In My Wildest Fantasies

Chapter 9

The instant Rebecca entered the drawing room with Devon at her side, Lady Letitia fixed her scalding eyes on them both and pursed her lips.

Devon escorted Rebecca back to her aunt, who asked about the artwork they had viewed, but when he turned to go and mingle with the other guests, he nearly stepped on Lady Letitia's toes, for she had approached him from behind.

"Lord Hawthorne, I would be pleased to entertain your guests now. I have already selected a piece of music I think you will enjoy, and my mother has offered to accompany me on the piano."

She looked past Devon's shoulder to glance smugly at Rebecca.

"That would be splendid," he replied. "Please, take your places whenever you are ready."

She strode to the piano, and her mother joined her. The guests found places to sit, while Devon moved to the fireplace and leaned an elbow upon the mantel. Lady Letitia looked to him for a signal, and he nodded to begin.

She sang the timeless classic, "Home, Sweet Home," showing off an insistent vibrato in her voice and furrowing her brow with a dramatic outpouring of emotion.

Letitia curtsied deeply when she finished, and the applause began. "Thank you so much. You are so kind." She cupped her hands together in front of her and gestured toward Devon at the mantel, suggesting he deserved applause as well, for arranging her performance.

He shook his head at the generous show of appreciation and directed everyone's attention back to Lady Letitia, who thanked them all again.

Not long afterward, the young woman found Rebecca alone on the sofa. She sat on the edge of the cushion with her spine as stiff and straight as a hot iron poker. "Do you not have any talents to display?" she asked, eyeing Rebecca with scrutiny over the rim of her wine glass.

"How could anyone possibly follow your brilliant performance this evening, Lady Letitia?"

They sat in silence, looking around at everyone else, not at each other, until Lady Letitia spoke in a low voice. "In case you are wondering, I saw you go off with Lord Hawthorne earlier, and I fear I would be a very bad friend if I did not inform you that you are making quite a spectacle of yourself."

Rebecca's heart began to pound a little faster. "How so?"

"By being too pushy. I don't know how young ladies are brought up where you come from, Lady Rebecca, but here in polite society-which you obviously know very little about-behavior like that can get a lady into trouble."

Rebecca frowned. "I was not pushy. He invited me to view his family portraits, but I hardly need to explain myself to you."

Letitia wet her lips, and finally met Rebecca's gaze. "I really wish you would leave."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said I wish you would leave. You were not invited to this party, and you are getting in the way."

"In the way of what?"

Letitia lifted her chin and spoke in a low voice again. "Of my future."

Rebecca openly scoffed. "And the whole world revolves around your wishes and desires, does it?"

"I am the one the Duke of Pembroke chose to be the next duchess. That is why we came all this way through the putrid rain and muck. You are dreaming if you think you can walk in here and turn Lord Hawthorne's head. You are nothing but an unsophisticated country girl." She stood. "Lord Hawthorne might be willing to amuse himself with you in a dimly lit gallery," she added in an angry whisper, "but he knows what his father wants. He will never propose."

With that, she turned and strode to the piano to entertain the guests with another merry tune.

Rebecca remained in her seat with a sick knot in her belly, while she glanced uneasily around the room.

"All is well?" Grace asked, probing discreetly for information about what had occurred between Rebecca and Devon in the gallery, and why Rebecca had suddenly lost interest in the party and wished to retire.

"Everything is fine," she replied.

Her aunt did not seem willing to accept such a vague answer. "Exactly how fine, darling? You mustn't leave me wondering, or I won't be able to sleep tonight. What happened while you were in the gallery?"

Rebecca hesitated while she considered how to satisfy her aunt's curiosities, without confessing the shocking, wicked and depraved details. She had behaved inexcusably in the gallery because she could not restrain her out-of-control desires, and now she was troubled by Lady Letitia's warnings.

She leaned closer and whispered. "He asked me to call him Devon."

Her aunt placed both hands over her heart. "Gracious me. That is as good as a proposal."

"Let us not be overly optimistic, Aunt Grace."

"But he is a gentleman. Surely he would not trifle with your affections in such a way. I am certain his feelings have become engaged."

"I shall go to sleep hoping," Rebecca said.

Grace smiled and hugged her. "You are a gem, darling. Everything is going to work out just the way you want it to. I am certain of it."

