Wishing Well(35)

Making my way to the swing, I sat on the wooden seat, listening to the soft creak of the chains above my head. Unsure how much time passed as I thought about everything that had occurred since my father’s death, I found myself with a soft smile on my face, thankful for the direction my life had taken since Blake left my life. I still hadn’t contacted my mother or sister to let them know the changes I’d experienced, but perhaps -

Two male voices drifted my direction, one I didn’t recognize and one richly exotic and familiar. The rolling beauty of the French they spoke drew me from the swing to stand near the entrance of the alcove. Beneath a million stars and the muted lights that dabbled the gardens to illuminate the paths, Vincent and a man who looked just like him walked side by side, their voices low, their words fast.

From what I could understand by their hand gestures and clipped tones, they were arguing. Squinting my eyes as if that would bring them into better focus, I stared at the man by Vincent’s side. He wasn’t a mirror image of the man I’d been fantasizing about for over a week, but he was close enough in resemblance for me to assume there was a familial relation. Brothers maybe, or cousins. I wasn’t sure, but both were the type to conjure illicit fantasy in a woman’s head.

I had to shake myself of the thought.

Daring to step out further from the hedges that concealed me from easy view, I recognized the second man as they stepped closer to sit near the well. He was the man in the blue shirt, the one who’d had sex with émilie in plain view. Although I couldn’t begrudge the woman for wanting either of these men, I had to wonder what type of seedy arrangement the three had between them.

Obviously, whatever happened that night was upsetting enough for émilie to quit her job. What was it? What had these two men done?

Curiosity pushed me another step forward, my eyes locked to their bodies as they huddled close to talk. I should have paid better attention to where I was standing. As soon as a twig broke beneath my foot, the man with Vincent looked up. His eyes locked to my face, his body going rigid, his words speeding so fast that it forced Vincent’s head to snap in my direction. I stood frozen as both men grew quiet and watched me.

Aggravation was written over Vincent’s expression, the force of it a pulse in my throat. “Um,” I stammered, an unshakable need to fill the silence of the night, “sorry. I was out here on the swing when you came out. I didn’t mean to-“

Like that, the aggravation was gone, polite professionalism softening the lines of Vincent’s face. The man beside him said something I couldn’t understand. Without answering, Vincent stood from the bench seat and walked toward me, shadows from the garden cutting razored edges across his face. “Penelope, we were just surprised is all. Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“I don’t have to work tomorrow,” I responded, as if that would excuse lurking about in the shadows.

From the bench, the other man spoke harshly, even the beauty of the foreign language lost on his tone. Vincent’s head snapped to look at him, his mouth pulling into a line as sharp as a honed blade. “It seems my brother would like to meet you,” he explained, his fingers tightening over my shoulder as he pushed me back deeper into the alcove. Lowering his voice to a bare whisper, he leaned into me, the notes of his cologne wafting beneath my nose, “Do me a favor and say very little when I introduce you. After that, you should hurry back to your room.”

“Okay,” I whispered, an icy finger tracing my spine. Remembering that Vincent’s brother had been the man with émilie before she’d ended up in the well, apprehension choked me.

I took a step, but Vincent wrapped his long fingers around my bicep, tugging me to him. A gasp of breath escaped my lungs the instant my back met his chest. Angling his head so that his lips were dangerously close to my ear, he whispered, “Do not move too quickly around him. I’ll keep hold of your arm. Once you say hello, I’ll walk you away from him. Be sure to go straight to your room after.”

The apprehension tightened into a knot of panic deep inside my chest. “Vincent, what’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later. Just follow directions, Penelope. Do exactly as I say.”

Not liking the sound of that, I clenched my teeth, my legs not quite responsive when I attempted to put one foot in front of the other. Vincent’s brother stared at me as we moved forward, his eyes shadowed, his body so still that I could imagine a snake perfectly coiled to strike. Only the heat of Vincent’s hand on my arm kept me from screaming and running away.

However, as we moved closer, I was able to see his brother’s features more clearly, was able to relax just a small amount to discover that the too-still man was just as beautiful as Vincent. The only difference I could plainly see was that the brother had an emptiness behind his eyes that wasn’t noticeable in Vincent.

“Maurice,” Vincent said as we stepped close enough to speak quietly and be heard, “this is Penelope Graham. Penelope, this is my younger brother, Maurice.”

“Bonsoir ...” Maurice said, his body rigid.

“Elle ne parle pas fran?ais ,” Vincent answered.

I merely swallowed, a lot, finding it impossible to dislodge the trepidation clogging my throat. Holding in a cry of surprise was nearly impossible when the snake finally struck. From one second to the next, he was standing feet from me and he was leaning over me, the heat of his chest colliding with mine as the tip of his nose brushed over my hair. Vincent’s hand tightened on my arm.