Forgotten Time (Ravenhurst Series, #1) A New Adult Time Travel Romance Page 4

  “Do you know what I find interesting? Judith is a stranger to you, and yet you take her in and supply her with not only a home, but new clothing as well. Marguerite, your ward, you know, the one you pledged to look after ‘til the day you die… what are you doing with her?” He looked pointedly at Isabelle. “Oh right, you are dumping her off on me so your husband won’t try to bed her.” He shook his head angrily before finishing his drink.

  Isabelle walked forward, her skirts swishing softly against the thick Oriental carpet, with her arms outstretched, “Sebastian, sweetheart…”

  He lifted his hand in the air to stay her. “I have a wedding to prepare for. Or did you forget I am to be married in a few short hours?”

  “Of course not… Can I do something for you?” Isabelle asked sadly.

  “I think you have done enough,” he said with finality, feeling more betrayed with each step he took towards the open doorway. He stopped mid-step. Marguerite was standing in the middle of the foyer; her face flushed in anger or sadness… maybe both. Her violet eyes bore into his own with a look of sheer, unadulterated hatred that chilled him to the bone. Gooseflesh rose on his skin. He felt frozen in place, like so many of the marbled statuaries positioned around Ravenhurst rooms. He knew he should say something… maybe even sorry… but the words escaped him…

  Finally, she broke her gaze and the lead weight he felt in his legs subsided. “I am late,” he mumbled awkwardly as he walked briskly past her, keeping his eyes downcast on the marble-checkered tiles of the foyer. He rounded the corner and took the steps two at a time up the winding staircase, without ever looking back in her direction once.

  Sebastian finished off the rest of his drink as his mind returned to the present. The flames had died down and were now nothing more than red embers glowing in the dim light. He chuckled a little; it was an empty, hollow sound. No wonder the chit left him at the altar. He couldn’t blame her, really. Had he been in her shoes, he would have left himself at the altar as well. He found he had a healthy respect for her gumption. He didn’t think she had any; apparently, he was wrong on that count, as well as a few others. She vanished that night without a trace. No body found, no misdeeds done, even though he did entertain the notion, if only for a moment. He was not so terrible, or was he? He would never know for sure. Apparently, she ran as fast and as far as she could, and thereby had the last laugh. For, unless she was dead–with a body for proof and no misdeeds done to said body, he could not inherit one red cent.

  Had he known that little bit of information at the time, perhaps he might have been kinder to her. A bark of laughter escaped his throat at the insanity of it all.

  In truth, he probably would have tied her up and dragged her to the altar instead.

  At some point, Katherine came to the realization that she was still at Ravenhurst. Where else could she be? Feeling sure she must be overstaying her welcome, she still felt so bad, she really didn’t care. She finally managed to make it to the bathroom and used a rag to get the funk out of her mouth. After rinsing it repeatedly with water that tasted like rust, which was gross too, she decided that she preferred it to the alternative. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness in the room. Tiny, sneering, cherubic faces stared at her, perched on the four bedposts. Pillows were stacked all around her body. She felt like someone was trying to keep her from rolling out of the bed, like a baby. She turned around to find more sneering little faces gathered in a group, examining her.

  The carvings were extraordinary, but also freaking weird. Seriously, who in the hell would choose to be watched by gang of little, ugly cherubs, sneering at you, and hanging above your head every night before you fell asleep? That’s begging for nightmares.

  They were almost as bad as the gargoyles standing, crawling, and hanging from almost every surface inside and out of the entry and foyer. Ned said it was creepy inside, and boy, was he right! Katherine wondered if he was still around, or had ditched her and left with Amelia? She pulled the curtain back on the bed a bit; it was a heavy fabric, probably velvet.

  A globed lamp cast off a faint, yellowish glow showing the flowers painted on it. It sat on a doily. There was a door on her right and another beside it. Further in the room was the bathroom she used earlier.

