Belmary House Book Two (9 page)

“She was given a choice. Get rid of me before I was born or suffer the consequences.” He didn’t look up at Tilly’s gasp, or respond to her touch. “They ran from our village, went far away. It was days of hard travel, but of course there’s no distance that’s too far for my lot. They worried constantly that they’d be summoned back, but it seemed like they’d been forgotten.” He stopped to laugh humorlessly. “They weren’t. The day I was born, my brother and sister died. After that, my parents were forced to return to hear the rest of their fates. They were allowed to live with their grief, and because of their greed to have me live, I was cursed to do so always while my children would always die.”

Tears rolled down Tilly’s cheeks as he finished. She made no effort to wipe them away, and couldn’t look at either Kostya or Ashford.

“The leader of your coven did that?” she asked, sickened and sad to her bones.

“My grandmother did that,” he said matter-of-factly.

She put her face in her hands and sobbed, thinking of her own grandmother, who was a little batty, but the sweetest woman who ever lived. What kind of people did he come from? Ashford had told her once they didn’t consider themselves human and she thought with disgust that they weren’t. They were monsters.

“So, you should go,” he finished. “There’s no point in letting them tear you to shreds, and it will upset me to have to watch it.”

Ashford nodded, staring at his brother-in-law, clearly tormented. “Go up and pack, Matilda,” he said. “I’ll ready the horses.”

He turned on his heel and left her standing alone with Kostya, who looked as if every last bit of hope had been wiped clean of his existence.

“This isn’t right,” she murmured, shaking from the fear that kept growing with every passing minute. It took all she had to stand in the dining hall with him, hating herself for not being able to fight.

He took her hand and squeezed it lightly. “Go,” he said. “You don’t have much time.”

Unable to stand it anymore, she fled up the stairs, blinded by her tears. Keeping her lips clamped together to keep from screaming, she hurriedly packed their belongings.

Emma sat in her office, staring blankly at an order for candles. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to approve it, or if something was wrong with it. It seemed an awful lot of candles, but perhaps they were going for a dramatic look for the investors? She shook her head, causing the headache to rattle around before clutching onto a different part of her brain.

Every time she visited her former life, the sickness took longer and longer to dissipate, so she forced herself to stay away. Even though she hadn’t been to Oxford in two days, it hadn’t gone away yet, and she feared it was with her to stay. The inside of her skull hurt so badly, she could picture every nook and cranny in there, as each area took turns lighting up with agony. Like all the candles, she thought dully.

She had to return the candles, she finally remembered, because the investor’s ball was now in the past, and this was a double order. The only parts she recalled clearly were when she danced with Dexter.

For some bizarre reason, whenever she was near enough to touch him, the foul headache subsided a little. Enough to let her think properly and string together a full sentence. She’d grown increasingly quiet the last few days. Whenever she was asked a question, she’d say she needed time to think things over, afraid she’d start babbling incoherently otherwise.

The frightening thing was, the thoughts that flailed around in her mind didn’t seem that incoherent to her. It was only when her employees looked worriedly at her that she wondered if things weren’t worse than she thought.

Dexter appeared in her doorway and she blinked, thinking she had conjured him. She reached out her hand and he hurried over to take it, and she felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. He was really there, and she was reaching out to him like a lost child.

This wasn’t her. She needed to get it together. What would happen if Ashford returned to find her with the mental state of a tossed salad? Still, by whatever miracle, holding onto Dexter’s hand made the pain recede a little. Just enough to let her smile. It must have seemed normal, because he smiled back.

“Dinner at my place tonight,” he said.

“Are you inviting me?” she asked, pleased it sounded teasing.

Every second that passed with him nearby she felt better. It was dangerous, because she already liked his company far too much, and now that he had strange healing abilities, she was afraid she’d become quite addicted to him.

“Yes, I’m inviting you,” he said. “I hope you like Italian food, as it’s all I can cook.”

“Don’t be daft,” she said, pushing aside the papers on her desk. The day was over as far as she was concerned. There was no point in pretending she was useful anymore. “Why put yourself out? I can just order something and bring it with me.”

He looked deeply hurt, then angry. “If you’ll forgive me for saying so while we’re still at work, but you’re the daft one here. I’m trying to impress you. You’d better not bring anything.” He thought about if for a second before continuing. “Maybe bring wine.”

With a last smile, he started to leave, and almost in a panic, she jumped from the other side of her desk, frantic to keep him near.

“I’m actually done for the day, why don’t I tag along with you? Surely there’s something I could chop.”

He perked up and she felt what might have been old fashioned happiness that a handsome and interesting man was so eager to spend time with her. Her familiar sadness swooped in to crush it, certain to remind her that she really was mad if she thought she could feel that way.

Just be grateful your headache is going away, it said.

God, her feelings were talking to her now. She really needed to spend some time with Dexter. It had to be the constant pain that made her so loopy. If she could have a few hours without it, she could be herself again.

They stopped at a store and she followed along contentedly while he compared prices and ingredients. After a short inner struggle, she gave up and found him charmingly adorable, and when he asked her advice about two different tomatoes, she pretended she knew something about it and confidently pointed to one. She insisted on buying a ridiculously expensive wine, putting an end to his concern that the food wouldn’t stand up to it with a severe glare.

“You seriously can’t know how much I’m enjoying this,” she said.

He stopped in the middle of the aisle and turned to her with a frown, before tentatively smoothing his fingers across her forehead.

“Yes, I can see how relaxed you are.”

She realized she’d been scrunching up her face and smiled. “It just hasn’t caught up with my face yet, but I promise I’m having a lovely time.”

