pain clawed at the back of her head and the base of her neck at her disorientation. She’d never before lost track of time like she seemed to in Hargrove House. And it probably didn’t help that she hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink all day, either. Absently, she rubbed her temples. “Gosh, this feels so weird. I’m sure we weren’t up there all that time.”
He looked at her as if the loss of time or her leaving didn’t matter to him. “If you feel you must, go, I mean. Have a safe trip home. Be careful in the rain.” He ignored her offer of the work crew and carefully carried the painting of the woman near the door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her words sounded like such lame words after all they’d shared in the attic of treasures, the steps with him holding her in his arms as they danced, the time spent studying the paintings, and the kiss in the dark room at the bottom of the stairs. She felt as if they’d shared something as personal as a night of making love and she was merely walking away with an, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She moved toward the door as he carried the painting the same direction. But she wasn’t as quick to leave as she felt she should be or as she planned to be. She looked for reasons to hesitate. As he placed the painting on the floor and carefully leaned it against the wall, Torrie stopped to study it closer in the brighter light of the ballroom. The woman in the portrait stared at Torrie and demanded attention. And still, Torrie had no idea what the woman tried to say.
Finally, when Torrie could find no more reason to stay, she moved toward the stairs. “Will you tell Eleanor good night for me?”
“Why don’t you stay and tell her yourself.”
“Because it’s late. I should go; can you please tell her I’ll see her tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t think she’ll be angry, do you?”
“Eleanor loves you. I doubt she’ll get angry at you. Why don’t you come early tomorrow and the two of you can share breakfast together.”
Torrie smiled at the thought. “I’d love that. But don’t tell her. That way if I can’t make it for some reason, she’s not disappointed, and it will be a surprise for her.”
“All right, I won’t. But you really could stay,” he insisted. “We could sit in front of the fire in the parlor and have wine.”
Damn, it was temping, Torrie was clearly losing the battle to keep her feelings at bay and get her job done. There was simply no denying William Dalton. She decided a compromise couldn’t be all that bad. “How about if I come early for breakfast with Eleanor and you? It will be my way of taking this relationship slowly. I know it’s not wine in front of the fire, but…”
She couldn’t go on. The fact was she simply didn’t want to go on. She wanted to stay and have wine and sit close to him and watch the fire. She wanted to never leave Hargrove House. She didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to see them again. And she wanted more than breakfast tomorrow. She wanted breakfast every day. Even though she had a key she used often, it wasn’t her key, not really. She knew as soon as the job was through, she’d have to give the key back and move on to the next job. There were nights—like this one—when she left Hargrove House thinking she wouldn’t be able to simply move on to her next job, not without leaving her heart behind in this house with the family who lived within it.
As they moved down the spiral staircase past the second floor, Torrie heard Eleanor’s soft voice as she spoke to someone. She listened more carefully and realized Eleanor wasn’t just talking, she was reading out loud. She must be reading to her doll, Torrie thought. Torrie couldn’t see Alice sitting and listening to Eleanor read. So it had to be Miss Velvet who sat and listened. Torrie smiled thinking Miss Velvet was a great listener.
“And the great ship tossed to and fro on the wild sea. The ropes that held Captain Johnson to the mast cut painfully into his ribs,” Eleanor read.
Torrie would have loved to sit for a while and listen to the girl read. She nearly laughed out loud at the idea of wanting to do studies again after just one night. If Torrie’s mother could see her now—wanting to study. She would never believe it!
As Torrie continued down the stairs, she could have sworn she heard a second voice ask, “Why did he tie himself to the mast?”
“Because he might get tossed over the side by all the waves if he didn’t,” Eleanor replied.
Torrie paused and listened before she realized Eleanor must have a friend visiting. Given Eleanor’s problems with her mother dying, as Will explained, Torrie was delighted that the girl had a friend.
In the parlor alone, Torrie packed up her laptop and her purse, slipped into her coat and grabbed her umbrella. Her stomach growled painfully. Maybe she’d treat herself, she thought, and she’d go and have supper at Val’s, the second, fancier restaurant in town. Why did she try and kid herself?
