Serpent's Gate Page 18

  “Me? I can handle it. And personally, I’m glad he’s not here to pester us for a while. Your room will do, I guess.” When they stepped inside the guest room, Justin turned, pressed Stephen against the closed door, and fitted his own body against him. Stephen felt his muscular chest and thighs pressing into his. The outline of Justin’s increasing desire was all too evident, too. To Stephen’s surprise, he found himself not exactly turned off, but bored. Not realizing it, Justin went on talking. “I meant what I said before. I really want us to talk again—really talk. I’ve been kicking myself over what happened between us, and just when I thought we were growing closer. It was a good feeling. Then, as usual, I messed it all up with my temper. All I can say, again and again, is that I’m sorry.”

  “I think I’m partly to blame too. I said some stuff to you I had no right to say. I do value your friendship, Justin.”

  “Friendship?” Startled, Justin dropped his arms to his sides and stepped back. Stephen felt an unexpected relief wash through him. “Nothing else? Because I was hoping….”

  “All I can say is that I’m still not in my right mind after what happened with my uncle and everything. I’m sorry, Justin. I just need a little space for now.”

  “You don’t need to explain. And as far as the rest, of course you know I consider myself your friend. I realize we haven’t known each other very long, but all the same….” Once again, Justin moved closer. His lips touched Stephen’s hesitantly, and when Stephen didn’t exactly pull away, he leaned in for a more passionate effort. He sighed contentedly when he leaned back. “That’s what happens when I’m around you, Stephen. I forget things. Like my manners. Even my own name. You understand why, don’t you?”

  “I…I have an idea.”

  “Of course you do. You feel the same. You and I, Stephen. We fit together perfectly. Like sunshine and flowers, or darkness and moonlight.”

  Stephen plucked at his shirt, covered with dust from the library. “Or old books and mildew?”

  “Maybe more like wind and rain. It’s a more attractive image.”

  Hoping to divert Justin’s attention, Stephen crossed the room and glanced out the rain-spattered window. Far below, Leo’s yellow slicker flashed between the shrubs as he worked to protect the flowers from the aftermath of the downpour. He turned back, leaning against the sill.

  “Justin…do you know how Leo’s father fell off the roof?”

  Justin had been lingering close to the bed, his intentions obvious. His head lifted in surprise. “No, not really. I was just a teenaged kid when it happened. Why?”

  “Malcolm mentioned it in the car. It seems like such a horrible experience. I wondered how it affected all of you.”

  “Safe to say it affected Leo’s old man a lot more than it did any of us. Couldn’t have been pleasant for him. One minute he’s up on the roof. Next minute…” Justin clapped his hands for effect. “Splat!”

  Stephen cringed, both at the image in his mind and at Justin’s glibness in the face of such a tragedy. “Do you know why he went up there in the first place?”

  “No. There’s a rail at the top, as you probably noticed from the ground, so he wasn’t the first person to check it out. Just the most unlucky.”

  “Have you ever been up there?”

  “Once, I think. A long time ago. With my mom. She liked to go up there once in a while and enjoy the view. Mistress of all she surveyed and all that, at least temporarily. But as far as I know, no one went up there after the accident.” “How do you get up there?”

  “There’s an old staircase behind the back door in the kitchen. Apparently only workmen were expected to go up there in the old days.” Justin sat on the edge of Stephen’s bed and crossed his arms. “Are you curious to see where it happened? I’ll show you if you want.”

  “No. I wouldn’t want to go up there. I think I’d be afraid.”

  “You shouldn’t be. It’s not like what happened to Mulgrave would ever happen again. It was just a freak accident.”

  “Like what happened to my uncle?”

  “Right. Only way more serious. Try not to worry about it. It happened a long time ago. For all we know, he jumped off on purpose. I never had that much to do with him, since he mostly worked outside, but from what I do remember, he was a weird old dude. Never cracked a smile and treated his own family like garbage, even in front of us. Can you imagine what he must have been like behind closed doors?”

  Imagining that depressed Stephen. “I don’t understand why people need to be cruel to each other. Life is so much easier without drama. Why doesn’t everyone see that?”