  She heard a dragging noise coming from one end of the small room. Panic swept through her, and she dropped the curtain, consumed with dread. Was it the crazy maid coming to do her in again? Or worse? She wasn’t sure why, but she thought it was probably worse. A cold, inescapable fear filled her body. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She shivered. She couldn’t see the end of the room, but a faint shaft of light streamed in from a small opening in the curtains. The light ray shifted. Not once, but twice.

  Katherine covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. She tried to calm her growing sense of dread, hoping… saying it was only the maid, but she knew it wasn’t. She just knew whatever or whoever it was had to be horrible. She could feel it. She judged the distance across the room, trying to decide which would serve her better, fight or flight?

  She chose flight.

  Katherine sprang from the bed; her bare feet barely touching the rug as she leapt to the door. She grabbed the handle and ripped the door open. Bolting through, her heart hammered in her chest as she rounded the corner at full speed. She turned to see if someone was chasing her and ran directly into a hard, unyielding object.

  Katherine’s flight for freedom ended abruptly. It was too much; darkness enveloped her once more.

  What was lost, could be found

  She was back. How could that even be possible? Sebastian took the stairs two at a time, just like the last time he saw her. Except now, he ran towards her, instead of away. His mind was reeling; still too muddy from the alcohol to fully understand what was happening. Milford, his man, had awoken him, yelling something about “Marguerite has returned.” Sebastian was in no mood for his valet-butler’s humorless jokes. However, Milford was not kidding; he was deadly serious. Being so caught up in his own thoughts, Sebastian could not believe what he was seeing.

  A flurry of white rounded the corner with long, dark hair flying behind. He couldn’t move fast enough. The girl hit him with such force; he lost his footing and tumbled backward. He strained to move, but she was dead weight. He tried again; bloody hell, how drunk was he? He was not a weakling by any standards but still could not budge the girl.

  The last time he saw Marguerite, she was no more than skin and bones. As he pushed against her now, he could see that was not the case any longer. Was she really ever that skinny? Or did she look that way because her gowns were always so large? He tried to remember, but he couldn’t recall ever looking at her… really.

  His head hurt like hell from slamming into the floor. He was stuck. “MILFORD!” Sebastian yelled as loudly as he could. He heard footsteps approaching where he lay.

  “Good heavens, my lord, what has happened?” Milford inquired, a tinge of laughter, sounding in his voice.

  Sebastian looked up towards Milford’s face. His eyes were tearing up. Rolling his eyes, he ground out, “Get her off me.”

  Milford rolled her slightly to one side. It was enough for Sebastian to get out from under her body. Standing up, he looked down at the girl lying on the floor.

  “What happened?” Milford asked.

  “She ran into me,” Sebastian said, stating the obvious.

  “Why?” Milford asked, looking thoughtful and crossing his arms as though he were a detective investigating a crime scene.

  “How do I know?”

  Milford tapped his chin. “She must have been moving pretty fast to knock you over so easily, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. Is this line of questioning going somewhere?” Sebastian asked, annoyed.

  “Don’t you find it odd that she was running?”

  “Why, yes, Milford, I do. Don’t you?” Sebastian said in exasperation, running his hand through his dark hair. It was longer now and kept falling in his eyes. He did not spend as much time attendi
ng to his appearance as he had in the past, not since the chit ran away. It seemed like she took something from him when she left, and he didn’t want to ponder what that could be.

  “I do wonder what she was running from,” Milford added, looking perplexed. He cast his eyes warily towards the end of the hall.

  “Bloody hell, Milford, how do I know? Maybe she had a bad dream.”

  “Yes, probably a really bad dream,” Milford agreed readily.

  Sebastian looked at Milford. He could swear his face turned paler. “Help me get her back into bed.”

  Milford stared down the hall for a moment longer.

  “Milford.”

  “Right, sorry,” he said, as he took her legs in his hands.

  Sebastian lifted her up under her arms and they both put her back into bed. “Have you called the doctor?”

  “Yes, Dr. Dandridge will be here shortly, after he attends to another patient.”

  Sebastian rolled his eyes. Dr. Dandridge was Annabelle’s husband. Perfect. That was all he needed.

