Retribution (Sebastian Trilogy Book 3) (13 page)

Chapter 14

The drive to Cornwall seems endless. Ruth was supportive as ever, insisting I leave immediately with an assurance that she will take care of Bella. The sense of urgency leads me to drive too fast, to take risks where usually I would hold back. Finally I steer the car into the drive at Penmorrow, relieved at having arrived, nervous of how Sebastian will be with me. Scarlett is gone, and for the first time we will be alone together. The police divers continue to scour the coastline but have not found a body. DI Chambers has kept me abreast of the search; he has proven to be a considerate and invaluable confidant.

The front door is unlocked. Stepping into the vast hall at Penmorrow, I set down my overnight bag and inhale the ancient aroma of wood, dust, and family secrets that hang in the air. “Hello,
”
I call out. The only sound is the
tick, tock, tick, tock
of the grandfather clock. The setting sun casts shards of light through the stained glass windows, scattering rainbow coloured diamonds across the stone floor. “Sebastian?
”

The silence, the aura is ethereal. He doesn’t know I’m coming. Wanting to keep my arrival a surprise, I didn’t call him. DI Chambers informed me of Sebastian’s release without charge. Just ‘helping with enquiries
’
was all that had been required of him. Now, here I stand, alone in this great house. With Scarlett gone, the house feels markedly different, as though a serenity has settled on this grand old lady. The creaks and groans the house emits are sighs of relief now that the cancer has been cut out. She can rest at last, holding those who live here close to her loving bosom.

I tread lightly to the kitchen. The fridge is well stocked. I’m loath to admit it, but Scarlett kept a well-run home. I heat up oil in a pan, and soon the chicken breasts sizzle, filling the kitchen with a delicious aroma. I realise I haven’t eaten since this morning’s toast. My tummy growls. The clock on the wall above the stove reads seven fifty-five. Where is Sebastian? He hasn’t answered my call nor replied to my text messages and anxiety is gnawing away at my gut.
Where the hell are you? Are you okay?

The chicken pasta bake has been sitting on the table for almost an hour when I hear the heavy thud of the oak front door. Placing my near empty glass of red wine on the table, I pivot on the old wooden church pew and glance at the doorway. Sebastian leans against the door frame. He rakes a hand through his dishevelled hair and smiles. His eyes are encircled with dark grey rings, his stubble giving him an unkempt appearance. “Hi,
”
I say, not moving to stand.

“Hi.
”
He saunters toward me, his deportment belying his evident fatigue. He reaches out to me; he strokes my loose, tousled hair. “You came…and you cooked,
”
he observes, his lips forming a half smile.

“Yes. I thought you’d be hungry, and I needed to be with you.
”
My neck cranes as I look up at him, our eyes locking with shared misery.

He grasps my hair more firmly, using it as an anchor with which to tug my head against his firm stomach as he stands before me. I breathe in his masculine scent of sandalwood, while the buttons of his shirt press into my face. My arms encircle his waist, and I stroke his lower back. He shudders in my grasp. At first, I wonder if he is cold but the shudders become stronger. Dear God, he’s crying.

“My poor darling.
”
Standing abruptly, my body turning, I kneel on the pew, leaning over its back, and embrace my broken man. His body heaves as he sobs and all I can do is stroke his back and whisper my love for him. His tears soak my neck and break my heart. When his emotions are spent, he pulls back and rubs his eyes with his clenched fists.

“Sorry,
”
he croaks. “Just…fuck it, I loved that crazy fucking woman.”

“I know you did,
”
I whisper, his words cutting deep as a knife. “She loved you, too.”

“Not in the way you think.
”
He rakes his hand through his hair again, sniffing back the tears threatening to spill once more. “I was always her master, her friend, her protector. But, in the end, I didn’t protect her. Fuck, Elizabeth. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
”
His clenched fist thuds down on the table, causing the plates and cutlery to rattle and my body to tense.

