Chapter 22
ALEX
That night, there was an addition to her dreams. Nick Walker.
His scent, the scent of the wild wood, the feeling of his strong arms closing on her, holding her, the murmur of his lips against her skin.
Alex woke several times in the night, flushed and breathless.
He came to her in the darkness, worshipped her and their bodies wound together endlessly until all was pleasure and desire.
His fingertips stroked her molten skin, his voice praising her in that now familiar low rumble.
He knelt before her and his mouth devoured her, or pinned her against the damask wallpaper and wrapped her legs around his hips as he entered her with a swift and decisive movement.
He spread her out on the bed, like an all too willing sacrifice to lust. His body moved against hers, hot and silken, but she could never quite see his face.
His hand closed around her throat, never too hard, just enough to hold her wherever he wanted her, as he kissed her, as he filled her with desire and drove her to a delirious ecstasy.
The warmth of him, that addictive musk, wound itself around her, like twisting sheets.
Each time she woke, she was sure she heard laughter. Cruel, heartless laughter. Like someone or something had planted those dreams in her head to torment her.
Dreams, she told herself as her own fingers moved to finish what her dream had started. They were only dreams.
She could barely make eye contact with Nick the next day, not without feeling her cheeks flaming red and her stomach tightening in an undeniable reaction to his presence.
This wasn’t right. She should not be having thoughts like that. Not about him. He worked here and technically she owned the place. Getting tangled with him would be a nightmare. A real legal nightmare.
Not to mention that his wife had died here.
Or that his daughter thought she was still here.
Was that better or worse? Did Nick believe it too?
Was he tied here because of Sally’s memory?
It might explain why he was reluctant to leave.
She’d decided to run a thousand miles from the place which had taken everyone she loved, but she’d understand the reverse as well.
The conversation about paintings and dead children had not helped. He’d been trying to explain Maeve’s imaginary friends and all it had done was make Alex question her own memories. She hated it. Had he done it on purpose?
Was this some kind of ploy to drive her out of Wildewood Hall?
And dear God, the dreams were not helping.
It had been a while since she’d had sex, true, but she was a rational human being.
She could control herself. But she’d never felt hungry to touch someone else, not like she had yesterday with Nick.
Gabe used to tease her about it. A couple of her boyfriends had left because of it.
One had called her a cold fish. Another had been even less flattering.
Nick mostly seemed intent on avoiding Alex as much as possible, which was fine. Probably sensible. The less time they spent alone together the better. He was probably afraid she’d try to jump him again, and to be honest so was she. It was the most embarrassing thing about all of this.
That and the fact she couldn’t shake the wanting. Yes, it was definitely better to stay out of each other’s way. Avoid temptation.
He had work to do as well, mostly out on the estate. He was just doing his job.
Alex should have been working on her book but she was having to spend more time wrangling the lawyers who were getting absolutely nowhere.
Apparently, the situation with the inheritance had got a lot more complicated, as there was some kind of entailment involved which stretched back through generations of the de Wilde line.
It tied the remaining land to the house, and the house to the family, in ways Alex didn’t really understand.
With no male heir, the title Baron de Wilde would revert to the Crown.
Which was fine by her. She certainly didn’t want it.
But that left the estate in limbo, because the title belonged to the English Crown and the land was in Ireland and while there was documentation going back hundreds of years it was in no way clear what legally should happen to it now.
There were various covenants as well, mostly relating to the woodland for some obscure reason, which many of her vaunted ancestors had drawn up.
Layers and layers of complications. Including the latest one which Theo had drawn up for Nick and Nick’s job.
Sure, the feckless wonder could do that, but not write down a simple bloody will.
It was a nightmare.
She could fight it in court, they told her. It could all be untangled. The law firm assured her of that. But at the same time, Gordian knots were mentioned, and she had to look that up – an impossible tangle which could not be unravelled, which Alexander the Great had cut apart with his sword.
She wasn’t Alexander the Great. More like Alexandra the Moderately Competent in Her Own Field. She didn’t have a sword.
Alex glanced up at the wall visible through the door of the study where a dozen weapons of various shapes and sizes had been mounted long ago on either side of that ghastly mirror. Okay, maybe she did have a sword. Several. But that wasn’t the point.
Untangling the legal mess around the estate would take time. And money.
So much money.
Money she didn’t have.
And worse, because of it the hotel people were getting cold feet.
There was no bargain to be had here, not anymore.
If she couldn’t pay to take the court case, they would have to.
And they didn’t want that outlay. Or the effort.
What had looked like a quick and profitable deal was turning into something no one wanted to touch.
Alex fought not to curse out loud, kept her voice calm and professional, and tried to ignore the stinging in her eyes.
