The Ice Seduction Page 14

  I hear a crumpling sound and then the rip of a condom packet. Then Patrick edges slowly inside of me, little by little.

  ‘Oh god,’ I cry out. My stinging backside makes me so desperate for him that I need all of him. Right now. ‘More. Give me more.’

  Patrick inches in further.

  ‘Will you do as you’re told from now on, Seraphina?’ says Patrick, taking my hair and wrapping it around his fist.

  ‘Oh Patrick. More. Please. I need more.’

  Patrick grips my hair tightly and pushes himself all the way inside me, sliding his free hand under my hips and lifting me towards him.

  As my backside meets his hips, I cry out with pleasure, and carry on crying out as he rides me back and forth, back and forth, hard and fast, not letting up.

  ‘God. GOD!’ I cry, gripping the pillow for dear life, feeling my whole body move with his.

  Patrick lets go of my hair, moves his hand under my sweater and shoves my bra up out of the way. Grabbing one of my breasts, he kneads and squeezes as he pumps back and forth into me, and I hear stifled, low animal groans coming from his throat.

  The friction and heat building between my legs is unbelievable, and I honestly think I might come, just from him riding me like this. But as everything is feeling soft and amazing, Patrick spins me over again so I’m facing him.

  A powerful jolt of passion passes between us as our eyes meet.

  His eyes are primal, unafraid, commanding. A hunter who’s caught his prey. And I’m just falling into them. There’s no saving me.

  Patrick pushes my legs up so both my feet rest against his firm chest.

  Then he begins to move again, slow at first, and then with such control and fierceness that I can hardly speak.

  His hand finds my clit and his thumb rubs in circles.

  ‘Oh god. Oh Patrick. Oh god, oh god.’

  He slams into me and I come, crying out with the pleasure of it, melting into his body.

  Patrick carries on moving, his eyes closing a little, his jaw still tight and deadly.

  My hands reach up to grab at his strong arms, and I cling on for a moment as waves of pleasure wash over me. Then I grab his backside and pull him so deep inside me that there’s nowhere else to go.

  Patrick moans, his eyes flickering open for a moment, looking almost alarmed. He grabs my backside tight, then thrusts inside me with an almighty moan. I feel him throb inside me, then soften.

  Pushing my legs aside, Patrick pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me so I’m pushed right up against his chest.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been held so close or so tight. And he’s still inside me. This feels amazing. Totally, totally amazing.

  Maybe we shouldn’t be together. But right now, I can’t do anything other than fall right into Patrick Mansfield’s arms and worship his body, his eyes, his soul … everything.

  Oh good god. What have I got myself in to?

  53

  Gently, Patrick lowers me onto the bed, his eyes not leaving mine. He strokes hair from my face and watches me. It feels heavenly, but …

  ‘This can’t last,’ I murmur.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘Because I’m your boss?’

  ‘Exactly right.’

  Patrick shakes his head. ‘No. That’s not a reason. You’re scared, Seraphina. I know fear when I see it. I’ve been scared often enough myself.’

  ‘You? Scared?’

  Patrick nods.

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of caring too much about people. And then losing them.’

  I think about that for a moment. ‘Losing your brother must have been tough,’ I say.

  ‘The hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper. ‘Tell me about how he died.’

  ‘It was in Iraq. Flying a helicopter I called in. We were bombed and I requested backup. Jamie was the pilot.’ His jaw tightens. ‘We didn’t know there were other hostiles in the area. The helicopter was brought down before it reached us. If it wasn’t for me …’

  He frowns and his eyes cloud over.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I say. ‘War has casualties.’

  ‘I was the commanding officer,’ says Patrick. ‘It was my job to keep the men safe.’

  ‘But you can’t always,’ I say. ‘Sometimes life has its own plans.’

  ‘Jamie wouldn’t even have joined the army if it weren’t for me.’ Patrick gives a harsh laugh. ‘Following in his big brother’s footsteps.’

  ‘I wish I could have met him,’ I say.

  ‘You would have loved him,’ says Patrick. ‘Everyone did.’

