by Margaret Way
He had no quarrel with his guest room. It was great. It was in a steel-and-glass addition to the rear of the house with unobstructed views over the beautiful landscaped grounds. It was late afternoon yet the room was bathed in golden light. White dominated the colour scheme, the only touches of colour coming from the soft greyish-blue cushions on the single armchair and the rug thrown over an armless matching sofa. Someone had placed blue hydrangeas in a glass vase on the bedside table below the tall white lamp.
“I’ll be more than happy here, Carol,” he said.
“You’re lucky—you have an en suite.” She extended an arm.
“Won’t that put someone’s nose out of joint?” He had to assume not all the bedrooms had an adjoining en suite. It was an old house after all, albeit a mansion.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter. Their noses are out of joint already.” She turned to leave. Now he could study the back of her head. She had twisted her hair into a captivating little knot, exposing her shell-like ears and her nape. Fiery little tendrils sprang out everywhere, onto her nape, her forehead, and her temples. He had the mad desire to pick her up in his arms, cradle her awhile, then lay her down gently on the bed and make endless love to her. They could fall asleep together entwined, awakening only to make love again...
Remember your role, for God’s sake.
To take advantage of Carol would be morally reprehensible.
“Come down when you’re ready,” she was saying, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Uncle Maurice has asked some of his friends and their wives. Troy’s here with his current girlfriend, Summer, who seems to have hit it off with Amanda. That’s good. They can keep one another entertained while we explore the attic. What I really want to find is everything pertaining to me and my father. My mother, too, I guess. I overheard someone say only recently my grandfather’s power and influence got my mother off a serious charge.”
“It’s a claim that has been made many times before, but not true. It’s as I told you, Carol. People love to talk. They make things up.”
Her blue eyes met his. Imploringly, he thought. “What if we find something out?”
“Like what?” He frowned.
“I’m sorry I’m involving you in this. But, young as I was, I was aware my parents weren’t...happy together.”
“Carol, you couldn’t begin to count the number of married couples who are dissatisfied with one another and their lives. They don’t go around killing one another.”
“I’ve thought of all that, Damon,” she said, shaking her head. “But I can’t help wondering. I wouldn’t be surprised either if my mother and Jeff turn up. I couldn’t reach her. I left messages. She knows I’m here. She might even know you’re here. Your friend Amber, I’ve heard, is something of a troublemaker.”
He couldn’t deny that. “So what have you heard?”
His handsome face had tautened. She couldn’t hold his brilliant black gaze. “Nothing much. Let’s forget it. Dinner is at eight. Drinks seven-thirty. We’ve got plenty of time to explore the attic. After dinner you might like to help decorate the tree.”
“Carol, I’ll do anything you require of me,” he said.
* * *
Indifferent to anyone’s wishes but her own, Roxanne Emmett told her husband they would be driving out to Beaumont for Christmas.
“What!” Roxanne would never cease to amaze him.
“I said, we’re heading for Beaumont. Carol is my daughter, my only child. She wouldn’t dream of spending Christmas without me.”
“Just how often have you dreamed of spending Christmas without her?” Jeff retaliated. “Come on, give me a break, Roxy. They hate you out there. You’re not invited. You’re the woman who let Adam Chancellor drown.”
“That doesn’t hurt me any more, Jeff—all the heartless insinuations. I would no more have let Adam drown than you.”
“Right,” said Jeff. “Then I’m keepin’ off boats.”
* * *
Damon, as one might expect, had been greeted with enthusiasm by all the women, including Amanda and Troy’s blonde girlfriend of the month, Summer Horton. She gave Damon a very thorough assessment.
Maurice Chancellor maintained his role of charming host. His three cronies, known by reputation to Damon, were pleasant. Troy gave his usual scowl. Dallas, on top form, refused point-blank to loosen up. She repeated her objection to putting up the Christmas tree but Carol politely overrode her.
“My grandfather, if he were here, would have no objection. My grandmother would have been very pleased. So the Christmas tree goes up. Damon and I are off to the attic to see where it’s stored.”
A friend of Maurice Chancellor offered his help to bring it down. “Is it big?”
“Very big,” Dallas said, looking like she felt her late father-in-law’s demise sharply.
“Fancy a walk around outside?” Amanda asked Summer. Amanda felt she was in fairyland.
“Ooh lovely!” Summer stood up, her short dress showing off her short, curvy figure. Summer had tried very hard to get Troy Chancellor’s attention—making a connection with rich guys was her known objective—only Troy Chancellor was proving to be such a self-satisfied jerk!
* * *
The attic was a huge space. Damon turned on the lights while Carol paused in the doorway, peering in. To Damon’s eyes she looked nervous, even a bit frightened. “What is it, Carol?” He found himself holding out a hand, his brows knitted in concern.
“It’s a scary place, isn’t it?” Her soft tone faded into silence. She might have been seeing ghosts, yet she came to him, allowing him to lock her fingers in his.
