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House of Midnight Fantasies
Kristi Gold
MILLS & BOON
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To my good friend and fellow author
Karen Rose Smith. A heartfelt thanks for your gentle
guidance and unwavering support.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
About the Author
Coming Next Month
One
Maison de Minuit. The House of Midnight.
The name alone seemed ominous, but the forbidding Louisiana plantation symbolized Selene Albright Winston’s first serious step toward freedom.
Gathering her courage, Selene left her sedan, apprehension shadowing every step while she walked the flagstone path that led to the lengthy porch. Not even the whisper of a wind ruffled the leaves and only the occasional sound of a cicada disturbed the eerie silence. Ancient gnarled-finger oaks, dripping with Spanish moss, covered the lawns like sinister sentries warding off intruders. The tall grass held a cast of brown and a spattering of milkweeds, and no flowers adorned the overgrown beds lined with withering hedges.
She stopped a few feet from the porch to study the house that seemed as if it had been abandoned, too. In many ways it had, at least superficially. The Greek Revival mansion’s pale yellow facade showed definite signs of aging, and so did the shutters, trim and the six massive columns supporting the structure—all oddly painted as black as the entry sign. She hoped the interior had fared better than the exterior, otherwise not even the most curious person would dare step foot in this place. In fact, turning around and heading for safety was Selene’s initial instinct. Not this time. Safety also came with a price.
When she ascended the first wooden stair leading to the entry, it groaned as if it might buckle. Yet the abrupt assault on her psyche proved to be much more disturbing.
Eyes. Ice blue eyes. Intense eyes.
Selene closed her mind as well as her own eyes against the image until it disappeared. But when she scaled the second step, the vision came back, stealing her breath and her confidence. She refused to let this happen. Refused to invite this into her world, not when she had tried so hard for years to keep it reined in.
She drew in a deep breath and raised the invisible mental shield she’d developed for self-protection, relieved to discover it didn’t fail her when she took the third and final step onto the porch.
After only a slight hesitation, she rapped on the peeling black door then smoothed a hand down her tailored sleeveless red dress. Though the fabric was lightweight, she felt as if she were wearing a winter parka. She’d pulled her hair back into a band low at her nape, yet that, too, provided little relief from the relentless June heat. Of course, a solid case of nerves contributed to her discomfort, and so did the fact that no one answered her summons.
She knocked one more time, both relieved and anxious when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. She had no idea who might be on the other side of the door. No idea if she would find friend or foe—or maybe even the owner of the disturbing eyes.
The door finally opened to a woman with keen dark eyes who appeared to be in her sixties, her black-and-silver hair styled in a short, severe cut. She wore a loose-fitting pale green shift and a guarded expression, but she didn’t appear to be at all threatening. “May I help you?” she asked in a soft voice that contrasted with her sharp features.
“Are you Ms. Lanoux?” Selene asked.
“Yes, and you are?”
At least Selene was in the right place, even if the woman didn’t seem to have a clue as to why she was there. “Selene Winston. I’m here about the restoration.”
The woman’s hand fluttered to her hair. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
When they’d spoken last Friday, Selene could have sworn they’d agreed she would interview for the job on Monday. Maybe she should return to the local inn where she’d been residing for the past ten days since her spontaneous escape from Georgia. Maybe she should consider this misunderstanding as a Do Not Enter sign. “If it’s not a good time, I can come back tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t hear of it,” she said as she stepped aside and gestured Selene forward. “Welcome to Maison de Minuit…It’s Mrs. Winston, isn’t it?”
“Winston’s my married name, but I’m divorced.” Selene internally flinched over the bitterness that resonated in her tone. “Actually, I’d rather you call me Selene.”
The woman thankfully maintained a pleasant demeanor. “And you may call me Ella. Now let’s get you out of the heat.”