With that, they said goodnight, but Rebecca remained in the corridor for a moment, watching her aunt enter her own bedchamber next door.

She hoped she had not made a mistake, surrendering to her passions so openly with Lord Hawthorne and giving in to every erotic suggestion he made. Now he wanted to come to her bedchamber personally and borrow her scandalous diary, which she had never shown to anyone. He was actually going to read it and know all the things she had fantasized about over the past four years. It was beyond scandalous-far worse than being simply pushy.

Just thinking about such things, however, caused something to quiver and pulse inside her, and she realized that even if she was handing over the whole cottage and sheep herd to Devon without so much as a shilling in return, she couldn't possibly turn back now. She'd already said yes to his every request, and he would be knocking at her door in an hour. She could only hope it would lead to a proposal, but it was a risky game she was playing.

With a sigh, she put her hand on the doorknob and turned it, wondering further about the logistics of this. Should she dress for bed or remain in her formal evening gown until he came and left? She couldn't imagine answering the door in her dressing gown. That would only add to the appalling list of sinful improprieties this evening.

She supposed, if she wanted to redeem herself, she could just hand him the diary though a crack in the door, then quickly shut it in his face.

Quietly crossing the threshold, she entered her dark bedchamber, but left the door open for some light while she moved to the lamp on the bedside table. She found the matches and struck one, then removed the glass chimney and touched the flame to the wick. The room took on a golden glow, and she replaced the chimney on the lantern and looked toward the large armoire, where she kept the diary hidden inside her valise.

"Did you forget where you put it?" a masculine voice asked, causing her to gasp and whirl around to face the bed.

There he lay, stretched out at his ease with one long leg crossed over the other, his arms pulled back behind his head. He had taken off his dinner jacket, which was tossed over the footboard.

She laid a hand over her thumping heart. "Good Lord! What is the matter with you, scaring me like that? And how did you get up here so fast?"

"I know every secret passageway in this house like the back of my hand."

"There are secret passageways?"

He pointed at a life-size portrait of an ancestor on the wall. It was slightly ajar. "I came in through there."

She studied it curiously, then hurried to shut the bedchamber door before someone walked by and discovered him laid out like a pleasure god on her bed. "Keep your voice down," she said. "And you promised to wait an hour."

"I was bored."

"You were randy, more like it, wanting to see what's in that diary."

She shut the door and faced him. He leaned up on an elbow. "You have me pegged. But let me hear you say 'randy' again."

His teasing tone sent a tremor of excitement through her. Oh, she was doomed.

"Randy. Now please get off my bed."

He sighed with resignation, then swung his legs to the floor, but continued to sit with his hands curled around the edge of the mattress. "Do you know that you are the most exciting woman I have met in a very long time?"

"More exciting than Lady Letitia?" she boldly asked.

His eyes darkened with desire. "Far more."

It was exactly what she wanted to hear, but now was not the time to be bringing up another woman.

"I asked you nicely to get up," she reminded him, determined to at least try and behave respectably, even though she'd already chopped and burned and utterly annihilated that bridge behind her.

He smirked, then stood up and spread his hands wide. "There. How's that?"

"Better. Now go over there." She pointed to the fireplace on the opposite side of the room.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Frankly, no."

He chuckled and sauntered to the hearth, while she went to the armoire.

"It's damp in here," he said. "Allow me to light a fire for you."

"Thank you."

She knelt and reached into the lining of her valise for the old diary, then rose to her feet and turned to watch him lay out the kindling and strike a match. He was crouching down, his shoulders broad, his torso narrow, his buttocks muscular beneath his formal black trousers, stretched taut.

Holding the diary at her side, she suddenly understood why Lydie had needed to write about her lover and her passions on each glorious page of her diary. She hadn't wanted to forget what it felt like.

Rebecca was tempted to start a diary of her own. Surely, with this man as her subject, it would be a masterpiece. For her eyes only, of course.

He picked up the poker and shifted the logs around, drawing out the flames, sending sparks snapping and floating up into the black chimney, then he straightened and wiped his hands together. He turned to face her, gesturing toward the book she held at her side. "Is that it?"

"Yes," she said.

"May I look at it?"

Her heart began to pound as she held it out. For some reason when they had agreed to this earlier, she had imagined he would take the diary back to his own room and read it in private-for it was, needless to say, a very private kind of book. But she now understood that he intended to read it here.

