“Yes,” she lied smoothly. She barely resisted the urge to cross her fingers behind her back. She had never been quite so superstitious, but after what she’d learned about her host, she decided that it couldn’t do any harm.
He walked forward and put his hands on her shoulders. His voice lowered, turned husky as he said, “Do you promise to come to me if something untoward occurs from this moment on?”
She lost herself in those stormy blue eyes and nearly went back on her vow to keep her distance from Alaric. “I promise,” she said softly.
His expression was somber, mesmerizing, as he reached out and brushed the back of his hand along her temple and into her hairline. “You really are quite lovely, Miss St. Clair.”
Marlene’s breath halted. The earlier tension shifted, melted into something else, as if the ancestors of the past were looking down upon them in a favorable manner, encouraging them with their frozen gazes.
For an endless span of time, they stood close together. The only sound in the room was their even breathing—inhale and exhale—awareness swirling about them. Marlene’s focus was riveted on the exposed section of his robe, her lips parting slightly. She told herself that she had no time for romance, but from the first moment she’d laid eyes on Sir Gothry, she knew that nothing would ever be the same. She’d had no idea that he would turn out to be quite so mysterious, or compelling—and she knew her attraction wasn’t one-sided. It was obvious that he was just as entranced by her. His nostrils flared, as if inhaled her scent, enveloping her essence completely. Although her experience with men was limited, she could tell by the way he looked at her, she could feel his regard as close as any physical touch.
She was the one to break the spell by stepping back away from him. “I should return to my room now.”
He looked at her intently, as if he wanted to say something further, but in the end, he released whatever hold he had on the door, and it opened.
Marlene cast her gaze down to the floor and left him in the gallery.
She returned to her chamber and shut the door firmly. Her legs finally refused to support her as she slid to the floor in a crumpled heap. Her chest ached, as if she couldn’t catch a full breath. She couldn’t say if it was from the haunting memories of her past, or the unknown future ahead of her.
Or Sir Gothry.
Whatever it was, she knew had no choice but to remain in this manor, until fate decided otherwise. She was trapped here as surely as if Sir Gothry was her jailer and he’d thrown away the proverbial key. The worst part of it was, she didn’t know if she wanted to be free.
She closed her eyes and allowed the frustrated tears she’d been holding back to fall down her face in silent sobs. They wracked her body with the force of her emotion, but she didn’t make a sound. She didn’t want the spirits, or whatever else that lurked in the corners of this house—or her heart—to hear.
For so long, she’d yearned for the chance to live a normal life, one that wasn’t fraught with heartache and peril, whether it be from loss or sickness—or something not of this earth.
She had desperately wanted to tell Sir Gothry everything, but she’d held back, because there were times he scared her. Not in the physical sense, but emotionally. He fascinated her. What she wouldn’t give to be able to turn back the hands of time and leave this place and all the secrets hidden within these walls. She could pretend that Rosedale Heights never existed.
But whenever she considered a life without him, he would look at her a certain way, and she realized that should she want to go, she didn’t think she could actually leave, because then she would have to tell him goodbye. In such a short acquaintance, he had already found a way into her heart. Whatever power he might confess to wield, or whatever enemies might be threatening, it was the danger of falling in love with him that was the most perilous of all.
Marlene opened the door to the lantern sitting on her bedside table and removed the key from inside. It was the first time she’d dared to hold it in her grasp since she had hidden it there upon her return from the village with Lady Erica the day before. It was cold in her palm now, without any sort of imagined heat to burn her.
She still had no idea what it might open, but she decided that, if the abilities she’d had as a child were real, some sort of clairvoyant abilities, then perhaps she should embrace the “gift,” as Sir Gothry called it, rather than ignore it.
This small bit of iron in her grasp might not be the actual key to saving Sir Gothry and Rosedale Heights. If what he suggested was true, that she had been led there for a purpose—the key could be her.
With a shiver, Marlene set the key back where it had been, and then she walked over to her dressing table. She inspected her puffy eyes and decided that wouldn’t do. If she was going to ward off evil, she wasn’t going to do it looking like some sort of haggard crone. It was time to pull herself up and gather the courage she knew was deep inside.
Once Marlene had calmed down, she opened her wardrobe to change into a yellow gown, hoping that it would go further to brighten her spirits. She frowned, because her discarded clothing had already been returned to her room and neatly hung up in her wardrobe. She gathered Sir Gothry’s banyan in her grasp, intending to return it to him. She didn’t need the servants gossiping about why such a personal item was in her possession. And since she’d already been in the north wing, she didn’t think it was off limits to her any longer. If he took offense at her being there, she would promptly inform him that if he didn’t need her help, she could be on her way, so long as he offered a letter of recommendation to secure her next position.
Marlene was glad that she’d folded the robe into a neat bundle beneath her arm, because she met Mrs. Bates on the grand staircase. They each murmured pleasantries to each other as they passed, but even then, Marlene held her breath until the woman was gone.
Once she was assured that she wouldn’t be observed, Marlene quickly altered direction and made her way to the north wing. There, she lifted her hand to knock on Sir Gothry’s door, but paused when she heard a groan coming from the other side. She might have thought something was wrong with him, but the sound he emanated sounded almost… animalistic.
She stood immobile as her ears strained to hear more. Although she wasn’t an expert when it came to men, she knew the sounds of lovemaking—or self-pleasure.
She closed her eyes as the slight moans continued. She imagined that while he was stroking his hard cock, she was gently massaging her breasts. With a hitch in her lungs, she dared to lift her free hand and rub it gently along her bodice. When the sounds beyond the door started to change, growing in intensity, Marlene also became more aroused. She pressed her legs together to assuage the pulsing ache between her thighs, but it only intensified her lust.
As the crescendo rose beyond the oak frame, she dug her nails into her palms. Her lips parted as the fantasy went on to imagine Sir Gothry kissing her deeply, his tongue laving a path of destruction in his wake. He would gently nip her earlobe, and she would murmur his name as he touched her, ecstasy pouring through her—
The door abruptly opened, and Marlene gasped in surprise. Sir Gothry’s bright blue eyes were so vivid that she might have thought they weren’t even human. “What are you doing here?” he growled as he grasped her arm and pulled her into the room.
He shut the door firmly behind her, but Marlene didn’t have the wherewithal to care. She only wanted this moment—with him. Her reservations and his mistrust be damned. She held up the banyan while her heart pounded a steady rhythm that flowed throughout her body. “I brought this back.”
He gave it a single glance, then swept it out of her grasp, ignoring the garment as it fluttered to the floor. He cupped her face in his palms and lowered his head.
Marlene whimpered at the first taste of his mouth against hers. She tried to reason with herself that kissing him was wrong, but she couldn’t seem to find the proper guilt for conveying the message.