When Selene stepped inside the wide foyer, she immediately noticed two things—the house wasn’t much cooler than the porch outside, and the light was all but filtered out by heavy shutters covering the windows. A gloomy atmosphere encompassed the area, along with the scent of aged wood and musty air.
She followed Ella down the vestibule where they paused at a small parlor that proved to be as dark as the entrance, any natural light blocked by thick blue drapes. The Federal-style antiques set about the room were most likely original furnishings, and worth a fortune, Selene decided. Nothing she hadn’t seen—or owned—in her former life. A life she had gladly left behind. Still, she’d always had an affinity for all things historical, and the pieces were definitely worth investigating.
“This is only one of the common areas,” Ella said. “And like the rest of the house, it needs refurbishing.” She fanned her face in a rapid succession of waves. “Inside and out. You would have to obtain estimates on a new cooling system and most likely a new roof, which means you’ll have to find a suitable contractor.”
“Wait a minute,” Selene said as soon as the woman’s words registered. “I had no idea the job would be quite this extensive.”
“My dear, you can hire anyone you’d like,” Ella said. “Unless you have a problem supervising workers.”
In reality, no, Selene didn’t. She’d managed a household staff for years. Besides, she had nowhere else to be. No place to go aside from her former home, and that wasn’t an option. “I can handle it, as long as I have a substantial budget to follow.”
“Money is no object.”
Obviously Ella Lanoux had sufficient wealth even though she wasn’t at all like the well-heeled matrons Selene had known most of her life, including her own mother. Although Selene wasn’t exactly comfortable with the magnitude of the restoration, she had to remember why she’d come here—to seek employment. To be her own person, make her own money. To start over.
Ella brushed her damp bangs from her forehead, then motioned Selene forward. “Follow me and we’ll continue the tour.” She strode down the foyer, stopped at a set of double doors and faced Selene again. “This is by far the most impressive part of the house.”
With dramatic flair, Ella threw open the doors to reveal a massive circular room covered in what appeared to be original wood-plank floors. In the center of that room, a freestanding, wide red-carpeted staircase spiraled to the second floor. Selene’s gaze tracked to the ceiling that showcased gold-winged cherubs flitting about a large expanse of cloud-bedecked blue sky, a chandelier dripping with crystals serving as the focal point. She’d seen this type of room before, but only in photographs that couldn’t compare to witnessing the real thing with her own eyes. “This is absolutely breathtaking.”
Ella smiled proudly. “It had that effect on me the first time I saw it.” She pointed across the way. “The kitchen and dining room are through there. We can see those later. I’ll show you the second floor now.”
As she followed Ella up the stairway, her hand firmly gripping the white iron railing, Selene felt as if she were climbing toward heaven. A tranquil piece of paradise among the darkness.
When they reached the landing, Ella stopped and nodded to her left. “That corridor leads to the front of the house where you’ll find two rooms. One was formerly a nursery, the other’s been converted into a private office.”
Heavy emphasis on private, Selene noted. She motioned to her right. “And down that way?”
“The rest of the second-floor bedrooms, including where you’ll be staying if we come to an agreement.”
“I would be expected to live on-site?”
“Room and board would be included while you’re here.”
Selene supposed it would make things more convenient. She wouldn’t have to drive the ten miles or so into town, or find a suitable place to live. If she decided to accept the job. A decision not to be taken lightly, Selene thought as she trailed behind Ella, who made an immediate right into a narrow paneled hallway illuminated by the occasional dimly lit lamp mounted to the wall.
They’d only walked a few feet when Selene’s attention landed straight ahead on a bronze life-size statue looming at the end of the corridor. A demonic creature complete with horns, pointy teeth and claws with a terrified, scantily clad woman in its grasp. The menacing figure definitely contrasted with the angels keeping watch over the rotunda downstairs. A classic illustration of good versus evil. Heaven opposed to hell.