  ‘Why did you leave the army?’ I ask.

  ‘It was my grandmother’s dying wish that I came back here. The white deer around the castle need protecting. And I promised her I’d keep the poachers away.’

  ‘Very noble,’ I say with a smile.

  Patrick laughs. ‘I’d rather protect my country. But a promise is a promise. I love … loved my grandmother. She was very special to me. And I love this place. Without my father’s shadow over it, it could be something very special too.’

  I frown at that. ‘Why does your father have such a hold over Mansfield castle?’

  ‘He owns half of it,’ Patrick growls.

  ‘And you own the other half?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You inherited half each? That’s kind of unusual, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This place seems to have a lot of secrets.’

  ‘More than you know.’

  ‘Secrets about you?’

  ‘No. Not about me.’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘You’re the one who wants to keep yourself hidden.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You feel more than you’re letting on. I’m not out here alone.’

  ‘Okay,’ I admit. ‘I do feel something … more. But … it’s just crazy. We hardly know each other. I don’t even know where you grew up … who your friends are … anything really.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Well. For a start, did you grow up around here?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Patrick simply.

  ‘In this castle?’

  ‘For a while. But for a long time my brother and I were boarders.’

  ‘You were sent away from your parents? To school?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you didn’t mind?’

  ‘I was young. I didn’t think to question it. And my mother and father had what you might call a difficult relationship. Not the best environment for young boys, anyway.’

  ‘Did you like boarding school?’

  ‘I hated it,’ Patrick laughs. ‘I was beaten senseless by one of the housemasters. He used me to set an example to the other boys.’

  ‘You were beaten?’

  Patrick nods. ‘Daily. Until I turned fifteen. Then I fought back, and the housemaster didn’t dare lay a finger on me again.’

  ‘And what about your sister?’ I ask. ‘Did you see her much when you were growing up?’

  Patrick shakes his head. ‘Anise is only my half-sister anyway. Not that I love her any less, but when she was born neither my brother nor I were around.’

  ‘She said her mother died …’

  ‘That’s the story. But no one really knows.’

  ‘No one knows?’

  ‘No one except my father. But he’s not talking. Anyway. Enough about my family. Tell me about you.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘I want to know more about you. I want to know everything.’

  ‘Another time. Tell me something interesting about yourself now.’

  ‘There’s nothing interesting about me. That’s the problem. I don’t own a castle. I’m not an Olympic shooting champion. I’m not a successful business person. I’m just … the help.’

  Patrick laughs. ‘And that bothers you so much doesn’t it? The fact that I’m lord of the manor and you’re the
serving girl.’

  ‘Serving girl!’ I laugh.

  ‘Okay, okay. Joke.’ Patrick squeezes me tighter. ‘But it bothers you, doesn’t it? My status. And yours.’

  ‘Of course it does. Doesn’t it bother you? The nanny doesn’t get together with the lord of the castle. That’s not how real life works.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it doesn’t.’ I look away from him.

  ‘Then let’s rewrite the rules.’

  I shake my head. ‘It can’t work,’ I whisper. ‘This … we can’t keep doing this. It’s not good for either of us.’

  ‘Sera—’

  ‘I should go, Patrick. I need to find Bertie.’

  Tearing myself away from Patrick is hard. But I do it because I know it’s for the best. Whatever he says, I live in the real world. And that means the master and the servant don’t live happily ever after.

  For once, Patrick doesn’t try and stop me leaving. I think he understands that I have a job to do. And that I need space.

  54

  I find Bertie playing a game of checkers with Gregory in the great hall.

  Anise is there too. When she sees me, she manages a timid smile. ‘Thank you, Sera. Thank you so much for finding him.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say, climbing over the bench to sit beside Bertie. ‘So. What are we playing?’

  Bertie shuffles closer to me and holds up a checker piece.

  ‘Checkers, huh?’ I say. ‘And you’re red. Are you winning?’

  Bertie nods and gives a little smile.

  ‘My father just called,’ says Anise. ‘I have to go back to college soon.’

