Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
“Yes, yes. I’m all right. Just find out who the fuck did this shit,” he snarled into the phone.
He then beeped it off, tossed it on the couch and scowled at the shards of glass.
“What’s happened?” I asked.
He turned to me. “I’ve paid for expedited tests. And my suspicions have been confirmed. The whisky had traces of Valium. The Amaretto, psilocybin.”
“Psilocybin?”
“It’s a psychedelic. Did you dream last night?”
I hadn’t.
I shook my head.
“Then it’s also highly likely that’s been assisting you in having such vivid, imaginative dreams.”
Dear God.
Someone had been drugging me.
Us.
“Holy crap,” I breathed.
He stared at me.
“What?” I asked.
“I hesitate to share this, but none of the other liquor was tainted. Just what I drink and what you and Portia drink.”
“What’s that mean?” I breathed.
“It means whoever this is seems to be targeting me and you two.”
I didn’t ask why. He wouldn’t know.
“Kathleen told me it wasn’t much,” he shared. “Less than a microdose when drunk one glass at a time. But prolonged exposure might have a layering on of effects. Specifically for the psilocybin.”
I didn’t know how to feel, or at least not how to process all I was feeling, when I noted, “That seems to be a definite possibility with me.”
“Yes.” Then he exploded, “Fuck!”
I started to get closer to him. “Ian.”
He lifted a hand to me. “I need a second, Daphne.”
I stopped.
“I ran into Jack yesterday,” he began. “I’ve known him since he was a lad in the village. And I couldn’t stop my mind from exploring every possible slight me or one of my family might have delivered to make him do something like this.”
That had to seriously suck.
“Oh, honey,” I whispered.
“Rebecca brought my lunch to the Brandy Room yesterday, and I watched her like a hawk to see if she’d give anything away. She didn’t miss it, and now she probably thinks I’m some kind of lech.”
“This is a lot for you,” I noted.
“It’s a lot for all of us.”
“Like you said, you’re on it and we’ll have answers soon.”
“Not soon enough.”
“Yes, but soon,” I stated firmly. “Can I come to you now?”
He did the chin lift again, it was a little less warm, a lot jerkier, but it was still affectionate.
I went to him and put my arms around him. He returned the gesture.
“I’m sorry someone drugged you in my home, sweetheart,” he murmured.
I gave him a shake. “It isn’t your fault, Ian. I’m angry the orgasm I gave you has worn off so soon.”
He blinked, then finally he gave me a smile.
“Shall I remind you?” I offered.
“I’m not about to say no.”
He seemed to be shifting us to the bed.
But I stopped him when I dropped to my knees.
“Daphne,” he whispered.
I looked up at him. “Hold on, baby. I’m about to rock your world.”
That got me a big grin and him threading his fingers in my hair.
Then I set about rocking his world.
“Why are we doing this again?” Portia asked.
“Just humor me,” I muttered, staring intently at painting number seven we’d found in my dogged attempts to track down all that showed Alice and Wolf.
Don’t ask me why, but I was faintly obsessed.
On the other hand, with Ian holed up with Richard and Daniel, it was something to do.
This one was in the hallway of the southwest wing. I’d walked by it multiple times when I was in the Carnation and Rose Rooms. And, yes, I had noted it when I did.
It was much like all the rest, but with two big differences.
In the others, Wolf was always in armor, most of the time wearing a helmet. But if he wasn’t in armor, his hair was dark.
In this one, he was like my dream. Fair-haired with the stamp on his features of arrogance and pride.
In fact, this picture must have been what struck my subconscious because he looked a lot like the man in my dreams.
As did she (it was the flowing blonde tresses that hit her waist, in many of the other portraits, she was veiled).
The other thing was that, in all the others, he’d been in Proud Warrior (not yoga) Pose or Lord of the Manor Pose. Straight. Tall. Mighty. His face carrying the expression of superiority.
But this looked like a romance novel cover.
They were standing on a moor. Alice was at his side, her hand on his chest, head tipped back, gazing up at him adoringly. He had his arm wrapped possessively around her waist, his other hand covering hers on his chest, head tilted down toward her, matching her look.
“This is kinda…gorgeous,” Portia said, and I turned to her to see her examining the picture. “It makes me feel…happy.”
Yes.
And not just happy because we were girls and prone to respond to romantic images like that.
There was something more.
Before I could put my finger on it, we heard, “There you are.”