Shadows of Knight: Book 1 of Dark Shadows - a Romantic Suspense Trilogy

by M E Whiter

  "Oh, I see." She’s careful not to hurt my injuries, as she gently rubs some moisturising lotion into my skin. “You didn’t suspect him, before then?”

  "No." I tell her, slipping my arms into the armholes, she is holding up in front of me. She then wraps it around and fastens it at my back. "It was only the once, according to him. And it was with my step-sister who was only sixteen at the time."

  "He sounds like a real bastard,” she remarks, grabbing a hairbrush to brush out the tangled mess of knots in my hair. It’s difficult to reach them on my own, with a drip attached to my right wrist, and bandages covering the abrasions on my left arm. “You must be glad, to be rid of him?"

  "Yes, I don’t miss that. Though, a part of me does miss, the caring and considerate man he was, when I first met him. He didn't change until after his business went bust, due to the economic downturn. Then he turned into someone who was controlling and manipulative, and was out to punish everyone else for his misfortune."

  "Well, who knows, once you're all mended and new again, maybe you'll meet someone, who’ll prove that not all men turn out, like your ex-husband."

  "Yeah, well. I doubt that will happen any time soon."

  The time soon flies by, and when Louise has finished her job, I'm all clean again, dressed in a new hospital gown and wearing fresh bandages.

  “Well Rachel, you’re all set for now. Is there anything I can get you, before I go?”

  “Apart from a new handbag, identification and a phone, there’s nothing else.”

  “I don’t know about the first two, but I can set up a phone line for you, if you’d like?”

  “No. That’s fine. I don’t really have anyone to call that’s local, anyway. I’ll just wait until I can get some money out of my bank account, and buy a mobile phone.”

  “Alright, then. I’ll be back later, to check on you,” Louise says, gathering her equipment to take with her, before she leaves.

  Virtually the only person I know that’s local, is Connor. But, I don’t know his phone number by heart. It’s in the address book, that was inside my stolen handbag. I can’t understand why he or the travel company, he works for, haven’t been to see me? Surely, Connor saw what happened to me, and would have at least made enquiries about which hospital I was in? Then again, the mood he was in that morning, and the way he was acting, I wouldn’t exactly trust him, to pass on the news. I can’t even remember where he was, when it happened.

  There’s also the person who paid for my trip? You’d think, that if they spent all this money on getting me here, they’d want to know what happened to me, when I didn’t show up for the interview.

  I guess it’s no use worrying about it for now. The only other person I know is Sebastian Knight. It seems I can’t do anything about him either. I barely know the man, but he certainly knows how to push all my buttons; the good ones and the bad. I get the impression, he’s the type of man who’s used to getting his own way. He certainly seems determined to pay for my medical bills, no matter what I say.

  Of course, our arguing yesterday, didn’t prevent the little fantasy about him, playing inside my head; imagining all kinds of naughty scenarios, where we end up naked and sweaty, when we come together. I know the little infatuation I have on him, is just that, and nothing more.

  Besides, I can’t allow myself to fall for his obvious charms. I made that painful mistake once, I’m not in a hurry to repeat the lesson. He may not be afraid to show his intimidating nature, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t wearing some kind of mask.

  Not that I’d have to worry about, any of that kind of thing, in my present condition. No man would be attracted to some injured woman, with bandages and ugly abrasions all over her body. In any case, I think my fainting on Sebastian may have well and truly chased him off, for good.

  Bad luck! I tell myself, regretting the fact, that I won’t be seeing him again.

  I’M READING AN article in one of the magazines, Louise had dropped off, during our chat this morning. I didn’t notice when someone entered my room, until I felt a presence. When I glance up, it’s Sebastian Knight. He’s standing by the doorway, looking very business-like and powerfully handsome, dressed in a tailored three-piece charcoal suit, white linen shirt and red paisley silk tie.

  One look at the smouldering fire in his gaze, robs my heart of oxygen, and I can’t breathe.

  Why does he have to look so damn sexy, but seem so downright dangerous?

  “Good afternoon, Miss Day, you are looking a lot better,” he says, breezing into the room, with the distinct confidence of a man, in total control of himself.

  I can’t believe he’s here again! I drop the magazine on my lap, watching him close in. I gulp down the sudden lump in my throat, trapping my voice.

  “Hello. Thank you,” I murmur, hoping I sound calmer than I feel.

  When he stops beside my bed, he's close enough for me to catch the faint scent of his aftershave. It’s a woody, citrus fragrance, with a slight musky note. It’s an intoxicating blend, lulling my senses into a false state of composure.

  “There is something I wanted to ask you, yesterday?" he says, the brilliant blue in his gaze, seeming more intense than I remember. I find it a little unnerving.

