“And that is for throwing my food on the floor.” She laughed a bit. It was a dry, harsh sound.
“Who’s paying now, Judith?” she asked her still form. Brushing her hair from her face with a filthy hand, she staggered out the door of her prison
INDECISION
RAVENHURST * KATHERINE
A CLOCK rang loudly in the distance, marking the hour. It was eight o’clock and still Sebastian had not made an appearance. I stared bleakly out the window. A fresh, white blanket of snow covered the ground. Cradling a glass of wine in my hand, I remembered my earlier encounter with Sebastian. My body still tingled from head to toe every time I thought of him and my lips still felt tender from his kisses.
After he sent Milford on his way, he had made my insides twist as he looked at me as though I was the worst person on earth. Honestly, I had no idea where all his venom could have come from. I thought we were… well… almost going to be together. But no, after the mishap with Milford, he gave me such an awful look, I wanted to run and hide. I was so embarrassed.
I couldn’t help but think that the sampling of my savory meal had left him with a sour stomach. I laughed a little, but it was empty and hollow, just like my insides. What could I do? I finished off the rest of the wine and lifted the glass in the air. A footman appeared from the shadows and refilled my glass. Rejection sucked way worse in the past than it did in the future.
‡
Sebastian noted the time as he paced the length of his chamber. It was half past ten. He swilled the amber liquid directly from the bottle he held in his hand. It burned, but at least it numbed his emotions. His hair was damp, wetting the tops of his shoulders. He was dressed in one of his best waistcoats; severely cut with matching breeches. His shirt was pristine, and his neck cloth tied with precision. Brummell would have been proud.
Yet, he could not go down to dine with Marguerite. He was late, but that did not seem to matter. Instead, he kept replaying their interlude in the library earlier. What was he to do with her? He did not know his body would betray his mind thusly. He wanted to finish what he started, but to what end?
They would be married in just a few short days. One would think he could wait. But really, why should he? She had not. She let another take what rightfully belonged to him. And, as much as he hated to admit it, that is where he found himself, battling a silent war within. Did he want more than just one night? Did he want a future?
He laughed. It was hollow and tinged with an ample amount of bitterness. What was he even thinking? Perhaps he would have cared for her in time, but after she left him for another, how could he? His pride would not let him relent, not yet at any rate, if ever. The wounds were too new.
No, he would wait and make her beg for what she so easily tossed aside for another man. He ran his hand over his face. He needed a distraction. Hell, what he really needed was some damn relief.
Perhaps he should leave now and go to London; have a few savory meals… he smiled then, as an image of Marguerites shocked expression popped into his mind. Oh no, she was not too happy about being compared to food… not one bit. He laughed again, and again it was hollow.
Frustrated, he set the bottle down and sat on the edge of the chair in front of the fire, leaning forward to watch the flames dance back and forth. It was a shame he had angered Annabelle so badly or else he may have been able to make a quick visit and satiate his hunger with her, even though he knew it would only be a temporary reprieve. He quickly discarded the idea. No, he did not want Annabelle… he wanted the girl with the fathomless blue eyes who made his pulse race and his body respond.
And why not? She was going to be his sooner rather than later anyway and it was obvious she had wanted him as well. He thought about it for a moment… why not finish what they started. What difference did a couple of days make?
He stood then, his mind made up and went off to do exactly that.
YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT
HAWTHORNE MANOR
DEVLIN opened his eyes and ripped his cravat completely off, throwing it on the floor. He stood and refilled his glass, bringing the bottle back with him, and set it on the table. He sat back down in the chair, letting out an audible sigh. Marguerite was back. His heart pounded excitedly, remembering the connection he thought they once shared. The way her eyes followed his every move, the secret smiles she gave him behind Isabelle’s back. It all made perfect sense at the time. How could he have gotten her signals so wrong? The ones she practically threw at him every chance she got. Devlin was sure Marguerite’s shy, secretive smiles were for his eyes alone. He thought she was giving him a silent invitation. An invitation he meant to accept when the timing was right…
HAWTHORNE MANOR * MEMORY
He waited patiently, biding his time… then one night, Isabelle drank too much wine, with his coaxing, of course. It took quite a few drinks, but finally she fell back onto the bed they shared and drifted off to a drunken slumber. Quietly, he climbed from the bed and gently turned Isabelle on her side, placing a soft pillow under her arm. She often sought him out in sleep and he did not want her to awaken, so his hope was that the pillow would do the trick. He donned his robe and slipped out of the room. His bare feet made no sound on the runner carpet as he hurriedly rushed down the hall to Marguerite’s chamber. He opened the door, noting it was unlocked. He wondered if she left the door unlocked on purpose in anticipation of his arrival. He smiled at the thought and silently slipped inside her room and quietly closed the door behind him.
Darkness hung heavily around the edges of the room with the exception of the full moon’s light that slid in from a large bank of windows on the far side of the room. He was thankful the drapes were open or else he would have never been able to see in the darkened room. It was another clue she had been expecting him, for why else leave the curtains open especially when there was such a chill in the air. He moved slowly to the bed, trying to keep quiet. He did not want to startle her.
