Belmary House 4 Read online

  “No, Serena, not even a glance at its pages. I’ve lost too many people I care about to this damn thing to put you at risk.” Ashford squeezed her arm as he and Kostya herded her toward the door.

  “Come along, sweetest,” Kostya said, sliding his arm around her waist. “Let’s have your tea upstairs, shall we?”

  She nodded her consent, glad to have his reassuring warmth close to her, but she sizzled with outrage at her failure. Not even a glance at its pages, was it? She’d see about that. She was more determined than ever to know what was in that book.

  Chapter 6

  Dex opened the door to Emma’s rapid knock, wishing she wouldn’t knock at all, that she’d use the key he’d given her. He’d barely got her to relax and accept that things were normal again and then Tilly happened. He felt guilty for the uncharitable thought. He’d kept his cousin prisoner in his flat the whole day while he went to work, knowing she was out of her mind with worries as well. Bugger it all.

  “Is she okay?” Emma asked, as always, much sweeter than him.

  “She’s asleep,” he answered more curtly than he meant to. “Did you already pick up Dahlia?”

  He wanted to suggest they all go out to eat, but he knew he was in denial. He wanted to pretend Tilly was where she was supposed to be, not passed out in his second bedroom. He’d purposely kept a flat with two bedrooms for the last three years, in case he met Emma early and things worked out, Dahlia would have a place. Now that he was back with her, he understood how daft that was. She wouldn’t even let him meet her daughter, let alone have family sleepovers.

  Patience, he told himself for the millionth time. She hasn’t been waiting ten years, give her time.

  Time, the blasted curse of his existence.

  “What are we going to do, Dexter?” she asked, hovering around his bar with her hands clasped under her chin.

  He forcibly pressed her onto a barstool and poured her a beer, which she refused, citing Dahlia was at a sleepover and she was too scared to drink while she was away.

  “That’s the only time you get to drink, though,” he said, not understanding.

  She sighed. “Yes, well, I’d feel awful if she broke her arm and I showed up at hospital plastered. I never drink while she’s away, unless she’s with my mum.” She smiled weakly. “She’s meant to go to Oxford this weekend actually. I was going to suggest something fun but now …”

  “Now we have Til,” he said. He reached for her hand, pulling it to his lips for a kiss. He didn’t want to stop, but felt like a heel already for being so bitter about Tilly screwing up her life. His life, everyone’s life. “Ah, I’m so bloody angry,” he admitted, dropping her hand.

  She ran her fingers through his hair, across his salt and pepper sideburns which Tilly had made him feel self-conscious about. Things were so much better when they aged at the same rate, and they met as equals, enjoying each other’s company as usual. He groaned and sank onto the barstool next to Emma.

  “What’s got you so knotted up?” she urged, moving around behind him to knead his shoulders. Ah, he liked that, and dropped his head forward.

  “I keep telling myself that Tilly couldn’t have known what she was doing. She wanted to come home, and ten years ago I would have welcomed her with open arms. I don’t know if you recall, but I was against her leaving with Ashford.”

  “I somewhat recall that, yes,” she murmured, prodding at his tense muscles with her thumbs. The gentle tone of her voice and caring touch opened the dam on his complaining.

  “But I’ve visited with her, she’s come here with Ashford over the years. They’re happy. I mean the kind that makes you want to hug them and punch them at the same time.” She giggled softly and he smiled at the sound. He hadn’t heard her laugh in so long. Years. Even though she was with him now, he couldn’t make himself believe it was real. “And those children,” he groaned. “God, Em, you should see them. Dahlia would have loved playing with them. I’d hoped we could find a way, but with Liam gone, and Tilly refusing to let them travel—” he stopped, choked by bitterness. “Damn it all, Tilly. What has that idiot woman done?”

  “You made it back to me after all this time,” she said. “Things will work themselves out with Tilly as well.”

