Montgomery Manor (The Haunted Book 2), page 8
“She’s beautiful.” Meg breathed the words.
“Yes, she is.”
Meg stepped further into the room, her gaze lingering here and there, taking in everything her greedy eyes could. The wood planks of the floor glistened with a new shine, strands of lights wound up around four columns, deep red velvet circular sofas surrounded each column, and the hanging lights cast a soft glow. She could hardly wait for the dancing to begin.
“I doubt you’ll have trouble renting this room out for banquets and receptions.”
“I thought so, too.” Quint looked at his watch. “I have just a few minutes left. Let me show you some of the new Bed and Breakfast rooms and the bath at the end of the hall. You’ll love the fixtures. The shower is the neatest thing.”
He was right.
The bathroom was as big as some of the bedrooms. The sink resembled an old-fashioned washstand. The plumbing was modern—turn on the faucet and hot and cold water flowed. But the fixtures themselves arced out over the bowl; the faucet handles were made of wood and made to look like something from the early twentieth century.
The shower, a small room, was set in the corner. It was encased with stones, and potted plants dotted the built-in rock shelves—stepping into the enclosure was a bit like walking into a cave. Showering in there would be an experience—rinsing away the cares of the day while surrounded by nature.
Meg half expected to find a large water filled bucket suspended with a pull rope, just waiting to rain water down on her head. But the fixture was modern, complete with a two showerheads to spray in several directions, hitting the body everywhere at once.
She touched the stone wall. The stones were cool, smooth, and felt real. “I might take my shower here instead of our bathroom.”
“We could take a shower here together if you like.” His deep, seductive tone told her he’d like to also.
She felt heat rise into her cheeks. Amazed that he was her husband and yet this felt so new. She thought for a moment he might kiss her as he had previously. Instead, he gently touched her cheek with his fingertips as he looked into her eyes.
“As much as I’d like to stay here and show you just how well the shower works, we have guests.” He sounded as if the words were not easy to say.
They returned to the hallway and heard voices drifting up from the foyer. Quint led her to the balcony, and they looked down at the growing crowd. He tightened his grip on her hand.
“Are you ready to meet our guests?”
She smiled at him. “I guess, but they’re really your guests.”
He gazed into her eyes, shaking his head. “No, they’re ours. We are in this together. Always, mon coeur.”
He gave her a quick, easy kiss. “And later, I promise I’ll show you the basement on the other side. There’s a swimming pool down there.”
She looked at him, astonished. Quint didn’t know how to swim, had never liked the water. Their vacations were never to the beach. “Really? Are you teasing me?”
“Really. Montgomery used to have parties where the guests would swim all night. It’ll be a while before we’re ready for that. Once it’s operational, I want to spend a few nights swimming with you. Alone.” He paused, looked back down at the crowd. “And later I do plan to tease you. A lot.”
His words sent fire to her blood. For a moment, she couldn’t draw in a breath. Before she could think of a single word to reply, he asked, “Are you ready to go down?”
Meg was still speechless. She nodded.
He squeezed her hand, and they descended the stairs together. Quint brought her hand to his lips, kissing it before reaching the bottom of the stairs. The subtle touch sent the fire he’d already put in her blood pooling to the pit of her stomach.
How dare he put a spark in her soul, toss on a can of kerosene, and then move on to greet his guests?
Meg had no idea. She plastered a smile on her face until she thought her face would freeze.
The party started.
Aside from the mayor, the guest list included the governor and two senators. The governor deigned to make a quick appearance, and the two senators declined having made previous commitments. Everyone who did show up, including the mayor, was excited to see all the wonderful things Quint had done to Montgomery Manor.
The press was there and, for a long moment, Meg thought she might go blind from the flashes as pictures were taken. Her jaw hurt and she held tight to Quint’s hand. He gave a quick interview and explained, in a nutshell, all the work and changes he’d made over the past two months.
The tour was a success, and Meg discovered that tour was only the first of many planned for that night. Patrons were awed by the kitchen and the many other refurbished rooms, just as she’d been.
The wine cellar was, by far, the most praised room on the tour. It was an awesome place, tunnel like, with cobblestone floors, stone walls, arched doorways, and iron gates guarded stacks of old barrels and wine racks. A musty smell wove with the sweet aroma of fruit. Small lights along the walls gave the tunnels a haunting and mysterious atmosphere.
According to historical record, the wine cellar was the very place Joshua Montgomery killed his wife, Ellen. It was there that witnesses discovered him standing over her, holding a bloody knife, his hands covered with her blood.
Meg noticed how the tour members lingered in the cellar, the question of whether Joshua Montgomery killed his own wife lingering in the air like the tangy scent of grapes. She knew the press would feed on the old mystery for weeks to come.
“And where exactly was Mrs. Montgomery found?” someone asked.
“Just about right where you’re standing.” Quint grinned his now familiar crooked grin. It was obvious he loved the attention.
A camera flashed. “Is it true Joshua Montgomery was standing over her with a bloody knife in his hand?”
