Page 8 of Cursed Lifeline

Women.

He's found other women to provide for his needs.

Older women whose husbands have died or whose loveless marriages have allowed him to meet their needs, and his, for a very enticing price paid in full whenever their late-night rendezvous bring them together.

Alfred's eyes lock on the brunettes across the room, and he lewdly growls, "Now, if you'll excuse me,petit."

He struts off in the woman's direction, and I shake my head. To the naked eye or the passerby, most would think Alfred is conceited. A player. A womanizer. But there are so many more layers to him that most never get the chance to witness.

For starters, it's rumored his mother abused him after my father shunned her following their affair. For two, when he was dropped off on my father's doorstep, my father eventually agreed to pay for his silence but has repeatedly let him know over the years just how unworthy and useless he thinks his life is.

And that's only the beginning of the mystery which is Alfred Crawley. Once he opens up, you notice his persona is all a front. You see just how fragile he is, and you understand just how deep his past wounds have cut him.

As Alfred stalks off towards a better night than the one that awaits me, it pains me to admit it, but he's right. I need to focus. That includes concentrating on a lot more than the obvious impending disaster of an arranged marriage. It means attempting to wrap my brain around a future I sense is suddenly unfolding. One that my soul warns could ruin me before I'll ever get the chance to reach out and grasp what I want from it.

Lord Laurent's stalking eyes find mine as I down the rest of my champagne. A few feet in front of me, Alfred bows at the waist, tenderly picks up the brunette's tiny palm, and kisses it with the grace of a nobleman. Something he swears he's not. Though, truth be told, he's more dignified than most of the gentlemen I've had the displeasure of sharing company with.

A jealous tug pulls at my heart as the lady blushes and Alfred steps into her, and whispers a slew of sweet nothings into her ear. Another begrudging pull on my lonely soul steals my next breath. Another wave of sadness consumes me.

If my father has his way, I can only look forward to a quick marriage to an old geezer who will never satisfy the longing my mortal spirit craves. Inside me, a hopeful, burning desire lives and longs to be fulfilled by a man who effortlessly holds the other half of my soul tenderly in his intuitive palm. At night, I dare to dream I'll someday find the electric spark I hunger for in another, and it will offer an exhilarating strength that will prove powerful enough to tie us together, not just in life, but in death.

A love like that could never come at the hands of someone like Lord Laurent.

Laurent steps closer as Alfred discreetly slides his arm around the woman's waist. Flustered and nervous, she casts a worried look over her shoulder, most likely searching for her husband whom she arrived with earlier this evening. When she doesn't notice him, or anyone else who would run off and spill her secrets, she leans into Alfred and lets him guide her onto the dance floor.

He holds her the way every woman dreams of being held.

Tenderly. Possessively. His touch toes the line of respect and an insatiable lust to explore forbidden places on her body in ways she's never been touched before. His hold is sensual without being provocative. It's smooth. Intentional.

It makes me yearn to be held the same.

Alfred's charismatic appeal is definitely not something he inherited from our father, but instead must be a special bestowal from his mother.

Though I don't know much about Alfred's maternal birthright, I do know some of my own mother's before she passed.

Mother came from a long line of French clergy. Up until recently, the clergy in France had more land and money than anyone else. Land my father inherited upon marrying my mother, the esteemed Lady Dupont. Land he's lost, along with the money that was left to him from my mother's passing. Hence my promised hand in marriage to an older, extremely wealthy gentleman that could save not only the family estate but also the Martin name.

A man almost three times my age, whose youngest daughter is older than I am. A man that will undoubtedly ruin my idea of romance, love, and sex. Though, I'm sure, not in that order.

The thought of sex with the unsightly patriarch makes my stomach threaten to upturn as Alfred guides the brunette off the dance floor and into a darkened corner. My gaze once again lands on the peering eyes of Lord Laurent. I inhale a sharp, slightly nervous breath as he starts to move my way quicker than before. Stalking off, I try my best to keep hidden in the crowd as I search for more champagne.

Veering right when I come to the grand entryway of our estate, I notice my father down a dim hallway huddled in conversation with some landowners from the far east of our country. Some faces are ones I recognize from the nobility in Italy, Austria, Greece, and Romania. The way they whisper amongst themselves makes me pause and step back into the shadows. As I covertly study them, their conversation continues to escalate. One man shouts viciously, and another yells back violently, but from my distance, I can't make out what they're saying. My father looks tensely over his shoulder and ushers them all into the privacy of his nearby study. A shiver rushes up my spine as the doors eerily close on their hinges, quickly locking the men away from the party.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. A sweeping sickness coats my flesh. My heart slows. My breathing stops. A headache threatens as a lonely black feather flutters cryptically to rest atop the curve of my right, heaving breast.

Plucking it up quickly, I study it suspiciously. Again, the overpowering knowledge that I'm being watched grows as my breathing quickens and my stalker's curiosity ghosts across my skin in an intoxicating way. Pulling me closer, drawing me in, a perplexing, tender touch dreamily runs its ghostly fingers through my thoughts as if my mind's being read by a gentle beast whose deviant plans are changing with every skillful caress.

Before I can stop the assault, or worse, give in to the magnetic pull, a loud chorus of yells and laughter breaks through the gripping sorcery and draws my attention across the entryway. Stepping towards it, I attempt to shake off the feelings still riveting me from a moment ago as my heels clip quickly across the marble floor.

I follow the crowd's deafening sound into the parlor as the black raven feather slips through my fingertips. My eyes take in a welcoming distraction as several men sit around a large round table playing cards. Their women stand excitedly behind them, cheering them on, drinking, gossiping, and whispering cheating secrets into their ears when they catch a glimpse of their opponent's cards. Leaning against the doorframe, I smile and try to forget the night's burdens.

Alfred taught me how to play cards to hone my skill of reading others' minds. A game may be what I need to take my thoughts off Lord Laurent and whatever or whoever is hunting me tonight.

"Do you plan to watch, or do you enjoy playing the game, too, mon cheri?" a gentleman says as he steps up behind me.

His voice is like sinful velvet floating hypnotically into my soul. The way he endears me to him, calls me mon cheri,my dear, is edged with a carnal lust I've never heard fall from a man's lips before. His voice entices me, draws me closer, and has me hanging on a salacious edge, desperate to hear another word fall from his forbidden, tempting, addictive lips.

When I don't answer, he growls, "Or, perhaps you prefer a challenge."

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