The only way she was getting out of this was to take court cases in at least two different jurisdictions with uncertain outcomes which would cost a fortune.
And then she’d probably have to take Nick to court as well.
Even though it would be best for them both to create as much distance between them as quickly as possible.
He had a contract, she reminded herself.
It let him live and work here. And to do that to him…
to take even the small comfort that living here might give him without so much as a by your leave…
She really didn’t want to do that. She could see now what this place meant to him, his last link to his wife.
He might not want Maeve here – understandably given her imaginary friends – but he couldn’t let go either, could he?
Alex sat in the study, her back to the window overlooking the drive, and pinched the bridge of her nose.
From the corner of her eye, through the door, she could see at the ancient mirror on the far wall of the hall through the open door.
She could see herself in it as she leaned back in the chair at the desk.
Movement caught her attention, just a flicker of something in the corner of the mirror.
Her breath caught in her throat as she turned to study it more carefully.
There was nothing there. No one else in the house.
But she was sure.
Just for a moment, anyway. She forced herself to exhale, slowly, carefully. Made herself drop her tense shoulders and twist her neck to the side to loosen the taut wire of her muscles.
She closed her eyes, letting herself imagine some kind of much needed relief. She was so tightly wound after her dreams. It might be a fantasy, but didn’t she deserve that? Just a little one?
Hands came to rest on her shoulders, massaging, caressing.
Strong and clever hands, so very gentle and relaxing.
Slim with long, dexterous fingers. They worked her tension free.
Fingertips brushed against her throat and she let her head fall back with a soft groan of relief.
She was so surprised, she couldn’t think of a thing to say.
What was Nick doing in here? She hadn’t even heard him come in.
Since that moment in the hall when she’d rubbed his back, he’d been trying to avoid her, she was sure of it.
She’d been stupid, that was all, and she’d only wanted to offer some comfort.
And now, here he was, more than returning the favour.
And God, he knew what he was doing with his hands, that was for sure…
But they didn’t feel like his hands. His were broad and powerful, calloused from hard work while at the same time tender and unbearably gentle.
A breath of cold air riffled through her hair, a soft laugh which brushed against her.
Alexandra, the voice murmured. Not Nick’s voice. The accent was all wrong. Not an actual voice at all. It was a sigh on the breeze, a whisper that ran through the house.
But it said her name.
And then the hands tightened around her throat and squeezed.
Alex’s eyes snapped open in shock, and in the mirror…
in the old silver-backed mirror out there in the hall, she could see herself, pale and helpless against the too bright window behind her.
Faces pressed up against the other side of the ancient glass, grey and faded, or rather images of faces like old photographs, but they moved.
They sobbed and cried out. They were trying to escape, hands pressing against the other side of the mirror, faces trying to push their way through.
A host of them, old and young, male and female, pale and ghostly faces…
And in the midst of them, between her and the window, loomed a huge black shadow.
It coiled over her like a storm cloud. It twisted around her body, a band of it tight around her throat, tightening still, choking her.
She gave a strangled cry and tried to pull herself free, but the shadow held her fast, and the air turned icy.
She was frozen there, trapped, as it crushed against her skin, and then, to her rising horror, slid underneath her flesh.
Lines of ice ran through her veins, and a rush of frozen air rippled over her flesh, like breath, but cold, so cold.
This couldn’t be happening. She was seeing things, feeling things, that were not real. Could not be real. It was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.
With one final effort, Alex threw herself off the chair and onto the floor. Objects crashed down around her, books, framed photos, anything that had been sitting on the desk, including her laptop and headphones.
And Maeve’s little circle of twigs and dried flowers.
Alex didn’t know what made her do it but she managed to fling out her hand and it closed on the charm.
She clutched at it convulsively, twigs and thorns and God knew what digging into her skin.
She could feel the dry flowers crushing in her fist. But still she hung onto it.
Gran had always said those little woven things were a protection.
Maeve had said more or less the same thing.
Abruptly, the force surrounding her was gone.
As if it had never been there at all. Like a door had been closed on a wind, or a machine turned off. It was just gone.
She lay still, breathing hard, shivering. On the floor yet again.
‘Alex?’ Nick’s voice, strangely echoing, far away. ‘Alex? Are you okay?’
No. No she was not. She couldn’t explain what she’d just seen and felt. Unless…
She’d fallen and cracked her head only a few days ago.
Perhaps these were side effects of that.
If this was a case on the show that was exactly what she would have said.
She would have meant it kindly enough, showing concern for the poor person hallucinating and terrified of her own shadows. It felt so dismissive now.
Her hand shook, but she couldn’t bring herself to let go of the charm. She needed it. It had saved her. Hadn’t it?
What had Maeve said? The house wasn’t good for her. No shit. It never had been. Not for any of them.