He moved across the thick oval carpet and took it from her, keeping his gaze locked on hers the entire time until he turned and moved away, back toward the fireplace where the light was better.

He opened the book and read the first page.

Rebecca remained where she was, speechless and paralyzed, as if she were sharing her own diary with someone, for no one else had ever read this treasure she had kept hidden away since the day she'd found it.

Devon stood in front of the fire for a few minutes, then he slowly lowered himself into the wing chair and continued to read.

Eventually Rebecca moved to the bed and sat down. The only noises in the room were the sparks snapping in the fireplace, the mantel clock ticking, and the sound of pages turning.

She removed her earrings and necklace and set them on the bedside table, then sat quietly, trying to stay calm while she watched Devon read.

A short time later, he closed the book and looked at her. "This is indeed compelling reading, Rebecca. I think I should stop."

"Does it make you feel guilty, because it's someone else's private thoughts?" she asked. "I certainly felt that way at first."

"It's not that." He rose to his feet and came to stand before her. "May I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"When you read this book, do you fantasize about doing all the things Lydie does?"

Heaven help her, she wanted him to know. She'd always wanted him to know. "Yes."

"Do you ever fantasize about it with me?"

"Always with you."

His blue eyes warmed, then he held out the book. "Read something to me."

She slowly took it from him. "I'm not sure I can."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't think I could bring myself to say aloud some of the words Lydie uses."

His voice was quiet. "You said some colorful things in the gallery, remember?"

"Yes, but that was when I was…" She hesitated.

"Aroused?"

A passionate fluttering began low in her belly. "Yes."

A log dropped in the grate, and she looked toward it, feeling strangely mesmerized by the dancing flames.

"Why don't you turn to your favorite entry," he said.

Seated on the edge of the bed, she looked up at him. I should not let this go further, she thought. I should ask him to leave. But despite her fears of spoiling everything, she could do nothing but surrender to his will because she wanted him. She wanted this.

She opened the book and flipped through the pages near the start, and began to read aloud.

"Dear Diary,

"Today was my birthday, and Jess gave me a beautiful white stone he had found on a beach when he was a boy. He told me he'd been keeping it all these years just for me, even though we met only six months ago. I will never, ever part with it, Diary. Not as long as I live.

"But that is not all that happened today, for I was very, very wicked, and if Mother and Father knew what I had done, they would surely send me away.

"Tonight, after they went to bed, I locked my door, put the lamp in my window, and waited for Jess to climb inside. We could not speak a word to each other for fear of being caught, but we did not need words, such is the depth of our bond to one another."

Rebecca stopped reading and glanced up at Devon, who was listening attentively. She cleared her throat to continue.

"I never felt such wild desire and passionate yearnings in my body. My blood raced with need as I looked down at his enormous erection. How I longed to touch it and feel the silky heat in my hand. I sat down on the bed, and he sat beside me."

Rebecca stopped reading again when Devon slowly sat down beside her.

"Continue," he said.

Feeling the heat of his muscular thigh touching hers on the bed, she fought her own dizzying desires and swallowed nervously.

"He kissed the side of my neck while he eased me onto my back."

Devon leaned closer and pressed his open mouth to her neck, just below the line of her jaw. His warm, wet tongue sent gooseflesh tingling down her body, as he suckled downward to the juncture at her shoulder.

She went weak all over, and was powerless to resist the lure of erotic sensation as he laid her down on the soft mattress. She knew she should not be giving in so easily. This was not how she'd intended to win his heart, but she could not stop herself. She could not.

"Keep reading," he whispered between kisses as he tasted the base of her throat. Rebecca barely managed to hold the book open in front of her.

"He unbuttoned the top of my nightdress and kissed and fondled my breasts, taking my firm, sensitive nipples into his mouth and sucking greedily upon them, until I was filled with such hunger, it was all I could do to keep from crying out."

Devon had already begun to unbutton her gown, and quivering as she was with desire, she could not continue to hold the book. She let it fall to the bed and reached up to touch his face. He kissed her mouth, thrusting his tongue inside, then pushed her bodice open and probed with his tongue into her cleavage at the top of her corset. It was all too much. She wanted him so desperately. She could not stop.

"Sit up," he whispered. "I need to take this off you." He began to ease her bodice off her shoulders.