  “True. I’ve often wondered if Leo might have turned out normal—or at least more normal—if his father had been a little nicer to him.”

  “What about Ivy? Was he awful to her, too?”

  “Not that I could see. Maybe it was because Ivy was a girl, and she didn’t have Leo’s obvious problems. Not that the old guy was any saint to anyone. Mrs. Mulgrave tried to protect both kids from his rages, but she didn’t always succeed. I remember hearing him yell at them late at night when they were in their own quarters. The sound carried all through the house.”

  Stephen nodded. Ivy’s terrible attitude made a little more sense now, at least. Again his natural reaction to pity Leo warred with his aversion to his menacing ways. No doubt Leo wasn’t entirely responsible for his own actions, but he still struck Stephen as someone best avoided.

  “We should never have told you about Leo and Ivy’s dad taking an ill-advised flying lesson. No wonder you’re having weird nightmares all the time. Just forget about it. He was only a servant, and it was a long time ago. Live for the moment, I say.” Grinning, Justin patted the bed. “Don’t you agree?”

  Stephen pretended not to notice the gesture. “Don’t worry about me. You only answered the questions I asked you. My imagination did the rest.” He plucked at his shirt again. “I should probably change for dinner.”

  Clearly disappointed, Justin stood and retreated to the door with an air of finality. “Yeah. Me, too. I’m all grubby from those old books too. Go ahead, then. I’ll see you at dinner in a few hours.”

  “Okay.”

  Mercifully alone again, Stephen stripped off his clothes and headed for the shower. While the warm, soothing water cascaded over him, he mentally replayed their fruitless search for the missing book and especially Roark’s questioning of Ivy. Ivy had admitted to coming into the library for the laptop, making her the most likely suspect. On the other hand, her revulsion at the idea of touching old books seemed spontaneous enough to be genuine. That didn’t mean she hadn’t used gloves or even tongs, so her protests would remain technically true. Stephen sensed that Ivy was no stranger to bending the truth when it suited her.

  That still didn’t explain who might have wanted the book, and for what purpose. As his uncle had pointed out, no subterfuge was necessary if one of the Fairbournes had wanted it, since it already belonged to them. Surely they would simply have admitted to taking it and told Stephen, rightly, to mind his own business. That left only the Mulgraves and Malcolm, excluding the paramedics who had come for Uncle Vernon. Surely they wouldn’t have stopped their rescue efforts long enough to sort through a stack of old books on the opposite side of the room.

  That thought led him back to his startling conversation with Roark, and the way Roark had touched his hand and expressed his thanks that Stephen hadn’t been the one to get hurt. Hard as it seemed to believe, Stephen was growing convinced that he had totally misread the elder Fairbourne brother until now.

  Or had he? Subconsciously, he must have picked up on something. Otherwise, why would he have dreamed of Mrs. Fairbourne standing at Roark’s side and welcoming Stephen into the family?

  That evening, the three of them met at the table, Malcolm apparently having decided to eat elsewhere. Ivy served them in silence, her face devoid of emotion. No doubt she was still annoyed with Roark for questioning her in the library. The dinner conversation revol
ved around a series of mercifully mundane topics—Uncle Vernon’s broken ankle, the horrors of hospital food, Stephen’s opinion of the guest room, and the nastiness of the continuing rainstorm. Equally notable were the topics they avoided—the missing book, Roark and Justin’s mother, Stephen’s nightmare. Roark was, outwardly, a perfect gentleman, speaking in clear, measured tones that betrayed none of his resentful plotting But Stephen saw it in those dark, guarded eyes every time they lighted on Justin.

  They lingered over coffee for at least an hour, enjoying a platter of cookies Mrs. Mulgrave sent in for dessert. Stephen ate way too many of those, taking comfort in a mood-altering blast of sugar, cinnamon, and chocolate. He was beginning to see Justin’s point of view—whatever problems existed at Fairbourne House, Mrs. Mulgrave’s cooking made it easy to ignore them for the duration of mealtimes.

