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SOPHIE STROLLED DOWN the black marble staircase. She shouldn’t smile but now her temper had cooled, she couldn’t help but be . . . amused . . . by Morgan. Most people ran the second they caught sight of her in that mood but Morgan only did when she’d let her go.
She tidied the cuff on her shirt and strolled toward the study only to see Edwina scowling from her office. Now, Edwina was anything but amusing.
“Your father would have been disgusted,” she shot, her big nostrils flaring. “Isn’t it enough that the girl lied for you?” She wagged a pointy finger. “You taunt her in repayment for loyalty?”
Sophie raised an eyebrow. Edwina had always been allowed to heckle her brother and her father encouraged her too much.
Edwina stuck her chin out but her eyes widened. “She showed you loyalty, did you hear me?” She furrowed her brow. “How could you? Mick said she was terrified.”
Mick was right and she could do as she pleased. “Good.”
“Good?” Edwina waved her hand around like she wanted to swat something. “Good? Do you have any respect for people at all?” She wagged her finger again. “Even Mick says she’s the best for the role. She might even clear you of murder.”
And Mick was right again. “She strayed where she shouldn’t have.”
Edwina studied her, then sucked in her chin. “She didn’t know it was off limits. I didn’t think she’d need to go near there.” So, Morgan had been telling the truth? “I learned from her predecessors that when I say ‘don’t go up there,’ inevitably they do.”
Yes, they had and run into her, but unlike Morgan, they’d shrieked and bolted from the estate never to return but it was their own fault they’d run, and running inspired her to chase.
“You don’t trust her to listen?” Sophie asked, fiddling with her cuffs again.
“I do trust her. Morgan is very upfront about her thoughts.” And Edwina was being far too careful with her words. “But . . .”
Yes, it had sounded like there was a “but.”
“She seems to have a . . . fascination with you.” Edwina narrowed her eyes. “Which just makes her susceptible and the less she is near you or that wing, the better.”
Sophie thrust forward, into Edwina’s space. “You have issue with me?”
“Many.” Edwina held her gaze. “Henry would never have—”
“Henry?” Her hissed whisper echoed off the ancient walls. “You dare to mention him to my face?”
Edwina flicked her gaze to the floor—to hide her fear?—as if it wasn’t clear by the hitch of her shoulders, the paling of her face.
“Get out of my sight,” Sophie snapped, the hiss echoing once more.
Edwina scurried back into her office and slammed the door.
Sophie stared at the wood then flexed her fists. Why bother being civil to idiots who hated her? Why did she have to explain herself to anyone? Why?
She glared at the old pendulum clock near the study. It’s tick tock-ing punctuated by each breath. Near closing time at the pub in the village. Why should she care that Morgan was drinking herself stupid? Why should she care that she’d scared the staff? The clock tick tock-ed away and she growled under her breath. Morgan was the best head of security they’d had thus far.
She turned, stalked to the door, and ripped her jacket from the hook next to Edward De Breton the fifth’s suit of armour.
“You see what I am reduced to?” she muttered to it. “You didn’t have to round up your own servants, did you?”
She tugged on her jacket and flicked up the collar.
“Pitiful. That’s what you’d call me.” She stalked back down the corridor into her office, pulled the book out, and slunk into the tunnels. She slipped off the tag around her ankle and left it next to the bookcase. She’d go get Morgan, but no one needed to know she had, did they?
––––––––
THE PUB IN town was one of those quant little country pubs with wooden beams overhead and locals frequenting their favourite corners and tables. There was a rugby match on TV which most of the bar seemed uninterested in, some karaoke singer style crooner trying to pull off Frank Sinatra in a separate room and a group of men in bright orange work clothes huddled around the quiz machine.
“What can I get you?” a skinny redheaded woman behind the bar asked as I stumbled over. Couldn’t have been more than twenty.
“Stout and black.” I needed iron. I felt anaemic.
The barmaid smiled. “Guess you’re the new victim up there then?”
I tensed. “What d’you mean?”
“The new head of security. None of you last long.” She smiled like she was trying to reassure me. “She likes to make you quit, I hear.”
“Oh, yeah. Guilty as charged.” And I needed stout. Stout was good. Problem was it had to settle halfway through pouring . . . that and the entire bar was now staring at me—you ever get that feeling you stick out like a sore thumb?
“This one is on me then.” She finished off pouring and threw in the blackcurrant.
“Cheers.” I downed it. It was hard to do with stout but I managed it. “Another?”
The barmaid laughed and flicked her auburn hair from her face. “That one is on me too then. Anyone who has to work for her deserves it.”
“She’s not that bad,” I mumbled. If you didn’t count that she was ethereal, magnetic, terrifying . . . and hurry up with the stout.
“Really, because your hand is giving you away.” She pointed to my right hand which had lost all colour I was gripping the glass so hard.
“Just a rough shift.” I didn’t know why I was pretending. Sophie didn’t even have a weapon and I had frozen like I’d never been a police officer, never dealt with suspects.
