Read Online Christmas at Draycott Abbey by Christina Skye - Free Book Online
Authors: Christina Skye
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and banks of desks. No one hailed him or stopped to talk.
Eyes were averted except for the occasional glance at the black band around his arm.
His eyes were hard as he walked to his desk and methodically cleared out its contents. For a job that had spanned nearly a decade, there was precious little to show. He looked at the single Christmas card on his desk and shoved it into the dustbin.
After shoving the pens, notebooks and a single file into his canvas satchel, he stood up and glanced around the room. Silence fell. The man at the closest desk glanced up at him and cleared his throat. “Sorry about the news, Sinclair.”
Ian gave a curt nod. “So was I.”
With the satchel beneath his arm, he walked back into the streaming pre-Christmas traffic. The smell of the sea was heavy here. Strange, he had never noticed before.
When he turned and walked south, he did not look back.
Ravenwood House
Southern England
The house was golden, lit by the last rays of the dying sun. Its peace and age blended with the rolling hills that overlooked the English coast.
Ian turned into the ornate gates of the estate owned by Calan MacKay, feeling muscles tighten at his shoulders. As he walked into the front hall, his friend appeared with the silence that so many people found unnerving.
“Is it done?”
Ian nodded. “Hard to believe. Ten years gone in a matter of minutes. I didn’t have anyone whom I would miss.” He shrugged. “If you offer me some of that fine aged whisky, I won’t turn it down. Not tonight.”
Calan nodded. “The fire is lit in the study. You won’t be disturbed. I’ve left the bottle there for you already.” Calan started to say something else, then took a slow breath. “I think I’ll go take Churchill for a run. We might be gone for quite some time,” he murmured.
Ian barely heard.
He opened the doors to the small room with its walls of inlaid mahogany paneling. Firelight danced over the rich red rugs. Ian barely noticed. He glanced through the empty room and then sank down in the deep armchair near the fire. With a sigh he closed his eyes.
He barely heard the movement. The fingers moved slowly, smoothing the knots at his shoulders. Smooth lips brushed his brow.
Ian felt the last of his tension fade as he gripped her hands and tugged her down into his lap. “I was starting to worry.”
“It’s all done, is it?” Clair Haywood touched his cheek, looking anxious.
“Completely done. I resigned as of three o’clock this afternoon. Your death at Draycott Abbey was the final straw.” He made a low sound as her fingers massaged his neck. “They asked me what I mean to do now. Private security work, I suppose. There’s lots to be had now.”
“But that’s not what you’ll be doing,” Clair said quietly.
“No, it is not. I’ll be working with Nicholas and Izzy, tracking down the rest of these men. Izzy has already found enough to suggest there is a very important man in place, too deeply hidden to be safe. And so, our work is just beginning.” He kissed her hand and then gently opened the sash of her robe. “But not tonight.”
Clair shrugged free of one sleeve and bit his lips gently. She sighed when his callused hand cupped her shoulder and slid to her breast. “Last night, Ian, you didn’t—“
“No, I didn’t. Your shoulder still needs to mend.”
She pressed closer, her face determined. “I’m fine. And I want you to treat me as if I were. I want—everything you have to give me. It is long past time, my love.”
Ian took a raw breath. Yet again she tore through all his defenses. “Clair, you can’t. Not yet.”
Smiling with a look of infinite joy, she turned carefully and straddled him in the chair. “Is that so?” The robe spilled from her sleek body and she reached down to undo his belt. “Idiot. You probably think you need to protect me, even now.”
All the words flew out of Ian’s head when her fingers slid lower, burrowing down to curve over
Eyes were averted except for the occasional glance at the black band around his arm.
His eyes were hard as he walked to his desk and methodically cleared out its contents. For a job that had spanned nearly a decade, there was precious little to show. He looked at the single Christmas card on his desk and shoved it into the dustbin.
After shoving the pens, notebooks and a single file into his canvas satchel, he stood up and glanced around the room. Silence fell. The man at the closest desk glanced up at him and cleared his throat. “Sorry about the news, Sinclair.”
Ian gave a curt nod. “So was I.”
With the satchel beneath his arm, he walked back into the streaming pre-Christmas traffic. The smell of the sea was heavy here. Strange, he had never noticed before.
When he turned and walked south, he did not look back.
Ravenwood House
Southern England
The house was golden, lit by the last rays of the dying sun. Its peace and age blended with the rolling hills that overlooked the English coast.
Ian turned into the ornate gates of the estate owned by Calan MacKay, feeling muscles tighten at his shoulders. As he walked into the front hall, his friend appeared with the silence that so many people found unnerving.
“Is it done?”
Ian nodded. “Hard to believe. Ten years gone in a matter of minutes. I didn’t have anyone whom I would miss.” He shrugged. “If you offer me some of that fine aged whisky, I won’t turn it down. Not tonight.”
Calan nodded. “The fire is lit in the study. You won’t be disturbed. I’ve left the bottle there for you already.” Calan started to say something else, then took a slow breath. “I think I’ll go take Churchill for a run. We might be gone for quite some time,” he murmured.
Ian barely heard.
He opened the doors to the small room with its walls of inlaid mahogany paneling. Firelight danced over the rich red rugs. Ian barely noticed. He glanced through the empty room and then sank down in the deep armchair near the fire. With a sigh he closed his eyes.
He barely heard the movement. The fingers moved slowly, smoothing the knots at his shoulders. Smooth lips brushed his brow.
Ian felt the last of his tension fade as he gripped her hands and tugged her down into his lap. “I was starting to worry.”
“It’s all done, is it?” Clair Haywood touched his cheek, looking anxious.
“Completely done. I resigned as of three o’clock this afternoon. Your death at Draycott Abbey was the final straw.” He made a low sound as her fingers massaged his neck. “They asked me what I mean to do now. Private security work, I suppose. There’s lots to be had now.”
“But that’s not what you’ll be doing,” Clair said quietly.
“No, it is not. I’ll be working with Nicholas and Izzy, tracking down the rest of these men. Izzy has already found enough to suggest there is a very important man in place, too deeply hidden to be safe. And so, our work is just beginning.” He kissed her hand and then gently opened the sash of her robe. “But not tonight.”
Clair shrugged free of one sleeve and bit his lips gently. She sighed when his callused hand cupped her shoulder and slid to her breast. “Last night, Ian, you didn’t—“
“No, I didn’t. Your shoulder still needs to mend.”
She pressed closer, her face determined. “I’m fine. And I want you to treat me as if I were. I want—everything you have to give me. It is long past time, my love.”
Ian took a raw breath. Yet again she tore through all his defenses. “Clair, you can’t. Not yet.”
Smiling with a look of infinite joy, she turned carefully and straddled him in the chair. “Is that so?” The robe spilled from her sleek body and she reached down to undo his belt. “Idiot. You probably think you need to protect me, even now.”
All the words flew out of Ian’s head when her fingers slid lower, burrowing down to curve over
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