Page 22 of Christmas Spirit
“I said…” Georgie’s words died on his tongue.
Roland’s face was in shadow. All except for his eyes, reflected in the shimmering candlelight, glittering dark shades of jade and emerald, and boring into his own. Georgie swallowed. He’d always been a sucker for a man with green eyes.
He coughed, to clear his dry and raspy throat. “This place, just thinking how odd it is.”
Roland snorted as he turned and began to make his way back upstairs.
“It’s certainly eccentric. And I’ve never been anywhere where there’s no sign of staff and guests. Which is a little odd. I’m going to make enquiries about — whatever it’s called, which I’ll find out tomorrow. I want to have a discreet chat with the pastry chef, because I want them at the Manor.”
They came to a stop outside their room, and Roland pulled the key from his trouser pocket.
“Here, hold this while I open up.”
Georgie took the lamp, and Roland jiggled the key in the lock. The tumblers fell back with a muffled click, and the door swung open.
“What the fuck?”
Georgie’s jaw fell to the ground as, blinking hard, he stared into the room.
Chapter Twelve
Candles. Candles everywhere. Tall, thick, creamy white church candles, every one of them alight, their quivering flames dancing in the air, sending twisting, writhing shadows scuttling across the walls.
“So much for there being no staff. There’s no way Nicholas could’ve done this, because he was with us when the power went down.” Roland led the way inside.
Georgie followed, and closed the door behind him, the thud of the wood making the flames elongate and shimmer. He thought it was beautiful. In a weird fairy tale kind of way. Georgie pressed his lips tight. He’d keep that thought to himself.
Roland fished out his mobile from his trouser pocket.
“I’m going to set the alarm for six-thirty because I want to leave by seven. It’ll still be dark, but I want to get on. That’s done.” He rummaged in his bag, pulled out a small bundle, and headed to the en suite.
Up and out within half an hour, Georgie thought.So, no breakfast, then.
Georgie cast a longing eye towards the four poster he wouldn’t be sleeping in.Better grab some spare bedding.
He pulled open the wardrobe doors. Empty, save for some wooden hangers. He looked under the bed. Nothing. The only bedding was what was on the bed.
“There’s no spare blanket, or anything.”
Georgie turned around as the door to the en suite opened.
Oh.
Roland, in a pair of boxers. A tight pair of boxers, and a baggy T-shirt. And legs, long, lean muscled legs.
“Is there a cupboard in the bathroom?” He knew full well there wasn’t, he just needed to say something, anything, to fill the silence and take his attention away from those tight, and well-filled, boxers.
“No, there’s nothing in there. You’ll have to call Nicholas to bring up some spare bedding.”
“What with? There’s no phone, remember.”
Georgie crossed the room and opened the door, poking his head out. The hallway was in complete darkness. He screwed up his eyes, peering into what felt like a void, but he could make out nothing. Straining his ears, he listened for any telltale noise that Nicholas was downstairs, but the only sound he could hear was the beat of his heart. He pulled back and closed the door with a hard thud, wanting only to leave the silent darkness outside.
“I’m not wandering around in the dark looking for him. I’ll put my coat on and sleep in the chair, ‘cause that’s got to be better than a stone floor. I think. It’ll be all right.”
Georgie looked at the chair and his heart fell. He doubted he’d get much sleep, and he’d end up with a bad back by morning. Maybe if he piled it up with towels…
“I can’t believe there’s no spare bedding. You’ll put your back out if you try sleeping in one of those.”