“Yeah, security staff seem to have rough shifts a lot.” She smiled at me like that would help. “If Henry was alive, he’d put her to rights.”
“Oh, don’t listen to them,” a willowy guy in a shirt and suit trousers said as he took a seat beside me. Mid forties, Caucasian, receding brown hair, and oil on his fingers. “They like to tell tales.” He held out his oil stained hand. “I’m Nigel.”
I lifted my next pint to him. I doubted he wanted to shake my prosthesis. “Morgan.”
“Lady Haye has done a lot for this area. None of these people would have jobs if it wasn’t for her.” He cocked his eyebrow at the barmaid who waved her bar towel at him and put a paper on the bar. Racing pages. Mick seemed to like those too.
“Load of rubbish. I was promised a promotion,” a guy in jeans and a t-shirt muttered from the table closest to us. “Now Salisbury has pulled out, I’m stuck again.”
The guy next to him in joggers nodded. “Not to mention the perks Salisbury offered.”
“Now, now,” Nigel said with a twinkle in his eyes. “Salisbury would have cut your jobs and sold off the business.”
“No way.” The guy in jeans sank his pint. “She killed that girl like she killed Henry. Can’t trust her.”
“Yeah, we all know she wouldn’t have her claws on that estate if she hadn’t,” a lady near the window said and fed chips off her plate to the greyhound at her feet.
“She’s wrong in the head,” one of the guys at the quiz machine muttered. “We tried to offer to clean her windows . . . threatened to shoot us.”
“Wouldn’t put it past her. Even her own family hated her.” The barmaid was far too excited by the gossip and poured me another pint without me even finishing the second. I wasn’t arguing, I was starting to feel the buzz. “She turned on him and they were right to be shot of her.”
“Yeah, only then they got bumped off and she gets to swan around like she owns the place,” the guy in jeans and t-shirt muttered.
“Because she does own it,” Nigel said and rolled his eyes. “As you can see the locals are very neutral and hate to gossip.”
I chuckled, more so because I was halfway through the third pint and I was in the mood for chasers.
“I heard they took all the portraits of her down,” the barmaid said and eyed me like she was enjoying how easily I was getting drunk. “Did you see any?”
Everyone wanted gossip, and I hadn’t seen any portraits of Sophie. It was a shame, she was very portrait worthy even when terrifying. I should tell them the truth that there weren’t pictures. I should. But oddly, the more buzz I was feeling, the more loyal I felt.
“Yeah, there’re a few portraits. There’s even one in her office of the family together when Sophie was maybe in her teens?” I hoped that sounded like the truth. There was a picture in the office but it was of some man in armour . . . like most of the portraits.
The barmaid pulled her mouth to the side. “Maybe it’s not true then?”
“Nah, she put it up there herself to make her look innocent,” the woman next to the window said, feeding her greyhound her dinner companion’s remaining steak.
This could go on a while. I smiled at Nigel. “You ever tried BMWs?”
––––––––
THERE WAS DRUNK, then there was me. As I mentioned, I was not a drinker and after the amount of BMWs with Nigel and more stout, I couldn’t remember why I was terrified of Sophie but I did realise she was the most sexy woman I’d ever met. Then I’d tried to call Trin and I might have slurred a lot down the phone at her.
Anyway, we had a lock-in. A good, old fashioned, highly illegal, lock-in. It was a fantastic way to congratulate myself on losing my entire career. Nigel had probed about who I’d been ringing and winked at me a fair amount. I’d accepted more BMWs and we’d convinced the barmaid—now as inebriated as us—to cook chips and cheese.
Only when she fell asleep on the bar and Nigel tried to get my phone number off me, did I decide it was a good idea to head home. I’d staggered into the chilly night alone—Nigel had passed out on a seat in the bar—and headed in the direction of the manor. At least that was what I’d thought until I’d come to a farm.
I headed back to the centre of town with the church to catch my bearings and take a nap on the bench overlooking the lovely village green. Then I’d tried again, only to find myself at a building site, then took a left and found myself in front of a factory.
No, nope, Sophie didn’t live in there and she didn’t make plumbing supplies.
I headed back into the centre of town to my bench and sat-napped for a while before it got too cold. My sense of direction was shocking when I was hammered clearly.
My third attempt found me in a narrow, dark alleyway and I hadn’t drank nearly enough not to be terrified. Memories of the attack where I lost my arm flickered and fused with Sophie sneering at me and Salisbury being shot on camera and the body on the grounds.
The alleyway echoed with my footfalls and I stopped to take a breath.
The footsteps continued.
I glanced over my shoulder. One of the men in the orange work clothes was following. Had he been part of the lock-in? Maybe he was just heading home? Didn’t need to be a baby. He was a normal member of the public following a woman down a dark alleyway.
I broke into a trot only for him to do the same thing. I was an ex-police officer. I should just stop and confront him only the memories of my arm, of the attack, of Sophie flick, flick, flicked through my mind.
I picked up the pace. It was one long alleyway. There were orange lights at the top. His footfalls were getting closer. Adrenaline surged.