  “Oh . . . what’s that?” I ask, taking a quiet breath, I brace myself, to hear the question he’s about to ask.

  “The day before the accident, do you remember visiting the Vancouver art gallery?’

  Twisting a strand of my hair around my finger, I scan through the foggy recesses of my memory. Hmm . . . art gallery? Oh, yes, I remember now. But how does he know about it? Curiosity prods me to ask, “Um . . . yes, vaguely. Why?”

  “Then, do you recall, anything untoward happening during your visit?” What? My internal defences, kicking into gear, fearing I may have done something injudicious.

  I blink at him for a moment, confounded by the pall covering my dead memories, as I struggle to revive them, from the grave.

  Then, suddenly, like some miracle, the memories start rising to the surface, as the veil blows away . . . Oh My God! My jaw drops open, as I stare closely at him. The synapses in my brain firing rapidly, remembering where I’ve seen those dazzling blue eyes before . . . it was his eyes, the man who’s lap I fell into at the art gallery. How the hell could I have forgotten him?

  My cheeks turn crimson, recalling the incident, with my hand on his crotch. His twitching crotch remember . . . no, don’t think about that, now!

  “Yes. I remember what happened, now." He gives me a knowing smile, and suddenly, the room feels too warm and stuffy.

  “So, you remember tripping over, and my having to rescue you?” He asks, chuckling to himself, which causes my hackles to bristle with indignation. “But . . .” I add, my blood now turning cool. “. . . if your foot hadn’t been sticking out so far, I wouldn’t have lost my balance, in the first place.” I tilt my head to the side, my lips firmly pressed together, the hint in my eyes, a warning that, I don't like being toyed with, if that's his game.

  “Well, in my defence, I cannot say that I was sorry you did,” he says, the wicked gleam in his eyes, matching the taunting note in his voice. “There is another question, I’d like to ask about that incident?”

  “Oh, what’s that?” I hesitate to ask, realising that he’s having too much fun taunting me, to be put off by my apparent displeasure.

  “Just before you tripped, you seemed to be in deep contemplation. I’m curious to know, what you were thinking about?”

  “Um . . . nothing really. I was just examining the woman’s portrait, trying to interpret the artist’s use of technique and their execution. Why did you want to know?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

  He sits down in the chair, next to my bed, making himself comfortable before he continues. “I only took notice because you stood there for quite awhile, until something startled you.” He's very observant! “I had wondered, what made you jump?”

  I lower my eyes, shielding them from his gaze
, studying my face, too closely for comfort. There’s no way, I’m going to tell him about the creepy guy who creeped me out when he stood so close, he invaded my personal space. I can only imagine what he'd think of me, if I told him? Even saying it in my own head, I sound like I'm paranoid.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember that happening,” I reply, shaking my head, hoping he can’t tell that I’m lying.

  “Really?” he questions, and by the note in his voice, he doesn’t sound convinced.

  I need to get off this subject. “I only remember the woman in the portrait, how beautiful she looked, wondering if she’s an actual living person?”

  “Yes, she is . . . was,” he murmurs, a distracted glaze covering his eyes, as he looks at some point beyond me.

  I’m stunned by his unexpected reaction. “What do you mean, was?” I ask, without thinking.

  “She is dead,” he states flatly, his eyelids shuttering over the hint of pain, in his watery gaze.

  “How do you know she’s dead?” I press further, too absorbed by my own curiosity.

  “Because, she was my wife,” he replies quietly.

  “Oh . . . ,” I gasp, my eyes zooming in on his ring finger. I can just make out the faded bank mark, as he absentmindedly strokes it with his thumb. I now regret having asked. I can feel his grief. It drifts between us like an invisible fog.

  "I'm really sorry, I shouldn’t have . . ." I start to say, but the rest gets stuck in my throat. In that moment, I feel an instant connection with him, that goes beyond a physical attraction. I don’t know how to describe the sensation other than, it feels like some pre-ordained link, bringing us together - like two missing pieces of a puzzle slipping into place. It’s such a bizarre sensation, that a cold shudder ripples through me, scaring me a little.

  Maybe, I’m feeling this way, because we’ve both experienced a loss. I may not have experienced the physical loss of a spouse, through death. But losing my husband, who was once upon a time, my whole life, through a painful divorce, the grief I felt afterwards, was just as devastating, to me. For the first time, since meeting Sebastian, I can sense his vulnerability, and it doesn’t make me feel quite so intimidated, by his overall dominating personality.

  The sound of Sebastian clearing his throat, pulls me from my introspection. When I look up into his eyes, I’m surprised to see the hint of a smile, has replaced any trace of his sorrow.

  Leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair, he studies me closely. “You looked as if you were in a trance, are you all right?” he asks, resting his head in the crook of his hand.