He stared around them, perplexed. He had expected cluttered chaos but the extensive under-roof area, although stacked like an Aladdin’s Cave with unused or unwanted treasures, was generally speaking ordered. He could see chairs, bureaux, tables, rosewood stands—Chinese by the look of them—cabinets of all kinds, bronze and marble busts of God knew who, Coromandel screens, a complete set of Louis Vuitton luggage, stacked paintings in overly ornate gilded frames, chests in abundance, wedding chests, carved chests, painted chests, you name it. Lamps of all kinds sat on tables and stands, many hung with glittering lustres. A Victorian mahogany long-case clock stood against a wall. It didn’t look as though the family had thrown out a thing in the entire time they had occupied the house. There were no spooky drapes thrown over anything, no cobwebs, little sign of dust, although there would inevitably be dust. Just a mind-bending conglomeration of no-doubt valuable but disused things.
“It would be one hell of a job cataloguing all this,” he said wryly.
She didn’t answer. She was staring about her. Carol Chancellor was a strong young woman, but right at that moment she was on edge. Was her subconscious making some very unpleasant connections? “I haven’t been up here since I was five years old,” she whispered to him as though fearing being overheard.
“Who did you come with?” He suddenly wanted to put a face to that person. He hadn’t forgotten that fleeting look of alarm that had passed across her face when she had first met her uncle after fifteen long years. Her face wore much the same expression right now.
“I don’t know. Bit of a sad case, me.”
“In what way, Carol?” He hated to see her troubled.
“We lock down on what we don’t want to remember. Isn’t that right?” She lifted her glowing head to him.
“We all tend to keep things we don’t want to confront below the surface.” He continued to hold her hand. She made no attempt to pull away. They stood together. “We lodge them at the back of our minds. What do you think happened here, Carol? What frightened you when you were a little girl?”
She shook her head, almost in desolation. “So many unanswered questions in my family, Damon. Bad blood.” The strength his hand transmitted was penetrating right through her. She stared about her silently for a moment more. He didn’t hurry her. “I think I remember...crawling behind one of the chests—the Italian one.”
> He didn’t know which one that was. “Point it out.”
She did.
“You couldn’t have come alone. You came with someone. Or did you find your way up here by yourself? I can imagine your doing that. You would have been an adventurous child.”
“Well, yes, I’m not saying I didn’t get into trouble. I used to pretend Beaumont was a palace and I was the little princess. It all belonged to me. Something happened here, Damon. But it won’t come.”
“No recurring dreams?”
“Many, many dreams about my father,” she admitted sadly. Even with Damon beside her strange fears were crawling around in her. “But enough of that!” She looked up at him, trying for a smile. “We came to find the Christmas tree, didn’t we? Not talk about my neuroses.”
“You’re no way neurotic, Carol. I believe, now you’re back at Beaumont, your memory will come. We won’t push it. When you remember you must tell me. Promise?” He couldn’t bear to consider the thought someone might have molested her. Anything was possible, even to those in highly privileged places.
“Oh, I will,” she said with a surge of relief.
“Why don’t you let me find the Christmas tree?” he suggested, drawing her forward until they were beside a set of four Louis-style armchairs with silk damask upholstery and rich gilding. They could have been genuine eighteenth century for all he knew.
“It’s okay I don’t want to sit down. I want to make use of our time. Why don’t you find the tree and all the decorations? They would be in one of the chests. I think—” her eyes swept the space “—the bluey-green one painted with tulips. The tree obviously would be in one of the tall cupboards.”
“Right!” Damon moved off. He found all the glittering baubles stored in the green chest, but it would take a little longer to find the tree. There was just so much stuff. Incredible, really. The Chancellors had been big-time hoarders.
Carol walked quickly down the centre aisle. She knew she would have to come back again over the next few days, but for now she was intent on starting her investigation. She began to open boxes. There were so many of them. She could take her pick of dozens. Writing boxes, table boxes, toiletry boxes, knife boxes, decanter boxes. She began opening others at random that might store documents. She was vaguely aware Damon had located the Christmas tree and the decorations collected over many long years.
Frustrated, she opened an old travelling trunk, then jerked back in shock. Suddenly and beyond doubt she knew why the attic held such fears for her. Her face pale, she fell to her knees, taking out a large wedding portrait and studying it.
“What have you found?” Damon came to her, alerted not only by her silence but the tension in her slight frame.
Wordlessly she held up the silver-framed photograph.
“The bride is clearly your mother. The handsome bridegroom is your father.” That much was obvious. The Chancellor brothers had been very much alike.
From paleness, she flushed. “Beautiful, wasn’t she? Still is. A beautiful sexy woman who didn’t give a damn about doing wrong. Never repented. Never, ever!” Despite the fact she was fighting for control, Carol burst into tears.
“Carol!”
Self-consciously, she dipped her head. She didn’t want Damon to see her cry, but she couldn’t stop the tears. They flowed.
“Carol,” Damon murmured again. His voice was quiet and, beyond that, tender. It was impossible not to offer comfort. He took her into his arms, the enormous surge of pleasure he felt counterbalanced by his concern. “What is it?”
She couldn’t tell him. Much as she trusted Damon, she still had to protect her mother.
“I don’t know which way is up any more,” she murmured. Damon’s strong arms around her were absorbing her shock.
“Just what was so upsetting about the wedding photo?” He grasped instinctively; there was something beyond the simple sight of the photograph.