  She didn’t sound sure and he turned around to face her, wrapping his arms around her waist as if it might be the last time.

  “That’s what’s making me feel the smallest,” he admitted. “I’m scared she’s messed things up with us.”

  Emma pushed him back and took his face in her hands, shaking her head at him with an adorable schoolmarm look on her pretty face. It was amazing how much time had passed but she was exactly as he remembered her.

  “Of course she hasn’t,” she said. “How could she?”

  “Well, you seemed so skittish about letting me meet Dahlia, and now with the portal open again, I thought you might pack up and head for America or something.”

  “Well, if you knew anything about me, I’d head for Spain if I was going to run away from reality,” she said drily. Then she blushed and looked down. “And about meeting Dahlia. I— I know how much she’d love you, and I couldn’t bear it if you couldn’t handle what our real life is like. Having an eleven year old is no easy business. She’s not always sunshine and rainbows. She’ll be sassing you in no time, and then there’s the business with drinking and having fun. Mums can’t really have all that much fun, Dexter.”

  “Are you mad?” he asked, going to the fridge and taking out his three beers. He opened them and poured them down the drain one after the other. “I don’t care about this at all. And sitting in the same room with you is fun to me. I go out maybe twice a year and that’s because my interns drag me. And come here and look at this.” He took her hand and pulled her to his bookshelf, where he tugged her down to the bottom row, all filled with childrearing books. “I’ve been reading. I understand all about sassing.”

  She laughed, wiping away a tear. “It’s nothing like the books,” she said. “Believe me, I’ve read them all, too. It takes experience.”

  “I want the experience,” he said. “I’ve been waiting.” He put his arms around her as they stood.

  “Very well,” she said. “But let me be a bit greedy, all right? Let’s go on five dates, just us, and then you can meet her.”

  “Agreed.” He nodded toward the couch, where they both collapsed in exhaustion. “What a day.”

  “We still haven’t solved anything with Tilly,” she said, seeming regretful to bring it up. Still, she snuggled under his arm and wrestled the remote from his hand, scrolling through channels at lightning speed.

  “I don’t know how we can solve that,” he sighed. “We’ll have to wait and see if Ashford can fix the portal, or if Piper solves her own problems in time to get her back. I can’t think about what might happen if we don’t get her back in time for them to get married when they’re supposed to. It makes my stomach turn.”

  “Don’t think about it, then,” she said, settling on a travel show featuring the pyramids. He yawned and rested his head on the back of the couch. “Like you say, there’s not much we can do but wait and see.”

  ***

  Tilly rested her head against the door of her bedroom, trying to hold back her tears. Since she heard every word Dex and Emma had said, it stood to reason they’d hear her crying. And if she started, it wouldn’t be silent, lovely tears rolling down her cheeks, it would be full on ugly blubbering. Things were worse than she thought, and she’d thought they were plenty bad.

  Dex had given her his credit card and a sheaf of restaurant menus, and would only leave for work after she swore up and down she wouldn’t leave the flat and be seen by someone who might recognize her. She thought it was rubbish, and almost walked around the block just to be spiteful, and because she wanted to walk the streets without fear of being sold into a brothel and buy food instead of having to fight rats for it. But that would prove to Dex that she was as untrustworthy as he thought she was.
God, old Dex was insufferable.

  She’d been building up a solid resentment all day, finally hiding in her room and pretending to be asleep when he came home so she didn’t have to deal with him. But now that she’d overheard his true feelings, and how she might have ruined things between him and Emma, she felt worse than she’d felt before her shower. Dirty straight to her soul.

  There was nothing in this time for her. How much longer could she skulk around this apartment, ordering take-out and pretending to sleep to avoid uncomfortable conversations? It was day one and she was already going bonkers from the stress and guilt. She knew if she went back to California, her mom and grandmother would welcome her— for about five minutes. Then how could she explain things to them?

  ‘By the way mom, those grandkids you’ve grown to love over the last ten years? Well, you’re not getting them after all.’

