Final Cost (The Winter Trilogy #3)

5. Tamsyn

5

Tamsyn

It’s after ten now. I’m showered, lotioned and ready for a couple of hours reading peacefully in bed after a long and stressful day. Until a matter of extreme urgency propels me out of the safe and Lucien-free cocoon of my French country chic yellow bedroom: I could really use a stiff drink. During my time with Lucien, I’ve developed a taste for his whiskey. Another thing he’s taught me to love, along with caviar, bouillabaisse, and his extremely talented hands, mouth and dick. Most of that is off the menu for me now, but he keeps plenty of whiskey and I plan to get some.

Oh, and there’s another matter of urgency: I have nothing to read.

When I unceremoniously vacated the house the other day, I left behind the collection of historical romance novels that Lucien stocked on my bookshelf for me when I first came to Ackerley. I checked all over the bedroom after lunch earlier, but they were nowhere to be found. I suppose he packed them up to send to me at Mrs. Hooper’s or maybe donate to charity now that we’re no longer together. Although, now that I think about it, he did leave the collection of rainbow-colored Chuck Taylor sneakers in the closet for me. They were another Welcome to Ackerley gift. So my whole theory about him not wanting any reminders of me around the house kind of falls apart, doesn’t it? Not that it matters. I’ve long since learned that I don’t understand the first thing about Lucien Winter and his thought processes and never will.

All I know right now is that I need a drink and a book.

Luckily, I can find both in the library downstairs. As long as I don’t run into Lucien, I’ve got a perfect plan.

I tiptoe out of the bedroom and set off down the long and chilly hallway, guided by the occasional softly lit wall sconce and propelled by the prickles running up and down my spine. Ackerley descends into an eerie silence every night once the staff goes home. The common spaces always creep me out a little. The occasional floor squeak gets magnified somehow. Shadows stretch and seem to press closer on all sides just out of your field of vision. Worst of all, you feel like eyes are watching you the whole time. If it’s not a member of staff peering around a corner or a security guy watching you on the video feed, then it’s gotta be the portraits lining the walls. Plus, there’s a scent in the air tonight. Something sophisticated and oriental, like some high-end perfume that they keep behind the glass cases at Bergdorf’s. Not exactly the kind of thing the maids would wear or you’d find in a plug-in air freshener.

And I don’t care if that makes me sound like Shaggy or Daphne from Scooby-Doo . I’m not crazy. I feel what I feel. I smell what I smell.

If Lucien ever loses his fortune, God forbid, he’ll quickly make another one by opening the house for scares every Halloween. It wouldn’t surprise me if the place had a ghost or two drifting along dark ceiling corners with the crown molding, watching the living. Maybe they are up there welcoming Ravenna to their ranks right now.

The most unsettling thing about Ackerley is that it’s hard not to let your imagination run away with you when you’re here and alone with your thoughts. But I can’t let myself go wild. I know that. There’s nothing crazy going on here. Nothing supernatural, anyway. It’s just a big house with tall ceilings, priceless antiques, ornate drapes and echoing staircases. I need to remember that and not let my jangled nerves get the best of me.

I make it downstairs and head down yet another long hallway to the library. No signs of life anywhere. I’m turning into the library and congratulating myself on a perfectly executed plan when a sudden shiver of awareness along my nape stops me in my tracks. There’s a fire crackling in the fireplace. Not the kind of thing I expected, but the summer night is unexpectedly cool. And the weirdness doesn’t stop there. My beloved historical romance books are prominently stacked in a large pyramid in the middle of the coffee table, directly in my line of sight. My heart is already sinking by the time I hear the creak of leather behind me and Lucien’s voice, deep and velvety.

“About time.”