“There was nothing you could do,
”
I soothe. “Where have you been? You were released hours ago.”

“On the beach. I’ve been walking up and down the beach, again and again, calling her, looking for her. She just walked out to sea, Elizabeth. Just walked out into the dark, cold ocean and let it claim her.”

“Have they found her, darling?
”
My hand rests on his arm, stroking, comforting.

“No. The police diver said the tide has probably washed her along the coast. They questioned me, Elizabeth. They seemed to think that she isn’t
Scarlett
. That she is someone else…Sarah someone. I’d have known. Wouldn’t I have known?
”
His question hangs in the air unanswered.

“Sebastian.
”
I have to ask him the question which has been eating at me since my earlier conversation with DI Chambers. He looks down at me but his eyes are hooded, glazed, as though he doesn’t see me. “I want you to listen to me and answer me truthfully. If you do that, then I am here with you one hundred percent…but only if you tell me the truth. No matter what the truth is. Okay?”

“The truth. Yes.
”
His voice is robotic, devoid of emotion.

“When Joe and Alan died, I overheard you on the phone with Scarlett. You said to her, ‘You’ve done well, you’ll be rewarded.
’
What did you mean, Sebastian? I want the truth. What did you mean?”

He sighs and wipes a hand across his face. “Shit. Is that what’s important to you?
”
he asks incredulously, his eyes locked on mine. “Do you want to know what I was thanking her for? I was thanking her for arranging a fucking bouquet of flowers for you. Do you remember the lilies that arrived? Who the hell do you think ordered those, when I was supporting you through the hardest fucking time of your life? Fuck. What did you think I was thanking her for?
”
He backs away from me, his lip curled in a cruel sneer. I’m losing him.

“No.
”
The word emits as a shout that gets Sebastian’s attention. “I didn’t tell the police. I didn’t believe you were a party to the accident. I trusted you. I
do
trust you, and now you have to trust me.
”

Moving quickly, I walk around to him and gather him in my arms, his body rigid against my embrace. “It’s over, Sebastian. Don’t you see? We’ve got each other. We love each other and, hell, they say love conquers all.
”
He relaxes into my arms, my fingers raking through his hair as he buries his face in my neck, sobbing once more.

“It’s okay,
”
I soothe. “I’m here and we’ll get through this together.
”
It breaks my heart to feel my strong man cry like a baby, to feel his hot tears, his loss, and his confusion. I rock him gently until his body is still. “Take me to bed.
”
Before he can answer, I take his hand and lead him from the kitchen. He follows, his eyes lowered, his dear face red and blotchy.

Closing the bedroom door I lead him to the bed where he sits compliantly, so unlike my dominant, confident lover. He watches by the fading light as my clothes slip to the floor forming a puddle at my feet. His eyes darken, his breathing quickens. Taking his hand once more, I pull him to standing using all my strength to raise his leaden body. Silently, I strip him. He allows me to do so, but offers no assistance. When we are both facing each other, naked, my hands gently caress his chest. Snaking about his neck, I bring his head down, his lips meeting mine in a bruising assault. He reaches a tentative hand to my hip as I step into him, his hardness pressing against my belly, grinding into him still further.

He grips my hip so painfully that I bite down on his bottom lip as his fingers dig into my flesh, sharp and unrelenting. The taste of blood—metallic and warm—flows onto my tongue as our kiss deepens, raw and carnal. His hands grasp my buttocks, pulling me against his erection, grinding it into me in a rhythmic motion. “Mine,
”
he growls into my mouth as a hand slides up to my throat, encircling my neck, the pressure enough to make me gasp. “You. Are. Fucking. Mine.”

“Yes, I’m yours, darling. Always yours.
”
He steps back a pace, his molten eyes drinking me in from head to toe. He swipes at his bleeding lip with the back of his hand, looks down at the blood and back at me, our eyes locking, mine reflecting his primal need. His mouth and hand smeared with his blood adds to our visceral desire. He shakes his head as he licks at his bleeding lip. I don’t see his hand lash out but feel the sting of his palm on my cheek as he slaps me. The pain feels good. I want him to do it again, feeling a warm gush between my legs as my core tightens. His hand withdraws and hovers near my face.