Selene suddenly found herself in the grip of another vision. Unlike her first images on the entry steps, this came to her as if she were watching somewhere on the sidelines, as it always had in the past. The image of a hand sliding down her bare arm. A very large, very male hand that continued down her back, formed to her waist, drifted to her bottom, before she blinked and forced the image away. She had no idea where the vision had originated since there seemed to be no one around. And she found that more than a little troublesome.
She hadn’t realized she’d come to a complete stop until Ella turned and favored her with another smile. “It’s rather grotesque, isn’t it? I call him Giles, after the former owner. The crazy man loved that thing, but then he was always known for being eccentric.”
Eccentric wouldn’t be the term Selene used to describe the former owner. Scary would be more like it. She couldn’t imagine wanting the “thing” around every morning, or at bedtime. “I’m surprised he didn’t take it with him.” She was sorry he hadn’t.
Ella laughed. “Unfortunately, it was too big to fit in his coffin.”
Selene internally cringed. Was that the source of her vision—the mental musings of a ghost? That had never happened to her before. Normally she channeled the thoughts of living, breathing humans, at her own peril at certain points in her life. “I’m sorry to hear he passed away.”
“Don’t be,” Ella said. “He was almost ninety and quite frankly, I thought he was too cantankerous to die. In fact, he had a mistress forty years his junior. She’s the one who did him in.”
“She killed him?” Selene couldn’t disguise her distress.
Ella shook her head and laughed again. “Not intentionally. Let’s just say the Morrell men have virility down to a fine art. Unfortunately, Giles didn’t know his limitations.”
“Well, at least he left this world a happy man.” Now for the question foremost on Selene’s mind. “Did he pass away in this house?”
“No. He died in France.” Selene’s frame relaxed from relief until Ella added, “But unfortunately, this place has a reputation for tragedy.”
Great. Just what Selene wanted to hear—the mansion could be home to restless spirits intent on haunting her brain. But only if she let that happen, which she wouldn’t, if she could prevent it.
They continued on for a few steps until Ella stopped at a closed door. “Your quarters would be in here.” She pointed toward the end of the hallway where the demon held court. “That guest room over there is closed for the time being. The current owner keeps it locked and prefers it not be disturbed.”
Selene gaped for a few moments. “I thought you were the owner.”
Ella frowned. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. Adrien Morrell, Giles’s grandson, inherited the plantation. I’m his assistant.” Her frown melted into a cynical smile. “And his maid and cook. I also advise him from time to time, whether he asks for my advice or not.”
Selene was beginning to suspect she had a lot to learn, and worried some of it might not be pleasant at all. “Does Mr. Morrell live here?” she asked.
“That’s his room.” Ella indicated a closed door nearby. “It’s the master suite and adjacent to your room, but I promise he won’t bother you.”
“Where is your room?” Selene asked.
“Off the kitchen. I spend much of my time there. And this would be your room.” Ella opened the door to the prospective living quarters and waved Selene inside.
As it was with the rest of the house, the bedroom was adorned with more antiques, including a huge cherrywood Victorian double bed covered in a white lace spread. Several colorful braided rugs covered the hardwood floors that had lost their sheen. Straight ahead, the white curtains were pulled back to reveal double French doors opening to a veranda that apparently faced the back of the heavily wooded property. Several fans were set about the room, including two overhead, but they did little to alleviate the heat.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t have a private bath,” Ella said. “You would have to use the one across the hall that serves this wing.”
Now that was just wonderful, sharing a bathroom with a total stranger. And a man, no less. Of course, she’d shared a bath with a virtual stranger before—her husband. And toward the end of the marriage, Richard had slept in another bedroom altogether. Lived in his own private world. A world that hadn’t included his wife. “Then I assume that means Mr. Morrell uses it, too.”
“Actually, his suite has its own bath. The younger Mr. Morrell had it installed before he moved in. Unfortunately, that’s the only improvement he managed.”
At least he wouldn’t be in her way. “I could live with those arrangements.”
Ella wrung her hands several times before saying, “Then the job is yours if you want it.”