She took his hand, partly because she wanted to and partly because of the miraculous way it made the aches and pains recede.

With a blush, he continued his shopping, forcing her to choose between a sinful chocolate cake and an even more sinful cheesecake, recklessly putting both in the cart when she couldn’t decide.

Back at his flat, he groaned to see he had seventeen messages on the house phone, and explained that Tilly’s mother and grandmother were taking turns hounding him. He erased them and she gasped.

“Aren’t you going to listen?” she asked. “What if it’s important?”

He made a face she couldn’t read and shook his head. “They’re getting suspicious of my stories. If my parents weren’t on holiday, it would all be busted by now, but I have another week until they return from their camping trip.”

“Oh, Dexter. What did you tell them?”

She couldn’t imagine what story she would possibly believe if Dahlia went missing for more than a month.

He blushed deep red. “I told them she was meditating in Tibet.”

“Oh, Dexter,” she repeated, even more appalled and disappointed. “You didn’t.”

“Well, it was all I could think of that would make her unreachable. It’s not something that’s easy to explain, is it?” he said defensively. “Especially over the phone. I just keep sending these short text messages telling them not to worry and acting busy.” As if to further harangue him, his phone buzzed and he looked at it before swiping away the call. “Oh, let’s stop talking about it. I swear I’ll explain it soon, but I keep hoping she’ll get back.”

“That was her mum on the phone right now, wasn’t it?” she asked. “Who you heartlessly dismissed?”

“Her gran,” he admitted. “I can’t even read her messages anymore I feel so guilty.”

Emma, as a mum herself, felt she should demand he call them and explain. She could help answer any questions they might have. But she was too tired herself to want to explain anything. Not wanting to obsess about when the elusive Lord Ashford might grace them with his presence, she shrugged and took salad ingredients to the kitchen counter to chop. Dexter looked grateful to be off the hook and followed her lead.

“Tomorrow,” was all she said, to assuage her guilt. “We’ll leave it until then.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed.

Dinner was effortless, much to her surprise. Having only spent certain lengths of time with Dexter, and then only to look for answers to the Belmary House mystery or worry about the future, she thought they might run out of things to say.

It was the complete opposite however, and their conversation was lively and never wavered. They’d both secretly wanted to be archeologists, which was why they loved pawing over old things so much. They both hated opera, but held season passes so they could schmooze with possible funders for their dream projects. Dexter spoke passionately about a year round medieval theme park, that he swore would be held to the utmost levels of historical integrity, with no busty beer wenches or beefy jousters.

“No one will go,” she said, thinking both he and his nerdy ideas were delightful.

“People like us will go,” he said, completely sure of himself.

Her headache was gone, her limbs had lost the heavy, cramped feeling she had been dragging herself around with, and she ate the delicious pasta with gusto, her stomach free of twists and shooting pains.

When he nervously asked her if she wanted to stay and watch a film, she agreed without hesitation, and when he awkwardly put his arm around the back of the settee, she snuggled into his chest as if she’d been doing it for years.

After a few minutes of his fingers running across her upper arm, and the warmth of him all along her side, she lost track of what went on in the movie. It wasn’t the pained befuddlement she’d been fighting, but instead she found herself completely focused on Dexter. She didn’t think she’d make it to the end of the film if he kept up his adorably obvious and very effective seduction. It had been so long since she’d felt the exciting pins and needles of wanting someone, it was hard to find reasons why she shouldn’t turn her face a little and let him kiss her. She knew he wanted to, she could feel it as vibrantly as if he’d spoken the words aloud. And she liked it. A lot.

It had been a long time since she’d let herself feel this way around a man, since before Dahlia was born. After her husband left and she had to work around the clock to put herself through school, she simply hadn’t had the time or energy. When she finally settled down into her job at Belmary House before she got ripped backward in time, there was no one she found interesting enough to risk her and her daughter’s hard fought happiness.

Being with Dexter felt like a luxurious time out, in which her worries were put on hold, and she could honestly enjoy his company. And he really was so very handsome, in an unaware and unassuming way. If it were a perfect world, she could have it all. Go home to Dahlia and somehow be able to keep Dexter close to her. If she got the chance to return, there was no way she could ask him to give up ten years of his life to jump forward with her.

She only needed to look in his eyes to know that he would do it without hesitation, and that set butterflies loose in her stomach as if she was a schoolgirl and her crush had finally admitted he liked her too. Nothing was perfect in her world right now though, except him. She didn’t know if it was right, she didn’t know if she was being selfish. She only knew she needed him.

She turned her face up to his and slid her hand up his chest. Just as she hoped, he leaned in and kissed her. The warm, gentle pressure of his lips erased any lingering doubt and she knew she wanted to be with him. However long it lasted, she had to take her chance at happiness, even knowing it could only be a memory soon. She climbed onto his lap and he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss and running his hands down her back.

The movie ended and neither one of them noticed, lost in each other.

***

Emma awoke to a loud banging sound and she thought for a moment she’d fallen asleep at her desk again, to be awakened by the renovation team that started at the crack of dawn each morning. But she realized she was in a cozy bed with—.

She sat up straight and swung her legs over the side, heart pounding. She’d slept with Dexter. Oh dear, oh dear. Had it been a mistake? It took a moment for her pulse to stop racing and she stole a peek at him over her shoulder.

His face was half covered by the pillow, but she’d mostly pulled the sheet away when she sprang up. The smooth dark skin of his back called out for her to touch, the early morning light from a crack in the blinds surrounding him like a halo. What she could see of his handsome face looked completely relaxed, and she edged away the pillow so she could better gaze at him.