I spun. He was right behind me. I stumbled and clattered into the wall, then pushed off it, ready to defend myself.
A figure stepped between us.
The guy laughed.
The figure flexed its fists.
He narrowed his eyes and charged. The figure flipped him with ease and he crunched onto his face. The figure knelt next to his ear and whispered something, low and growling. The guy shot to his feet and bolted.
Then the figure turned.
Oh shit.
I shuffled to the side and sprinted for it. A full-on panicked sprint. I headed for the orange lights at the head of the alleyway. My heart pounded in my ears. I glanced over my shoulder. Huh? I slowed, then turned. Where did the figure go?
I felt someone next to me and spun back with a yelp.
The figure cocked its head. Stark white hair caught the orange glow. I blinked to focus but yes, it was Sophie. Sophie with her charcoal eyes and a curious smile on her face.
“You run from help?” she asked, amusement in her rich, cultured English accent.
“Are you helping me?” Because big girl or not, the guy in the work clothes had shit himself and I was a long way past that.
“Yes.” Her voice was calm and soothing, magnetic and soothing. “Did you hurt yourself?”
She had a voice like a lullaby. How did she do that? I felt terrified, aroused, nervous, safe, and unsafe all at once. She did something to me, I knew that much. Something that scared me more than her sneer.
I backed up.
She held out her hand. “Best way to be certain that I’m solid, yes?”
Yeah, she must have thought I was pathetic. Who freaked out like I had? Someone who over-thought everything. My brain was thinking “tiger” again but I forced myself to stick out my hand even when I was expecting claws.
Her soft, warm hand closed around my shaking one.
“Be more careful beyond the estate,” she cooed to me like that building lullaby. “The workers that Bright hires are not always trustworthy.”
“Because you are?” My protest might have worked if I hadn’t gripped onto her hand and let her pull me closer toward her.
“Yes.” She met my eyes. Charcoal eyes that were no longer threatening but crackling with sensuality.
“You are a suspect . . . the prime one.” And I let her pull me so close our thighs touched. “Everyone says that you’re dangerous.”
Sophie kissed my knuckles with warm, soft lips. “What do you say, Morgan?”
“That I’m in trouble.” I tried to pull back but Sophie ran her warm fingers over my frozen cheeks. I wanted to slide my hands over her broad, strong shoulders or around her lithe body.
“You’re right.” Sophie slid her hand to the side of my face and tilted me up to her. “Easily swayed, Morgan?”
I swallowed not sure how to move.
“Too easily swayed perhaps.” She kissed my cheek and the wet from her lips made the cool air tingle on my skin. She moved to my ear and brushed her lips over the lobe. Her breath was slow and steady in my ear. “Alcohol doesn’t mix well with headache tablets.”
I closed my eyes at the sound of her whisper.
Exhale, pause; exhale, pause.
She laughed a dangerous laugh, then took my hand and led me out into the orange glow of the pavements. “Pay attention: Orange lights mean you’re near Bright’s housing estate; Blue is used for the village itself and no light means you’re heading the right way.”
I leaned onto her shoulder, enjoying the warmth, the feel of her muscle tone, the softness of the shirt beneath her coat. She smelled of some flowery scent that reminded me of the manor.
“Why no lights?” I mumbled.
Sophie stroked her hand through my hair. “There are motion sensor security lights but you should know that.” She leaned her head to mine. “The rest are solar powered and they switch off after midnight. Light pollution.”
“No . . .” It felt almost as if I was on holiday. Then the flash of Sophie in the wing pinged into my head. I shoved her back. “You scared the shit out of me . . . You’re breaking your curfew . . . and I’m . . . I’m drunk.”
“Yes.” She motioned to me with one long, elegant finger. She curled it slowly, beckoned to me.
“There was an intruder.” I stared at her finger. I wanted to follow her demand. In fact I wanted to throw myself at her. “I was trying to protect you.”
“Yes.” She kept on curling that finger, her face sculpted by lights, her eyes smouldering. “Which is why I didn’t lose my temper completely.”
I stepped back. “What are you like when you lose it then?” I rubbed at my stomach. I felt queasy. It was stupid to even be this close to her. I bent double as nausea rolled up.
“Better you never find out.” She rubbed at my back.
“Weren’t you angry at the guy following me?” I lifted my head up. I focused on her lips. She had kissable lips, glossy.
“I like to make my point clear.” She took my face in her hands and tilted her head. “Really clear.”
Wooziness joined the nausea and I wobbled, then my knees crumpled. “I’m going to pass out . . .” I clung onto her forearms.
She hoisted me up until I had to wrap my arms around her neck. “Yes, you might.”
Her eyes bored into me, unravelled me, stirred me.
“Do you always rescue people you’ve scared?” My face was so close to hers I could feel the heat from her skin.
“Only the ones who were trying to protect me.” She smiled, hungry, intense then focused on the road ahead.
“That’s okay then.” Wooziness took over and I did pass out.