  She curled into a ball at the thought of it. No, she couldn’t go back to California, either. She had precisely two choices. Run away to a place where no one would ever find her and start fresh in this time, hiding from her family and regretting for the rest of her days what she’d missed out on, or try and get back to Ashford.

  It wasn’t a choice at all, really. Now that she’d had some time to see what life without Ashford would be like— lonely, sad, horrible— she didn’t think compromising a little seemed such a big deal. Of course she couldn’t get a job or start a business, what had she been thinking, trying to change an entire century’s way of doing things as if she was better than them?

  It didn’t mean she couldn’t keep busy. When she’d been hiding out in the seventeenth century, seeing how truly awful things were for women who didn’t have protectors, older brothers, fathers, husbands, she’d begun thinking about ways she could help. She’d wanted to be a seamstress because she loved sewing and designing pretty gowns, not because she wanted or needed money. She would have to find a way to do that without shaming Ashford and bringing down the whole of the early nineteenth century.

  She crawled to the bed and climbed into it, pressing her face into the pillow, because the tears were coming in earnest now. She wanted to be back with Ashford so badly, it made her bones hurt. The thought of going into the portal again turned her blood icy but she had no choice. It was Ashford or nothing. Even if she managed to get back to her own time, she’d keep trying. If she got chased by dinosaurs, she’d keep trying, though she sincerely hoped that wasn’t possible.

  Making a decision calmed her down a bit and she started to feel sleepy. She still had to figure out how to get past Dex and Emma to get into Belmary House. It didn’t help that they both worked there.

  A good night’s sleep without fear of being murdered would help her figure it out. If she managed to get back in the room, and the portal opened and accepted her, it might be a while before she got that chance again.

  Chapter 7

  Serena rubbed the swell of her belly and looked at the book. Ashford had left it out on his desk, as bold as brass, knowing no one would bother it. His servants wouldn’t dare mess about with his things, and she couldn’t touch it. She wondered for the hundredth time what would happen to her if she tried. Certainly the thing wasn’t lethal, was it?

  She’d become consumed with knowing what was in it. She could understand Ashford being an ass about it, but when she’d asked Kostya to share with her what was in it, he’d become more tight-lipped than ever, and he was awfully tight-lipped since he’d returned. Whenever she asked about his trip to his childhood home, he got an empty, haunted look, and when she asked why Ashford had called him to France in the first place, he’d gone positively green, and completely shut her out.

  They were married now, and about to have a child. Ashford’s stark warning that her baby might be in danger before he left to go after Kostya still rattled around in her mind. Kostya assured her it was just Ashford’s ramblings and everything was fine, but the look in his eyes belied his words. She didn’t think he’d purposely deceive her, but what if he wasn’t sure? That might be all right for Kostya, but she needed to know. If neither one of those maddening men would share with her, she’d have to find out on her own. And something told her the answers were in that book.

  Duncan, Ashford’s valet, peered into the room and asked her if there was anything he could do for her. Her cheeks flamed and she spun around as if she’d been caught doing something awry. She immediately recovered herself and told him she didn’t need anything, putting her nose slightly high for good measure.

  The look on his face confirmed to her that Ashford had set him to making sure she didn’t meddle, and a sharp anger swept through her, so fierce it shocked her. He deigned to not trust her? When he and Kostya were clearly keeping secrets? It was abominable, the way they were treating her. She tried to remind herself they were looking for a way to get Tilly back, but she felt there was more to it than that. The looks they exchanged told her there was more.

  Tears pricked at her eyes and she pushed past the crusty old servant, feeling ashamed for her behavior, but unable to stop herself as she rushed back to her room.

  She gathered her little dogs around her, finding it difficult to get them all on her lap now that her lap was rapidly disappearing. They looked up at her with their clear brown eyes and she wished everything could be as easy as loving a dog.

