Part 8 (1/2)
”No, I broke down her door. Remember?”
Paul grinned. ”Rather splendid work. I'm sure she was impressed with that. And by the by, the carpenter's repaired the door hours ago. Although it does still smell of paint.”
Will nodded. ”Thank you for that.”
Paul didn't say anything for a moment, and finally Will had to check his friend again.
”You keep staring upstairs.”
Will shrugged.
”You really like her.”
Sighing once more, Will finally turned to Paul. ”Yes, I-I want her to stay longer than she intends.”
”Invite her then.”
Will narrowed his eyes, feeling particularly juvenile when he said, ”I was thinking of something more manipulative to force her to stay.”
Paul silently chuckled. ”Tying her to the furniture? Chaining her?”
”Seduction.”
Paul kept his smile, but it changed into something more lewd. ”I see. So you were thinking of tying her to the bed.”
Will chuckled himself. ”If she wants that sort of thing, then I'm game.” He nodded, then added, ”Would-would you help me?”
Paul's eyes narrowed.
”I mean.” Will chuckled. ”I mean, I-I've never seduced a woman before. Would you tell me how? To do that? Exactly?”
Paul smiled. ”I don't think there is an exactness to seduction, but I'm more than willing to help you. As for my misinterpretation, if I had proclivities for men, I might try to seduce you.”
”I'm flattered,” Will said flatly.
Paul chuckled again, before growing serious. ”Tell me, why do you think I could help you seduce the lady?”
Will rolled his eyes. ”I wake before you, which means I've seen many a woman leaving your chambers. Clear evidence of your knowledge of seduction.”
”How do you know we weren't...praying?”
”Ah, yes, I'm sure you were.”
Paul snickered. ”All right, I'll help. Let us remove ourselves from the foyer, and I believe we need brandy for what we shall discuss. A lot of it too.”
When Paul wrapped an arm around Will's neck and half hugged him, half throttled him, Will couldn't help but smile. Paul was shorter than he by almost six inches, so any embrace by the muscular man was more of a wrestling move than anything else.
”By the by,” Will said. ”What accent do those two maids have?”
As Paul led him to the library, he shrugged. ”I was wondering that myself. I know this sounds odd, but I thought they sounded Greek.”
Chapter 10.
The two, er, maids-what were they?-hefted Erva on the four-post bed with the ginger and pink floral duvet and smiled down at her. Although it had been dark when they'd entered the room, instantly all the candles and lamps were aflame with warm amber light, making the moment even more nauseatingly surreal. One of the maids raised her hand and snapped. Promptly the door swung closed, shutting Erva in with the two women who'd been in her dream. Or were they a part of her craziness? She tried to repress a scream that bubbled in her throat.
”I'm sorry your knee is injured,” the one with her ruffled cap in place over what appeared to be a huge mess of dark red hair said. ”But are you having a good time otherwise?”
The other maid, whose cap was askew and falling over a slender shoulder, arched a brow. ”She has swollen, red lips. I think she was having a very good time.”
They giggled.
Erva shook her head, wanting to run from the maids, but somehow feeling trapped. ”I-I dreamed you.”
”I told you, Erva, it's not a dream.”
”How do you know my name?” Erva scooted her b.u.t.t away from the two.
The one with the cap straight on her head sighed. ”Well, as creepy as it sounds, I was watching you. I have been for a long, long time. But in my defense, it's my job to watch you.”
”You are homeland security. Am I tripping out on some drug you gave me?”
The maid softly chuckled. ”No, this isn't a dream; it's not a hallucination. And I don't work for your government. I work for myself. Call me self-employed.”
”What do you mean?” Erva's voice had gone soft and quiet. She kept wiggling to see if there was a way to escape the duo, but she flinched when she bent her knee too much.
”She's panicking, Sis,” the jaunty cap-wearing maid said. ”Tell her who we are, so she won't hurt herself.”
The other reached out her hands, but didn't touch Erva. ”Sweetie, Minerva Ferguson, child of history, I've been watching you since your father pa.s.sed away. I was there after your father's funeral when you picked up one of his books about World War II. The book gave you solace, unlike anything else. You learned about the strategy of air defense. Something your father thought much of, even though he was a land-based Marine. In you, he had confided how he'd always wanted to be a pilot, but since he never went to college, he never thought he could do much more than be a jarhead. In you, he placed all his dreams. He begged you to do more than him. He didn't care what your dreams were, but just that you reach for them. It is the one thing you wouldn't let your mother control, your desire to become a military historian.”
While the maid spoke, Erva's heart raced then flew into her throat. Her head throbbed, and she couldn't breathe. She could only hold very still, worried that if she moved even a miniscule muscle, she might explode from the truth, from this moment.
The askew cap-wearing maid rolled her eyes. ”Good job, Sis. She's freaking out even more.”
”How-how do you know that?” Erva asked, holding her fingers to her mouth.
”You place your fingertips along your lips when you're anxious. I'm sorry I'm making you nervous. But, you see, Erva, I'm your muse. You, although unintentionally, called me when you read and enjoyed the history of World War II aircraft evolution. I've watched you grow into a woman, then a soldier yourself for four years, then, finally an academic, where your heart soars when you're researching and writing. You're so good at what you do. You're inspiring, my dear.”
Erva swallowed, but her throat was too tight. The action hurt rather than calmed her. All those words, spoken in such a soft feminine voice, she'd longed to hear for so long. And, G.o.d, how she hated it, but coming from a woman, it meant so much more. She ached to hear her mother say something akin to it. But all she'd ever gotten from her mom was something to the effect that she'd never marry now that she was thoroughly unfeminine and too smart for her own good.
”I'm Clio, Minerva,” the straight cap-wearing muse said. She turned to the other. ”And this is my sister, Erato.”
Erva thought back to her Greek history cla.s.s she took as an undergraduate. Erato was the muse of...oh yeah! The muse of erotic and romance writing.
Erato laughed. ”She's looking at me like I'm Medusa, complete with snakes for hair.”
Clio shrugged. ”Well, you are a lot to take in, and what's with your maid's cap?”