I shoot him a quick and annoyed glance over my shoulder, my startled heart alternately racing through and skipping beats because the scene is cozy and sexy. The perfect setting for a seduction, and he’s the Seducer in Chief even if I remind myself not to become the willing seduce-ee. He’s sitting in the tall wingback chair in the corner, one ankle crossed over the other knee and an arm draped over the chair’s arm. His father’s gold signet ring, the one I put on him the other day, glints in the flickering firelight. His strong fingers hold a crystal tumbler of what I’m sure is the exact whiskey I came down here looking for. Shadows perversely keep most of his face dark but allow the gleam of his eyes to shine through, strong and bright.

My equilibrium shifts a bit more off kilter.

But I’m committed to my performance as an indifferent former girlfriend, a role I feel I inhabited well this afternoon when I first saw him again. So I keep my head up and go directly to my books on the coffee table, taking my time looking through them and checking the spines.

“What are you doing here?” I say without looking at him.

“Waiting for you.”

I should have known. I can’t say I’m surprised. “Is that why you moved my books down here?”

“Yep,” he says, not bothering to disguise the low hum of satisfaction in his voice.

It’s late and I’m tired. He affects me no matter how much I try to resist his power. It’s like he emits some irresistible pheromone that slips under my skin and makes my blood sizzle and my pussy and nipples tighten anytime he’s in the vicinity. All those factors combine to make it hard for me to either maintain my aloof routine or hide my annoyance as my head snaps up and I glare at him.

He shifts in the chair, coming into the light from the lamp on the nearby console as he rests his elbows on his knees and stares at me. He doesn’t look great. I noticed that right away when I saw him earlier. He’s hollow eyed and his cheekbones stand out in starker lines than normal. His dark hair, normally so sleek, looks ruffled now, making me think he’s been running his hands through it. He’s waiting. Expectant. And I’ll be damned to an eternity in hell before I give him the satisfaction of revealing the depth of my heartbreak to him.

“What you want, Lucien?” I say, keeping my voice even.

“To talk to you.”

Irritable shrug from me. “Why the manipulation with my books? Why not a simple request?”

Those heavy brows of his sink low over his eyes. “Why waste time with that? So you can refuse the way you tried to refuse my request for you to come back here? The way you refused my request to talk to you earlier?”

“You can’t blame me for that. Our last real talk didn’t go so well as I recall.”

There’s a long and painful pause followed by a crooked smile from him. “Ms. Scott. Will you do me the honor of joining me in a drink so I can talk to you?”

A drink ?—?

He really is unbelievable. His arrogance knows no bounds. I’ve always known that about him. I wonder why I still find it so compelling. “I’m not having a drink with you.”

Now finished with my selection of some books, I straighten and take a couple of purposeful steps back toward the door. A mistake, as it turns out. Because he chooses that exact moment to unfold his big and lean body from his chair and cross to the drink cart behind me on a trajectory that causes him to brush my shoulder as he passes. And I could have moved. I admit that. But I’m too proud to give him the satisfaction of knowing gets to me. Too hungry for even the tiniest hit of his latent energy and heat from his body. He delivers both in spades, along with a subtle hint of his clean and woodsy cologne that makes my nostrils dilate and my breath catch.

“Why not?” he says as he continues on his way, thankfully releasing me from the force field of his body. “You look as wired as I feel. It’s been a busy day. You like whiskey before bed the same as I do.”

He grabs another tumbler from the drink cart and splashes both glasses with a couple of fingers. My mouth waters, although whether it’s from the promise of whiskey or him is anybody’s guess. And I still don’t leave. When he comes back and offers me a glass, I take it with my free hand. But I don’t drink it in front of him. I don’t want to give him another win when I know he’s whittling away at my self-restraint, corrupting me bit by bit.

He wants me back, to fuck me if nothing else. He’s not going to, though. Even I am not that stupid.

“Why did you come back, Ms. Scott?” he says, lingering in my space rather than heading back to his chair.

“I told you.”

“I see.” He sips his drink, muscles flexing in the strong column of his throat. “Not because you wanted to see me?”