  ‘I thought you were staying all day,’ I say.

  Anise looks at the table. ‘My father … he never likes me spending much time with Bertie. He likes to keep us apart, and he usually finds a reason. This time it’s because I failed my last essay. It’s okay. Bertie’s used to it. I almost always have to cut our days short.’

  I glance at Bertie. ‘When will you see him next?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ says Anise. ‘I’ll have to check with my father.’

  I turn to Anise. ‘You’re Bertie’s mother,’ I say. ‘It should be your decision when you see your son and for how long. Can’t you talk to your dad?’

  ‘Well said,’ Gregory mutters, polishing a checker piece with his shirtsleeve.

  Anise bites her lip. ‘Maybe I should but … he’s my father. I’ve been raised to be respectful. It’s bad enough I had a child so young. I’m lucky I wasn’t disowned.’ She climbs out from the bench. ‘I’d better be going.’ She gives Bertie an awkward pat on the head. ‘Bye bye Bertie. I’ll see you soon, okay?’

  Bertie grips a checker piece so tightly that his knuckles go white. He doesn’t turn as Anise leaves.

  Poor little boy. No wonder he gets so angry after he sees his mother.

  ‘It’s okay Bertie,’ I whisper, gently opening his hand and taking out the checker piece. ‘I’m going to talk to your granddad. Okay? Things can’t go on like this. Your mother needs to be able to see you whenever she likes.’

  Gregory drops the checker piece onto the table with a clatter. ‘I wouldn’t go interfering if I were you.’

  ‘Why not?’ I ask.

  Gregory shakes his head. ‘Bad idea, lass. Very bad idea. Dirk Mansfield is nothing like young Patrick. He hasn’t got a decent bone in his body. Rub him up the wrong way and there’ll be trouble.’

  ‘I’m not going to rub him up the wrong way,’ I insist. ‘But surely he’s got to see reason. I mean, if I just explain to him that Bertie needs his mother—’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, lass,’ says Gregory. ‘Dirk Mansfield is not a reasonable man. Never has been. He likes to throw his weight around. Tread carefully when he’s here. Stay out of his way.’

  55

  That evening, while Bertie and I are eating in the great hall, Mrs Calder comes striding in.

  ‘I hope you realize, Miss Harper, that tomorrow is Bertie’s last day at the castle.’

  ‘The last day?’ I say. I work the days backwards on my fingers. ‘No. No, I still have two more days.’

  ‘You most certainly do not,’ says Mrs Calder. ‘The working week ends on a Friday. Which means if Bertie doesn’t eat a proper meal by tomorrow, I’ll have the pleasure of saying goodbye to you.’

  I feel Bertie’s little hand slide onto my arm.

  Mrs Calder gives a nasty smile. ‘I haven’t enjoyed your presence here at all, Miss Harper. You’re late and disobedient. I’m going to be happy to send you packing.’ She glares at me, then stalks out of the great hall.

  I look down at Bertie’s sad little face. ‘Oh Bertie,’ I say. ‘You need time. More time than we have. I’m so sorry.’

  Bertie looks sadly at his empty plate.

  I put my head in my hands. ‘I wish I could think of a way to stay.’

  When I tuck Bertie in that night, he reaches for one of his horror books and waves it at me.

  ‘You want me to read this to you?’ I ask.

  Bertie doesn’t say anything. Instead, he flicks open the pages and holds out the book to me.

  ‘Bertie, I think this book will give you nightmares,’ I say, frowning at the text. Some of the words have wobbly biro lines drawn under them.

  I look closer.

  Some really nasty words have been underlined, like burn and hurt. The word ‘mother’ has been underlined too.

  ‘Bertie, where did these biro lines come from?’ I ask.

  Bertie takes the book from me. Then he closes it and places it back on the bedside table.

  ‘Are you trying to tell me something?’ I ask.

  Bertie doesn’t say anything. Instead, he picks up Just William and holds it out.

  ‘You want me to read this then?’ I ask, and Bertie nods.