Carol tried to steady herself, her regard for her mother in total ruins.
“Talk to me. Please,” Damon begged.
She lifted her head and intercepted his brilliant down-bent gaze.
Sexual attraction asserted its sovereignty. Of a sudden, their proximity was stunning. A terrible longing flooded through her. She knew she shuddered, but such excitement was flashing through her, it was rocking her entire body. Their immediate world grew dim. It was so quiet, she could listen in to her own heart beat.
“Talk?” she heard herself murmur like a release. A little rivulet of heat-induced perspiration ran down between her breasts. The light perfume she was wearing rose like a fine mist around them.
It was too much, even for Damon. The lawyer in him knew he was risking much. He even had the feeling this could not possibly be happening. Not now. But he was pitched headlong into an intense sexual hunger that had been simmering from the moment he had laid eyes on her. From her expression, she was all but handing herself to him. It was an incitement too powerful to override.
He gathered her up more strongly into his arms. Her face was upturned to him. Her eyes had closed, but her lovely mouth was parted, open to his. He could not find the strength to resist.
She’s your responsibility.
Again the voice of command. Only she was allowing this, caught in the grip of the same overwhelming excitement. The two of them might have been inhabitants of an alternate world. He closed his own eyes as he lowered his mouth onto hers, his lips closing around hers, the suppleness of them intoxicating him. Her cheeks radiated heat. They were damp with tears. He tasted salt on his tongue. She didn’t deny him. This was what they so burningly wanted.
He was taking the weight of her, revelling in the softness and delicacy of her body, alive and so responsive under his hands. One of his hands came up to cradle her nape. Her skin was as smooth as satin....
It was an agony and a ravishing pleasure. Both feelings co-existed. Both of them were wordless under the assault of the senses. He knew he should pull back, but all restraints were off. His desire for her had out-powered reason. They were kissing open-mouthed. Their tongues met in that inner space, a love dance as old as time. His free hand had slipped down of its own volition to cup one small perfect breast. He could feel the hardness of the nipple against his palm. The act of caressing her breast raised his level of desire.
All was heat, fragrance, the driving need to come together on a deeper more dangerous level. Soft little moans that issued from her mouth acted on him like a mating call. He was aware of his powerful erection, a man’s compelling need to enter the body of the woman he desired. His blood was pumping madly. At that moment all he wanted in life was to take this beautiful young woman and make her his. Not for a day or a night but forever.
So strong were his feelings, no outside influence could make itself heard. Her body was so slight against the male strength and sheer weight of his. He couldn’t get enough of her. His fingers slipped under the waist band of her cropped navy trousers.
I’d stop now, if I were you.
This time the voice inside his head compelled attention.
Stop.
His eyes flew open. God knew, in kissing her he was complicating not only her existence but his. These weren’t kisses born of compassion. They were kisses born of sexual hunger that had its own irresistible line of attack.
He had to tear his mouth from hers, but he still kept her held to his heart. It seemed to him his whole life had been moving towards this point.
Carol too was suspended in sensation. She lifted her head. “Did you just kiss me?” She was so aquiver with sensation, it was almost a torture.
“I surely did.”
“Do you think it might happen again?” she whispered.
He tilted her chin. “At least it drove the tears away.” He was astonished his voice sounded normal, when what he felt was an incredible exhilaration. “I hope I didn’t startle you?”
“Only to the point where everything counted for nothing.” She didn’t care if the admission betrayed h
er. She was too far gone. “I’ve never in my life been kissed like that.”
He kept his eyes on her lovely face. Her expression appeared overwrought. He wanted to kiss her again. He hadn’t found the extra strength to free her, but he knew he had to call a stop. “Would you want to change anything?” He brushed back a few springy tendrils from her temples.
Carol took time to find an answer. “You could break my heart, Damon. I’d forgive you.”
Her answer rocked him. For the second time he had to pitch a fierce battle for control. Eventually his sense of what was best for them won out. He lifted her to her feet. “I would never do that.”
“Not deliberately. No.” Carol placed her hands against his chest.
“Not for anything. I know something about the wedding photo of your parents shocked you. Or it shocked a memory out of you. You promised me you’d tell me about everything that disturbs you. I’m going to hold you to that.”
She knew he would. “I have to get things together in my own mind, Damon,” she said in as calm a voice as she could muster.
“Okay, that’s a start. I’m ready to listen whenever you want.”
Words she desperately needed to get out choked in her throat. She needed time. “I suppose we’d better go back downstairs. They’ll be wondering where we are.”
“You don’t have to account to anyone for your time, Carol. If you think you can manage the sack of baubles, I can manage the tree.”
She picked up the large cotton sack filled with Christmas baubles, considering its weight. For all the contents, it was feather-light. “No problem. I’ll lead the way.” She smiled at him. A lovely smile, yet it trembled.
They had left their close and comfortable relationship way behind. That relationship had taken a giant leap into the unknown. Those ecstatic moments between them could not be taken back. Unforgettable as they were, it didn’t guarantee ownership of one by the other or increasing intimacy between them. There were hazards ahead for both of them to overcome.
