Night of the Watchman

Night of the Watchman

By Marva Dale

Copyright 2017 Marva Dale for Smashwords

Chapter 1

Grace o’ My Heart.

He called her Grace because she reflected such a beautiful state of grace. He loved her pliancy and that soft, angelic look of her face as he framed her in the delicate Irish lace of the pillow case. But he also loved her strength, her will and her unbridled passion. She could wear the mantilla of a Madonna and still seethe inside like a pagan goddess of her ancestors. And rouse him deeply.

Now as he lifted and stretched his body over hers, she slid under him like silk, her mouth warm and generous, her skin smooth and fragrant. Her absolute involvement with him—with them—became holy and washed away the sins of the day, leaving pleasure and lust behind for their enjoyment.

He loved to watch her eyes, how their color could change in a fraction of light, the gold of autumn leaves, the of the wheat fields, and the richest hue of brandy. She managed to stay with him and match his gaze, even as her slim body trembled beneath him. He could do that to her with each stroke of his hands and then listen to her purr softly in the aftermath.

He consumed her mouth, her throat, and the slender curve of her neck, and all the while she offered up a Gaelic prayer, or perhaps a plea or curse. He didn’t know or care. His fingers dug into her, a bruising testament to his quick loss of control. When she offered, he feasted on her breasts like a stClydeg man, her flesh like fine ripe plums.

In a lightning turn, she demanded and took, dragging him to the heady brink of despair and leaving him tortured, wanting more yet needing release. Then she opened to him and wrapped her limbs, so supple and sweet, around his neck, his waist.

Then he was inside her where nothing else mattered, nothing but to yield to her demands and let it consume them both. Deeper he sank, losing himself as only he could do with her, until a joy so lush and unrepentant swept them both over the top.

It was his turn now to offer a moan of thanks to the ancient gods that made her for him. He wept too, and she folded him completely in a love so real that it shattered him completely.

Oh my Grace, Grace of my heart…

Chapter 2

London

Mrs. Kentley!

The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, a high-pitched, sing-song voice that called her name, an eerie voice that chilled her to the bone.

"Mrs. Kent-ley!"

Sera Kentley couldn’t see through the fog to place a person with the voice. He or she seemed to be a few feet away on her right, and then on her left. Or perhaps behind her... In a heavy London fog like this it was hard to distinguish anything, sights, sounds, directions. Although she had heard the person’s footsteps only moments ago on the winding park sidewalk, a decisive clink-clink-clink...and then silence.

"Mrs. Kent –ley! Or should I call you Sera? I can almost reach out and touch you, Sera."

Her whole body energized with fear, Sera began to run even though visibility remained scant. She knew the path through Twickham Square would take her to the other side of the park, to a street with traffic and then to the safety of her flat.

Why had she decided to walk home tonight? Because it’s only a block away, she reasoned. It was silly to take a taxi when it would be faster to walk across the square, a direct route...even in the fog.

"Mrs. Kent—ley!"

Sera slowed and then paused for a moment, her heart pounding against her chest. The nipples of her breasts had become fully erect and now scraped against her strapless bra, their points like icy needles beneath the bodice of her silk dress.

Silly to run...face your fear! Who...who are you? She turned and tried to peer through the cloying mist in one direction and then the other. Who are you?

It doesn’t matter, Mrs. Kentley, the falsetto voice told her from somewhere near the statue of Lewis Carroll, the author of The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland. You won’t live long enough to find out. You see, I’m going to kill you very soon, Mrs. Kentley, very soon.

Fear turned to terror, clogged her throat and restricted her breathing until Sera gasped for air. But she had to run again, faster this time even in her stiletto heels. Why had she worn them this evening to Ted and Amanda Greeley’s wine and cheese party? Because they were her favorite shoes, of ebony satin with crystal rhinestone trim. They went with most of her fall and winter evening clothes. Maybe if she took them off...although she doubted it would help much to run in her stocking feet. For a moment she wondered what had happened to the policeman, the bobby, who regularly checked the park. Where could he be? No doubt warm and cozy and sipping tea at his precinct house in order to stay out of the fog...

