The Other Side Of Midnight
Georgia Le Carre
Contents
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Quotation
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Epilogue
Sixty-three years later
Coming Soon… Sample chapters.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
About the Author
Also by Georgia Le Carre
Acknowledgments
Much love and many thanks to:
Elizabeth Burns
Nichola Rhead
Brittany Urbaniak
Kirstine Moran
Tracy Gray
Author’s Note
Hello dearest reader of mine,
As you probably know I love delivering stories with an unpredictable turn or twist.
This book has an unexpected storyline written specially for those who adore surprises.
If you are that person, then I am honored to welcome you into the extraordinary world of Count Rocco Rossetti.
Love,
Georgia xx
The Other Side Of Midnight
Copyright © 2021, Georgia Le Carre
The right of Georgia Le Carre to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patent act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding.
978-1-910575-62-8
Chapter 1
Autumn
It’s just struck midnight, but I’ve no thoughts yet of leaving the backroom in the art shop where I double as Larry’s shop assistant and cleaner, and going home. I sneaked back in here after dinner to work on my little painting, but I’ve become so totally engrossed in it, I could be here for hours more.
I know most artists prefer working in daylight. Not me. I love creating things long after everyone else is tucked up in their beds and the air is shimmering with all their dreams.
I load my brush with the precious oil paints that take up a great proportion of my wages and let it glide effortlessly across the canvass. Almost as if it has a will of its own. I’m still a student with much to learn, but I have to admit my painting is starting to look good. Exceptionally good. Maybe because this painting is special… important.
Well, at least to me, it is.
I take a few steps back to gaze critically at my canvas. It’s a strange scene. An old, crumbling, ivy covered castle built into the side of a snow-capped mountain. A road, so narrow only a horse driven carriage could fit, leads up to the fortress. I’m tempted to add a carriage and snorting black horses onto the road, but I’m afraid I’ll spoil the painting.
It’s important I don’t ruin it since I’ve attempted to paint this scene countless times, but always had to give up after a few strokes. I knew instinctively I can’t capture the vivid image in my mind, and something deep inside me demanded I replicate it exactly as it lived in my mind. I can’t understand why I had to, I just knew I did.
I start moving forward to add more color to the castle, when I freeze. The skin at the back of my neck is prickling and goose pimples are rising up on my arms. The silence is undisturbed, but the air is different.
My heart slams into my rib cage as I swing my head around and look through the half-open door into the small showroom beyond. All the lamps are turned off, but from the light of the streetlamps I can see right through to the rusty little bells attached to the door. I’ve been so lost in my work I’ve not heard them ring, but I know.
Someone has entered the shop!
It can’t be a customer at this time of the night, and I know it is not Larry. He would have called out. It is either one of the wild kids in town up to no good, or a robber. Dad sent me for karate classes when I was in high school and I know some good moves. I can definitely handle any kid, and probably even a robber, if he isn’t carrying a gun.
But I have an even better idea.
I reach for a stained rag on the wooden trolley next to me and hurriedly wipe off as much paint from my hands so it won’t be slippery and tip toe over to the cupboard. I throw the cloth on the floor and pick up the baseball bat next to the cupboard. Gripping the smooth solid wood tightly with both hands, I start to move stealthily towards the door. I’ll be damned if I’m going to be cowed by any intruder.
My heart is beating so fast, my blood roars in my ears. I’m ready to swing the bat hard at the slightest provocation… until I trip on the temporary plastic covering Larry placed over some wires he ran across the room just until the electrician came on Monday.
I’ve bumped my foot against the plastic a few times, but always managed to regain my balance. Not this time. This time the damn thing finally gets me. I feel myself pitch forward. My hands instinctively let go of the bat and fling out to try and grab on to anything that would break my fall, but I only connect with the trolley full of paint tubes and a jar of turpentine filled brushes.
Grasping for the trolley is a big mistake. Not only does it not stop my fall, it accelerates it. The trolley shoots a few feet forward, until it collides with an immovable object, then both the trolley and I crash to the concrete floor in an almighty racket.
The breath is knocked out of me as my back slams onto the floor and paint tubes bounce off me and the jar hits my chest and spills out its contents. I can feel the pungent turpentine seeping into my clothes and reaching my skin.
“Shit,” I curse, as I lie there a winded, bruised, stained mess.
Then, I become aware there is someone else in the room with me. I turn my head and see a pair of highly polished black shoes a few feet away from me. My shocked eyes travel upwards and my brain notes how
immaculate the creases in his black trousers are. The material is smooth, expensive. He is wearing a long black coat that looks luxuriously soft, the way good cashmere does.
A belt with a custom insignia on the buckle. A two-headed eagle or a phoenix perhaps.
My gaze travels further upwards. Flat stomach. Black turtleneck sweater. Pale skin, blond hair, sensual mouth, strong jaw, narrow nose and…
Suddenly, my eyes lock with the stranger’s, and something shifts inside of me.
I hold my breath without even realizing it. As I stare into those translucent icy blue irises full of mysteries. Time stops. It isn’t the way romance books describe it. The rest of the world doesn’t drop away. Instead those eyes reach into my soul and whirl me away into another world. It’s like a sense of déjà vu as if I’ve once danced in the snow with this man while a full orchestra played just for us.
I think of steel hardened by fire and feel strong sexual desire for him flower in my belly, but I just can’t explain why I would feel that. He is sooooo not my type. I’m contemptuous of arrogant rich men who believe they can buy anything with their money. And there is no doubt he is such a man. I can tell by the curve of his mouth. Nothing has been denied this man. Ever.
For he is like a marvelous piece of art. His pale beauty and gold hair have a strange… darkness to them that immediately makes you wary, but is at the same time so magnetic, so fascinating, you can’t look away, you want in. And all you can do is stand there, or in my case, lie there and stare stupidly.