  As she began to relax and feel a bit sleepy, the baby kicked her so hard she jolted and sent the dogs sprawling in all directions. A sharp pain hit her in the side, but subsided as soon as she stood up. She felt another kick but no more pain and decided not to run looking for Kostya, as it was probably nothing. She rubbed her belly and started to ease herself onto the bed again when the baby kicked harder this time, the hardest it had ever done. Now she was positive the wee thing was a boy, and probably a stubborn one at that.

  “Fine. If you want mummy to walk about a bit, I will. You need only ask.” She giggled to herself at her foolishness and when she circled the room, another sharp kick landed as she came near the door. “Shall we go outside, then? It looks a bit dreary, but not raining yet, I don’t think.”

  She planted her hands on either side of her bump and headed down the hall, waiting for the baby to kick again, completely engrossed in the game. She decided to turn back when she came to the stairs, the weather really did look quite forbidding through the hall window, but another hearty kick prodded her to go down instead.

  “Very well, but only a quick stroll around the garden. Be sure to tell me if you change your mind.”

  A maid peeped her head out of one of the rooms and asked if she needed anything and Serena’s face flamed to be caught speaking aloud to her unborn child. Still, he really did seem to be trying to communicate with her. She paused at the ground floor stairwell and turned left toward the front entryway, and feeling nothing, turned right, which would lead them toward the kitchen. When she didn’t feel any more directing kicks, she felt a bit disappointed and embarrassed to have taken her game so seriously, and decided to go out through the kitchen, perhaps pick some peppermint for when her stomach was sure to act up later, as it always did these days after a full meal.

  When she got to the next hall, she indulged her folly one more time, turning first left, which would lead her toward the music room, then right, which would keep her on the path toward the kitchen. A sharp jab told her very strongly that the baby wanted to hear some music, and she delightedly turned that way, glad their fun was back on. However, he was as still as a stone in the doorway to the music room, and she continued on. Nothing alerted her to stop into the library, and the only room left at the end of this hall was Ashford’s study.

  “Surely not,” she said, but continued on.

  She ached to look at the book again, and wondered if the baby was as keen to know its heritage as she was. She knew Ashford would only shoo her away again, sending her back into her bad mood, but when she got to the door and slowly pushed it open, to her surprise it was completely empty, the huge book sitting closed on the
desk. She stopped in front of it, then went around and sat in Ashford’s chair, her hand hovering over the worn leather cover.

  “You know we can’t,” she said, feeling she should follow her original plan to pick peppermint before the rain came. Four hard kicks in a row caused her to gasp. At the same time, ‘Povest line’ echoed through her head as clearly as if it had been spoken. She rubbed her temples, and another kick made her put it together. A quick spark of terror ran through her before she forced herself to relax and think it through. “Are you really speaking to me?”

  She braced herself for a kick but none came, and while she knew she should leave before she got in trouble again, she couldn’t make herself go, or move her hand, which still hovered over the closed book. The need to open it was as great as any physical hunger she’d felt, but she feared what might happen to her if she touched it.

  Another kick, and another. She’d been told the baby would become more active the further along she got, but it still seemed early days to be quite so exuberant. The fact that he was Kostya’s child rattled around in her mind until she spoke out loud again.

  “You’re of the Povest line, aren’t you, wee sprite?”

  Nothing happened and she sat silently, digesting this fact. Only someone from Ashford’s family or someone of the Povest lineage could touch the book, due to some agreement that seemed to do directly with Kostya. It was one of the many things he refused to speak to her about.

  Oh, she hated not knowing. It made her skin feel tight and her breath come in quick hitches. But she couldn’t do something so reckless as try and touch this cursed book on a frivolous game she’d made up based on her unborn child’s kicks. Which were surely random, and had nothing to do with anything, especially not this ancient spellbook. Another kick, the strongest yet, told her she was wrong, and her hand slapped down onto the cover as if it had been forced.