Her gaze pulled to him again. That pull. The same one she felt when they first met a week ago. Just a week. She ran a hand over her face. Oh God, one week, was she moving too fast? No, you know what, for once she was going to trust herself. Trust her instincts. Trust Theodore. She smiled. His pale cheeks had rosy apples, like someone had dipped their finger in blush and painted them. It was like he had more life in him the longer she’d been here. She could credit him with the same. Making sure not to disturb him, she rolled over and went on her phone. She needed to share her happiness with Camilla. It felt so fucking weird to not share every step of their romance with her. She hovered over the photo she’d just taken, biting her lip. She decided that it was too personal even to share with Camilla. No matter, she’d taken a sneaky picture of him earlier in the week, hard at work, curls spilling over his face. He’d grinned afterwards, looking up and asking what she was doing, and she’d got that picture, too. This was one slightly blurry for some reason, like he was fuzzy around the edges.
Oh well, it was still perfect to her.
She attached it to a text message.
Here he is in all his glory. Theodore. Jealous yet? You should be after the night we’ve had ... but seriously, C, and I know it sounds crazy, but I think I’m falling for him xx
And she was. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had made her feel safe, made her laugh, surprised her like he had with the library, and then there’s the way he kissed her, the way he made love to her ... the look in his eyes, like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.
Julia sent the text, put her phone back on the side table and tucked in, ready to try and sleep. It would be pretty much impossible with what Theodore had done to her, to her body. She should have been tired, but all she could think about was him, and the fizzle of excitement wrapping around her heart, the organ beating it into her blood with everythump,thump,thump.
Her phone buzzed.
Camilla.
With a small smile on her face, she reached for it and opened the message and read it.
Then again.
And again.
I’m only not calling you in case you’re with him. Get out, Julia. Get out of the house. That murder I was telling you about—he’s the victim. He was murdered 100 years ago. I don’t know how this is possible, but please believe me. Get out.
There was an article attached to her message.
Her mouth was dry. She lost the ability to swallow, pins and needles worming their way around her extremities.
He was murdered 100 years ago.
Chapter Seven
No. No, no, no. Thiscouldn’t be possible, could it? She needed to get out. She didn’t know where, or how, but she managed to extract herself from the sheets without waking him, padding down the stairs in only her nightdress, until she made it into the kitchen. The cold instantly seeped into her bones, wracking shivers through her body, but she didn’t care. It was like her body was on autopilot; she padded around the kitchen, putting the kettle on, going through the motions of making tea.
The ridiculous thought eddied through her head:Hey, maybe I’m an honorary Brit now, I’m in shock and making tea, isn’t that what they do?
Once she made the tea, she watched the steam rise in elegant shapes before blowing on it and taking a sip, letting the bitter notes wash over her tongue. Then she opened up the article again.
