and silence her forever. But it was her defiance that was his last memory of her. He’d been more afraid than she was, and that rankled.
Hector gave in to the urge and poured himself another brandy, his thoughts still on Jocelyn. She’d been so beautiful, so graceful, he recalled, his fingers still stroking the ring. His mind conjured up the image of her pale thighs as he bent her over the desk, his swollen cock sliding into her virginal tightness. He felt a stirring of desire, his shaft growing hard and straining against the fabric of his breeches. He hadn’t had a woman since his ship had docked in Southampton. He was long overdue. Hector tossed back the rest of his brandy and got to his feet, going in search of Maggie. She was a comely wench and certainly not an innocent. She’d do.
Hector crossed the tiled foyer and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. Maggie would be alone, clearing up after dinner. The kitchen was the perfect place. No one would hear them there.
Maggie turned at the sound of his footsteps. “Did you need something, sir?”
Hector’s gaze slid to her breasts, which looked pillowy and inviting. He had a mind to suckle them before taking her. Maggie took a step back, as though alerted by the hunger in his eyes.
“Don’t be afraid,” Hector said softly. “I won’t hurt you.” But he would, and he would enjoy it, he thought as he reached for her. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, his hand cupping her breast as he bent to kiss her.
Maggie pushed against him, her panic an aphrodisiac. “Please stop,” she pleaded as she managed to break free. “I’m betrothed to Henry.”
“The groom?” Hector asked, amused. “Then you know all about rolls in the hay,” he quipped, and went for her again. He pinned her against the stone wall and pushed his hand between her legs, gratified when his fingers slid into the warm moistness of her quim. She did want him then.
“Come now,” he panted. “I’ll make it worth your while. Give you a start in life.” He pushed his fingers deep inside her, anticipating how good it would feel to fuck her.
He never saw it coming. The cast-iron skillet met his head with a sickening thud. Hector loosened his grip, momentarily surprised that Maggie had had the temerity to strike him. He’d show her who was master here, he thought drowsily as he staggered sideways, grabbing desperately for the pine table. His fingers just missed the table edge, and then his knees gave way and he was falling, Maggie’s terrified face the last thing he was to see in this life.
Hector was still conscious when Henry came running in. Hector heard them whispering but couldn’t find the strength to move. His head tolled like a church bell, and his limbs felt as thick and heavy as an iron cannon. He tried to move his tongue, but it seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth, and although his eyes were partially open, he couldn’t see anything but murky shadows swirling above him.
“Oh, Lord Jesus, you’ve bashed his head in,” Henry whispered, looking down in horror. “There’s so much blood.”
“Henry, pull yourself together,” Maggie ordered, sounding like a general going into battle. “And get the shovel.”
“What for?”
“We’ll bury him in the woods behind the house.”
“And what are we to tell the master?” Henry demanded.
“We’ll tell him Mr. Radcliffe has gone. Took himself off. The master will never question it. Let’s strip him naked and bury the bastard, and then we’ll get rid of his possessions and sell his horse. No one will be the wiser, and he owes me for the distress he’s caused.”
“I do love you, Maggie,” Henry said affectionately. “You are a rare woman.”
“And you’re an exceptionally strong man. Now, get his sorry carcass out of here and start digging. I’ll clean up the blood.”
Maggie began to say something else, but Hector didn’t hear her. Jocelyn’s face floated before him, her clear blue eyes looking at him with the purest of love.
“Come, Hector,” she said. “I’m waiting for you, my love.” And he went.
The End
Please turn the page for an excerpt from The House on the Hill: A Ghost Story
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Excerpt from The House on the Hill
Prologue
If walls could talk, what a story they’d tell—a story of love, betrayal, and murder, the woman thinks as she stands at