The Ice Seduction (Ice Romance) (22 page)

71

When I wake up the next morning, the world feels different.

I don’t quite see things as Patrick might like me to see them. But as I gaze at his closed eyelids and feel the strength of his arms around me, I feel … softened. Like, I don’t know, maybe, just maybe …

Are you crazy?
says a little voice in my head.

Maybe I’m crazy. But
the world is a crazy place.

I feel P
atrick’s arms tighten around me and his eyes spring open.

‘You’re
awake,’ he murmurs, trailing fingers down my cheek. ‘That wasn’t supposed to happen.’

‘What wasn’t?’

‘You weren’t supposed to wake before me.’

‘Why not
?’ I ask.

‘
Just because.’

‘Do you always wake up before the women you sleep with?’ I say, the words catching a little in my throat.

‘Always.’

Yuck.
I hate thinking about Patrick and other women.

Uh oh. Now I know I’m in trouble. But then, I guess I knew that as soon as I saw Patrick
that first day, shirt off, covered in melting snow.

‘Who were they?’ I find myself
asking.

I try to make my voice sound all innocent. Unconcerned. But Patrick isn’t falling for it.

‘Jealous?’ he asks, those sharp lips of his pulling up into a smile.

‘
No,’ I lie.

‘Yes you are
,’ says Patrick, pulling me tight against his chest. ‘You, Seraphina Harper, are jealous. And I like it. It means you’re finally admitting that I mean something to you.’ He moves his face so his nose touches mine. ‘But other women don’t matter. They never did.’

‘So women don’t matter
to you?’

‘
Not like you do.’

‘
You’re seriously telling me you’ve gone your whole life without a woman mattering to you?’ I shake my head.

Patrick shrugs.
‘Pretty much. Except my family.’

‘
You must have had serious relationships.’

‘They were never serious to me
,’ says Patrick. His eyes twinkle in a teasing way, and I pick up a pillow and thump him over the head with it.

‘Oh, that’s
so arrogant!’ I say.

Patr
ick softly grabs my wrist. ‘But true.’

I drop the pillow. ‘So what you’r
e telling me is that you’ve led on lots of poor women?’

‘
No. I’m always honest with everybody. What women choose to believe is a different story.’

‘W
hat about Margaret Calder?’ I ask, suddenly desperate to know. ‘Did you have a relationship with her?’

‘
No,’ says Patrick, propping himself up on his elbow. ‘Despite what she and her mother might go around telling people.’

‘So no big white wedding for
you two then?’ I say.

‘I fucking hope not
.’

‘
I don’t get it, Patrick,’ I say. ‘I mean, someone like Margaret Calder … she knows your world, she’s educated. She speaks properly. She knows algebra.’ I shake my head. ‘When you could have a woman like that, why would you want someone like me?’

Patrick laughs. ‘You think it’s important to me that a woman knows algebra?’

I redden. ‘I don’t know why I said that. I don’t even know what algebra is. But you get my point. Why me?’

‘Because you’re you.’

I laugh. ‘Oh come on, Patrick. I didn’t even finish school. How can you possibly think we could be a good match? I’m guessing you finished school with flying colours …’

‘In my family, it was expected,’ says Patrick, his eyes seeking o
ut mine. ‘But that doesn’t make it worth anything.’

‘So what is w
orth something?’

‘
You. My mother. My sister. Bertie. The castle.’

I feel a lump in my throat. ‘Patrick
—’

‘Accept what I’m telling you, Seraphina
. It’s the truth.’ He drops back onto the pillow. ‘What’s worth something to
you
? What do you love?’

Y
ou,
I want to say. But … I can’t say it. It just feels too soon. I’m not ready yet. And if I’m honest, I feel that the second those words are out my mouth, Patrick will see me for exactly what I am – a poor girl from Camden – and this beautiful moment will be over.

