Time After Time (20 page)

‘Yes. We’re closer than most brothers.’ He stepped lightly towards her, and his arm brushed against hers. Instinctively, Penelope recoiled from the chill of him. ‘He says you paint?’

‘Yes.’

Sebastian sighed. ‘He says you’re very talented.’

‘He’s very kind.’ She hastened her pace, but he easily kept up.

‘Perhaps you could show me some of your work,’ he continued, ignoring her rudeness.

Penelope thought about taking Sebastian up to the small attic room. About being alone with him there, away from the world below, the only escape a narrow ladder. It didn’t seem like a very good idea at all. ‘Maybe.’

‘I could sit for you,’ he offered, ‘if you’d like to improve your portrait skills.’

Stopping dead in her tracks, Penelope turned to look at him, her heart thumping wildly. ‘How do you know my portraits need work?’ She hadn’t mentioned it to him; the only person who’d even seen her feeble attempts in recent months was Heath.

Sebastian leaned forward so closely that Penelope froze, frightened that if she exhaled she would touch him. She was terrified of what that would mean. Did she want to touch him? Is that why her fingers trembled? Is that why she hid them within the folds of her gown? To keep from reaching out and touching his marble perfection?

‘Heath told me,’ he said lightly. ‘He said you had drawn
him
, but that you weren’t confident in your skills. Perhaps you would like to draw
me
?’

The whisper of his breath brushed against her forehead and Penelope quivered. Swallowing hard, she marvelled at the difference between the two brothers. One was so warm, and the other was so cold, and yet to both of them she felt pulled as if by a strong magnet. As if she was completely and utterly helpless before them.

No. Not entirely helpless. She could not forget who she was or how her father had raised her.

Dragging herself from him, she continued to walk. ‘No. Thank you for your offer, but I’m perfectly happy painting landscapes.’

He chuckled beside her. ‘Perhaps you’ve already drawn me?’

‘How could I have drawn you? I only met you today.’

‘Perhaps you think you’ve seen me before? Perhaps I’m familiar? Perhaps you’ve dreamed of me?’

Penelope swallowed hard. ‘
Have
I seen you before?’

‘I think so,’ he said easily.

‘Maybe I have seen you before, but you have one of those faces that are easy to forget.’ It wasn’t true, and Penelope couldn’t remember the last time she’d said anything so rude. Perhaps never? But she possessed a desperate need to hurt him, to make him dislike her and leave her alone. To make him not stand so close, not breathe on her neck, or not watch her closely with those cold, hard eyes.

‘You wound me, Penelope,’ he said, but he laughed a little, as if her words amused and not wounded him at all. ‘I know that if I’d had the pleasure of seeing you before, then I would never forget such a beautiful face.’

Penelope spied the parsonage up ahead and quickened her pace. Her father would be home, as would the servants. She would no longer be alone with Sebastian, a thought which gave her comfort.

‘In fact, your face is so beautiful, I wish I’d seen it first and staked my claim on you before Heath.’

‘You do me an injustice, sir, saying words you don’t mean.’

‘Oh, but I do mean them. I mean them very much indeed.’

Penelope’s heart thundered in her chest and her body trembled, hot and itchy. ‘You’re forgetting that I’m engaged to your brother.’ Not much farther and she would be inside the parsonage with the door firmly shut behind her.

‘Engaged, my dear. Not married.’

‘You said yourself that you and he are close,’ her voice wavered slightly, and she hoped her fear didn’t show. She had a sense that Sebastian would enjoy her terror.

‘Not close enough that we would share the same girl,’ he growled, his voice low and angry.

Penelope whirled on him and managed a tight smile. ‘Thank you for walking me home, Mr Lockwood.’

He stepped closer, the coldness from him creeping beneath Penelope’s clothes and making her skin tingle, but she held her ground, her chin high as she met his brilliant silver grey eyes. ‘The pleasure is all mine,’ he said. ‘I do look forward to renewing our acquaintance some more.’

He leaned forward like he was about to kiss her, but Penelope recoiled, turning her face from his and staring into the distance. Still, she didn’t step away.

He laughed, his voice low and threatening. ‘Don’t hate me, Penelope. That’s not a good start to our relationship. Not this time.’