  One often heard stories about young women who were tossed aside, but only after their so-called admirers had their way with them. Sebastian wondered if that was the case with Marguerite. Why else would she have come back? She looked so innocent, wrapped up in the pristine, white cotton of her modest sleeping gown. The ruffled collar was undone and revealed the delicate curve of her neck and shoulder. Her dark hair contrasted strikingly with her pale, almost alabaster, complexion. Her face had filled out, and her lips looked fuller and sexier than he remembered.

  Visions of his last encounter with Annabelle came into his mind; her lips were not nearly as full and lovely as Marguerite’s…

  Sebastian’s fantasy was short-lived. He sensed a presence hovering in the doorway. Turning, he faced Milford, who had a resolute expression on his face. “Good Lord, man, what is it?” Sebastian asked more brusquely than necessary. He felt like a reprimanded child, who was caught, preparing to take a forbidden piece of candy.

  Milford cleared his throat and tugged at his waistcoat to straighten his already immaculate appearance. “The doctor has arrived.”

  Sebastian rose, keeping his eyes on Marguerite, and said over his shoulder. “Send him up.”

  “Certainly, I will return in just a moment,” Milford replied.

  Sebastian gave Milford a sidelong glance as he departed, aware of the underlying warning in his tone. He stared down at Marguerite once more. She seemed so changed since the last time he saw her. Or, was it rather he who had changed in her absence?

  “Good evening, my lord,” Dr. Dandridge said coolly. He inclined his head politely towards the Earl of Ravenhurst upon entering the room.

  “Good evening, Doctor. I will leave you to your examination, but please attend to her well; she is my betrothed.”

  Dr. Dandridge’s eyes widened at that statement. “Of course, my lord,” he huffed excitedly, rubbing the circulation into his thick hands before examining the patient. “I will do everything in my power to ensure she weds you very soon, yes, very soon indeed.”

  “Thank you.” Sebastian wondered about the good doctor’s sudden enthusiasm. The doctor acted as though he knew about Sebastian’s intimate relations with his wife, and was more than happy to hear that he, Sebastian, would soon be occupied elsewhere.

  Sebastian would have to agree since Annabelle had been even more eager and demanding in bed than usual. Looking at the good doctor now, he could see why.

  … The last time he was with Annabelle

  She removed her gown as soon as he entered the room. It pooled to the ground. She stepped out of it, leaving only her stockings and slippers on. Her wild red hair was still swept up in a messy coiffure, her blue eyes, smudged with makeup. She stared at him hungrily, “Take off your clothes now,” she demanded in a throaty voice as she lifted her leg onto a chair and adjusted her stocking. She turned slightly, and with a wicked little smile, ran her hands up her body, then cupped her breast, toying with her taut nipple.

  Normally, her little display would have evoked an immediate response in Sebastian. At the very least, he would have found it amusing, but not this time.

  “What is taking you so long?” she purred sweetly.

  He didn’t move.

  “I told you to take off your clothes,” she pouted angrily. Dropping her leg, she walked over towards where he was standing. “I am getting cold.” She shivered for effect, crooning sweetly, trying to coat her earlier outburst with sugar. She ran her hands over his breeches, working the fastenings quickly.

  He was unresponsive. “Annabelle, perhaps this is not such a good idea after all,” he said, trying to still her hands.

  “Oh, don’t be silly. It is cold in here. I will warm you up in no time,” she said anxiously, rubbing her hand over him faster and faster.

  Sebastian noticed the tone in her voice, the worry, the trepidation. He had to admit he felt a little bad, but after Marguerite left him, something changed. He changed, he supposed.

  Annabelle was not easily deterred. She pulled his breeches fully down, not even bothering to remove his boots, while pushing him backward into a chair. She smiled up at him coyly and knelt down in front of him, rubbing her hands up the length of him. Her hair came undone and tumbled over his thighs, tickling them lightly. She took him into her mouth, her head moving up and down.

  After some time, and little by little, she coaxed him to life with her tireless ministrations.