‘I love
my little sister,’ I say truthfully. ‘I care about her finishing her schooling. She’s got talent. I couldn’t bear it if that talent was wasted, just because there wasn’t enough money to pay for her course. And my brother. I care about him too, but he’s more difficult to care about. He doesn’t really care about himself, so it’s kind of more painful.’

‘And your parents?’ Patrick asks.

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘I love them both. I don’t always
like
my mother. She’s made some bad choices. Choices that have hurt Wila. But it’s not because she’s bad or anything. She’s just kind of too young at heart to be a mum.’

‘I’d like to meet your family.’ says Patrick.

I laugh, and then I realize he’s serious. ‘Patrick, you can’t mean it. I mean, we’re a mess. Not Wila, but the rest of us.’

‘
Your family are part of you. I’d like to meet them.’

He really is serious.

‘Maybe one day,’ I say.
One day, in a hundred years …

I check my watch. ‘
It’s nearly six. Bertie could be awake right now.’

Patrick laughs.
‘I just got too close, didn’t I? So now you have to run away. Don’t forget your glass slipper, Cinderella.’

72

‘I …’ I stammer.

‘Go on. I won’t stop you. Not when you have a job to do.
As long as you come back to me tonight.’

I get
out of bed and hunt around for my clothes.

Patrick
pulls himself up in bed, and I feel the strength of his gaze as I pick up my panties.

‘I need clean underwear,’ I mutt
er.

‘You don’t need clean anything,’ says Patrick.
‘Your smell is amazing.’

‘
I just like feeling clean.’

‘If you want clean underwear, I have some for you.
’

I turn to
him with narrow eyes. ‘Oh
really
?’

Patrick climbs
out of bed and goes to a dresser.

My ey
es follow him. Good god, he’s beautiful. Like one of those Greek statues. All broad shoulders, cut muscles and smooth light brown skin. And so tall.

‘Here,’ Patrick
says, taking out a clean pair of men’s boxers and throwing them at me. ‘Try these.’

I laugh as I hold up a pair of tartan boxer shorts. ‘Tartan? Do you wear these for a bet?’

‘No. They’re my favourite pair.’

‘Why on earth
…?’

‘My brother
bought them for me before I left for Iraq. To remind me of home. Maybe they’ll do the same for you.’

‘Oh.’ My smile fades.

‘Put them on.’ Patrick strides towards me. ‘They’ll suit you.’ He picks up a strand of my red hair.

I laugh. ‘Fine. I’ll wear them.
I guess they’re better than yesterday’s panties.’

I climb into t
he boxers, then pull on my leggings.

I stoop down to pick up my panties again, but Patrick stoops
down with me and snatches them from me.

‘
I’ll look after those,’ he says.

I raise an eyebrow.

‘So I can remember the night you almost let me in,’ Patrick finishes.

‘I don’
t know how I can let you in any more …’

‘Eas
ily. Just agree to be mine. To be with me.’

I shake my head. ‘I just don’t see how I can do that Patric
k.’

‘Try
harder.’ His words are fierce. Then he shakes his head and looks away. ‘Go. Go see Bertie. You need time to think. I can’t force you to let me in. Nothing means a thing until you open yourself up to me.’

‘This is hard
,’ I admit. ‘Be patient with me, Patrick. I am trying. I promise I am. But right now, there’s so much at stake.’

‘Come back
tonight,’ says Patrick. ‘That’s an order.’

‘I
—’

‘Come back to me,’
Patrick demands.

‘I need
space, Patrick. To think things over.’

‘You’ve had space.’

‘I need more.’

73

This time, leaving Patrick is harder than it’s ever been before. It’
s like my heart is a little bit glued to him. And pulling away hurts. But I do it, because I need to look after Bertie, and that comes before anything else.

As I leave Patrick’s room, I have a weird feeling – like someone is watching me. Not Patrick – someone else. I look around, and think I see a shadow move under a doorway. But … maybe not.

No.

Probably I’m just seeing things.