She did not argue, for she was floating in the exotic realm of her sexual fantasies, even when she knew she should be thinking about more practical matters-like whether or not this was wise when she wanted a marriage proposal from him.

But she had wanted this for so long, and it wasn't as if she had just met him this week. He had been living in her heart for four lonely years. She was eager and aching with desire. She could not let go of this.

Soon she was nude from the waist up, feeling no modesty as she lowered herself onto the bed again and inched up onto the pillows.

With dark, mischievous seduction in his eyes, he crawled over her on all fours, then he tasted a nipple, teasing it with his tongue and squeezing it gently between his teeth. He began nuzzling her breasts with his lips and cheeks, tickling her with his hair, dropping wet kisses down the center of her trembling belly until she gasped with delight.

"What happens next?" he asked.

She didn't have to open the diary because she had every word of that entry memorized. "He removes her gown completely, then takes off all his clothes and mounts her, his body slick with sweat in the summer heat while her heart is racing with excitement and fear, for she'd never felt his shaft between her legs before. She'd only held it in her hands."

By the time she'd finished describing it, Devon was already unfastening her skirt buttons and untying the tapes of her white split drawers. She raised her hips while he pulled them down and tossed everything to the floor.

She was completely naked now. Her body melted in the excruciating pleasure of all her wild, erotic fantasies coming true.

He slid off the bed and stood to remove all his clothes, too, and when he was nude in the warm, golden light of the fire, Rebecca let her gaze float down to his enormous manhood, standing straight out, thick and long and shocking to her virginal eyes.

She was captivated.

He watched her with some amusement, then smiled knowingly, as if he recognized her fascination. It was a sexual grin, relaxed and full of cool confidence. "You might want to hold it in your hand first, if you want to know what Lydie knows."

"I do."

He came to lie beside her again, stretching out on his back, naked and magnificent like a great work of art. It seemed he was laying himself out for her benefit, to allow her time to satisfy her curiosity and explore the secrets of a man's body. He presented himself to her without modesty.

More than eager to begin her exploration and discovery, she sat up on her knees beside him and wrapped her hand around his erection, which was so much hotter than she'd ever imagined it would be.

She stroked and massaged him in the firelight, then slid her hand lower between his legs to toy with the rest of his tremendous, masculine anatomy, the way Lydie had described doing on so many incredible occasions.

"Please lie on top of me now," she whispered, brushing her lips lightly over his. "Mount me, like Jess does to Lydie in the book."

"Honestly, darling," he said as he rose to the task, "the things that come out of your delicious mouth…"

She lay down with her head on the feathery pillows. He rolled over onto her, massive and heavy, pressing her into the soft mattress. She spread her legs wide and felt the intimate tip of his penis against her hot, waiting core. Sizzling tension filled the air.

"Lydie's heart begins to race even faster," she said. "She is terrified, but at the same time overcome by her passions."

Rebecca ran her hands through Devon's thick, black hair and shivered with pleasure as he blew gently into her ear. "But her young lover does not take her virginity that night. He does not exert pressure, nor does he push or thrust into the depths of her body."

Devon went still, then lifted his head. "He doesn't?"

"No," she replied. "He simply lies on top of her with the silky tip of his erection poised against her maidenhead, holding her and looking into her eyes with love and affection."

"For how long?" he asked, sounding rather baffled.

"Until he rolls off her and she rests her head on his shoulder."

He rose up on one elbow. "Are you sure that's what it says?"

"Yes. Do you want me to read it to you?"

She could see his chest heaving, as if he were out of breath. "When does he take her virginity?"

"Weeks later, after he vows to make her his wife."

"Weeks, you say."

She nodded.

He held his weight on both elbows, propped over her. His hot stomach pulsed upon hers. He said nothing. He merely looked off to the side.

"But you want to make love to me now," she said in a low, sensual voice, for she was not a fool. She understood what was happening. He had expected more.

He met her gaze. She wiggled her bottom, rubbing gently against the tip of his erection…

He spoke in a raspy growl. "It's killing me not to. My hips have a mind of their own. They want to push."

"Then push," she said, appreciating the consequences of such a remark, knowing she could be ruining everything-herself included-for he had made no promises.

But she wanted what she wanted. She wanted sex-with him-and she wanted it now. She wanted to belong to this man and no other, no matter the consequences.

