The Whisper Of Wings (29 page)

Michaela was relieved when Portia's friends left the mansion. It was a moment she'd been eagerly awaiting. Unfortunately, Portia and James decided to remain for a few more days. Michaela imagined it was more due to Portia's insecure obsession with Christopher than a desire to stay on in Virginia—they'd all but exhausted every possible activity to hold her interest. She only hoped it would be much easier to deal with just the two Telfords rather than an entire brood of spiteful people.

Christopher too was glad to be rid of Portia's friends. Perhaps the Telford pair would soon leave as well, and his household would return to some semblance of order. Never before had he been so anxious to have his guests leave, but Portia was so artfully showing her true colors that he couldn't help wanting them gone. She'd always been a bit haughty, but on this particular visit, she'd gone beyond that. She had become downright repulsive to him. Although he'd never expressed any romantic interest in her, she had never settled for his rejections. She was making it very difficult for him not to be nasty with her. Though she made no attempts to hide her disdain for Michaela, she never made the mistake of openly baiting Michaela again. Still, Christopher felt out of sorts. He wanted to relax in his own home, and he knew he wouldn't be afforded that luxury until Portia was gone.

Shut away in his room for the evening, Christopher stared down at the sheaf of papers he'd been holding. One of Michaela's novels. Unable to resist, he'd begun to read her work. He was impressed with her skill. He was moved by her ability to reach the human soul. She was good. Bloody hell, she was excellent.

He smiled and reverently touched the pages. Reading her work was like being with her, like having her there beside him. Like getting inside her mind, discovering her all over again, all those little things he didn't yet know about her. He stared at the pages. It would be nice if she would talk to him, confide in him, let him in to her world.

Feeling drawn to do so, he set the manuscript aside and went to his door. He felt restless tonight. He wanted to be near Michaela. He wanted to talk to her, about her work, about her future. But it was late, and he shouldn't wake her. Besides, there was that promise he'd made himself. And to Gerald.

He paused at his door for a moment, and was about to go back to bed when something alerted his senses to movement. It hadn't exactly been a sound, more of a perception that something was amiss in his mansion. Without bothering to put on his robe, he quietly opened the door. Cold air met his bare chest, but he was far too intent on listening now to be bothered with his state of undress. He peered out into the darkness of the hallway. Michaela's door was ajar. That in itself was not so odd. She was probably downstairs getting more paper. Still, his senses remained alert. He had an unusual feeling that something was not exactly well in his world.

Downstairs, Michaela paused outside Christopher's office. She stared at the closed door. That was odd. It was usually open. She reached out and twisted the knob, and was surprised to find the door locked. She'd never known Christopher to lock his office door. Perhaps it was a precaution against all the guests staying at the mansion. That was certainly understandable. She wouldn't want just anyone prying into her private affairs, either.

She sighed. Her desire to write was strong tonight. She needed more paper, but now she would have to squelch her imagination and wait until tomorrow. Disappointed, she started to turn away but glanced up sharply when a movement in the hall caught her eye. She gave a little gasp when James Telford stepped out of the shadows and blocked her path.

"Did I frighten you?"

Though she was not at all pleased to encounter him there, she managed an answer. "A little."

He just stood there looking at her. She stared back at him, a bit confused, the sound of her own blood roaring in her ears with every beat of her heart. He was in no apparent hurry to make his intentions known. Rather, he seemed to simply be assessing her. The way he looked at her was disturbing, and her heart turned over with dread. She could sense that he was up to no good, and being trapped there in the darkened hallway with him frightened her. There was no one about but the two of them. Anything could happen.

His eyes slid to the door behind her, narrowing as he contemplated it, then went back to her face. There was something dark in his expression, something sinister and threatening.

"At first, I wondered if you were sleepwalking," he finally said, his eyes roving her face. "But now I see that I was mistaken. Do you often roam the house at night?"

"I...."

"Do you often snoop into your host's office? You go through his things while he sleeps?"

Michaela started to shake her head, to negate the hateful remarks, but he ignored her.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

He took a step closer. Michaela froze, instantly afraid for herself. There was something malevolent about him. He was staring at her with undisguised disdain in his eyes.

"Were you out snooping around trying to find out how much he's really worth?"

"You're mistaken," she murmured, her voice disappointingly tremulous. She had wanted to sound stronger, more sure of herself, but she only managed to sound frightened out of her wits.

"Am I?" he mused.

She didn't like the way he was looking at her, didn't like the direction of his gaze, the way it lingered at the open throat of her nightgown, the way it slid down the length of her only to return to her face and rest rather lustfully on her lips. Thinking to ignore him, she averted her eyes and started past him. He didn't move an inch. Instead, he made it so that she had to brush close to him in order to get by him. Swallowing hard to squelch another stab of fear, she carried on. She was almost past him, almost thought he would let her go, when he reached out and grabbed her roughly by the arm, pulling her up against his side so that her shoulder was pressed into his chest. She couldn't help the small cry of alarm that escaped her throat, but still she didn't meet his eyes. She knew it was what he wanted, but she wouldn't allow him that. She stared straight ahead, too terrified to look at him, her body rigidly opposed to his assault. She hoped he would make an end of his ill-mannered game quickly and leave her to go on her way, but she feared that he had no such intentions. She sensed what he was after, and it made her blood freeze in her veins.

He lifted his free hand and traced the backs of his fingers down the neckline of the white silk nightgown she wore. She sucked in a breath of panic, and her body went even more rigid. She began to tremble all over with the knowledge of his intentions, and her throat filled with dread.