“That’s what the books say.” Quint met Meg’s gaze from several feet away, and winked at her.
Meg watched, enjoying this time for him.
“And what was she wearing?” another patron asked.
Meg caught the sadness in Quint’s eyes. It was a mere flash, and no one else seemed to notice it, but she saw it before he forced another smile.
“A deep blue silk dress. They were having a party.”
“What about his treasure? Did you find any hidden vaults?”
Quint blinked as another flash of a camera brightened the room. “Not yet, but I’ll be sure to call the press as soon as I do.”
Laughter rippled through the cave-like room.
The group moved through the tunnel, and Quint led the way. Meg stepped in beside him. “You seem eager to get out of the cellar.” She whispered so none of the reporters could hear.
“Knowing this was where Ellen Montgomery was murdered gives me nightmares. How are you holding up?”
“I feel like I’ve met a million people, and my jaw hurts from smiling. I hope there’s not a quiz at the end of this because I can’t remember any names.”
He leaned close. “Well, you are the perfect hostess. Thank you.” He gave her cheek a peck.
“With you beside me, it’s not too hard. I admit this place was really scary at first, but now…” She looked around as she spoke. “It feels like home, especially when you’re beside me holding my hand.”
He released her hand and placed an arm about her shoulders and squeezed her to him.
The tour group stopped again. “And as you can see, this room is where the wine was stored before it was bottled…”
Meg glanced at the stacked barrels, but she could ignore her growling belly no longer, besides, she’d heard this part of the tour three times already. As Quint continued his speech, talking about the history of this room and more changes he planned to make, she broke away from the tour to find the dining room and grab a bite.
She followed three tunnels before finding the steps leading to the main floor. They were simple spiral stairs twisting around a single large pole, with a single wood banister to keep one from falling over the edge and onto the stone floor below. There wasn’t much light, and each step creaked beneath her weight as she ascended.
Her shoe heel caught on the uneven, top step, and she stumbled. She had a grip on the banister, but it wasn’t tight and her hand slipped. She was saved from falling to the stones below by a pair of strong arms that grabbed her.
From her angle, she saw a man’s legs wrapped in black slacks, then she saw the white shirt. For a brief moment, only a moment, she thought she’d be caught by her mysterious bartender. She regained her footing and looked up. It wasn’t the Irish bartender who had saved her.
Brad.
He held her a few inches from him, but he looked down at her with a strange twinkle in his eyes, the bright light of the room was behind him and did nothing to light up his shadowed face. She blinked, trying to make out his expression in the dim interior of the stairwell.
“Brad?” She breathed the single word, a mixture of relief and anxiety—she didn’t like the way his hands lingered on her arms.
“Are you all right?” He seemed surprised to find her here. His words were hesitant as if he didn’t quite know what to say to her.
He gazed down at her intently, laser focused on her face. She felt like an actor under a spotlight, the unseen crowd devouring her with its eyes. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you, and thank you for grabbing me. I hate to think what might have happened if you hadn’t.”
“It’s a good thing I was here to…keep you from falling.”
His words were still uncertain and left her wondering what he was doing. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
His hands still gripped her arms, and his gaze still probed her face. She felt naked and vulnerable.
A disturbing thought darkened her mind. All he has to do is shove me backwards, and I’ll go tumbling down the stairs.
She fought back a shudder. Why would she even imagine he’d do something so terrible, when he saved her from doing just that? He had, hadn’t he?
Yes, he had. And he still held her, like he enjoyed holding her. She didn’t enjoy him holding her. She shrugged to send him the unspoken message to let her go. His grip on her arms softened, but his palms slid to her shoulders, then down to her elbows, an unwelcomed and inappropriate caress. She stepped from his grasp, and holding tightly to the banister, took the last step up to the next floor. She didn’t stop there, though, she moved a few steps further than that, clearing the stairway.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. In fact, it looked really forced. He licked his lips, slowly running his tongue over them, almost as if he was hungry to taste something delicious. He now reminded her of the big, bad wolf who wanted to eat her up. “Just walking around making certain everything is order and the guests have everything they need. Are you enjoying your evening?”
“Yes, thank you.” At the beginning of the evening, when Quint had introduced them, she liked Brad, but now, after their uncomfortable encounter on the stairs, she found her like had turned to disdain. She didn’t like the way he watched her, like a cat watching a mouse before devouring it. When she’s first met Brad, Quint was with her; and Brad had shaken her hand. He hadn’t looked at her then as if he’d like to have her for his next meal. He hadn’t put his hands down her arms. Perhaps it was just the light coming from behind him casting a shadow that transformed his face into an unsettling and untrustworthy mien. Or maybe it was the way he’d held her too long. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was not being alone with him any longer.
“You seem a bit shaky, off balance. Quint’s been keeping you busy with tours and holding his hand. You just need a bite to eat.”
She almost asked him how he could know that, unless he’d been following her and Quint around.
He didn’t give her the chance to ask. “The dining room is this way.”