He did not move. "If I do that, Rebecca-if I take you now-you will belong to me. No other man will ever have you or even look at you the way I look at you. Do you understand?"

Had he been reading her mind? It was exactly what she wanted. Exactly.

"I want no other man," she told him. "I've never wanted anyone but you."

It was the truth, every single word, and right now, she didn't care if he married her or not. She didn't care about what she was running from, only that she was here in his arms. Nothing mattered but the blinding, searing passion in her heart, and the love-was it really love? — in the deepest realms of her soul.

He was breathing hard. She could feel the pounding of his heart against her chest.

Never taking his eyes off hers, he slowly began to exert pressure, but it seemed she would not let him inside. He was too big. She could not possibly accommodate him, even though she wanted to. Lord, how she wanted to.

"Relax and push against me," he said, "with the muscles inside you."

She tried to concentrate on the workings of her body while his strength and power over her made her want him all the more. He was a hero, a warrior. He could do anything, and she wanted to give him everything she was as a woman.

She closed her eyes and did as he suggested, pushing until he began to stretch and fill her. It hurt for a moment, and she sucked in a breath. Then a new kind of joy swept through her. The pain gradually diminished. He began driving in and out of her, growling with pleasure just as she'd always imagined he would.

He sank his fingers into the cheeks of her behind, lifting her so he could compel himself deeper, and she began to grind her hips around, wanting more and more of his triumphant, male form.

He bore down on her again, his body slick with sweat, the rippling sensations of pleasure playing lustily into her depths. The sensations were feverish and intoxicating. Her emotions were spinning and whirling. It was everything she'd imagined it would be.

He whispered close, and she shivered at the touch of his soft lips upon her sensitive lobe, the feel of his hot, humid breath in her ear. "I'm going to come inside you, then you will belong to me. No turning back."

"Yes."

He drove in hard and fast, shuddered and groaned, then she felt the hot liquid surge of his climax pour into her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, wanting to tell him she loved him, but she bit back the words because they seemed foolish, even to her. They barely knew each other. She was in love with the romantic fantasy she'd been nurturing all these years.

But it was real now…

Wasn't it?

He rested on top of her for a time, then rolled onto his back.

"Did I mention you are a very exciting woman?" he said.

"Yes." She stared up at the ceiling-amazed, bewildered, and terrified. She had just been made love to. By her hero, Devon Sinclair. Her body would never be the same. Nor would her heart, her mind, her life.

He sighed heavily. "I am spent." He lay quietly for a while, then he turned his head on the pillow to look at her. "Are you all right?"

It was all she could do to manage a nod.

"It always hurts the first time," he said.

"You didn't hurt me. It was wonderful. I am fine."

But was she?

He turned his gaze to the ceiling again. "How long do you think I've been here?"

She tried to guess, but time seemed immeasurable. "An hour perhaps?"

"Will your aunt come to check on you?"

"No," she replied. "But even if she did, the door is locked and she always knocks."

"I would have to hide under the bed, I suppose."

She managed a chuckle, while she struggled to get her mind around this light tone of their conversation. This was all so foreign to her. "If you wish to avoid a caning from her, yes."

He rolled to face her, resting his cheek on a hand. "I intend to speak to her in the morning. Is that agreeable to you?"

Her heart stumbled inside her chest. "Speak to her?"

"Yes, Rebecca. I will have you as my wife and duchess."

Strange panic exploded in her belly-for there it was. He had said it. He had put into words the thing she had dreamed of since she'd met him in the forest. Just the sound of the word on his lips-wife-was enough to dry up all the rain outside and bring sunshine into the room even though it was past midnight. He was offering her marriage.

But of course he would. He was a gentleman and she was a gentleman's daughter. He could not have made love to her without knowing the consequences and requirements.

How could it have been so easy?

"Are you certain that's what you want?" she asked, knowing it was a foolish question. "There are other women here who…"

"I don't care about them. You have enraptured me, Rebecca, and so much of this seems like destiny, don't you think? But are you sure you want me for a husband? I suppose I should have asked you that before I made love to you."

"Of course I am sure," she said. Could there be any other answer? "I confess, I have secretly wanted this since the moment I saw you galloping toward me on your horse. I cannot begin to describe how I desired you that night, and how I have wanted to feel your hands on my body every day since. I wanted what we just did, and I will want it again and again."

