Sommersgate House (Ghosts and Reincarnation #2)(41)

“Sad,” Veronika said, her eyes making that one word far more expressive.

Julia nodded and smiled and was about to walk away when Veronika stopped her.

“You?” she asked and then went on hesitantly. “Okay?” Julia nodded again but Veronika forged on, looking scared but determined. “Not with ghosts, with…” She let that hang and Julia knew exactly what she meant.

Without thinking, Julia pulled the girl into a hug and after a moment Veronika returned it.

“I’m fine,” Julia whispered. “Don’t worry about me. It’ll be okay for all of us,” Julia stated with feeling. “I promise.”

This time, Veronika nodded, pulled away, gave Julia a pretty but tentative smile and then walked away.

That was yesterday. Tonight was different.

The scratching was back, intent and determined. He was out there.

It was late and although Monique was gone, the scratching and everything on Julia’s mind wouldn’t allow her to sleep. She was averaging less than five hours a night and she was constantly exhausted.

Douglas had disappeared, no word, no sign. Pride was now stopping her from calling both him and Samantha to find out what he was doing and when he would return. He should be home; he’d been gone for over two weeks. He was supposed to be helping her with the kids and he’d not even had the courtesy to phone. She was furious and the minute she saw him again she was going to let him have it.

She had to think that way. If she allowed herself to think of the way he sometimes looked at her and the fact that he kissed her…

Kissed her!

She still couldn’t fathom it.

She’d been right, a game was afoot. Perhaps he was trying to get her to slip up, seem like the gold-digging monster his mother thought she was. Perhaps he was going to try to prove her unworthy of taking care of the children by seducing her, making her look the brazen hussy. Why, she did not know, as he had little interest in the children but who knew exactly how Douglas Ashton’s mind worked.

If she wasn’t careful, he would succeed. It had been a long time for her. She’d not had a lover since Sean. When Douglas had kissed her, she kissed him back, she didn’t want to but she couldn’t help herself.

He was a good kisser.

No, he wasn’t a good kisser, he was an excellent kisser.

And he was Douglas.

There was a time when she’d dreamed of him kissing her, when she’d have practically paid him to do it (not that he’d need or take the money). She never imagined that he would even want to kiss her, let alone do it.

And it had been good, oh so very good to have that hard, sexy mouth with its mysterious scar on hers. He tasted like… like… well, he tasted like all man and like sex, touching her tongue to his, feeling his tongue in her mouth, the only thought on her mind was having his mouth on her body, everywhere on her body. He barely had to try before he broke through her struggle and she was clinging to him and kissing him back like a wanton.

His body was so warm and hard and…

She shook her head to clear it. She would not, could not think of Douglas. She had to get a hold of herself. She could not live the next more than a decade panting after the Lord of the Manor. It was humiliating and she wouldn’t allow it to happen, not ever again.

The scratching was fraying her nerves and when she could take it no more, she threw the covers back and stalked to Douglas’s study to get a whisky to soothe her tension and hopefully put herself to sleep. She’d get drunk if she had to, sleep on the sofa in the study to avoid the infernal, constant scratching. She threw her lilac, cashmere robe on over her pyjamas and headed out of her room.

The draperies were open in the study and moonlight lit the room. The moon was so huge and bright, she didn’t bother with the lights, walked directly to the drinks cabinet and picked up the decanter she’d seen Douglas using. She was reaching for a glass when she heard a deep, baritone voice.

“Can’t sleep?”

She jumped, whirled and almost dropped the decanter.

“Douglas!” Julia cried in surprise.

He was sitting in the armchair that faced away from the door, towards the window. He was lounging with feet up on the table in front of him like he had no cares in the world. As if he didn’t have three children he was supposed to be looking after. As if he didn’t have a harridan of a mother who was making everyone’s life at Sommersgate a living hell and had been for years. As if none of this touched him.

Something about this made her both angry and on edge.

She could see the glint of a glass in his hand.

“Julia,” he replied calmly in greeting.

“You’re home,” she noted unnecessarily, feeling foolish.

She should be shouting at him because he’d abandoned her to the fate worse than death that was Monique. But something made her stop.

Something made her nervous.

He didn’t reply, just looked up at her, his face partially in shadow, partially lit by the moonlight and the effect was decidedly ominous.

“What are you doing, sitting in the dark?” she asked.

“Thinking,” he answered shortly.

She stood there mutely, holding the decanter and waiting for him to say more.

He didn’t.

She twisted, put the decanter down and turned back. In that time, he had silently risen from his chair and her faint feeling of dread intensified as ominous turned menacing.