Instead of taking offense, the woman seemed downright jolly.
He’d spent nearly twenty years making a fortune (quadruple fold) and one small wedding and four pushy, nagging women were going to bankrupt him in a single day.
Fortunately, Julia was a calm amidst this storm. With her never ending lists, her capacity to interpret (and control) her mother’s dramatics, to find Charlie hilarious and to delegate to Mrs. K and Sam when needed, she was taking all this on with a level head – all the while starting a new consultancy, dealing with the children and giving into a (very) demanding Douglas (though he couldn’t help but note that the last seemed to be the most favourite of her tribulations).
“Why on earth don’t they phone you with these details?” Douglas found himself grumbling (actually reduced to grumbling) the evening before.
They were on the couch in his study. Douglas was sitting at one end looking through some papers. Julia was lying on her back with her feet in his lap, Fred, The Cat (his name had been grandly, yet unnecessarily, lengthened by Ruby) sleeping on her belly and she was reading a book.
“I think they’re enjoying torturing you, you haven’t exactly been, um,” Julia hesitated, Douglas cut his eyes to her and she grinned sheepishly, “approachable for the last thirty-eight years.”
“I’m not approachable now,” he ground out. “I’m considering hiring hit men.”
She laughed, the sound throaty and sexy and making him immediately want her. If the children hadn’t been in the house watching television in the lounge, he would have taken her.
When he was going to have his fill of her, he didn’t know and he was beginning to doubt he ever would. Every time he had her, he wanted more, needed more, she was like a f**king drug.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Julia joked, taking him from his thoughts then her smile drained away as she took in his bland look and arched brow.
He saw a worried expression crossed her face and then he turned away, satisfied at her reaction yet unable to stop his lips from twitching.
She set Fred, The Cat aside and launched herself at him, a playful attack he had no idea how to defend. He’d never played with anyone, not even Tamsin.
He wrestled her gently, not wanting to cause her harm but he soon found he didn’t have to worry because the whole time, she was giggling herself silly. He couldn’t help but recognise the strange feeling coursing through him (mingled tantalisingly with desire) was enjoyment.
She ended the tussle on her back, Douglas on top, Julia’s arms pulled over her head with his hand holding her wrists. She was still laughing, her body shaking under him while he smiled down at her, revelling in the pleasure of her happiness and that it was Douglas who was giving it to her.
“You’re just too funny, sweetheart,” she giggled. “I just love…” she stopped, gulped then gave a short, strange, uncomfortable chortle of laughter before finishing, “love your sense of humour.”
Her words sounded forced and wrong and his body stilled when he heard them but then she lifted her head and kissed him and he could think of nothing else.
This time, it was Sam who broke into his thoughts.
“The room will be littered, their word, not mine, littered with white roses.” Sam was continuing to tell him his plans for Valentine’s evening. “They’ll serve your dinner at nine in the room.”
“Right. Thanks,” Douglas replied, no longer listening to her, preferring to think back to what happened on the couch and what it might mean.
After a lengthy hesitation, Sam asked, “What did you just say?”
“Right,” Douglas repeated distractedly.
“Then you said, ‘thanks’.” Her voice was somehow breathy with pleasure and he realised he’d never thanked her before.
Jesus, had he always been such an unfeeling bastard?
Bloody hell, he had.
A feeling stole over him that he now recognised. Guilt.
“You did a good job, you always do,” he offered this statement like a throwaway comment, immediately uncomfortable with the conversation. “Are we done?” His voice was now curt.
“Yes,” Sam answered.
“Good.” Douglas almost wished her enjoyment of her Valentine’s Day but stopped himself. She might have a coronary and he had a wedding to plan and less than a month to do it and he needed her not to be recovering in a hospital bed.
He disconnected the call as usual, without a good-bye.
His anticipation for the night was palpable. He could nearly feel Julia’s limbs around him, the smell of her in his nostrils, the taste of her in his mouth. He’d bought her rubies for tonight, a necklace and earrings to match the dress that Gregory had confided to him (or, more accurately, to Sam) was red. It was an extravagant present, a necklace set with seven oval rubies surrounded by diamonds and diamond-ensconced rubies suspended from diamonds starting at the stud of each earring. Considering her reaction to his other presents, he was most definitely looking forward to giving her the jewels.
Douglas may have been avoiding feeling anything for most of his life but he wasn’t unaware that the last several months, and especially the last several weeks, he was unable to continue in this vein. He knew his emotions were no longer under his fierce control but he had little cause for alarm regarding this development considering that he recognised the dazed feeling he was having (albeit unfamiliarly) was happiness.
He was not surprised, Julia was a good woman. She was a beautiful and stylish woman. She was a gratifyingly responsive, adventurous and demonstrative lover. She was kind and thoughtful and had worked miracles with three grieving children, a household of once distant, now familial staff and the tightening of his own meagre band of friends.
Sommersgate, cold, formal, even monstrous throughout his childhood, rang with laughter, shared confidences, constant hilarity (most of which was instigated by one or all three of the kittens or children or both) and happiness.
Lost in these thoughts, he turned through the gates of his ancestral home.
So lost in his thoughts, when he turned into the long drive of Sommersgate, he nearly didn’t notice the Gate House, normally lit warningly against intruders, now was completely dark and frighteningly quiet.
But he did notice.
And he put his foot down on the brake, stopping the car and turned his head to stare.
Nick was not going anywhere tonight. Nick had left “the job” with Douglas and had taken up his position (now officially) as Douglas’s (but more importantly Julia’s and the children’s) bodyguard.