She didn’t want dinner at Val’s. She didn’t want to go anywhere. She looked over at the fireplace in the parlor. It was cold and empty and dead. And yet, it was easy to envision warm, inviting flame. It would be just as easy to sit on the rug before it and let the warmth of wine fill her along with the fire’s heat and Will’s touch. She and Will could even munch on cheese and crackers as far as she was concerned.
Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she would let go of all her inhibitions and stay with him—them. Tomorrow, she would be close enough to done on Hargrove House to relax a little.
Frustration boiling within her, she quickly moved to the door. Will was nowhere to be seen as she let herself out and locked the door behind her. And it was probably a good thing he didn’t follow her. She didn’t feel strong enough to say no another time. The tornado of emotions in the hidden room left her feeling exhausted. And hearing Eleanor’s sweet voice was nothing more than icing on the cake of frustration she was already trying to digest.
The cold night did little to cool her frustration. Fall was making its way toward winter quicker that Torrie hoped. How she wished she’d had more beautiful days to enjoy the gazebo.
Because she’d known of all the deliveries for the day, she’d purposely parked in back of house in front of the old garage. She had no idea what Will might have parked in the garage. Yet, she easily saw the way the rain pounded its roof. Various parts of that same roof flapped in the wind in the dark and looked like bats flapping their wings. Torrie watched for a long moment as she quickly worked to dodge the drops and reach her car and she decided that whenever the house was finished, the garage was next. Despite her umbrella and her speed in reaching her car, by the time she jumped in, she was soaked from the waist down and shivering. Her pretty flowered skirt clung to her. It was impossible to ignore the miserable feeling.
She shook off the idea that Hargrove House was warm.
And shivering with cold made facing the dark of the night easier.
“I hate rain,” she muttered in the silent car. “But I’ll be home in fifteen minutes.” The news didn’t console her or remove the feeling of something like grief that filled her at leaving. She was worse than wet and miserable—she felt as if her heart had been ripped out and left in the ballroom of Hargrove House.
She didn’t know how she could go from fearing Hargrove House to feeling as if it was home in such a short time, but she had.
Like last night, a hot bath and hotter cup of tea was in tall order as soon as she got home. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t convince herself the tea would taste much better than any wine Will might serve. She also couldn’t persuade herself to believe that all she needed was dry, warm clothes to feel better as she started her car.
She should stop fighting him and stop fighting her feelings for him. With every day, every kiss, she was closer to giving in. And why not she asked herself? The worse that could happen was she’d wind up with a broken heart. And hadn’t he promised to never lie to her or hurt her?
In her car, there were only the sounds of the rain pounding on the roof and Torrie’s breathing as she calmed herself and the blowing of the heater as she waited to warm up after the sprint to the car. She licked her lips and tried to ignore the taste of Will that still lingered as the heater poured out at full blast.
“I don’t need any wine,” she said out loud. “I just need a hot bath.” Even in the stillness, she recognized the falseness of her words. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not in the house anymore. And I’m not going back. Not tonight. But tomorrow…I’ll be back with them tomorrow, and I’m going to see where my feelings might take me. I don’t have to be afraid of the house or of giving my heart. Will Dalton might have a secretary, but he promised I’d never catch him in the pool with her.”
She pointedly refused to look up at the light pouring from the windows as if to call her as she put the car in reverse. She looked down at the dash as she turned the heater vent to blow on her wet, cold legs. Then she backed out, not knowing how the rain had washed out the old, barely used drive, until she found her tires spinning in the mud.
After several unsuccessful attempts to go forward, then backward, and unsuccessfully gaining any friction, she gave up and let out a huff.
“All right,” she said out loud, as if trying to convince herself. “I may not need any wine, but I do have to go back into the house and tell Will I’m stuck in his drive. He probably wouldn’t like it if I used my cell and called a tow truck without telling him. And he’d like it even less if I continued to spin my tires and make ruts.”
Leaving everything in the car except for her umbrella and staring at the lights of the house to keep from shuddering at the dark, she stepped out—right into a huge puddle that soaked her feet instantly through her heels. “Damn…” Her shoes were probably just as ruined as her skirt. And it was too late to worry about any of it now. Her feet felt instantly freezing cold. At least if she hurried, she might still be able to save her blouse—the blouse Will had unbuttoned a short time earlier. She grit her teeth to keep them from chattering as she tried to force the vision of Will’s hands on her buttons away.
