Sommersgate House (Ghosts and Reincarnation #2)(114)
Author: Kristen Ashley

Second, another paperweight, this one bigger than the last, flew with alarming accuracy at Douglas’s assailant, knocking him with a sickening thump on his head and succeeding in dropping him like a stone three feet away from Douglas.

Julia stood behind the couch heaving angry breaths and smartly yanking up the neckline of her strapless dress. Douglas stood amongst the carnage, one man unconscious at his feet, the other writhing in (now whimpering) agony.

The battle against the Russians won, Sommersgate still had a battle of its own.

“Are you all right?” Douglas asked Julia.

“You took your own damned time coming home!” she accused hotly.

He guessed, by that response, she was all right.

“Jesus, Doug. You made a mess. I’m always telling you, not the kneecaps. Christ, the man will never walk again.”

Nick was in the room, staggering a bit, a huge lump had formed on his temple and the bruising had already begun.

“Oh Nick, your head.” Julia started to rush forward in concern. “We need to get you some ice.”

“You’re bloody well not nursemaiding me. I know from experience you aren’t very good at it.”

“Well!” Julia halted with a skid halfway to her friend, clearly affronted.

“Girl,” Nick returned, his voice low with anger, “next time I come tearing into this house and tell you to run, you… better… damned… well… run!”

“Will someone tell me what in the hell is going on?” Roddy Kilpatrick shouted from his position by the doors, a position from which he had not moved, his shotgun still pointed at the ceiling, his hair dusted white with plaster.

Coming up behind him on a wheeze was Margaret Kilpatrick.

“My goodness!” she panted. “Is there an earthquake?”

Roddy whirled. “Woman! I told you to stay with the children!” he yelled, his face going perilously red.

“Ronnie’s with them, they’re all fine!” she yelled right back, an angry flush forming on her own cheeks.

Douglas rolled his eyes to the ceiling in a brief prayer for patience at the utter bedlam in his house and saw the chandeliers lurch precariously.

“Julia, get over here,” he demanded because if the house was going to fall on their heads, it was damned well going to do it when she was in his arms.

She didn’t hesitate. Delicately stepping over bodies in her lovely shoes with her red toenails peeking out of a small, charming indentation in the toe, she muttered, “Should we do something about him?” She indicated the writhing Russian with a low wave of her hand.

“He’ll survive,” Douglas grunted.

She’d come within reach and he reached for her, yanked her forward, her body slamming against his.

“Are you all right?” he repeated his earlier question.

“Yes, fine,” she answered distractedly, still looking down at the man. Then her eyes fluttered to his. “I knew you’d be home any minute so I just waited. You were late, though. That was a bit unfortunate. You’ve been hit.”

Her eyes were now on his bleeding arm but he noted that she was completely calm, as if the house wasn’t at that very moment shirking off a century old curse, as if bodies didn’t litter the hall and drawing room of their home, as if she hurled deadly projectiles at villains every day.

He felt it tear through him. Feelings, emotions, love, desire, happiness, safety, beauty, laughter, everything that was Julia, it ripped through him with a stunning force and nearly brought him to his knees.

Or, more to the point, it mended him, taking the jagged, long-unused shards of his heart and rending them together, complete, functioning and healthy, the scars simply fading away.

He had not needed to put her back together.

He had needed her to do it for him.

His arms stole around her and he buried his face in her neck.

“God, I love you.” His voice was hoarse with feeling, trembling with it and he felt a shudder go through her.

“I’m so glad,” she whispered, her head turned so her lips were at his ear. “I didn’t want to spend my life not telling you how I feel. I love you, Douglas.” Then she tilted her head back, her throat arching and he lifted his head to watch in amazement as she shouted proudly, “Love you, love you, love you. I love Douglas Ashton!”

He would have kissed her but instead, the instant she finished her declaration, the night was pierced by a blood-chilling scream.

The house stilled completely and everyone in the room froze for a moment then scattered, running out to the grand stairwell.

Douglas halted at what he saw. He’d dragged Julia with him, grabbing her hand as he left the drawing room. She slammed into his back then wrapped her arms around his waist, peeking around him and they both, with Nick and the Kilpatricks, witnessed something hideous and momentous.

Douglas could not believe his eyes.

The ghostly vision of a woman was struggling at the foot of the stairs with an unseen attacker who was clearly choking the life out of her.

It was a death struggle.

And she was losing.

A raging howl came from behind them and they all shifted as one and if anyone had seen them, they would have noted it as almost comical.

But it was anything but funny.

Through the French doors they could see the ghost of a man, also fighting against an unseen attacker (or, to Douglas’s way of thinking, more than one considering the bulk of his body, his obvious strength and the desperate nature of his struggle).

The howl he emitted had been fierce, shaking the windows.

And then a blaze of fire shot out of the grate by the leather couches but they all missed it as the ghost man tore away from his attackers and charged forward, up to and through the glass, finding himself for the first time in over a century in the glorious and grand home he built as a proud display of love for his adored wife.

He did not hesitate in triumph at his entry but rushed forward, throwing off her attacker and catching her body, swinging her around as she coughed, spluttered and weakly lifted her hands to hold onto his shoulders.

“Ruby.” His mouth moved but the aching sound didn’t come from there, it came from everywhere, the walls, the floors, the furniture, the carpets.

It came from Sommersgate.

“Archie.” Was her reply, the yearning in the sound was like a caress and it, too, filled the air like oxygen.

“Oh my God,” Mrs. K breathed and Douglas felt a strange sensation behind him, realising that Julia was holding onto him tightly, her arms wrapped around his waist, her body pressed against his and hers was rent with silent sobs.