She looked so lovely, angelic even, lying there with her pale complexion, full lips and dark curling lashes. He ached to kiss her, to taste her sweet lips… if only for a moment.
It would assuredly be the most profound moment of his life… to kiss the one girl with whom he had a true connection. She treated him as though he were an actual person who she enjoyed talking with about any number of interesting topics. She loved books and, more times than not, they had both wanted to read the same book. So they had begun to share them and met once a week to discuss their thoughts with one another.
Isabelle on the other hand did not have much use for his thoughts She was more interested in his prowess in bed. He could go all night and Isabelle loved that about him, or so she told him, often in the midst of their love play in the bedroom, library, study, carriage, once in the stable, and of course on the dining table. He smiled with that remembrance… the table was one of the more interesting and pleasing places to have sex. The smooth surface of the table made it easier to slide her back and forth in her gown while repeatedly driving into her. He smiled again. Yes, the table was very pleasing.
He lifted his hand and smoothed her long hair away from her face. Not able to help himself, he leaned forward and gave her the gentlest of kisses, waking her slowly. She moaned ever so slightly in response and rolled onto her back. He smiled sweetly down at her, undoing the belt to his robe and shrugged it off his shoulders. The robe fell soundlessly to the floor. The cool air sent shivers across his skin. He pulled the blanket back slowly to climb under the covers.
She opened her eyes.
“Shhh, it is me love, do not be afraid,” he whispered.
She sat up and shoved her hair from her eyes. “Devlin?”
“Yes, my love,” he said tenderly.
“What are you doing?” She scooched further away from him on the bed.
“What does it look like I am doing?”
“I hope to God you are sleepwalking because if you are not we have a serious problem.”
&n
bsp; Devlin misunderstood. “Do not worry yourself over such trivial matters my sweet. Isabelle is sound asleep. I am sure she will not wake until morning,” he assured her as he tried to snuggle closer to her in bed.
She sputtered and pushed against him. “Please stop,” she said. “Devlin, are you insane? Did you drink too much of Isabelle’s sherry? Has alcohol muddled your mind like Sebastian’s?”
“I do not understand. I thought we had a connection,” he said, shaking his head as though he could not quite grasp what was happening or why.
Marguerite backed up even more and then pulled her legs up to her chest. “Listen, you and I are acquaintances through circumstance, with a few common interests in books, nothing more.”
“But, I thought…”
“That is the problem… you thought.”
He lifted his face and looked at her. “Perhaps…” he trailed off and reached over to pull her too him, thinking she only needed a little encouragement.
“Stop it, Devlin!” she yelled, pushing against his body with her feet until she shoved him completely from the bed.
Devlin hit the ground hard. The cool air making him shiver. He stood up, completely forgetting that he was naked.
Marguerite stared at him, her eyes widening and then she did the most horrific thing imaginable.
She laughed.
It was not a simple laugh either. No, no, her laugh was cruel. She intended to do the most damage and did not stop there.
“Oh dear,” she said, trying to stifle her laughter. “Surely you did not come to my room and expect to have your way with me?” she asked, her tone taking on a mean, cruel edge as she looked him up and down.
Devlin was in shock. He stood completely still, his body and mind fully exposed to her jeers.
“Oh dear, look at your face. Devlin…” she began and then stopped with another fit of giggles. She got herself back under control and, wiping a stray tear from her eye said, “You are my aunt’s stud… I mean… ah… husband, if you could call it that.” She waved her hand dismissively like that was of no consequence. She took a breath. “There is no way in hell I am going to sleep with you… ever.”
“Because I am married to Isabelle,” he said, thinking it would be a fitting end. “We could divorce,” he added hopefully as an afterthought.
She frowned and was quiet for a moment and then let out an exasperated sigh. “Devlin, it is not because of Isabelle.”
“Then why?” he asked, because he did not understand.
She wrinkled her face, and then pursed her lips together as if debating her answer. “Try not to look so forlorn. What I am referring to is in no way a personal matter, really.” She pulled her knees back into her chest. “I simply prefer a more virile type of man, one with brawn and substance.” She looked him up and down again. “And, I hate to point out that you, Devlin, do not possess any of my requirements.”
He recoiled from her cruel words. They chilled him to his core. She was no better than Isabelle. He reached down, grabbed his dressing robe from the floor, and pulled it on, tightening the belt. He strode out of her room, her laughter following in his wake.
‡
Devlin’s mind came back to the present. His body shuddered involuntarily from the painful memory. He lifted his glass and took another hefty swallow of his drink. And even still, after all this time, not to mention the abysmal way she treated him, he should hate her. Instead, he found he still wanted her so badly it made his insides churn. He let out a shaky sigh and finished his drink.
He always wondered why she never mentioned that night to Isabelle. And why, when their paths did cross, he was surprised to find that she never acted unpleasantly towards him. Of course, he tried to avoid her, but he found his eyes would follow her everywhere she went. And every once in a while, when she did not think he was looking, he caught her watching him as well.