The thought of saving her blouse was lost as soon as she took three quick steps toward the house, toward the light. She stepped in another puddle and slipped on a combination of loose rocks and mud. In the same moment, the heel on her left shoe broke and her ankle turned. Her wet heels went out from under her. Like some cartoon character that is horizontal for a long moment before slamming to the pavement, Torrie suddenly found her backside in another puddle, along with her elbows and shoulders and the back of her head.
The cold rush of mud and water against her back and her neck took her breath away. And still it didn’t cool the pain that shot up her leg all the way to her hip from her twisted ankle or the pain from her shoulder and head that hit the pavement. She couldn’t help but cry out.
She screamed actually. She lay in the wetness for a long moment, unmoving, taking inventory to make sure everything in her body was in working condition. Too bad Will couldn’t have been there to save her as he’d caught her in the small room leading to the attic, she thought. As she stared up at nothing but dark and clouds, the rain hit her face and stung with pain and coldness. In the next moment, she discovered how well her body worked as she shivered uncontrollably. The shivers seemed to do little more than quiver the pain about her body like the ball of a pinball machine. And it took all her energy to blink back the tears that sprang to her eyes.
She tried to get up, she really did. But the wet and cold combined with the slippery muck beneath her, her shivering, and the loose small gravel just gave way and caused her to keep slipping every time she tried to move. The instant throbbing in her ankle and her headache didn’t help. She tried to push up with her hands and both of them slid outwards.
She splashed into the muck again. This time, she didn’t scream, but did let out an involuntary moan.
And suddenly he was there.
Will.
She hadn’t seen him coming in the darkness. She hadn’t heard his steps through the pounding rain and the sounds of her own movements in the mud.
But he was there. She didn’t have to see him in the darkness. She would recognize his touch in pitch black.
“Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“No…Yes…I turned my ankle, but I’m sure it’s all right. At least I think it is. My pride however is a different story.” For some reason, she thought she needed to yell. It helped with keeping her voice from shaking like the rest of her. She thought she might burst out crying. She remembered what he’d said about how her tears would affect him, and she actually bit her lip to keep her voice from quivering and giving her away.
She tried to move again and thought she was going to have to turn over and expose the other side of herself to the mud in order to push herself off the ground. For a long moment, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to try standing. Standing might prove to Will her ankle was hurt
more than she let on. And if she had one more thing that gave her even an ounce of pain, she knew she’d be bawling like a baby. Neither of them needed that so she didn’t move to turn over.
Not that it mattered. She didn’t get the chance to try and move at all as Will beat her to it. He easily scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. He asked nothing of her as he turned and headed back into the house.
One moment, she was freezing and hurting in the mud. The next moment, she was warm, pressed against his chest. Torrie found there was nothing more comforting than the strength and warmth of his arms. She snuggled against him and allowed him to carry her through the rain to safety. She pressed her face to his neck, and she was able to fight off the shivers with the help of his body heat. He smelled of the outdoors and clean rain and his own familiar, enticing scent. She could have slept in his arms.
“Open the door for us,” he said, still holding her in his arms.
She reached out and opened the door. In the bright light of the kitchen inside the back door, he looked at her but still didn’t let her out of his arms. “Good heavens, you’re a mess,” he commented.
In the warmth of the kitchen, she couldn’t help but shiver uncontrollably again. “Yes, and I feel wonderful! Thanks, you look great, too.” Her words were broken as she fought the chattering of her teeth and the lingering need to cry.
Actually, he didn’t look bad at all. His clothes and hair were soaked, plastered to him. And yet, it merely gave him a rugged, strong appeal. Beneath his wet shirt, his muscles were well defined. Torrie would have liked to reach up and run her fingers through the wet hair at the back of his neck, but she was too busy fighting hypothermia and pain that continuously traveled from her foot to her head. She also couldn’t ignore the way her shoe grew tighter with the swelling of her injured ankle.
With little hesitation, he carried her right into the bath between the kitchen and what Alice called the wash room. It was a good thing all the fixtures arrived earlier and got installed, she thought—how convenient. She had designed it as a type of mud room—appropriately named right then. There was a shower, commode and large sink besides the washer and dryer.
Hargrove House: The Haunted Book One Page 12