Seething now, I fight the wild urge to toss my drink in his face. But that would be a waste of very fine whiskey. It would give me tremendous satisfaction, though. The galling arrogance. The unerring accuracy of his observations. I could kill him. Because he’s right. I did want to see him. That’s why I’m here. Bottom line. Despite all my self-protective instincts desperately waving giant red flags at me.

I came back because I missed him. I’m here because I wanted to see him. But fuck him.

Fuck. Him.

I fake a yawn. “You always were your own biggest fan, weren’t you? What do you need to talk to me about, Lucien? It’s late. I’m tired.”

He hesitates, his jaw darkening. “Ravenna is dead. Really dead this time.”

I open my mouth, but it takes me a long time to fish out something to say that feels right but honest. “I know. I can’t quite bring myself to offer condolences.”

Wry smile. “Understandable. I’m planning her funeral. Let’s just say it’s strange worrying about flowers when what I really want to do is ask the coroner if I can drive a stake through her heart to make sure there’s no chance of another resurrection.”

I grimace. “Understandable.”

He pauses. “The police probably think I did it. Or hired someone to do it.”

I wait for his denial, but he doesn’t offer one. So the question hangs in the air. No matter what happened to Ravenna, it looks bad for Lucien. I know that. It always looks bad for the spouse of the murdered person.

And then a bunch of unwanted memories crowd into the forefront of my mind. Like his blind fury when he kicked Ravenna out of the house and again when she set the fire. He’d looked enraged both times.

No, not enraged. Murderous. Yet I’ve never been afraid of him.

Maybe I should be. He’s big enough to hurt a woman. Strong enough. Powerful enough.

I don’t want to look directly at him, but I find myself searching his face as we stand there in a strained silence. I need reassurance. I need to know that while he may be an asshole, he’s not a wife killer and never would be under any circumstances. I want him to say he didn’t do it, but he doesn’t. Maybe he wants me to tell him I don’t think that he did it, but I don’t. I’m not sure I could even if I was willing to give him the satisfaction.

What does that mean? What does that say about either of us? I don’t know. And it’s far too late to matter anyway. There’s too much water under our bridge. But it seems like another death knell for our relationship, such as it was.

Maybe what I’m truly afraid of is that I’d understand if he killed Ravenna in a heat of the moment situation. Isn’t that my all-time worst case scenario? That I’ll always love him and find a way to forgive him no matter what cruel acts he commits?

A shiver runs through me at the thought. But I can’t look away.

He stares back, that unfathomable gaze locked in on me. I feel that pull to him again, and it’s not just physical this time. I’m scared for him even if I’m not scared of him. I hate him, yeah, but I don’t want to see him in prison. I also don’t want to give him any fuel, but I want to know. I need to know.

“Do you have a good lawyer?” I ask quietly.

Something eases in his expression. “The best.”

I nod, commanding myself to be satisfied with this answer and to leave it alone. “So you’ll be fine. Rich people always get off, don’t they?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” His jaw tightens. “Tamsyn… About what I said. The day you left.”

This reminder of that ugly scene is just the ice water I need to run through my veins and cool me off a little. Hell, I’m grateful for it. “It’s fine. You did me a favor.”

He grimaces and cocks his ear. “A favor ?”

“It never would have worked between us. We both know it.”

“Oh?”

“I want a real relationship. A real life with someone.” I give him a pointed once over. “You want new chess pieces to play with when you get bored. I’m over being a chess piece. Not that it wasn’t fun while it lasted. Are we done?”

He stiffens, his face flooding with color. “I never saw you as a chess piece.”

That gets an unwilling bark of laughter out of me. “We disagree, but it doesn’t matter. Like I said, we can stay out of each other’s way while I’m here. I’m sure we’ll barely see each other, anyway. And I won’t be here for long. Hopefully.”

With that, I take great pleasure in turning my back on him and striding off with my drink and my books before he can get another word out.