We walked through the plots, reading names on the stones of the people who’d lived and died in the area. A marble crypt marked the resting place of the Greymont family, the ancestors of Hannah’s husband, Freddy. I made out the names Jeremy and Georgina and remembered them as the people Hannah had named in the gorgeous portrait I’d discovered this morning on the stairway. The Mallerton. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that the painting of Sir Jeremy and his beautiful Georgina was the real deal and hoped the family would allow some pictures just for cataloguing purposes. Maybe I could get Benny up here to take some good photos. Gaby would want to see it and the Mallerton Society would be very interested in anything to do with the painting’s current status. My mind was churning with possibilities as we left the private cemetery and continued inland on the forest path.
We came up to an imposing iron gate, the kind you see in movies that win Academy Awards for cinematography. Secured to the metal was a sales agency sign advertising the place as Stonewell Court.
“Do you know the house back there?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’ve never been down that drive. It looks like the property is for sale, though.” He tried the gate latch and much to our surprise it opened with a grating squeak. “Let’s take a look. You want to?”
“Do you think it’s okay?”
He shrugged and looked at the posted sign. “Yeah, probably.”
“Then yes.” I stepped forward to follow him in. The rusty gate swung shut with a clang behind us. I reached for Ethan’s hand, moving closer beside him as we walked down the curved gravel road. It felt like we were moving back toward the coast.
He chuckled softly. “Are you scared we’ll get in trouble or something?”
“Not at all,” I lied. “If somebody comes after us for trespassing, I plan on letting them know that it was all your idea and you said it was okay.” I gave him my best bland face, hoping I could hold the laugh in for more than a couple seconds.
He stopped us on the path and gave me a mocking look of outrage. “Nice. You’re going to throw me over to save your own precious little arse!”
“Well, I’ll be sure to come and visit your hot, sexy arse in prison,” I said sweetly, emphasizing the British pronunciation of “ass,” thinking it sounded so much more elegant when he said it. I sucked at trying to do an English accent.
He snaked his hand down to goose me with one hand and tickled my side with the other. “Oh, will you now?” he drawled, easily breaking my composure with his relentless tickling.
“Yes!” I yelled, twisting out of his grip and running for the trees. He was right behind me, though, laughing all the way. I could feel him closing in and I pushed harder to keep a distance, eating up the length of the driveway with every stride.
Ethan caught me just as we rounded the bend in the drive and managed to take us down gently on the soft grass, rolling on top of me and tickling me madly. I twisted and bucked, doing my best to escape, but it was a pointless exercise against his strength.
“No escape for you, my beauty,” he breathed, effortlessly pinning my wrists with one hand and holding my chin with the other.
“Of course not,” I whispered back, already feeling the flush of heat and getting wildly aroused. Ethan made all kinds of things happen with my body. I was used to it by now.
His eyes flared with passion as he dropped his mouth to mine, opening wide to cover my lips and devour them. I moaned in pleasure and let him in. Ethan could kiss. I didn’t like to imagine how much practice he’d had, but I appreciated his skill as his tongue explored me thoroughly. The weight of him pressing down upon me just got me more in the mood.
He sucked on my bottom lip, nibbling and licking, before pulling off with a soft suctioned pop. “You ran from me,” he scolded, his mouth hovering just above mine.
“You goosed me in the ass,” I said in an indignant tone, “which induces running, by the way! Don’t think I’m going to forget this either, Blackstone.”
“I can’t resist your ass, ever. There, I said it like you.” He licked my earlobe. “You liked my kisses, though.”
“Honestly, I could go either way on the kissing,” I lied, going for a straight face that I had no chance of holding longer than two seconds.
“Okay . . . so you won’t mind if I never kiss you again?” he teased, his forehead bending down to touch mine when I turned my head. Then my eyes caught view of the house and I could do nothing but stare. Ethan followed my lead and whispered, “Holy hell.”
We both stared at the magnificent stone façade of an absolutely gorgeous Georgian house of gray stone perched right on the coast ledge overlooking the sea. It took my breath away with its solid rows of paned windows, and tall, narrow, pointed rooftops. It wasn’t a huge mansion, but just so perfectly situated in its space and so elegantly designed. I bet the view from the many windows facing the sea was breathtaking.
Ethan pushed away to stand up first and then helped me to my feet. “Wow.” I had no other words to say in the moment.
“It’s secreted back here so privately. I had no idea this is what it looked like . . . or even that it existed.” He entwined his hand with mine. “Let’s go check it out. I want to see the view off the back.”
“You read my mind,” I said, giving his ass a playful smack with my other hand.
“And you are very, very naughty today.” He grabbed my spanking hand and brought it up to his lips for a kiss as he had done many, many times with me in the past, but something I never grew tired of and doubted I ever would. Ethan possessed a skill set that combined hot, bad-boy sex god with mannerly, romantic gentleman; something so rare and captivating, I didn’t have a chance of resisting the pull. I smiled up at him and said nothing.
“I think I’ll have to come up with a good punishment to fit your crimes.”
“Suit yourself,” I told him saucily as we headed around the side of the house to the gardens in back. The rear grounds were something else, all right. I could imagine the former inhabitants having garden parties out here on a nice day with their view of the coast of Wales across the bay. I guessed many an hour was spent painting this very scene I was looking at right now. I’d bet my bank account on it.
I strolled farther out across the green that met the rocks of the coast. There, set in the foundation, was an angel statue—no, wait; it wasn’t just an angel, but rather a mermaid with angel wings, very finely detailed and serene in the buffeting wind. On the base of the statue was carved a single name. Jonathan.