Page 15 of Lover
My wife displayed an incredible perception of being looked at, because she turned her gaze up to the window and waved, forcing me to step back quickly. I was fairly certain she hadn’t clearly seen who watched her from above, making the wave even more cheeky.
I no longer wanted to be in this room. At the very least, my new quarters were on the same floor as Millie’s and being closer to her, even in such a small way, seemed vastly preferable to being alone in the phantom arms of our shattered life.
I locked the door as I left, taking no chances.
CHAPTER 9
THE DAY MOVED painfully slow, and though I filled it with papers and correspondence for the factories and plans for new hot houses closer to Willowfield, every second that ticked by was a lifetime. When night fell, I was too agitated to sleep, too worked up from my thoughts, which had oscillated between melancholy and licentious.
I poured myself a brandy, my second that day. Like a youthful heathen, I drank it in one gulp. It scorched its trail down my throat, promising some relief, perhaps some sleep. I poured another glass, and as I did, caught sight of a small white packet sitting on the silver serving tray. The tea Dr. Hannigan had prescribed to Millie. I picked it up and carried it over to the fire, nursing my drink and examining the envelope meant to offer some relief to my wife. What kind of medicine was tea? I scoffed at it, though continued to turn it over in my fingers as I gazed into the flames and watched them spark and shiver, imagining some distant day when this would all be done, and no more lies or omissions of truth orteawould be needed. But the alcohol, instead of drifting me up away from my treacherous mind, only made it all the more sinister.
I continued to think upon Millie reading her own journal, disturbed by her lack of recognition, tantalized by the imagining of what stories she’d seen, what recounts of our devotion she’d read. Had it stirred her? Had the look on her face not been one of discomfort but one of enticement? With little else to distract me,my lustful, suffering mind ran amok, frustrating me and keeping me awake.
I was lost so deep in my impure contemplations when without warning my bedroom door flew open and Millie stumbled across the threshold dressed only in her thin night slip, every curve and delightful contour of her body enhanced by the fire glow. Her hair was loose, a halo of sleep-mussed waves around her bare shoulders, framing a face that was a muddle of fright and rage, and then—shock.
Unencumbered by sober reasoning, I became hard so swiftly I nearly groaned.
“Professor,” she gasped, and I could have eaten her alive. “You were meant to be away.”
“Clearly, I’ve returned.” What in the hell was she doing here this time of night?
“Please, there’s someone…” She glanced at the bed and the monstrous need in me roiled.
My gaze followed hers. “Someone.”
She stood straighter, squaring her shoulders, which only brought to prominence the tempting swell of her breasts beneath the cotton.
“I’ve seen someone in the house,” she said resolutely. “I followed them here. I think they came in at the front door. We need to call the police.”
Was she having me on? I looked pointedly around the room again, indicating to her that there was obviously no one there but me. A man she was alone with. A man who’d had the pleasure of her body before, and was craving it again. The temptation was so highly unjust and irritation bloomed inside my desire, stoked by liquor.
My dark look made her uncomfortable, and with a shaky voice, she said, “This entire thing is very uncommon.”
“Oh, this particular circumstance ismostuncommon, Miss Foxboro,” I replied, punishing her for my lust with a critical tone. “The front door is locked. Ms. Dillard makes sure of it every night, and no one has come into this room, unless, of course, you count yourself.”
I took my glass from the mantel and depravedly gave in to my compulsion to be closer, to walk to the edge and look out into the abyss, to show her how unsafe it was to come to me in the night. I walked a measured pace, offering her a chance to leave, enough time to turn, escape.
“I didn’t realize this was your room,” she said weakly.
“Mmm, but I’m sure youdorealize we are here, alone together in the dark of night,” I replied suggestively. “I feel like this has happened before.”
“Professor…”
I stopped a few steps from her.
You can still get away, Millie. Don’t invite me.
“Once again,” I noted, “you are in nothing but a threadbare nightdress.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, barring me from the previously decadent view.
I smiled, the sort of way that once set her on fire, slow and promising.
“At a loss for words? You seemed perfectly capable of speech yesterday. Quite scalding speech if I remember.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
Her challenge drew me another step toward her, and she retreated. Smart girl. However, in her haste, she angled herself in the wrong direction, running into the side table by the door and knocking the vase sideways. On instinct, I moved forward to catch it, bringing us so close there was only a sinful sigh between our bodies. She didn’t withdraw, merely glared up at me with a stony determination I believed would be gratifying to dismantle.
