The House of Broken Hearts - Judy Colella (motivational books for men .TXT) 📗

be totally mine. Mine to enjoy, mine to teach the meaning of pleasure to while having my deepest desires fulfilled. Mine to have whenever I want, yet make sure that desire is equal from you.”

His words were suddenly making her very uncomfortable in a pleasantly forbidden way. More temptation, yes? But that one word…“How do you feel toward me, Julian?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “I feel – happy? Elated. Yes, elated! Every time I see you, I feel as if life is worthwhile because you’re here, and because you’re here, so is the possibility of all those things I just mentioned.”

“I see.” Now she wanted to weep. Instead, she took a step back, her action so unexpected that he didn’t have a chance to stop her. “Ah, Julian. I am not a toy. I am not a thing to be possessed, for you to play with, nor am I your savior. I was not put on this earth to solve your woes or satisfy your physical longings. And while being with you might be more exciting than anything I’ve yet experienced, in the end I’d be miserable, and so would you.”

“Why do you say that?” He frowned, looking genuinely confused.

“Because the most important part of all this is – and would forever be – missing. Love, Julian. Love. You never said you love me, and quite honestly, that’s all I really want. Please go now.” She bent down and picked up the flowers that had fallen from her hands, placing them in the basket.

Above her, she could hear Julian’s breathing grow more ragged; she hesitated to look up, not wanting to see the emotion that was causing this. Finally, she saw his feet move backward as he prepared to leave. “You will regret this, Miss Moreaux,” he said with intensity. “You’ve made the wrong decision.”

And then he was gone. Giselle stood in time to see him disappear around one of the large rhododendron bushes, and released a long, deep breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She was certain she’d done the right thing, even though it didn’t feel that way at the moment. He’d offered her a whole new life, and yet…

No, her decision had been correct. He was wrong about that, and Giselle was determined not to regret it for even a moment. She reminded herself of the questionable Miss duBois, and wondered if at the beginning he had professed the same words to her. If so, the outcome was even more tragic, since it was obvious the woman still cared about him while he – no, she’d made the right decision.

As she headed back to the house, she noticed that the day was darkening, the brilliant sunshine fading into shades of grey. A storm was blowing up, she realized, and if the color of clouds in the distance was any indication, it promised to be a bad one. Forcing thoughts of Julian from her mind, she hurried now, entering through the back just ahead of a harsh gust of wind that slammed the door behind her.

This entrance led directly into the kitchen; the noise startled the cook’s assistant, who had been peeling turnips at the large work table near one of the windows, and she looked up. “Oh! Seems we’re in for quite a storm, Miss Moreaux!”

“Apparently so. Should we have someone close the shutters, do you think?” The windows of Grey House, even here, were quite large. A pleasant feature when sunlight and warmth were needed, they became somewhat of a liability in difficult weather.

“I’ll fetch Joss, Miss.” Abandoning her turnips, the girl jumped up and went swiftly out of the kitchen.

Giselle glanced down at her basket of flowers, a rueful smile curling her lips. “I’m afraid your relatives are going to get blown to bits,” she told them. “And I’m talking to flowers…” She gave herself a shake and went into the hallway leading to the back stairs. Sharp blasts of wind had begun to pummel the house, and she was suddenly glad it was made of that dark, forbidding stone.

Around her, activity had sprung up as servant began rushing about to secure windows and draw drapes. Outside her own window she saw a ladder had been raised, and a moment later one of the servant’s head and arms appeared as he reached up and pulled the shutters closed, plunging the room into darkness. Giselle had been putting the last of the flowers in a vase, having saved her room for last, and now took matches from her apron pocket to light the small lamp on her desk.

The storm had come much closer by now, and its roar increased as the clouds opened over the house, pelting the slate roof with a thick downpour.

“Are you all right, my dear?” asked Miss Trellain from the doorway. She’d had to raise her voice to be heard over nature’s din.

“Yes, Mrs. Trellain. Thank you. Is everything well?”

“The shutters have all been closed, the windows secured, fires and lamps lit. So yes, I think we’ll be fine.” She smiled warmly at the girl. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I shall – thank you! Oh, I put some flowers in your room. Perhaps that will make all this gloom less depressing.”

“What a dear girl!” With that, the older woman left and went downstairs, her footsteps barely audible over the pounding of rain and wind.

A moment later, things actually got more violent – a blinding flash of light visible even through the closed shutters was followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder so loud, it sounded as if the house had been split in two. Instinctively, Giselle crouched down beside the bed, hands over her head. She stayed that way as wave after wave of ferocious, celestial collisions continued, lasting for what felt to her like hours. In fact, it had remained directly overhead for only about five minutes before starting to move off to the south.

