Till Death Do Us Part: A Paranormal Why Choose Romance (Vows Duet Book 1)

Chapter 15

79 Years Ago

I move without making a sound, sneaking up behind her without alerting her to my presence. A pretty hum travels from her lips as she works, her dark brown hair twisted into a simple braid that travels down her back, the tips of it dancing along the top of her ass. The skirt of her gray maid’s dress pulls up as she leans forward.

I cover her eyes when she’s standing upright again. “Guess who?” I ask, distorting my voice to make it harder to recognize.

Ellie stiffens and the feather duster she had been using falls to the floor, the handle thumping softly. “Let go,” she insists, her fingers hooking over my hands and tugging.

“You haven’t guessed,” I reply, easily keeping my hands planted over her eyes.

She lets out a sigh. “Richard. Let go.”

I release her, a grin in place when she whirls with a scowl. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Because Benny and Warren went out with their father,” she answers with a huff. She eyes the hallway, hurriedly picking up the duster. “You’re going to get me in trouble.” She resumes her cleaning, but her attention returns to me as she sweeps the feathers along a bookshelf.

“I would never,” I gasp, placing my hand on my chest in mock outrage.

She snorts, then turns bright red at the unladylike noise. “Shoo,” she orders after composing herself, flicking the duster at me like it’ll clean me out of the house, too.

“Come to the diner with us later,” I say, ignoring her command.

Sighing, Ellie shakes her head. “We’ve been through this,” she says, her voice ending in a whisper when someone closes a door too loudly down the hallway she checked earlier. “I don’t belong at your table, Richie.”

It’s my turn to snort. “I don’t know why you get like this. I’m asking you to come to our table. You do belong there.”

She avoids my stare. “Nobody else will agree with that,” she murmurs. “I’m just the maid.”

“I don’t care what other people think,” I retort.

Her eyes flash as she whirls to face me. “I do,” she whispers, her voice heated. “Do you know what they’ll say about the poor servant girl who is sitting at the table with her employer’s sons and their friend? It won’t be you that has to put up with their whispers and name-calling.”

I crowd her, trapping her between the shelf and my body. I know I shouldn’t. I could compromise her position and her reputation by doing so. But there’s a streak of carelessness that surfaces any time I’m around her. I don’t give a fuck who might see, or what they might think.

Maybe if they do see, she’ll have to marry me.

Benny would murder me if that happened. He’s head over heels for her. Then again, so is Warren. They’re as obsessed with Ellie as I am. We’ve all been infatuated since she started working as a maid on their estate four months ago. Benny has refused to pursue her, despite how much he seems to want to give in, claiming some sort of noble idea she deserves better. He isn’t the only one who hasn’t made a move on her. Warren hasn’t either, but he’s also become the one she leans on for friendship, and as a confidant.

How he spends so much time alone with her without making his move is beyond comprehension. But that’s Warren—taking care of everyone, even when we don’t ask him to.

Ellie immediately tries to slip under the arm I brace on the shelf behind her head, making me loop my other arm around her waist before she can get away.

“Richie,” she gasps. “Stop. Someone is going to see.”

“Ellie,” I murmur, pulling my hand off the shelf and catching her chin as she makes a feeble attempt to free herself. She stops, her vivid green eyes finding mine. They’re shining with excitement and fear at the same time, and her lips part for me, all the invitation I need.

It’s hard to believe she’s two years younger than me and Benny; one year younger than Warren. At sixteen, she’s as stunning as any Hollywood movie starlet that graces the cinema posters. She could easily be the most beautiful girl in all of St. Louis.

I press my lips to hers, eager to steal a first kiss with her.

There’s a moment where time stands still. She gasps into my mouth as our lips lock, moving and twisting with an increasing amount of excitement. Like someone doused the flame, Ellie suddenly jerks away. My eyes fly open in time to see her shove at me before her hand sails through the air to slap against my cheek, the resounding crack echoing in the room.

I reel back in shock, and her expression seems to mirror how I feel.

“I—I…” Ellie stutters as we stare at one another, my cheek burning from the strength of her hit. My fingers flex at her waist, where I’m still holding her against me.

“Miss August.”

Both Ellie and I flinch, turning to look at Mrs. Denis, the Coopers’ household manager. The woman has been around as long as I can remember. She’s a tough old bird, but she’s also been the only motherly influence the Cooper boys have ever had since Benny and Warren’s mother died when they were toddlers. And by default, I was included in that from time-to-time, though my own mother was very much alive and well.

She ignores me, scowling at Ellie instead, her eyes fixing on my arm wrapped tightly around her subordinate. Realizing how bad this looks, I release her, taking two quick steps back.

“Mrs. Denis,” I say brightly, trying to fix this. “I was just telling Ellie—”

“Miss August,” Mrs. Denis snaps, her attention landing on me, “has a job to do. Richard Walker, you best keep your hands to yourself and let her do it, or she’ll find herself without one.” At the last few of her words, her attention returns to Ellie. “Miss August, unless you plan on losing your job and your reputation, I suggest you stay clear of…trouble.”

I chance a look at Ellie, frowning when I find her staring at her feet, her expression pinched and lips drawn into a tight line. Her long eyelashes bob as she blinks, her eyes downcast so I can’t see the color of them.

“Yes, ma’am,” she murmurs. “It won’t happen again.”

“Off with you. Go help out in the kitchen.”

Ellie does as she’s told, walking away without sparing me another glance. I can tell she’s troubled, though, by the way she fidgets with the Peter Pan collar of her uniform as she goes.

“And you, Richie.”

I groan as I swing my attention away from Ellie and to Mrs. Denis, who is giving me the most terrifying glare. “Yes, ma’am?” I ask innocently, batting my eyelashes at her.