  Annabelle climbed on top, straddling him, leaning forward, licking his neck and ear. She grabbed his hand, trying to get him to touch her in her most intimate of places.

  It didn’t work. He kept slipping out. She angrily let go of his hand. She was writhing with need. After using her hand to guide him back and forth, he still could not become fully aroused. She was begging now. “Please, Sebastian,” she moaned, kissing his chest and neck, sliding her hand over the slippery wetness of him, moving faster and faster.

  Sebastian stilled her hand; she was rubbing him raw. “Annabelle? Sorry, love, but this is not working.”

  She ignored him and stood up, leaning over him, making her breasts rub against his chest, and began kissing his stomach again.

  He stilled her once more, lifting her chin so she would look up at him. “Sorry, sweet. I just do not see this happening today.”

  “Nonsense, Sebastian, try to clear your mind, I know I can make it work,” she begged.

  She walked over to the bed, and lay down on her back, opening her legs slightly.

  Sebastian watched as she began to toy with herself again. He felt nothing. He had no inclination whatsoever to take her up on the invitation she was so blatantly offering him. He pulled back on his breeches.

  “You’re leaving?” she asked, dismayed. The anger flashed in her eyes once more. This time, she made no attempt to mask her voice in sugary sweetness.

  “Yes, Annabelle, I believe I am,” Sebastian said without hesitation, surprised by his own candor.

  “Well, take a good long look because, if you leave now, this is the last time you will see me. Do you understand?” she warned vehemently, fuming.

  Sebastian pulled his waistcoat on, looking at her face twisted with bitter rage. And still he felt nothing. It was funny; shouldn’t her remark evoke some feeling from inside? But there was nothing, no sadness, anger, or remorse.

  “Goodbye, Annabelle,” he said simply, listening to her screams at his back as he walked out the door.

  His mind came back to the present. He looked over at Marguerite lying on the bed. How sweet and innocent she appeared. Yes, he believed the good doctor was right; he may have someone else to occupy his time after all.

  Dr. Dandridge hoisted his heavy form into the waiting carriage after examining his patient.

  Sebastian watched from the window as the footman closed the door and the carriage pulled away. The prognosis was clear; Marguerite had a mild concussion. She should be right as rain in no time at all.

  Dr. Dand
ridge saw no reason why Sebastian could not wed her within the week. And if the doctor had an ulterior motive, he did not outwardly show it to Sebastian. He wondered if the doctor would pass this news onto his wife. Knowing Annabelle, she would be livid. Oh well, such was life. Sebastian really did not care.

  He strode towards the library, heading for a drink of his finest. He pulled up short in his progression when he saw he was not alone in this venture.

  “There you are, de Winter. I wondered where you had gotten to,” Devlin said, turning fully around. He was holding an overfilled crystal snifter of brandy.

  Sebastian had to quell his irritation as he watched Devlin Renquist, the new Lord of Hawthorne, his Aunt Isabelle’s rakehell of a husband, sip his finest in his stead. The aged liquid sloshed over the side, spilling onto the carpet.

  “Sorry, de Winter,” Devlin said absently, taking another drink. “This is good stuff,” he commented, lifting the glass, and spilling more of it onto the carpet in the process.

  Sebastian took a breath, ignoring the mess. “So, Renquist, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?” He really did not care for the man at all; however, he was supportive and tried to find Marguerite when she disappeared, so Sebastian supposed he could afford him some kind of allowance. “What finds you out and about at this hour?” Sebastian asked offhandedly.

  Devlin pushed away from the mantel to pour Sebastian a drink. “Good evening to you as well. I was out for my evening ride and decided to take a moment to check on you. See how you are faring in these difficult times and all that.”

  “How considerate of you, but surely you did not ride all this way, in this harsh weather, to check on me?” Sebastian replied doubtfully. Hawthorne Manor bordered his property, but it was at least a good hour’s ride away.

  “Oh, you do read me so well. I hate to admit, but with your Aunt Isabelle and my sister Judith both in attendance, the walls of Hawthorne have a way of closing in on a man.”