I have a lot to think about as I head to Bertie’s room.

I do need space and time, but
… being away from Patrick is getting harder and harder. There’s an emptiness inside me as I walk away from his room. The corridors feel colder the further I move away from him

This is so much more than just sex
I realize, with a jolt. My feelings for Patrick – it’s like nothing I’ve ever known before. And the idea of going back to London and never seeing him again …

Okay – I won’t deny the physica
l attraction. I mean, who wouldn’t be attracted to Patrick Mansfield? He’s a very beautiful man, with an amazing athletic body and a chest that could stop traffic. But it’s more than that.

I don’t know why. I can’t explain it. I ba
rely know him, really. And yet, I do.

And Sharon is
right, I realize – the fact he’s a real man, not a boy pretending to be a man … it scares me. I’m not used to someone wanting to protect me.

I’m thinking all these things when I get to Bertie’s room. But when I open his door, I’m in for a shock.

Bertie isn’t there.

I frown at the perfectly made bed and the neat stack of books on
Bertie’s bedside table.

‘Bertie?’ I call, but there’s no reply.

His bathroom door is open, and I can see he’s not in there.

My chest feels tight.

I turn on my heel and run back through the castle.

‘Bertie!’ I call, as I run down the corridors. ‘Bertie!’

By
the time I reach the great hall, I’m nearly in full panic mode. All sorts of horrible thoughts are whirling through my mind. Bertie has gone into the woods again and gotten hurt … Bertie has wandered into the village on his own …

I’m all geared up to hea
d back to Patrick’s room and beg for help, but to my relief, there in the great hall is Bertie. He has a bowl of cornflakes in front of him.

‘Bertie!’ I say,
running to him. ‘Oh my god. Oh thank goodness. You weren’t in your room. I was so worried.’

I hear the clank of
plates in the kitchen, and Vicky calls out, ‘Sera? Are you okay hen?’

‘I was just worried about Bertie,’ I say, trying to catch my breath. ‘But it’s okay. Thank goodness he’s here.’

‘
And
he’s eating breakfast!’ says Vicky, her rosy face appearing at the serving hatch. ‘Look.’ She points at the half-eaten bowl of cornflakes, and I notice the spoon in Bertie’s hand.

‘Wow
,’ I say, sitting down beside Bertie. ‘That’s fantastic. You came down here all by yourself to get some food?’

Bertie nods.

‘When you’ve finished that bowl, would you like to try something else? Maybe some eggs or something?’

Bertie nods again, and I beam at him.

I turn to the serving hatch. ‘Vicky? Can we try a boiled egg and soldiers?’

74

I watch with growing happiness as Bertie demolishes a boiled egg and soldiers, then a second round of toast, then a plate of sausages, brown sauce and tomatoes.

I guess he has a lot of catching up to do.

‘That’s just brilliant,’ I say, as he finishes up the plate of sausages. ‘I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we go for a walk around the woods now? Work off all that breakfast?’

Bertie nods
and puts down his knife and fork.

He lets out a little burp, and then he does something I’ve never
heard him do before.

He giggles.

It’s a lovely, light noise, and his face lights up with a cheeky little smile.

I prop
my chin in my hands.

Bertie grins.

‘Well. I guess we should go and work off breakfast, huh? It’s not snowing outside. Let’s go walk in the—’

My mouth snaps closed as Bertie’s eyes widen and he shakes his head at me, flicking his eyes over my shoulder.

I glance behind me and see Agnes Calder stalking into the great hall.

Her hair is pulled so tight back this morning that her pale skin looks like it
’s going to snap. Her eyes are stormy and glaring, and her arms are crossed as she walks.

‘Seraphina
,’ she says, as she draws close. ‘I need to speak to you.’

‘Good morning Mrs Calder. Lovely to see you
too.’

Mr
s Calder’s eyes narrow. ‘Not all of us have time for pleasantries. Some of us have work to do.’

‘I have work to do.’