"Did your Mr. Standeven give you this gown?" he murmured, invasively close to her ear.

She turned her head away, tried to pull away, but he only tightened his grip on her arm.

"Favor for favor?" he whispered, his lips so close to her ear now that they almost brushed her hair.

Her eyes closed, and her chin trembled in revulsion.

"What? No answer." He laughed. "No one is fooled, not even by your formality with Christopher. We all know what you do behind closed doors after everyone else has gone to bed."

She gasped in outrage, but fear choked off any protest she might have made. Her terror seemed to excite him, and he slid his hand to her throat, then roughly tugged her robe off one shoulder. Her breathing became fast and ragged, and she whimpered a little in objection. He lowered his head to kiss her, but she strained away from him. She tried to break away then, thinking to catch him off guard, but his grip on her arm was much too tight. He was hurting her now, bruising her flesh, deliberately being cruel.

In a panic, she shouted, "No! Please!"

Suddenly, Christopher stepped out of the shadows, his eyes full of rage. "Get your filthy hands off her!"

Michaela was relieved to see him, but memories of another incident not so long ago with a man not unlike James Telford kept her rigid with shame.

James didn't release her right away, just whipped his head around to stare at Christopher in surprise. But then the snide expression settled around his mouth again, and he glared back at the other man.

Michaela's eyes were riveted on Christopher. He was a lifeline, perhaps her only lifeline. He stood there like a god, his bare chest heaving with rage, and his eyes brilliant with warning. Her heart sang at the sight of him.

Lord, she loved this man. With all her soul she loved him. She'd never loved anyone so strongly, so deeply, so completely as she loved Christopher Standeven. And she knew she never would again.

Christopher stepped closer, his voice menacing, little more than a hiss of warning as he said, "I didn't invite you here to paw my guest."

Angry now, James shot back, "She's not my sort, anyway."

Explosive rage pushed Christopher to shout. "I want you out of my house! Now!"

"Father will hear of this," James hissed, his eyes narrowed in anger.

"You can count on that," Christopher returned, his eyes glittering a warning. "And I can assure you, he will not be pleased."

James laughed, a bitter, rebellious sound that came from deep inside his throat. "It won't change anything. It's too late. The ball is already in my court. Things will be different now. You won't be cock of the walk for long."

Christopher stared at him, undiscerning.

James gave him a disdainful smile. "Oh, yes. I intend to change everything. It's what he came to tell you. I will soon be your new partner. The ink is drying on the page as we speak."

"Father?"

When she heard the tentative voice, Michaela glanced up and saw Gerald standing a few feet behind his father, his eyes full of concern as he stared at all of them.

Christopher didn't even turn around, just barked, "Go back to bed, Gerald. I will take care of this."

"Michaela?" Gerald began.

Christopher turned to look at his son, insisting, "Go back to bed." He'd spoken with much more force than he'd intended, but it was out now, and there was no taking it back.

Gerald just stood there for a moment, staring back at him, and Michaela could see that the command had hurt him.

"Please," Christopher said, his voice much gentler now. He hadn't meant to treat his only son like a child, but this situation was intolerable, and his nerves were stretched to the breaking point. "This is embarrassing enough for Michaela as it is."

Gerald seemed to understand then and ducked his head in acknowledgement, already starting to back down the hall. "If you need anything...."

"I won't hesitate to call on you," Christopher assured him.

Michaela watched Gerald slowly take the stairs. Just before he reached the landing, he paused to meet her eyes, and she could see the reluctance in his expression. He didn't want to leave her.

Christopher turned dangerous eyes on the man who still held Michaela captive, silently threatening. "You have no concept who you're dealing with. I could crush you like a grape and never blink twice."

Even James couldn't deny that Christopher was a powerful man, a man few could match and win. The two men stared at one another for what seemed like an eternity before James finally released Michaela. At first, she was too frozen by fear to move. Seeing her hesitation, Christopher stretched out a hand and motioned for her to come to him. She took a tentative step, her knees feeling oddly weak and unwilling to move.

"You command her like a dog, and she obeys," James quipped. "She's not even aware that she's doomed to a life of eternal servitude, at your beck and call."

"Get out," Christopher seethed, something in his voice more deadly than Michaela had ever heard before.

James glared at him in open hostility for a moment, then thought better of any further contention and obligingly started up the stairs. Portia stood on the landing above, staring down on the scene below. She looked both smug and unhappy. Christopher glared up at her, his jaw tight with disapproval.

"And take your sister with you. Neither of you are welcome in my home again."

The moment the two of them were out of sight, Michaela ducked behind the nearest bureau and tried to hide herself. Christopher dropped to his knees beside her, reaching out to pull aside the curtain of hair that hid her face. She flinched away, mortified to even be in the same room with him.

"Don't look at me. Please," she whimpered, her voice trembling with the effort of holding back her tears.

"It's all right. He's gone," Christopher assured her. "Both of them are gone."

She shook her head. "There must be something terribly ugly about me to make people treat me so."

"You're beautiful, Michaela. You are a beautiful human being. Both inwardly and outwardly."

She shook her head again, shaking several tears free of her lashes. "No one will ever...love me," she sobbed.

Then, in a flash, she was on her feet, bolting away from him and up the stairs. Christopher was after her just as quickly, reaching her room just steps behind her. She raced to the closet and threw it open, frantically searching its contents. Her aim was all too clear. She meant to leave him.

Intent on calming her, he closed the distance between them in two strides and reached out to take her arms, pulling her away from the closet.