Slowly, carefully, Giselle stood, relieved to note the frightening sounds were growing a bit fainter. She opened her door and would have gone to Mrs. Trellain’s room to see how the woman had fared, but exactly like the night before, she became aware of raised voices downstairs. The same two voices that had wakened her. Was Julian still here, then? Giles must have also returned from wherever it was he’d gone that day, and now they were shouting at each other.

Unable to resist, Giselle went down to the foyer where she realized the voices were not coming from the study this time. They were in Giles’ private office, a comfortable, wood-paneled room that had a door leading outside to where the stables were located. Perhaps he’d found Julian about to leave and they had been forced inside by the storm. All she knew was that they sounded angrier than they had the last time. As she approached the office, their voices became clearer.

“…to say goodbye, you bastard!” This from Julian. “I’m their uncle, damn it, and should be allowed - ”

“They aren’t here, Julian, and you know that! So what were you really up to? Trying to see Giselle?”

“Giselle! Ha! You’ve managed to poison her against me very effectively, big brother!” Julian spat. “What did you tell her about me?”

“Why you self-centered…we never spoke of you at all! She did admit at one point that you’d shown an interest in her, but that was a while ago, and we haven’t spoken about you since!”

“Ah, so her refusal was entirely of her own devising, was it?”

“Refusal? Refusal of what?”

“I offered to take her away – away from you, from all this drudgery, and give her a life filled with excitement and enjoyment! But all she wanted to talk about was love!” He said this last word with such contempt that Giselle was now glad she’d turned him away.

“You, sir, are a scoundrel!” Giles apparently went to the outer door upon saying this, because she could hear it being flung open. “You disgust me, Julian! All you can ever offer that girl is a despicable reputation, get her with child, then abandon her like you did that – that prostitute you claim is your fiancee!”

“I - ”

“Get out, Julian, now, before I do something we’ll both regret!”

“Oh, don’t worry, brother. We’re beyond that, and the regret will be there – all of you will suffer! All of you!”

She heard sounds of scuffling, muffled exclamations of some kind of struggle, and a moment later, in the midst of a distant clap of thunder, a shot rang out. Something fell heavily to the floor, and then silence except for the continuing swish of rain.

Horrified, Giselle opened the door and peered into the dimly-lit room. In an unexpected flash of lightning, she saw someone crouching over a body…she took a step closer, hand over her mouth, scarcely breathing.

She must have made a sound, because the man leaning over the body straightened. It was Giles.

“M- Miss Moreaux! What are…you must leave! Go! This is none of your business!” In his hand was a pistol which he waved toward the door behind her.

“You – you killed Julian! My God! Why?”

A terrible look crossed his features, the scar on his temple turning livid. “You know nothing! You’re an ignorant fool – get out!” He got to his feet and came toward her, the pistol still in his hand.

“Don’t kill me, too!” she pleaded, backing away. “Oh, poor Julian!” Tears sprang to her eyes but she continued to look directly at Giles, her own expression becoming one of revulsion. “You’re horrible! He was confused about things, but he didn’t deserve to die! He was right about you, Mr. Lanford – all you care about is your wealth!” Actually, Julian had said nothing of the kind, but only implied it when speaking of his own lack of means. At the moment, however, she wasn’t even trying to be logical or precise in her accusation. All she knew was that a man was dead, and the man she’d thought to be good and decent had murdered him.

Jaw clenched, Giles came to within a few inches of Giselle’s trembling form and hissed, “Get out of my sight, or by God, I will – ”

Paralysis instantly turned into action and Giselle turned, ran out of the room and up the stairs to her own. She locked the door and pulled her trunk from the bottom of the wardrobe.

“I can’t stay,” she muttered. “I have to get out – Giles is insane! Oh, Lord, what am I to do?” Overwhelmed with emotion, her heart broken into shards, she abandoned the trunk and threw herself onto the bed where she sobbed without respite, deep, wracking sobs of defeat, emotional agony, terror. When her personal storm began to subside, she found herself too exhausted to move and before she realized it, had fallen into a profound slumber.

Unaware of what had occurred downstairs, Mrs. Trellain came to Giselle’s room a short while later, using her master key to enter. She wondered why the door was locked, but assumed Giselle had somehow thought this was added protection against the storm. When she saw the girl sleeping soundly but still dressed, she gave her a tender smile and removed her clothes, putting her into one of her lovely, soft night gowns, then tucking her under the covers before blowing out the lamp and leaving.

The rain continued through the night with no signs of stopping. In fact, spates of heavier rain interrupted