Mrs Calder glances at Bertie. ‘Babysitting a five year old is hardly hard work.’

‘Maybe not
to you,’ I say lightly. ‘But to me it’s a very important job.’

‘Well. Anyway.’ Mrs Calder’s arms tighten across her chest.
‘I wanted to talk to you.’ She attempts to smile, and lines appear all over her cheeks.

‘O-kay
,’ I say cautiously, wondering what’s coming next. It’s very strange to see Mrs Calder smile.

‘You’ve done well
with Bertie, but …’ She attempts to smile again. ‘You can’t truly be happy here. I mean, you’re a London girl. This place must be terribly boring for you.’

She ge
stures to my clothes – I’m wearing frayed denim shorts with tights today, and a red sweater with crosses on it that I sewed myself.

‘Surely you don’t want to be out here in the sticks for much longer. I mean, what is there here for a girl like you? Very little.
Don’t you want to return to your family?’

I bite my lip, thinking of Wila. I miss her so much. But … she’s growing up. She’s doing it all by herself now. She doesn’t need me like she did. A part of me is sorry about that, but Bertie really and truly does need me. I don’t want to leave him now.

‘I want to stay here with Bertie,’ I say, putting an arm around his shoulder.

‘I don’t think that will be in Bertie’s best interests
,’ says Mrs Calder, quickly.

‘Well I do.’

‘I’ve spoken to Dirk. He thinks it’s time the lad was moved on again.’

‘Moved on
where
,’ I say, my words hard and cold.

‘Back to
granddad’s house. To stay with Dirk again. Now it’s simply a question of persuading Bertie’s mother …’

I feel
my chest begin to burn. ‘You want to send him away anyway? Just as he’s making progress? He doesn’t like his granddad. It’s obvious—’

‘Whether the boy stays at the castle or not
isn’t for you to decide.’

‘And it’s not for
Dirk Mansfield to decide either,’ I snap, getting to my feet and putting my hands on my hips. ‘It’s up to Bertie’s mother.’

‘Anise will see se
nse. Right now she seems to have some peculiar idea that as long as you’re here the boy should stay at the castle. But she’ll change her mind once you’ve gone.’

‘
I told you. I’m not going anywhere,’ I interrupt.

‘But wouldn’t you be
happier
somewhere else?’ says Mrs Calder. ‘I’m willing to write you an excellent reference, and give you a very generous bonus if you agree to leave. Enough to tide you over for at least the rest of the year.’

I stare at her,
open mouthed.

‘You want to give me a
year’s
pay?’

‘That’s correct. If you agree to leave
tomorrow.’

Oh my god. That’s enough to pay for all
Wila’s school fees until she finishes her course. No more money worries. No more scrimping and saving.

I think of London. The hustle and bustle. T
he pubs and the markets, and my old friends. My old life.

‘No
,’ I say, feeling a lump in my throat. ‘I won’t leave Bertie. Not for any price.’

And then there’s
Patrick …

Behind me, Bertie turns
around on the bench, and slides his little hand into mine. He smiles up at me, and I smile down at him.

Mrs Calder’s lips thin. ‘
Is Patrick Mansfield affecting this decision at all?’

My mouth drops open again, but I quickly snap it closed. ‘Not at all.’

‘Because whatever hold you have over him, don’t expect it to last.’

‘I … this isn’t about Patrick
. It’s about Bertie.’

‘Very well,’
says Mrs Calder, her voice like acid. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it, so be it. I’ve offered the carrot, Miss Harper. Now let’s see how you like the stick.’ With that, she stalks away.

‘Well,’ I say, putting my arm around Bertie. ‘Looks like I’ve upset Mrs Calder once again. But there aren’t many days when I don’t.’ I sigh. ‘Bertie, I’m not going anywhere. I promise. And I’ll make sure your mum doesn’t listen to your granddad. I’ll keep you at this castle if it’s the last thing I do.’