Reese led the way up the steps to Warshire Manor—the house he still thought of as Edmund’s. Reese had lived there as a boy but had spent little time there as an adult—until three months ago.
That’s when he’d received a cold and carefully phrased letter offering condolences and informing him that his older brother Edmund had “succumbed to injuries resulting from a tragic hunting accident.”
The solicitor’s missive had requested that Reese return home immediately to see to his brother’s funeral arrangements, attend to several important estate matters, and take up his duties as the new Earl of Warshire.
But Reese hadn’t been able to get past the first, soul-wrenching paragraph. The part that had said Edmund—the brother he’d worshipped—was dead.
In Reese’s mind, this house would always belong to Edmund.
He was the one who had exorcised the demons their father had left behind.
He was the one who should have lived here until a ripe old age, secure in the knowledge that his children and grandchildren would carry on the family name and bloodline.
But Edmund was gone, and since the continuation of the family line now depended on Reese … well, it didn’t stand a chance.
He led Sophie up the brick front steps, resisting the urge, once again, to offer her his hand. “Watch your step,” he said, wishing he’d thought to light some lanterns outside before leaving the house.
He pushed open the door and ushered her inside, pausing in the dimly lit entrance hall. Sophie’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the room’s cavernous ceiling, ornate buttresses, and elaborate stonework. “This is amazing,” she breathed. “Otherworldly.”
He couldn’t say that he’d ever had such romantic notions about the house, but he liked that Sophie did. She could find the beauty in anything.
“Come,” he said, picking up a lantern from the gilded side table flanking one side of the entrance. “I had a room prepared for you. I’ll take you there so you can make yourself comfortable.”
As he led her down the long, marble-tiled hall, she craned her neck to observe the ancient tapestries adorning the walls and the swirling geometric patterns gracing the second-story windows. “You grew up here?” she asked, with more than a little awe.
“I did,” he said, thinking it best not to mention that he’d left it all behind at the first possible opportunity.
Halfway down the hall he waved an arm at the grand staircase, and she followed him up the steps to the first landing. “There’s a sitting room and a library on this level,” he said, noting the keen interest that sparked in her blue eyes. “Please, make yourself at home here. Wander anywhere you like.”
“I’d love to see more,” she said. “In fact, I wish it were daylight now, so I could roam the grounds and explore the garden.”
“I don’t see why we need to wait for dawn,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s place your portmanteau in your room, and I’ll take you to the garden right away.”
“Could we do that?” she asked, almost rapturous.
“We can do anything we like.”
Reese led Sophie to a guest bedchamber that was three times the size of her room at home. Decorated in shades of gold and pale blue, it was fit for a queen. The four-poster bed that held court in the center was far grander than any she’d slept in before; even her bed at Fiona and Gray’s couldn’t compare.
“I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” he said earnestly.
“I’m sure I shall,” she replied, a little breathless. “Where are your quarters?”
“Just down the corridor in my old room,” he said. “I can’t bring myself to move into the master suite.”
Sophie nodded, filing away the information for future use. “You know,” she said softly, “we don’t have to go to the garden tonight. The whole reason I’m here is to try to help you sleep. If you’re spending half the night escorting me around your estate, you’ll miss out on precious hours of rest.”
He leaned against the doorjamb, thoughtful. “Earlier today, I was so exhausted that I couldn’t tie my own damned cravat. My head pounded, my fingers wouldn’t work, and all I wanted was a few hours of sleep.”
“And now?” she probed.
He dragged a hand across his jaw. “I just want to spend time with you, like a normal person.”
She chuckled at that. “You are a normal person.”
For several heartbeats he stared at her, his expression unreadable. At last he said, “Only when I’m with you.”
A shiver, sensuous and sweet, stole over her skin—and though she was halfway across the room from Reese, she felt as though he’d caressed her. With his words.
“How about this?” she said slowly. “We’ll spend no more than an hour in the garden, then I’ll brew some tea for you and see if I can coax you to sleep.”
He nodded. “I’m beginning to think you could coax me to do just about anything,” he said gruffly, making her body tingle again.