He smiled. "How is it possible I have found the perfect wife, only days after my return home to England?" He ran a finger lightly down her front-from the base of her throat to her navel.

She shivered with pleasure, even while her mind was reeling with disbelief. She had not expected any of this to happen so fast.

"Perhaps it truly is destiny," she replied.

Perhaps she was meant to be happy after all.

Devon's gaze followed the trail of his finger down to the triangle of her curls below, then his eyes lifted. "If this had not been your first time tonight, it would be my pleasure to satisfy your desire for 'again and again.' But I will make the proper arrangements first and give you time to recover. We shall have a respectable engagement, Rebecca, and save any further wicked antics for the wedding night."

He rolled off the bed and bent to pick up his trousers, which were lying in an untidy pile on the floor.

She leaned up on her elbows. "You're leaving?"

"Yes," he replied, pulling them on. "I don't want to risk gossip if I am missed."

She felt some uncertainty suddenly, and wished he did not have to go.

He wasted no time pulling on his shirt and buttoning his waistcoat. She supposed this sort of thing was easier for a man. He had no doubt done it before. Dozens of times, probably, or maybe even hundreds for all she knew.

He stepped into his shoes and pulled on his dinner jacket, then leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead. "Sleep well," he said. "We'll talk again in the morning."

He left her alone in the empty bed and dying firelight to contemplate her dream of a happy future. A moment later, the fire flickered out, leaving only a few smoldering embers. A chill came into the room, so she drew the covers up to her shoulders and hugged her knees to her chest to keep warm.

Devon walked out of Rebecca's bedchamber. He closed the door quietly behind him and strode down the corridor before someone had a chance to encounter him in this wing where he had no reason to be. Other than to debauch a virgin and seduce her into becoming his wife with immediate haste.

As soon as he entered the corridor that housed his own lodgings, he stopped and rested a hand over his stomach. He swallowed uncomfortably and backed up against the wall, then tipped his head against the dark oak paneling and closed his eyes.

He had wanted Rebecca tonight, there was no question about that, and he wanted her still-with every primal, pounding urge in his body. The troubling fact of the matter was-he had forgotten himself. He had allowed romance and desire to overshadow his intellect.

Marriage. He'd known he would have to succumb to it eventually, he just hadn't expected to be swept away so quickly and impulsively without even attempting to swim against the current. He had been home for only a few days, and already he was back in that familiar saddle, doing exactly what his father wanted him to do. This, when the man was clearly out of his mind.

Devon wondered how he would be dealing with this situation if Rebecca had not come to the ball. He certainly would not have been deflowering Lady Letitia tonight, or any of the other women who had attended. He would have been thinking things through more carefully, maybe even swimming upstream in the opposite direction. He would not have been so full of lust and desire as to thrust himself recklessly past the point of no return.

There was no going back now.

So it was her fault then, he told himself, with an embittered chuckle and cynical shake of his head. Her fault entirely, for being so inconceivably alluring, like some beautiful, magical nymph sent here to bring him to his knees.

Maybe it was a test of some kind to see if he'd learned anything from the past and had strengthened his will. If it was, he was failing it. Miserably. He would try to do better.

He pushed away from the wall and headed toward his own room. Tonight he would focus on practicalities. He would plan a swift and efficient wedding to the woman he had just bedded.

That very night, far from Pembroke Palace, beyond the Cotswold Hills, Rebecca's father, the Earl of Creighton, rose from his desk and sat down in front of the fire in his bedchamber.

He held a letter in his hand. The ink was barely dry. He had signed his name to it only seconds ago.

Rushton would not be pleased when he received it. What would he do? Would he come here straight away, or would he give up his plan to have Rebecca as his wife and simply back down?

Unfortunately, the earl knew that Rushton would not be so easily defeated. He had spent his entire life working toward this goal, climbing and clawing his way back to this tiny, secluded part of the world. He was not going to give up, and he was not going to be happy.

The earl took a sip of brandy and stared into the hot, dancing flames. His daughter was gone.

Damn her for her independence. She was too much like her mother.

But perhaps it was that very spirited nature that had attracted him to his wife more than twenty years ago, and later that young woman Rushton had brought round…

Serena.

For a brief fleeting second, he thought he could see Serena's pretty face in the flames, her golden hair flying in the wind, but then she was gone, and he became quite certain that he was looking into the very portal to hell.