Selene decided this was almost too easy. “Wouldn’t you like to see my portfolio first? Or at the very least, let me prepare some kind of estimate for my services?”
“That’s not necessary. I promise, you’ll be paid much more than you would normally receive for this type of work. I’ll have all the details outlined in a simple contract that Mr. Morrell drew up himself.”
“What about consulting with him first?”
“He’s left the hiring up to me. He trusts my judgment, and my judgment tells me you’ll do a fine job.”
Could she really afford to decide something so important on the spot? A better question—could she afford not to accept since she was armed with an interior design degree that she’d never really utilized and a very limited résumé? If she turned down the offer, she might have to search long and hard for another opportunity, especially one that would allow her the freedom to take a project with so much potential and see it to fruition. “Pending the contract is in order, I’ll take the job.”
Ella looked very pleased. “Wonderful. When can you move in?”
“Right now if I need to. I’m staying at the local inn. I will have to go back there and get my things.” Very few things. Most of what Selene had owned she’d left behind, except for the harsh memories of a doomed marriage.
“Today would be wonderful.” Ella started toward the door. “I’ll show you the contract first, and while you’re in town, I’ll see if I can arrange a time for you to meet him.”
Him, as in Mr. Morrell, Selene decided. “I’m looking forward to it.” If for no other reason aside from curiosity.
“One thing you need to know about Adrien,” Ella said once they reentered the hallway. “He’s a hard case. I’ve known him for many years, and the best way to handle him is to stand your ground.”
Considering Ella’s cautions, Selene wondered if she’d already made a colossal error in judgment. “I’ll remember that.”
On the drive back to the inn, Selene entertained more than a few second thoughts even though she’d found the agreement satisfactory and the pay much more than generous. She should have questioned the woman more thoroughly, particularly about the mysterious owner. Yet the opportunity had practically fallen into her lap at a time when she’d been uncertain over her future. Sheer serendipity.
Besides, the man was probably a middle-aged codger, as peculiar as his grandfather, set in his ways and, she suspected, cranky. She could handle cranky. She could handle anything as long as she could be her own person, make her own decisions, at least when it came to her private life.
Yes, she would deal with Adrien Morrell, through whatever means necessary, be it killing him with kindness or hanging tough. Better still, she would ignore him altogether.
* * *
“Who the hell is she, Ella?”
Adrien immediately noted the surprise in his longtime companion’s near black eyes, followed by a flicker of guilt before she said, “You’ve seen her?”
Yes, he’d seen her. He’d watched her from the window as she’d left her car. Saw her brief hesitation. Witnessed her wariness. He’d noticed the way her golden blond hair, bound at her neck, spiraled down her back in soft curls. Noticed her slender throat, her flawless pale skin, the length of her legs and the curve of her hips. From the shadows near the stairs, he’d also observed her walking the corridor, and imagined more than only watching her. A reaction he didn’t welcome but hadn’t been able to stop.
Adrien leaned forward and rolled a pen back and forth over the desk’s surface. “What does she want?”
“A job.”
He tossed the pen aside. “I assume you told her she was in the wrong place.”
“No, I did not.” Ella stepped forward from the door and displayed her usual toughness. “Her name is Selene Winston, and I’ve hired her to oversee the restoration.”
A sharp prick of seething anger threatened Adrien’s tenuous self-control. “I didn’t give you permission to hire anyone.”
Ella planted her palms on the desk and leaned into them. “Someone needs to go forward with the plans before this house falls down around our heads.”
Damn her interference. “That’s my decision, not yours.”
“That’s the problem, shâ. You’re making no decisions. That’s why we need someone to get this place into shape so you can put it on the market and leave.”
Right now he didn’t care to leave. The house had become his haven, his own private hell. “How did you find her?”