Flustered, she set her portmanteau on a bench and tossed her shawl on the bed. “You know, I think a brisk walk will do wonders for both of us. I’ll follow your lead.”
They wound their way through a maze of corridors and back staircases, eventually arriving at a pair of heavy wooden arched doors. “This is the entrance to the ballroom,” he said, leaning a shoulder into one of the doors till it creaked on its iron hinges and slowly swung open.
Sophie ventured into the center of the room, huge, empty and dark, and slowly turned in the center, admiring every detail. The polished parquet floors were covered in intricately shaped shadows from the towering windows along one wall. Moonlight painted the room the color of a pale purple orchid—ethereal and exquisite.
“My brother used to host grand parties here,” Reese said, as if trying to imagine the room filled with guests and music and revelry. “But I prefer it like this—quiet and bare.”
“I like it this way too,” Sophie admitted.
“This may surprise you,” he said dryly, “but I’m not very fond of balls.”
“You mean you’re not fond of dancing?” she asked with mock surprise.
“As a rule, no.” He walked up to her and held a hand above her head like they were waltzing. She spun a few times, careful not to brush against the planes of his chest or the protective, almost possessive, arc of his arm. But the brief make-believe dance left her feeling dizzier than it should have. She chuckled as she pirouetted away from him and caught her breath, pretending she found his gruff charm only mildly amusing.
But the truth was that Sophie had loved that moonlit, music-less dance with Reese. Wouldn’t have traded it for a hundred waltzes beneath glittering chandeliers.
Reese strode to a set of French doors at the rear of the room and pushed them open as though he were her escort into another kingdom. Sweeping an arm toward the terrace and the plants and trees beyond, he said, “Welcome to Warshire Manor’s garden.”
Sophie stepped out onto the flagstone terrace and was immediately enthralled. “Reese,” she whispered. “It’s unlike anything I’ve seen.” It was just as he’d described—dying, desolate, dark. But it was also so much more.
From her vantage point near the house, she could see at least three distinct parts of the expansive garden. A foreboding stone pavilion stood in the center, like the hub of a wheel. To the left was a thicket of gnarled black poplars, prickly bushes, and creeping vines. The area to the right was a sea of nothing but pale, ash-gray asphodel flowers, rippling softly in the warm evening breeze. Behind the stone pavilion Sophie could barely make out another section—perhaps the most enticing of them all. It was difficult to discern in the darkness, but she glimpsed an apple orchard and massive stone fountains that mimicked waterfalls.
The stark contrasts within the garden enchanted her, but its most unusual feature was perhaps the one directly in front of her, lapping at her feet. The entire landscape was surrounded by a moat.
“Watch your step,” Reese warned as she approached the murky river water, which swirled and eddied as though monsters lurked below the surface. “It’s deeper than it looks.”
She rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms. “You say that as if you’ve gone for a swim or two.”
“Not so much a swim as a thorough dunking,” he said good-naturedly. “Come on. There’s a bridge over here.”
She followed him to an elaborate footbridge made of dark wood planks embellished with iron and stone. On one side of the bridge stood a sculpture of a life-sized, sinister-looking creature that was half dog, half beast.
“This is the closest thing Edmund and I had to a pet,” Reese quipped. “Sophie, meet Rex.”
A chill skittered down her spine as she put it all together: the pavilion, the moat, the strange trees and plants … and the ferocious guard dog made of stone. “That’s not Rex,” she whispered.
Reese turned to look at her, his expression curious. “What do you mean?”
“That’s Cerberus,” she said slowly. “Hades’ dog.”
“But he only has one head,” Reese countered.
Sophie reached up and ran a hand over the cool stone at the dog’s neck. A couple of areas were not as polished as the others—almost as if the stone there had been chipped away and filed down. “I think he must have had three heads at one time.”
“Cerberus,” Reese muttered. “That would explain why our pet dog had such ferocious-looking teeth. But why place a statue of Cerberus here? It seems rather random.”
“Not at all,” Sophie said, more than a little awed. “It all fits perfectly. Unless I’m mistaken, this entire garden is modeled after the Underworld.”