I’ll be seeing you, Mrs. Kentley. The voice seemed nearer now as if it had a life of its own to reach out and touch her. As it came closer, she realized the voice had a tinny, electronic quality about it, although Sera couldn’t fathom its origin or if it belonged to a real person.

Now she ran blindly, stumbling twice. Then she remembered that terror often disoriented a person, and in her case it seemed all too true. Sera felt as if she existed in a maze with no beginning and no ending. But just ahead, she made out the traffic lights on Dorrance Street, turning from the yellow of caution to red for stop. Sera aimed for that marvelous beacon of hope, to the sidewalk on the other side of the square. In her haste and unaware of any obstacles, she tripped over an uneven patch of pavement and fell to her knees.

"Be careful, Mrs. Kentley, the voice cautioned in its sing-song cadence somewhere behind her. We wouldn’t want you hurt, not when we have an appointment very soon."

Although pain shot up her loins and through her torso, Sera gritted her teeth and forced herself to get back up and move again. Her cashmere wrap and her evening bag with its slim strap across her shoulder seemed to be weighing her down, but she couldn’t let them go. Besides her knees, her right ankle hurt. She had probably twisted it when she fell. But Sera willed the pain to go away, refused to worry about her injuries until she found civilization and the safety it provided once more. As she started off again, she felt the heel of her right shoe begin to wobble, ready to come off. Great!

She heard traffic now, right in front of her, and made out lights through the fog, lights from the town houses up ahead... from her own home where Alex waited for her by the warmth of the fire, a brandy in his hand! Alex... She should have called him on her iPhone as soon as she heard the voice in the fog, but shock had taken hold too quickly for rational thought.

On the sidewalk of Dorrance Street, Sera picked up her pace until her heel snapped off completely. Not bothering to stop and retrieve it, she hobbled the rest of the way. At the corner she crossed against the light, heedless of oncoming vehicles. Thankfully, the traffic had been light this evening. Who wants to take the chance of driving when you can’t see two feet in front of you?

Her building, the Coleridge House, seemed like heaven to her. Once inside, she kicked off her ruined shoes and ran through the lobby with its rich English wainscoting and Florentine marble floors. But Sera wouldn’t stop until she opened the grille-work gate that served as the lift door and stepped inside the elevator cab, her finger barely able to press the button for the third floor. Like the rest of her, it shook uncontrollably. At least the lift cage had a security light, bright enough to make her feel a bit safer, although the lift often stalled like it did now. Come on! She pressed the button harder and more urgently, not sure she could walk up the three flights to her flat. Any other time she could manage the stairs, but not tonight... Finally, the elevator gave a stubborn jerk, let out a groan, and then started upward.

Sera glanced down at her knees. Both had been scraped in the fall, her left bleeding slightly, her expensive stockings ripped beyond repair. But what did a pair of stockings matter when her life had just been threatened?

Managing to retrieve her cell phone, she hit the number-two button, a shortcut to their flat’s landline telephone. Alex answered on the third ring, his tone light and playful. Hello, darling, on your way home? Not too tipsy, I hope? I know Ted and Amanda’s wine parties, more wine than party.

No, Alex...I, I— Sera choked on her words, ready to burst into tears.

Her husband immediately detected the fear in her voice. Sera, what is it? What’s the matter?

Alex, I’m on my way up the lift. Please come and get me.

Of course, Sera, right away!

He stood with feet planted firmly in front of the elevator door as he waited for her arrival. When she alighted from the cage, Sera ran into his arms, grateful for his strong presence.

Sera, love, you’re trembling all over. As Alex smoothed back her disheveled hair, he tipped her face so he could take a good look at her. "Oh, my darling, I can see that you’re frightened to death! What happened?

She noted the creases of concern along his handsome face, and the clouds of anxiety that formed across his otherwise clear blue eyes. Please, Alex, let’s go inside. I’ll tell you then.

Of course. Placing a protective arm around her, he walked Sera to their flat.

Once inside he guided her to the nearest wingback chair by the fireplace and then fetched her a snifter of brandy. After a sip, Sera finally stopped shaking. She allowed her mind to work again and piece together what happened in the park. But the tears came before she told her husband the whole story, or even tried to describe that horrible sing-song voice.