  Roark’s cell phone rank just as they were finishing. He excused himself to answer it in the hall and returned with a scowl.

  “Malcolm can’t pick Stephen up tomorrow, so one of us will have to run him up to the hospital to visit his uncle tomorrow.”

  “I can drive myself,” Stephen said. “Uncle Vernon’s car is still here, don’t forget.”

  “Of course you won’t.” Justin put down his fork with a grin. “I’d be happy to. I have some errands to run anyway. I can show Stephen the village on the way back.”

  “I already took him there,” Roark said coldly. “The day we moved him into the guest room—remember?”

  “He was too worried about his uncle that day to sightsee. This time we can do things right. Maybe convince him to visit us once in a while after this whole ridiculous library saga is over.”

  “I think spending the day with you will just about guarantee that he won’t.”

  “Cheer up, Roark. You’ll have your chance later. And look on the bright side—you can supervise Ivy while she changes the bedding tomorrow. Linen day, isn’t it? Or is that Friday? I forget.”

  Roark didn’t bother to answer.

  Back in the guestroom, Stephen found it hard to sleep despite the grueling events of the day. Most of all he wondered if he should have invited Justin to share his room—and his bed—after all. At one point, he heard footsteps thudding up the hall and moving steadily up the hall in his direction. Thinking Justin might be returning for another attempt at seduction—one he wasn’t quite as sure he wanted to resist—Stephen opened his door just enough to see through the crack.

  It wasn’t Justin he spotted hurrying past his room. It was Ivy. She kept her head down, but her expression looked tense and determined—almost maniacal. Without glancing up or acknowledging Stephen’s presence, she continued all the way to the end of the hall and stopped at Roark’s room. Stephen angled his head just enough to see Ivy pause, peer inside, and push his door open.

  Stephen stared, open-mouthed, as a male hand reached out to clasp Ivy’s wrist. Ivy made a brief show of resisting, then giggled as the hand yanked her inside. The door clicked shut after her, though Stephen could still hear her laughter coming from inside. The harsh sound sickened him.

  Then everything went quiet again.

  Chapter 14

  Somehow, after he’d snapped the lock into place with a decisive twist and crawled into bed shaking with outrage, Stephen managed to sleep deeply and, as far as he could recall in the morning, dreamlessly. Maybe learning the truth about Roark had freed his subconscious and erased the doubts that had tormented him ever since his arrival at Fairbourne House. That was something to celebrate, anyway.

  On a practical level, he wasn’t sure what he would say to Roark next time he tried to engage Stephen in conversation—or even flirtation. It might be best to play along and avoid tipping him off to the fact that Stephen had grown wise to his duplicitous ways. Things might be easier for Justin then, too.

  He was still turning things over in his mind when he heard someone rattle the doorknob. Bleary eyed, Stephen dragged himself to his feet and opened it. Justin stood there, slightly out of breath.

  “Morning, sunshine. I was going to sneak in and kiss you awake, but the door was locked. Not that I blame you for protecting yourself.”

  “Sorry,” Stephen mumbled, checking the time on the bedside clock. “Guess I overslept.”

  “I get it. Something about the rain on the roof puts me under like hypnosis, too. Anyway, I’m all set to take you to the hospital whenever you’re ready.”

  “I need to shower first.”

  “Sure thing.” Justin raised his brows in a mock leer. “Want some help?”

  Stephen shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry, Justin, but no.”

  Justin wasn’t in the mood to give up. “Come on, Stephen. Give me a chance here. You must know by now how I feel about you. I wasn’t kidding around last night when I mentioned you coming back here to visit us—or visit me, in particular. Do you understand what I’m saying, Stephen?”

  “Yes…I think so.”

  Justin’s smile sagged. “You don’t seem too enthusiastic—and here I am laying my heart on the line. It’s a good thing I have high self-esteem. And let me assure you I’m not just after a quick roll in the sheets. I was talking about a deeper connection between us. You must have felt it. It’s like…electricity in the air whenever we’re in the same room. I can almost hear it buzzing.”