My charm isn’t lost on her. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, before stepping closer. “Richie, leave Miss August alone. She needs this job. Anyone else who caught what I just did may have fired her.”

I swallow down the guilt, knowing she’s right. If Benny and Warren’s father had found us, I’d have gotten a whooping for associating with the help, and Ellie would have gotten fired for tempting me with her feminine wiles. “It wasn’t her fault,” I protest. “I kissed her. She slapped me for it.”

Checking around us, Mrs. Denis shakes her head. “You and I both know that the boss man wouldn’t pay any mind to that.”

And he wouldn’t. Pastor Cooper is one of the state’s most prolific preachers. People come for miles to see him, and some big wigs had shown up a couple of weeks ago to talk to him about being on a real, live television show to share his message too. He was a tough cookie before, but since the talk about being on the television happened, he’s been twice as strict with Benny and Warren.

Mrs. Denis gives me a look of motherly exasperation and affection, patting her hand gently against the same cheek that Ellie slapped. “Eleanor is a good girl, Richie. She’s got three little sisters she’s helping provide for. Without her, her father wouldn’t be able to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. You just leave her alone, now, you hear?”

Not a chance that I’m going to be leaving Ellie alone, but I nod in agreement anyway. What Mrs. Denis doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

But what she says strikes me in a way that stories, such as the one she just told, have never hit me before. I obviously know many poor folks, but I’ve never thought about whether they have a home or food—or what it might take to ensure those things.

Shame fills me at my selfishness. Maybe I can do something to help Ellie and her family. I have plenty. I doubt my parents would even miss anything I gave away.

Mrs. Denis pats me twice more on my cheek, a little harder this time, making my tender skin smart. She walks away with another sigh, a shake of her head, and a muttering of words that sounds something like, “Heaven help me deal with these boys.”

I’m itching to seek out Ellie once more, but I don’t want to land her in anymore trouble today. It takes everything in me to walk out the grand front entry of the Cooper house. My good behavior is rewarded instantly by the vision of my best friends walking up the steps to the porch.

“Have you seen Ellie?” Benny asks immediately, looking desperate. “I didn’t get to see her before I left with Dad earlier.”

I nod, unsure if I should tell him how much I got to see Ellie just a few minutes ago. “She’s working.”

He sighs, like he’s relieved. “Good. She’s all right.”

Warren rolls eyes his eyes. “Why wouldn’t she be all right, blockhead?”

Benny doesn’t even look at him as he shoots an arm straight out and shoves Warren sideways. I move to one of the porch settees and take a seat, knowing this scuffle will take a few minutes. As expected, Warren lunges at Benny, taking him down so they hit the wood with a resounding thump. They grunt and hiss out insults as they duke it out, rolling across the porch.

I’m about to intercede when they both fall back, panting as they catch their breaths. Benny stands first, offering a hand to Warren, who takes it and stands too. They chuckle together as Warren bumps into Benny with his shoulder. I stand as they move to enter the house.

I feel a pang of sadness at their display of brotherly wrath and affection. My older brother—my Benny—died three years ago. A fever had ravaged his body and Doc Carter hadn’t been able to make it to us because of the unexpected blizzard that surprised us all. Jonathan had succumbed to his illness before the snow stopped blowing, and we’d had to wait for the ground to thaw before we could bury him.

All three of our attention is snagged by the front door opening. Or, more accurately, the girl who opened it. As soon as Ellie realizes that all three of us are standing on the porch, she freezes, standing in the doorway. Her eyes dance over each of us and, when she gets to me, she pauses, her attention lingering. So much is said in that look, all those same emotions that warred on her face when I was still holding her: fear, excitement, and desire.

Benny notices, lifting a brow at me, but says nothing about it. “Good afternoon, Miss August,” he says politely, and she turns red as she rips her gaze from me to look at him. “How are you doing today?”

I want to be jealous of how instantly her eyes light up when she meets his, but I can’t drag it up from the depths of my soul. A quick check with Warren tells me he also feels something about his brother and Ellie’s interaction, but he also won’t interfere.

It’s something strange, the way Benedict Cooper and Eleanor August have reacted to one another since they first met. I’m almost certain that Pastor Cooper hasn’t noticed because he would have already fired Ellie, if he had. He’d call it sinful, the way they lock eyes and fall into each other’s gaze—like there’s no one else on earth when they look at one another.

Ellie takes a deep breath and forces a foot forward, stepping to the side and holding the door. “I’m well, thank you, Mr. Cooper,” she answers softly, ducking her head. “Are you heading inside?”

Warren steps up before Benny can answer. “I am,” he announces, his arm snaking out so that he can touch her hand under the guise of holding the door as he moves through. Ellie beams at him with affection, and he returns the smile before stepping through, dragging his hand away from hers.

Benny steps through next, hesitating in the doorway a moment while he drinks in the image of her once more. His shoulders stiffen, like he is holding back the desire to reach out to touch her, too.

When I move to step through, her eyes dart to mine and her smile falls. I’d be worried that I had truly offended her if she didn’t immediately turn her attention to my mouth as I step close. I place my hand on the door the same way Warren did, pressing against her fingers.

“Next time, little Ellie,” I whisper, leaning forward so my lips brush her ear and make her shiver. “Next time, I want your hands to hold me instead of hit me.”

I leave her with that, ignoring how my pants have grown a bit tight across the front and forcing myself to disregard the little whimpering noise she makes in response to my words.

Maybe this thing between all of us and Ellie is not right—maybe something sinful is afoot here. If it is, though, I don’t think any of us three will stop until Ellie is ours. Not even if it requires submitting to the devil himself.