Sitting next to her on the arm of the chair, Alex insisted that she take a larger drink of the brandy. The alcohol burned down her throat and coated the rest of her in calming warmth. Sera felt a bit better as she dabbed her eye with his linen handkerchief, still fragrant with his aftershave. Alex could afford designer colognes, but he always preferred English Leather to any other. It had become his signature scent, and Sera loved to smell it on his person, on his shirts, and along the linen sheets and pillowcases of the bed they shared.

Besides the brandy and the handkerchief, Alex offered disinfectant, warm water and a wash cloth. He peeled away her stockings, and didn’t ask what happened to her shoes as he gently cleansed her scraped knees. After that, he coaxed her into taking a hot soak in the tub with lavender bath salts and scented candles, all meant to aid in her relaxation. He even made her a cup of herbal tea. Then and only then could she tell him the story of what happened in the park.

Dear, sweet, wonderful Alex.... Sera wondered how she ever lived without him, the man of her ultimate dreams and desires.

Chapter 3

5 months earlier

Monte Carlo, Monaco

Alexander Guy Kentley.

Sera remembered seeing his name on the list of drivers who had raced in the Monte Carlo Grand Prix, but like the race, his name hadn’t garnered any more than a mere notice. Not until the night her Aunt Melinda invited Alexander Alex Kentley to join them for dinner at the posh Le Royaume D’Or Bistro and Casino. When Alex entered the room all eyes turned his way. For the men it came as a look of appreciation for his tanned, fit form and the way he wore his tux like a true debonair gentleman. For the women it turned to a collective gaze of lust over his stunning attractiveness, the regal face and aquiline nose, sultry hazel eyes, and a sensuous mouth. Alex wore his amber brown hair combed back and styled in loose waves that brushed the back of his shirt collar, while the swagger of his walk hinted at his determination to succeed and his ability to seduce.

Sera’s Aunt Melinda Shiraz had rented a villa in Monte Carlo for the spring season, and had met Alex Kentley at a preview party for the Grand Prix. Sera herself had just arrived from the states, on her spring break from Princeton University. She hadn’t wanted to come at first, but Aunt Mel, as everyone called her, had insisted that her niece take a decent break away from her studies in order to have some fun, to shop, to gamble, to drink and dance the night away at the discotheques, not to mention lie on the beach and swim with or without a bathing suit. Sera had no real interest in shopping, gambling, dancing, drinking, beach frolicking, or nude swimming, but she allowed her aunt to persuade her to make the 7,000-mile journey.

She didn’t know it then, but the trip would change her life and include a dashing Englishman to boot. With Alex Kentley, Sera knew she represented just another face in the crowd of admiring women, Alex used to such common place adoration and flirtations. But she had been the first to tell him no when he asked her to join him for a midnight champagne supper at his hotel suite. Sera, Aunt Mel, Alex Kentley, and several other members of their group had spent the evening after dinner at the casino playing craps and roulette. Her aunt managed to gamble away 8,000 euros, or about 10,000 American dollars. But to Aunt Mel, the loss represented mere pocket change.

Melinda Gilmore had married a wealthy Mexican businessman named Ernesto Shiraz. She enjoyed her marriage to the stout and good-natured Ernesto who cherished just three things in life: his vivacious wife, a decent brandy and a box of Cuban cigars. To Ernesto, money was meant to be spent either lavishly or not at all. Preferring the latter, he generously padded a Swiss bank account and invested wisely. The Shirazes lived in an elegant villa near Colima that overlooked the Pacific Ocean, yet their lifestyle had been considered modest by multi-millionaire standards. Ernesto employed only a handful of household staff and he enjoyed doing his own gardening. But after his untimely death from a heart attack, Mel went the lavish route and enjoyed spending her late husband’s money Ad Infinitum. After all, Ernesto had wanted to make sure his beloved wife wanted for nothing, and Mel wanted nothing more than to live the good life.

Sera’s own family owned patents for several environmental quality control systems. Pennsylvania-based Gilmore Environmental Systems Group generated sales of over five billion last year, allowing the Gilmores—Ross and Hillary—to fund their only child’s education at prestigious Princeton University. Sera had been born Sierra Brooke, but from little on she had been known as Sera. At Princeton, she majored in International Relations and Marketing, her career goal focused on diplomatic services. Both her mother and father’s rise in the business world and their subsequent wealth still made Sera feel uncomfortable, and she always deflected questions about her family’s source of income and their connections to politicians and important government figures in the U.S. and abroad.