Of course, that was before Marguerite had walked up the gravel path in the garden and caught Devlin with his breeches around his ankles, taking Judith against one of the statues in the garden. Judith preferred the outdoors. It was easier to hide from the prying eyes of the staff and Isabelle. He was nearing climax when she walked around the corner and froze, her eyes widening in wonderment. He thought she would bashfully turn away, scream, or run and yet, she simply stood there, watching. He kept his gaze trained on her beautiful face as he continued to thrust into Judith from behind as she writhed and moaned in pleasure until he finally found his release. It was one of the most explosive climaxes he had ever experienced in his life.
It was two days after the episode in the garden when Marguerite had approached him in the library and had told him he had to get rid of Judith or else she would tell Isabelle. Of course, he could not let that happen.
He had stupidly told Judith, and on the evening of Marguerites and Sebastian’s marriage. Judith decided to take matters into her own hands. She was getting rid of Marguerite once and for all. On some level, Devlin was sure Judith sensed his feelings toward Marguerite and that was why she was so hell- bent on getting rid of her.
Thankfully, Judith botched up her attempt at murder and now Marguerite was back. He closed his eyes and silently thanked the Lord above and while he was at it, begged for forgiveness for his part in the entire debacle.
A PENNY FOR YOUR THOUGHTS
SOMEWHERE AROUND RAVENHURST * ISABELLE
SNOWFLAKES floated absently to the ground from the black sky above as she made her escape. She wondered when the snow had fallen. Was it not too early for snow? She stumbled. Her hands and feet were like ice. The pain that was so intense only moments before began to fade into numbness. Isabelle knew she should be worried about whether or not she would ever make it to Ravenhurst, or if Devlin would find her, but instead, her mind strayed to Clive, her deceased brother. The way he passed had always seemed a bit too tidy to her.
THE ESTATE GROUNDS *MEMORY
THE HUNT*XIII
Whips rent the air, cracking loudly… Clive was at the front of the pack, the one that chased the “Master of Hounds,” his pink coat in vibrant contrast to the scenery. There were fifteen men riding in the hunt. “the huntsman” and at least two “whipper-ins” kept the hounds in a pack off in the distance. The hounds barked loudly, alerting the group they were about to run the fox to ground. A large hedgerow ran through the middle of the hill. It was dangerously high on one side. Only a rider with a death wish would jump over the hedge at full speed. The ravine was only a short distance away, and you would have to land perfectly.
Clive raced ahead of the group, flying at breakneck speed, his horse eating up the ground. He turned, calling out over his shoulder, the wind whipping his light brown hair. He was quite a spectacle to behold. Dashing, handsome even, Isabelle suddenly saw what Victoria had always seen in Clive. He was so arrogant, but in that moment, he was simply beautiful.
The jump was risky, almost impossible, and yet everyone held their breaths, hoping, watching in disbelief as his horse flew upwards over the hedge. She could not believe he actually cleared the jump.
It happened so quickly. His trusty, dapple-gray hunter stumbled forward unnaturally. Clive’s body followed, flying from his horse. The entire scene slowed in her mind. It was almost as if an invisible force reached up and waylaid Clive.
The group took a moment to react and by the time everyone reached the top of the ridge, it was too late. Clive’s horse was limping away, two bright red slashes on each of his front legs.
It was obvious Clive was not as fortunate as his horse. Some of the group looked over the edge of the ravine, confirming to her that Clive was indeed gone.
‡
Tightness gripped her chest as her mind came back to the present. A single tear slipped from her eye, freezing as quickly as it fell. Ahead, she spotted a tree. If only she could make it to the tree, she could rest for a moment. Catch her breath, she told herself. Somehow, she made it. She fell at the base, leaning against the rough bark, and situated herself between the
thick roots, jutting out from the frozen earth. She was so tired.
Tiny snowflakes danced across the horizon. So very beautiful they were. She closed her eyes, giving her body and mind over to a wintry slumber, knowing full well she may not ever awaken again.
NEVER UNDERESTIMATE YOUR PARTNER
HAWTHORNE MANOR
“IMPOSSIBLE!” Devlin shouted at the top of his lungs. “What in the hell do you mean, she is gone?” He threaded his fingers through his hair, infuriated, trying to control the urge to wrap his hands around Judith’s throat and choke the life from her.
“I am not sure what happened,” Judith wailed, wringing her hands together like a child. “One moment she was lying there unconscious. I wanted to make sure she was not ill,” she said, trying to defend her actions. “How could I know she was being deceptive? She never tried the like before.” She tried to make Devlin see the reasoning behind her words. When his expression did not alter, she leaned forward and tried another tactic.
“Please Devlin,” she begged. “How was I to know she would trick me? She was lying on the floor and then, the next thing I knew, I woke up in that stinking pit all alone with my face in her vomit. Thank goodness she left the door open or else I would have been trapped.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around her mid-section.
Devlin was so angry, he could not think straight. And Judith’s constant yammering was not helping any. He needed to think fast but he could not, because Judith would not shut the hell up. “My God Judith, please shut your mouth! I can not think with that trap of yours yapping in my ear.”
A Knight Such as This: Enhanced with Interactive Content: (Time Travel Romance) Book 1 & 2 (Ravenhurst Series) Page 13