“Do it,
”
I goad. “Fucking do it!”

He hesitates, sucking on his wounded lip, his eyes hooded, his hand elevated beside my cheek. “What the fuck’s happened to us?
”
He drops his hand by his side and stands limp and lost. “When did we start abusing each other?”

“No,
”
I cry. “Not abuse. We have to get this out, we’ve both been through so much…it’s passion, not abuse.
”
I stroke his face; he flinches at my touch. “Don’t, Sebastian. Don’t shut me out.
”
He catches my hand and lifts it to his face, kissing my palm.

“I’m sorry,
”
he chokes. “What’s happened to me?
”
He pulls me into his strong embrace, the heat of his firm body heightening my arousal once more. “Come.
”
He turns me so that the backs of my legs are against the bed. With a firm but tender push, he has me on the bed, his weight pressing into me. His knee parts my legs, spreading me wide, his hands pinning my arms above my head. The silky head of his cock spears me; with one hard thrust he drives it in to its root filling me so completely that I scream his name. His grip on my wrists tightens, his eyes never leaving mine as he drills me, withdrawing and thrusting into me over and over. My legs encircle his waist, heels digging into his back.

My core tightens around his hardness as the first tremors of pleasure build within. “You’re so fucking wet,
”
he hisses, releasing my wrists to trail his fingers to my dripping pussy. The rub of his thumb on my pulsating clitoris drives me over the edge as the first wave of orgasms crashes through my body. Screaming his name, my back arched, I am lost to him, aware only of the crescendo within myself. His assault on my bud continues until the pleasure becomes unbearable.

“Stop. No more,
”
I pant. “Please, no more.
”
His hand moves from my soaked folds, trailing my juices up my stomach, over a nipple and to my throat where he pinions me. His face a mask of torment, of dark abandon, he spits my name from his lips as he succumbs to his own climax. I can’t breathe, panic rising as I tug at his fingers about my neck, prying them from their unyielding grip, my body twisting and bucking under his weight. He snaps back, releasing my throat. I gasp for air, panic subsiding.

“Sorry. Oh God, I’m sorry.
”
He rolls off me, collapsing on his side and curling into a ball, his arms clutching his knees.

“What the hell happened? Sebastian?
”
He’s trembling uncontrollably. “Shit. It’s okay. I’m okay.
”
Tears roll down my cheeks at the sight of my broken, damaged love. Pulling the duvet up, I tuck it around him, sliding my body against his back, my arms enfolding him. Keeping him warm. Calming him. His body stills once more; his hand grips my arm and pulls me tightly to him.

“I don’t know what that was,
”
he whispers. “So sorry. Love you…so sorry.
”
I soothe and stroke him until his breathing grows more shallow. His limbs relax. Sebastian is asleep. Closing my eyes, I wait for sleep to claim me too, willing it to come.

Moonlight finds its way through a chink in the curtain, casting a blue white glow across the bed. Sebastian’s leg rests on my hip. We’re both hot, sweaty. He’s deeply asleep and I’m still awake but my eyelids are growing heavy. Sleep is finally enveloping me in its comforting arms.

The shadow moves so slowly that, at first, it seems that it is not moving at all. Rubbing the onset of sleep from my tired eyes, then repeatedly blinking helps to clear my vision. The shape of the armoire, chest of draws, the mirror, all as they should be. Nothing unusual. Back to the armoire, a colossal wardrobe housing the dresses chosen for me by Scarlett. I wonder how she felt, forced to shop for an adversary who had stolen her true love’s heart. How painful that must have been for her. The inky outline of the armoire stretches, then I realise that it’s another shape. The shape of a woman.