  Stephen stared at him. It was true that in the beginning, he had definitely found himself crushing on Justin. At one point he’d even fantasized about the two of them falling in love. As the days had worn on, though, he hadn’t felt nearly as enthusiastic. Sure, Justin was cute and Stephen found his flippant confidence attractive. Justin was absolutely the kind of guy his college friends would have fought each other over. But as far as their connection turning into anything deeper…he wasn’t sure.

  In fact, when he stopped and thought about it, he could pinpoint a particular moment when everything had changed.

  When Roark had touched his hand in the library. Ivy or not, he couldn’t shake the feeling. It felt like Roark had put a spell on him...which didn’t seem as farfetched now as it might have a few days earlier.

  “I do like you, Justin. I can’t deny that. But…”

  Justin’s nostrils flared. “Is it Roark? Because I know what he’s been up to. I’ve seen him flirting with you when he thinks I’m not looking.”

  “Let’s not bring Roark into this.”

  “Why not? Seems to me he’s in the room with us right now. You don’t have to admit it. I can tell. But let me explain something to you, Stephen. What Roark is doing isn’t about you. Not at all. It’s actually more about me.”

  “About you? I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. You don’t think like him. With Roark, you see, it always comes back to the rivalry between us. It isn’t you he cares about—it’s getting you away from me. That’s the way it’s always been. He’s obsessed with his own jealousy. At times I think he’d kill me if he could. And I don’t mean that just as a figure of speech. I’m talking real, genuine, blood-soaked murder.”

  Stephen gaped. “Of course you’re exaggerating. Roark isn’t plotting your death. Why would he?”

  “I’d say the better question is why wouldn’t he? He’s hated me since we were kids. He’s the oldest son, you see—the Fairbourne heir, now the master of the house, all his whims our marching orders. Only no one pays much attention to him. He’s moody, angry, and finds it hard to make friends. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

  “Well, yes, of course I have…but social awkwardness isn’t a motive for murder.”

  “Trust me, people have been murdered for far less, some of them right in this house. What makes it worse for Roark is that everyone wishes I’d been born first so I could have taken over the house and the family.”

  “Who’s everyone?” Stephen asked skeptically.

  “You know!” Justin waved his arms in frustration. “Malcolm, for one. The Mulgraves. They all like me better. People seem naturally dr
awn to me. It’s nothing I do consciously. That’s just the way it is. Roark hates that so much he’d do anything to destroy me. In his mind, if I weren’t around, people would take him more seriously. Things only got worse when our mom left for England.”

  “How?”

  Justin hesitated, crossing the room and gazing out of the window as if looking for a sign to tell him how much to reveal. Finally he turned and leaned against the sill, his head and shoulders framed by the dark, cloud-choked sky.

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, because I have no way to prove it. Still…it’s what I’ve come to believe. You can take my theory for what it’s worth. I think Roark drove our mother away. She had a gift—a sixth sense, they call it. She knew what Roark was like deep down. I think she sensed his evil and realized he wanted her dead, too. He hated the fact that our mother and I were close. So he made sure he removed her from my life…forever. And she left because she feared for my life if she didn’t.”

  “That’s…that’s very hard to believe,” Stephen stammered. At the same time, though, he knew it wasn’t. He recalled Malcolm’s account of their mother’s escape. He could see why Mrs. Fairbourne might have hesitated to accuse her own son of threatening her. She might have wanted to protect him in some misguided way, or maybe she’d clung to her own shocked denial.

  “I know it is. I thought I ought to tell you, though, and not just because I feel I can trust you. You see, Roark senses the connection between us. That’s why he hates you, too.”

  Stephen sucked in a breath. “Roark…hates me?”

  “Roark isn’t just playing mind games for kicks,” Justin continued. “He likes to come off as an arrogant but basically harmless rich kid. Probably practices in front of a mirror so he can appear normal to outsiders like you. Sometimes he almost succeeds, but like any sociopath he can only fake it so far. His issues run a lot deeper than you suspect. He won’t hesitate to strike out at anyone he perceives as being against him or in league with me. And believe me, he’s plenty paranoid.”