  “Yes . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, just now," I reply, drawing a deep breath.

  “You don’t need to apologise,” he assures me, rubbing his long index finger, against his temple. “There’s no way you could have known. Crystal has been gone two years now, but still her death haunts me.”

  “Do you visit her portrait often?” I ask, hoping I’m not stepping over any boundaries.

  “Yes. I find looking at her portrait, helps me feel close to her. When she died, I was filled with so much grief, I would have done anything, to have her back, even for a short while.”

  “You must have loved her very much?” Wow! I’ve never met a man, who sounds so devoted to the woman he loves. It’s refreshing to know at least one, still exists.

  “Yes. She was my angel, my whole life. But the other day, I went to say goodbye to her, for the last time. I need to go on with my life.” he explains, his voice reflective, as if he’s quoting a pledge, he doesn’t quite believe in.

  Leaning forward, he wipes the haunted look from his eyes, with one swipe of his lashes. His composure now recovered, he gives me a pointed look. “I still have one last question to ask you, Miss Day.” Oh no, not this again?

  “Tell me, why did you run away, when you fell into my lap?” None of your business!

  “I’m only asking because, you may not have offended my ego, but you did kind of leave me hanging, when you removed your hand so abruptly, from my crotch?”

  What the . . . ? My God! Is he really suggesting, what I think he’s suggesting? How crude!

  Chapter Eight

  MONDAY, 11th August

  Rachel

  IF THIS IS another one of his games, then I have no intention of playing along. There’s no way, I’m going to let him know the effect he has on me. That I find, everything about him, including his sexy good looks and his incredibly intense blue eyes, very intimidating and unsettling on my composure.

  Rubbing my lips together, I stall, until I can think up an appropriate reply. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I guess I just panicked . . . I mean, it’s not every day I go around groping strange men . . . I mean . . . men I don’t know.” Great, now I sound like a babbling idiot!

  “I am glad to hear it. Even though, I don’t think I like your reference to my being strange,” he quips, his dark eyes mocking me. Oh, boy! Is he funny, or not?

  “You’re teasing me . . . aren’t you?” I ask, fidgeting with one corner of the bed sheet.

  “Yes, I am. I like the way it makes you blush,” he admits, trailing an impish grin across his sexy lips, with his finger. “You look so alluring, with your cheeks all flushed . . . your eyes blazing . . . and your pink lips pouting in disapproval. If you were not so incapacitated, I would be seriously tempted to see how far, I could get you . . . stirred up.”

  “Well, I think that’s a very inappropriate thing to say. Do you usually go around intimidating defenceless women, while they’re confined to bed?”

  “Oh, Miss Day, if you only knew,” he says, winking at me. I raise my eyebrows at him, in protest, trying not to let his innuendo affect me. But it's hard to take offence at being the object of his shameless flirtation, when his deep mesmerising gaze is turning my insides to a quivering mess of hormones.

  Before I have time to recover my sense of dignity, he suddenly changes the subject. The blank expression crossing his face, giving my no clue, to what he’s thinking.

  “There is one question that has been bothering me. Now that your memory seems to be improving, I thought this would be a good time to ask.”

  The cautious note in his voice sends the hairs on my arms, bristling against my skin. I tentatively ask, “What do you want to know?”

  He shifts forward in the chair, resting his arms on his lap as he clasps his hands together. His gaze fixes on some point in space, in front of him. “I want to know, what made you step out in front of the traffic, against a red light?”

  Holy hell! That’s a question, I didn’t expect to face just yet. Not with him, anyway.

  My memory is improving but still, there are some aspects of the accident, that I’m trying to come to grips with. Namely, the part about someone standing behind me, pushing me out onto the road. Did it actually happen that way, or did I somehow just imagine it did? Tossing it over in my head gives me a massive headache, so I’ve stopped thinking about it.

  Now, here is Sebastian wanting an explanation from me, that I’m not ready to provide. Hell! He probably wouldn’t believe me, anyway. The idea that someone may have deliberately set out to hurt me, is something even I don’t want to believe.

  All I know for certain, is that I’ve been run over, I’m in a hospital in a foreign country, and I don’t know who to trust. Perhaps, it’s best I don’t say anything. At least, not until tomorrow, when the police will be here, to take my statement. Until then, I go with the first thing that comes to mind, hoping it will be enough, to get Sebastian to drop the subject.

  “I'm sorry, but I can’t give you an answer . . . I still don’t remember much about what happened that morning.” I tell him, shrugging my shoulders, keeping my gaze lowered, so he won’t notice I’m not being completely honest. “Dr Logan told me, not to expect my memories will come back, all at once, but they should come back, over time.”