She certainly did not consider herself a society debutante or an heiress of any kind; and of course, she remained careful of the men she dated. If they seemed too interested in her family’s background and financial status she cut them loose without a backward glance.

Sera had no allusions about her looks, even at the tender age of twenty. She was certainly no tall, willowy model or fabulous beauty. She possessed a rather ordinary figure, an American size 5, with the requisite curves, still young enough not to be overly concerned about maintaining her weight, although she swam three times a week at the university pool. She even took up boxing at the gym, her sparring partners usually sawdust-stuffed pommel bags, the sport more for self defense than to keep in shape.

Sera considered her breasts of normal size, not too small and not too unwieldy and pendulous like some of the women in her and her mother’s social circles who spent thousands of dollars on breast enhancements that made them look ridiculously top heavy.

Sera simply preferred her God-given assets. And that included an oval face, full cheeks, an upturned nose, and clear blue eyes with a touch of emerald when the light shone just right. She thought her best asset her mid-length hair, glossy and luxuriant, the color of clover honey. She could wear her hair up or down, straight or curled, dependent on her mood and circumstances, down and flipped under for days, up and twisted in a French knot with tendril curls for special evenings out.

In the beginning, Sera enjoyed Alex Kentley’s attentions and his interest in her for her alone, but she knew it was merely a passing fancy for him. For her it would always be a holiday romance, a Riviera fantasy drenched in warm, sunny Mediterranean days, and exotic, candlelit nights of wine and roses.

After her first rebuff, Alex seemed to make it his mission to win her favor. His next attempt to take her nightclubbing resulted in another negative response; but Sera finally acquiesced to his offer of a scenic drive and a picnic amongst Roman temple ruins.

He drove a Lamborghini when he raced, but his own personal choice remained a Maserati, a convertible of shiny cherry-red and blonde leather upholstery. As a professional driver, he took the often-treacherous, winding roads and hairpin curves around Monte Carlo with ease. Although during the drive to their picnic outing, Sera remained rooted to her seat despite his skill and dexterity. Thankfully, her face and her anxiety remained hidden behind her wind-swept hair. She probably should have worn a scarf but the day was so warm and sunny that she relished the sunshine on her head and bare arms. It had taken Sera almost all morning to decide what to wear, and in the end she chose a sundress with a white and yellow daisy pattern, cream canvas espadrilles, and a pearl bracelet and earrings. When Alex came to pick her up at eleven, he immediately commented on her attire, how pretty and sunny she looked, his eyes taking on a glint of appreciation. At that moment she could have jumped into his arms.

Sera had to admit that he had a way of melting her reserves with a look, a laugh, or a word or two. Alex possessed a strong, clear voice, his British accent so charming that if he revealed his intentions to run them off the road and kill them, it would still sound eloquent to Sera’s ears.

Relax, darling Sera, he told her as they drove along, his smile warm and genuine. I plan to take care of you for a long, long time.

Perhaps, at that moment, she fell in love with Alex Kentley before she really knew anything about him. Oh, she was well aware of his player tendencies, a man who took too many chances with his money and his life, that love to him meant dalliances of the physical kind and not of the heart. And yet his negative qualities seemed to make him all the more exciting and alluring to her.

Alex told her that his father, Sir Wilfred Kentley, had just retired from Atlantic Union Trust, Ltd. as president and chairman of the board. In an unprecedented move, the elder Kentley named his son as successor to the banking concern. That meant Alex would be going back to London very soon to assume his business career...and Sera would be going back to Princeton in order to complete her senior year and graduate in two months. End of the romance, end of story.

When Alex found the spot on a hill rise he wanted for their picnic, he eased the Maserati off a side road and under a myrtle tree for shade. To their left stood three ancient Corinthian pillars that surrounded a partial granite platform. A temple for Diana, the goddess of the hunt, he explained while coming around to open Sera’s door. When he offered to help her out of the car, she found his chivalry quite appealing, his hand as it grasped hers soft and warm. He guided her to the top of the hill to