Then he turned on his heels and walked away, leaving her trembling, afraid and confused on the grounds of the parsonage. She didn’t move but stood rigid, watching him stride up towards the Manor. It was only when he reached the top of the hill, standing on the horizon with the orange sky behind him, that he turned and looked at her again.

Even with the distance between them, Penelope could see the menace glistening in his eyes and felt it reach inside her, touching her very core, and promise her something she wasn’t quite sure she wanted.

Present day

Marcus arrived just before eight to pick me up from work. Seating himself at a nearby desk, he pretended to read, but he didn’t fool anyone with the sly smiles he threw my way, least of all Simone.

‘Boyfriend?’ she asked me wryly. ‘He doesn’t look like your type.’

‘He’s my next-door neighbour,’ I told her.

‘I think he thinks he’s more than that,’ Simone observed. ‘I thought you didn’t like any of the boys around here?’

‘I can change my mind, can’t I?’ I replied, wandering over to Marcus. ‘Hey, listen, I have to work a little later to make up for being late.’

‘I’ll wait.’

‘Really?’ I asked, surprised. ‘I should be only about fifteen minutes.’

‘No worries.’

I don’t think I hid my delight at his words very well as I went to finish behind the counter.

‘Are these your books, Abbie?’ asked Simone, gesturing to a pile of books I had checked out. They were old books on reincarnation. I knew I could find tons of information on the internet, but I wanted to read older and more radical theories. A trip to the state library was high on my to-do list as well; it was bound to have much more information on the subject.

‘Yeah, um, sociology assignment,’ I muttered by way of explanation. Bundling them into my school bag, I hid them under
Jane Eyre
, ignoring the curious look Simone shot me. ‘See you later.’

‘So, where do you want to go?’ Marcus asked as we climbed into his car.

I snuggled down in the seat, enjoying the scent of Marcus, which filled the small space. ‘I’m easy.’

He grinned. ‘Really? I hadn’t heard that.’

I flushed at the innuendo and wriggled further into my seat.

After a while we turned off the main road and headed towards the back streets where it was darker. There weren’t as many cars or people in this part of town, and the streetlights placed sporadically along the roadside cast an ominous yellow glow on the empty pavements. We came to a halt in front of a run-down bar. It resembled an old-style country pub, complete with a swinging sign that read
The Hare and Hound
.

The inside probably has paisley carpet that stinks of stale cigarette smoke, and a bar lined with old, lonely men with grey beards and false teeth
, I mused.

‘What’s this place?’

Marcus chuckled. ‘I’m the one who’s new in town, remember? You should know all the hot places to hang out.’ Getting out, he came around to open my door—his old-fashioned manners on display again.

‘This doesn’t exactly look like a hot place,’ I said ruefully, accepting his hand and following him in.

I was right about the interior. It
was
badly lit and filled with old men sitting silently along the edge of the bar. The carpet, which was indeed an orange and brown paisley twirl, stank of cigarette smoke, sweat and stale beer. As we entered, the bartender looked up and nodded at Marcus.

‘You know him?’ I asked, surprised. This place was a back street dive and Marcus looked just as out of place here as I did in a pink tutu.

‘Yeah, I’ve been here a few times,’ he said, ushering me into a booth before taking the seat opposite.

‘I thought you were new in town,’ I remarked, remembering again how little I knew about
this
Marcus.

‘I am. My brother likes to hang out here sometimes, and I’m not completely new here. We just moved back.’

‘Really? When were you here before?’

‘Years ago,’ he replied easily and distractedly, not really answering the question. ‘Rem comes here quite often, and I like it too; it reminds me of another time.’

‘It certainly does.’ I cast another look around the pub, at the faded, peeling wallpaper, the old-fashioned portraits and maps lining the walls, the scratched and mismatched tables and chairs. A picture of two hummingbirds, their bills entwined, caught my eye and I shivered.

‘It’s not so bad,’ Marcus shrugged, ‘and it’s quiet. I don’t mind it. It isn’t quite the same as
Hurricanes
, but I thought you might like it.’

‘It’s very different to
Hurricanes
,’ I admitted, ‘but you know what? I do like it. There is something about this place…’ I paused, unsure how to finish.

‘Yeah?’ he prompted, his brown eyes boring into mine.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. I guess since it’s so old and all, it feels familiar. Gran probably took me here when I was little.’