Without hesitation, he led the way to the dining room. It was filled with people, some standing and talking and eating and drinking, some sitting at the many tables, doing the same, some moving about the large room admiring the art and the décor.
Meg looked around the large room, amazed. “Wow, I hadn’t realized so many people arrived while we were down in the cellar.”
She turned back to Brad, determined to ask him a few questions of her own, but he was gone.
“Maybe he’s a ghost,” she let out, hoping it wasn’t true. If it were, they may never get rid of him. She moved to introduce herself to a group of guests gathered near the door.
A short time later, the party was getting to her. Her face hurt. Her eyes were tired. She needed to sit for a while, but all the seats in the dining room were taken.
Meg let out a heavy breath and took another drink of her diet cola. She wanted something stronger, much stronger, but she didn’t dare in case the alcohol went to her head, causing her to lose her inhibitions, and making her into the laughing stock of her own husband’s big night. That’s the last thing she wanted. She couldn’t envision herself dancing on one of the many tables, pulling off her velvet dress, and tossing it to the crowd, but she thought she better not take the chance.
The party moved along like well-written music. She shouldn’t complain about the festivities, but the strappy heels she wore hurt her feet. It seemed like hours had passed since she’d enjoyed the small plate of meatballs, toasted ravioli, and hard, Italian bread. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done anything more than meet Quint’s gaze from across the crowded room.
She watched him now as he returned with yet another group. He came close and whispered to her. “We’ve booked six rooms for the night.”
“That’s great.” She felt her happy enthusiasm was forced. She was too tired to feel happy or enthusiastic.
“I’ll be back.”
Before she could respond, he was off again, talking or sharing more history on the house.
She was happy for him, and for the successful evening, truly she was. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the whirlpool in their room, and how wonderful it would feel once she could climb into it.
Another nameless person came to her, shook her hand, and told her how wonderful everything was. She groaned and moved her jaw around when he moved on.
Though she wanted to with all her being, she couldn’t go up to their room; besides, she didn’t want to climb into that whirlpool tub alone. Maybe she’d just take her own little tour and get away from the crowd for a while.
Why not?
After all, she did own the house, or at least half of it. Just as she could stay here whenever she wanted, she could also look wherever she wanted.
She gave one last quick glance about the large room but didn’t see Quint anywhere, otherwise she would have told him she needed to find a quiet place to get some air. Instead she wandered away from the party. It wasn’t difficult. Other partiers were either caught up in their own conversations or busy studying the décor. She headed toward the kitchen, but once there, she bypassed it, found another small stairway, and ascended. After walking a long, dark, dusty hallway filled with tools and ladders, Meg realized she was in the part of the house Quint continued calling the North Wing. It was the part of the house he hadn’t refurbished or remodeled yet. It was quiet and dark and a bit colder than the rooms she just left, suffering from years without heat or cleaning or maintenance. She welcomed the cooler air.
Though echoes of the party drifted up to her through the darkness, for the moment, this place was what Meg needed. Quiet from the storm of the party downstairs, and the emotions pinging through her. She made her way to the windows at the end of the long hallway, and slipped off her shoes, allowing the bare floor to soothe her aching feet.
The view from the window captured her gaze. Through the steady rain and lightning of the storm, she saw the neglected gardens filled with weeds and trees and shadows. She heard the surf crashing against the nearby rocks and knew, without a doubt, that on a clear day, this window would offer a magnificent view. For now, she could only see the part of the parking lot lit by the streetlight.
She took a deep breath and inhaled the heavy scent of must and the lumber stacked nearby.
She closed her eyes and pressed her head against the chilly glass.
A slight frigid breeze flowed through the hall. Had someone opened a door? She didn’t open her eyes. The chance to rest against the chill of the glass was simply too good. What did she care if someone else snuck up here for a moment alone?
He moved her hair slightly. She could have sworn she felt Quint’s familiar touch. There was a soft touch to her neck; hardly more than the touch of a feather. It could have been fingertips. It could have been lips.
She sighed. So Quint had followed her to steal a moment alone. Wonderful…
She waited a few heartbeats, but the soft touches didn’t continue. Meg opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder.
She was alone in that dark, cold, musty hall.
How? Who touched me…She turned, straining to see through the mirk of the darkened hall. No one. Her hand flew to her neck where she knew she’d felt someone touch her. She forced in a ragged breath.
She scratched at her neck and swallowed to moisten her suddenly dry throat. She couldn’t help but remember her earlier sensation of being watched. The same sensation clamored through her now.
“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice barely audible over the rumbling storm outside the window.
No reply.
Maybe I’m so hungry for Quint’s lips, I just imagined it.
“Right, maybe.” Though whispered, her sarcasm sounded loud and out of place.
She hurried to put her shoes back on and then turned away from the windows.
She didn’t want to be in that dark hall, but she wasn’t quite ready to return to the party, either. She’d wander around a bit more, see another small part of this house on her own, but not linger at any more windows where she’d feel phantom touches. Once she’d wandered her fill, she could return to the party and do her best to ignore her aching feet while standing beside her husband.