  ‘Good,’ I say, but inside I feel uneasy. Why did Bertie show me those words? And who underlined them?

  56

  The next morning, I can’t get Bertie’s horror book out of my head.

  I dress and head to his bedroom.

  He’s awake and sitting up in bed, the bedclothes pulled up right to his chin.

  ‘Morning little soldier,’ I say, sitting on the bed. ‘Hey, I wanted to ask you something.’ I pick up the horror book he showed me last night. ‘Did you draw lines under these words?’

  Bertie nods his head.

  ‘You did?’ My eyes widen. ‘Why?’

  Bertie looks away from me.

  ‘Is it … are you trying to tell us all something?’

  But Bertie doesn’t respond. Instead he gets out of bed and starts getting dressed.

  A sharp rapping on the door makes me jump.

  Mrs Calder stands in the doorway, dressed in her usual black.

  ‘You’re still here?’ she says with a smirk. ‘I’d have thought you’d have packed your bags and left already. Why drag things out?’

  ‘I’m going to stay with Bertie until the last possible moment,’ I say. ‘I have all day with him and I’m going to make every minute count.’

  Mrs Calder frowns. ‘Dirk Mansfield is visiting the castle again today. Which means Bertie is to be kept out of the way again. But this time, the whole castle is off limits. You’ll spend the day in the kitchen garden.’

  ‘All day in the kitchen garden?’ I ask, shaking my head in disbelief. ‘But Mrs Calder, it’s freezing today. The snow is falling so thickly. Look.’ I point at the snow swirling outside the window.

  Mrs Calder purses her lips. ‘You’ll just have to cope. Dirk is bringing around business people again who might be interested in developing the castle. He doesn’t want a little boy running around. Or a nanny. I’ll be watching to make sure you stay in that part of the garden. I heard about Bertie running off into the woods yesterday. That won’t happen today.’

  ‘But there’s a snowstorm out there,’ I say, pointing to the angry white swirls. ‘Bertie will freeze.’

  ‘Wrap him up and h
e’ll be fine.’

  ‘Well Bertie,’ I say, when we reach his bedroom. ‘Looks like we’d better pick you out something warm.’

  I head to his wardrobe and run my fingers over his clothes. ‘We need lots of layers.’

  I bundle Bertie up as best I can, and then we head down to the kitchen garden.

  It’s freezing outside and thick with snow. Within minutes we both look like snowmen and are shivering cold.

  ‘I know,’ I say, through chattering teeth. ‘Let’s build an igloo and sit inside it. That should warm us up.’

  I grab a spade that’s propped against the wall and start digging piles of snow. ‘We can press these into big ice bricks.’

  It takes us most of the morning, but we do a pretty decent job of building an igloo. Our faces are glowing red with the exercise. But just as I’m putting the final brick in place, I notice that Bertie isn’t paying attention.

  ‘Bertie?’

  He’s picked up a big stick and is drawing in the snow again, like when I met him that first day.

  He’s concentrating so hard that I don’t think he hears me.

  I come and stand over his shoulder.

  ‘What are you drawing?’ I ask.

  Bertie frowns at the snow and keeps carving shapes.

  ‘More symbols, huh?’

  But as I look closer, I see more to the symbols this time. Actually, they’re not symbols at all. Bertie is drawing stick figures.

  Three of them.

  Two women with sticky out skirts and a little plain stick figure that’s half their size.

  ‘Who’s this you’ve drawn Bertie?’ I ask, leaning closer.

  Bertie doesn’t answer. Instead, he crouches down and stares at the figures.

  ‘I don’t understand Bertie. Are they supposed to be people you know or something?’

  Silence.

  The wind blows, and as Bertie and I stare at the stick figures, the bang of the back door makes me jump.

  ‘Oh!’ I get to my feet. ‘Mrs Calder. What are you doing here?’

  So she really is keeping an eye on us today.

  Mrs Calder frowns and wraps her black coat around herself. ‘I came to check on you. Goodness knows what you’re doing. Some sort of satanic ritual by the looks of it.’ She laughs, but it’s a nervous laugh.