Page 9 of Baron in Check
And they climbed into bed together.
And again, Hermy grabbed onto the sheets, hoping she would fall into oblivion.
Again and again.
Her butterfly fluttered as if trying to escape and reach for Greg. He pushed deeper and faster, and Hermy shuddered with joy.
But suddenly, the door clicked, and a wooden slam as it hit the wall startled her.
Her vision focused on the doorway and she saw her brother’s enraged face.
Greg pulled the cover over her and shielded her with his body, but he couldn’t protect Hermy’s heart from the veil of loneliness that descended with her brother’s wrath.
For five years,her brother had been between her and Greg, forbidding so much as the exchange of letters. Hermy stood in front of Greg’s townhouse and wondered how could it have been so long. The last time she’d been inside, she was sixteen. Perhaps he was married now. What would his wife say if his ex-lover asked for his help? What if he had children? Hermy’s insides cramped into a painful cluster of worry. Did Greg even remember her?
Still, she had no other recourse, Greg was the only one who could release her from the cruel conditions of her brother’s will. If he could challenge Chanteroy to a match and win her estate back, she could go back to her spinster life and, after firing the existing staff who’d pledged allegiance to the sadistic solicitor … do what exactly?
She couldn’t run the estate any longer, she was not the heiress to the title. Her entire existence didn’t count. The solicitor had said it was on hold, on abeyance, until someone convinced the crown to let another man step into the Earldom. But it wouldn’t be a member of her family, she was the only one left.
She clutched the key and hoped it still worked. She’d worn it around her neck since Greg had given it to her with the promise to wait for her after Oxford. They’d had fantasies about running away together; Gretna Green had sounded like a paradise for star-crossed lovers. But that was the last summer he’d spent in Kent, and much had happened since then. Hermy had grown up in bitter loneliness, her dreams dwindling to faint memories.
She held her breath when she reached the top of the stairs and laid her palm on the carved walnut door. It looked the same as when she’d visited the Stones every winter when Greg was back from Eton. He’d spent summers with her family in return when he was on break in July and August, and her family spent nearly all of Yuletide with the Stones.
Hermy slipped through the unlocked door, heart thudding in her chest. The familiar grandeur of the foyer enveloped her, but now, shadows clung to the edges, turning the once welcoming space into a maze of déjà vu. The little butterfly in her stomach resurrected.
“Where is he?” Hermy called as she stormed past the slack-jawed butler—the same one as before. Did he recognize her?
“Greg! Greg?” She walked to the back of the hall and straight into his office. Nothing. The fire was out; the room felt cold.
She returned to the hall. The East and West wings beckoned to her left and right, each holding secrets she once knew well.
The butler, an elderly man, tall and impeccably dressed, approached her and bowed. “Milady, can I help you?”
“I need to speak to Greg. Now.” Hermy looked left, all doors were shut. She looked right, same. Thus, she made for the stairs. It had been years since she’d sneaked up them when the household was asleep.
The semi-round staircase loomed before her, its red and gold carpet muted under the soft glow of gas lamps. Gone were the flickering candles of her childhood, replaced by a steady, hissing light that cast long, sinister shadows against the ornate wallpaper on the curved wall. The steps creaked under her weight, a reminder that, despite the changes, some things remained stubbornly the same.
“Greg!” she called, trailing her hand over the railing as she had many times before.
The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and the faint trace of patchouli, a whisper of the past that tugged at her memories. Hermy couldn’t help but notice how the house seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for her next move.
The butler followed her, raining questions.
“I have a key, that’s how I got in. No, he’s not expecting me. Yes, he will see me. It cannot wait. Now.” She made it to thetop of the staircase and turned right toward Greg’s bedroom. Two doors down, she pressed the handle, ignoring the butler’s protests.
The room was just as she remembered, a well-loved chamber with the same schoolbooks and tales of adventures on the shelf. Dark blue drapes shut out the sunlight and it was cooler than the foyer. The same enormous painting showed a large ship plowing through the waves, white sails full. Greg and she had stared at this painting and spun stories of their future adventures, their journeys around the world.
But she hadn’t visited any of those places. Hermy turned to the butler, standing in the doorway with a frown.
“This isn’t his room anymore, is it?”
The butler sighed. “He’s the Baron now. Both his parents have passed on.”
“Oh,” Hermy swallowed hard. “And is there a baroness?”
The butler shook his head.
Why hadn’t he thrown her out of the house yet? He’d certainly recognized her.