“I put an ad in the St. Edwards newspaper and she answered it. She’s the only one who answered it. And you’re the one who told me you wanted someone who would give the house personal attention. Otherwise, I could have hired a firm from Baton Rouge months ago.”
Adrien didn’t like the way Ella’s gaze suddenly faltered. “Where is she from?”
“Georgia. She’s a divorcée. From the looks of her car and clothes, I suspect she has money, or did at one time. But for some reason she’s decided to settle in St. Edwards. As long as she’s a hard worker, I don’t really care how she got here.”
Adrien cared. He had no use for a woman who’d probably never had her diamond-bedecked hands dirty in her whole damn life. “How much experience does she have?”
She shrugged. “Why don’t you ask her since you’re the all-knowing, all-seeing entrepreneur?”
If Ella were anyone else, he’d fire her. “I really don’t give a damn because I have no intention of letting her stay.”
“You don’t give a damn about anything, Adrien.” She straightened and sighed. “It’s been well over a year now. You have to go on with your life.”
A life filled with remorse. A life that had become static, by his own hand. And he liked it that way. “Tell her she’s not needed here.” Or wanted.
Ella scowled. “Oh, she’s needed here, all right. And she’s staying, or I’ll go with her.”
More empty threats, Adrien decided. Nothing he hadn’t witnessed before from his surrogate mother. Ella wasn’t going anywhere because she had no desire to leave him alone. In order to keep the peace, at least externally if not internally, he’d humor her for now. “Fine. Do what you will. Just make sure she stays out of my way.”
“Maybe you should tell her yourself. She’s agreed to live here until the house is finished. I put her in the room next to yours.” With that, Ella spun around without giving him a glance and headed out the door.
Adrien streaked both hands down his face and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t need any of this. Didn’t need this Winston woman anywhere near him. Even if she was beautiful. Even if he’d been numb for months now and when he’d seen her, he’d begun to come alive, at least in a carnal sense.
He’d be damned if he’d bed some Georgia debutante, and he had every intention of persuading her to leave. He wasn’t exactly sure how he would manage it, but he would. He definitely would.
* * *
Selene had been granted a delay in the official meeting, at least for the time being. According to Ella, the plantation’s owner hadn’t requested an audience, nor had he joined them for dinner. She hadn’t run into him on her way to retire for the night, but earlier she had heard him passing through the corridor outside the bedroom, followed by a closing door. The sound of creaking floorboards, as if he’d been pacing, continued for a time before ceasing a few moments ago. Now if only she could get some sleep.
But sleep seemed as elusive as her employer. The fans only served to stir the warm air, and the open windows provided little relief. She’d tossed and turned so much that her thin white gown was practically wrapped around her neck. And although she’d taken a bath before turning in, at this rate she would probably need another. She couldn’t imagine how people survived before the advent of air-conditioning. But then they couldn’t miss what they’d never had.
What Selene really needed at the moment was some fresh air to provide some temporary comfort. On that thought, she pushed out of the bed, opened the French doors and stepped barefoot onto the veranda, hoping she didn’t encounter any splinters jutting up from the wooden decking as she moved to the edge of the balcony. With her hands braced on the black railing, she turned her gaze to the three-quarter moon hanging overhead and the host of stars scattered across the midnight sky.
The temperature had mercifully dropped to a more tolerable level, the gentle wind she’d been seeking flowing over her damp body and ruffling her unruly hair. The bayou’s summer sounds surrounded her—chirping locusts and bellowing bullfrogs. She inclined her head and listened for the rush of the Mississippi that knit through the terrain not far away. She only heard the rustle of brush from below. No doubt, the swamps were full of nasty creatures. Probably a few bobcats and alligators with large, treacherous teeth waiting to snap up unsuspecting wildlife. Definitely snakes slithering about, coiled and ready to strike. Maybe even a wolf foraging the forest, searching for prey.
A brief image flashed in her mind—another mental photo shoot of someone watching her—followed by a low, rugged male voice saying, “Too hot to sleep?”
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