‘You grew up with your gran?’ he asked curiously.

‘Yeah. Gran was pretty much my mother, and Meredith is now my court-appointed guardian until I’m eighteen.’

‘And your parents?’

‘They’re out there somewhere.’ I stopped talking as the bartender approached and placed two beers and a basket of fries in front of us, which I didn’t remember ordering. It didn’t matter though; I was starving and began shoving food in my mouth as I spoke. ‘I’m like an orphan really—except my parents aren’t dead.’

‘And there’s no one else? No brothers or sisters?’

‘Nope. Just me. I think I scared my parents too much when I was little and they were too frightened to have any more children.’ I gave a low, mocking laugh before cursing myself for telling Marcus such things. They were my secrets. Things I should never tell anyone, ever.

‘How?’

I blinked at him. ‘Sorry?’

‘I said, how’d you scare them?’ He leaned across the table and looked right at me, like he was willing me to say something, and all of a sudden I felt a prickle of fear. Like he knew. Like he knew
exactly
who and what I was. ‘You don’t look very scary to me, pixie girl.’

‘I’ve been rambling,’ I said, choking on the words. ‘That’s enough about me and my boring life.’ There was no way I would ever tell anyone about my past lives. That was the surest way to get locked up in a loony bin.

‘I don’t think your lives are boring at all. I think they’re quite fascinating.’

My mouth dropped open. Did he just say
lives
and
they
? He watched me intently, his brown eyes large and serious, and never flickering from my face. His mouth drawn in a thin, straight line. My heart tripped over itself and, glancing around, I realised we were isolated in this corner of the pub. No one paid us any attention at all. There was no one to help.

Which was ridiculous. Why would I need help?

And why was I suddenly so scared?

Is Sebastian here? Is he nearby? Did he follow me from the library?
My mind ran through all the variables. None of them centred on Marcus, who still watched me intently.

But I couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t bring myself to search within them, scared of what I might find or what I might accidently show him. Dropping my French fry, I took a large gulp of beer, which only made me feel worse.

‘You know,’ I said looking at him, my eyes squarely meeting his, ‘I think I should probably get home. I have homework, and it’s pretty late.’ My excuse was lame, and I flushed hotly, sure he could sense my sudden nervousness.

But he did say
lives
.

‘Sure,’ he said, his voice light and breezy, back to his normal, less intense self. ‘I’ll take you back.’

We were silent most of the way home as I struggled to think about the strangeness that had just passed. Marcus taking me to that back street dive, the way he looked at me, the way he said
they
. I kept glancing at him all the way home, but he looked relaxed and like his normal, easygoing self, a lock of his hair falling across one eye. Nothing at all out of the ordinary.

Marcus parked in his yard and walked me across to my house. He paused on the porch, grinning that charming, lopsided grin again. The one that warmed his eyes and made my belly perform tiny cartwheels.
Yes, I can trust Marcus
, I told myself firmly, willing away the seed of doubt. The one that was screaming at me.

‘Can I ask you something?’ he asked for the second time that day.

‘If you’re going to ask if you can kiss me, I’ll scream,’ I warned, and I watched as his face fell. ‘Oh no! Not because I don’t want you to,’ I added quickly, ‘but because I don’t want you to ask me all the time. Every time. Just do it already.’

His mouth fell on mine the moment I stopped talking, shocking me for an instant before slowly relaxing me. His lips were warm and soft, just as I remembered, and he smelled like a mixture of apple shampoo, beer, and salty French fries. I revelled in the feel of his lips before they slanted across my mouth, deepening the kiss. My heart pitched and slid to the bottom of my belly, where it settled as a dull ache. Winding my arms up around his neck, I threaded my fingers through his hair, curling the silky strands around them. His own arms encircled my waist, pulling me against him firmly, lining my body against the length of his. I concentrated on the contrast between his hardness and my softness, where his hips pressed against mine, how he had to bend his knees to kiss me because he was so impossibly tall.

He bit my bottom lip and I shuddered. It was just like I’d wanted to do to him earlier. His warm breath filled my senses. I couldn’t get enough of him; I wanted to pull at him and suck him into me, wanted to push his clothes off and sink down onto the porch with him. My breath came in shallow gasps, and my heart made no sense at all as it struggled to keep up with my tumult of emotions.