“Are you alright?” he asks. His voice has a hypnotic quality, smooth as honey dripping from a spoon, but laced with a powerful note of authority.
I want to hear him speak again.
He takes another step towards me and bends slightly from his great height to hold a hand out to me. At the moment, I realize something else about him. He is clean. Immaculately clean. Not a blonde hair out of place, not a speck of dust on his expensive clothes, his nails are beautifully manicured, and his skin is so clear and blemish free it is as if he is one of those Gods from Mount Olympus who used to occasionally step down to earth to mate with human women.
I feel my hackles rise.
I do not like this man at all.
I know wholeheartedly, instinctively, definitely.
He is dangerous to me.
Chapter 2
Autumn
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8AHCfZTRGiI
-Hurt-
The smell of turpentine is overpowering, but I can still smell her. She wears no perfume. Just the clean, honest scent of her sweat. I don’t let it show on my face, but being this close to her actually makes the blood course through my veins with a deafening force. And the mixture of lust and excitement is almost crippling. All that I thought was dead has come alive again.
I see all kinds of emotions rush across her face. Shock, confusion, surprise, sexual attraction, and finally dislike. Dislike so intense it is closer to hate. I can see she is going to run with that emotion.
Ignoring my outstretched hand, she scrambles to her feet. I retract my hand and watch her put as much space between us as the cluttered area will allow.
“How did you get in here?” she demands aggressively.
I stroll away from her. “You left the door unlocked.”
“There’s a CLOSED sign on the door,” she snaps.
“Is there?” I ask mildly.
“Yes, there is. We’re closed. If you want to buy anything you must come back tomorrow. We open again at 10.00 a.m.”
She stares at me uneasily. She has convinced herself she hates my guts, but she is trembling, trembling with the same irrational lust I have throbbing in my body. I understand her perfectly. Hate is easy. All the other options terrify her.
“I have to go away in the morning, but I’ve seen something in the shop I want. Would you be so kind as to put it away for me? Tell Larry to charge it to my account, and I’ll send someone around to pick it up on Thursday.”
She frowns, immediately suspicious. “Which painting is it?”
“Miranda Taking a Bath.”
“Oh,” she says covering her hand over her mouth. The action serves only to smear more paint on her cheek. My eyes linger on the soft curve.
She drops her hand in confusion. “Of course, I’ll put it away for you.”
Now that I’ve established I’m a valuable customer willing to buy the most expensive painting in the premises, I start to walk towards the painting on the easel. But she rushes quickly to stand in front of it and block it from my gaze.
“Ignore this,” she mutters uncomfortably. “It’s just something I'm working on. Uh, please come out to the shop floor with me. This area is staff only.”
“What are you creating?” I ask softly.
“Oh… uh. It’s nothing. I’m just a student… playing around.”
“Let me see it,” I say softly as I stare into her warm hazel eyes. They are full of golden flecks. I let her drown in my gaze until, unable to resist, she moves aside.
The raw beauty of her work takes my breath away. I take in the white squiggles that are supposed to be seagulls flying high over the abandoned castle, the pieces of rock that are falling from the castle rampart. I feel such a sense of loss I want to reach out and touch the wet paint, but I don’t. I’m careful to keep my expression neutral and totally veiled, as I drink in her creation. Seconds pass. The air is so quiet I can hear her heart hammering fast and loud in her chest.
I tear my gaze away from the painting and turn to her. “I want it.”
Her eyes widen with astonishment. “What?”
“I’d like to buy your painting.”
She shakes her head. “It’s… it’s not for sale.”
“I’ll give you one hundred thousand for it.”
This time her jaw drops with disbelief. “What?”
“Or… name your price.”
The shock is replaced by white hot temper. It makes her eyes turn a luminous green. The gold flecks become sparks of bright light. Entranced by her wild beauty, I wait for her passionate outburst eagerly, but she takes a shuddering breath and takes control of herself. I bought the most expensive item in the shop, after all.
“How do I explain this? The paintings for sale are all out on the floor. This piece is not even finished.”
I take my wallet out of my coat pocket, count out ten bills, and put it on the old wooden bench. “Here’s a thousand. The rest when you finish it.”
I can see she is hopelessly poor and cannot help being drawn to the money, but her throat moves as she swallows hard, and stops herself from saying something rude.
“The painting is not for sale,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Then take it as the deposit if you change your mind.”
Her eyes flash. “I won’t change my mind.”
I smile slowly. “Keep it, anyway.”
She folds her hands in front of her body defiantly. “Why would I want to keep your money?”
“Consider it a tip for fabulous service rendered,” I murmur.
She inhales sharply. Even in her great anger she cannot fail to pick up on the sexual tension.
“Tell Larry, Rocco Rossetti called. And don’t forget to lock the front door.” Then I turn and walk away from her. There is a small smile on my face. You will be mine, Autumn DeLaney. Nothing and no one, not even you, will stop me.
Chapter 3
Autumn
I watch his back disappear into the gloom of the shop, then I hear the sound of the rusty bells twinkle as he pulls the door open. Then the door shuts quietly. Only then, can I jerk out of the trancelike state I am in. I run to the door and lock it. Then I lean my back against it and take deep gasping breaths.
What on earth is the matter with me?
The attraction is not mental. I feel hot and bothered and there is a strange fluttering in my stomach. I place my hand on my belly as I feel the wetness seeping out of me. I cannot believe the visceral reaction my body
is displaying. My whole body is craving him. I stand there in the darkness, leaning against the door, breathing in and out until my body calms down.
Then I pull away from the door and walk back to the small back room. I feel strangely restless. Frowning, I pace the floor like a caged animal. Back and forth. Back and forth. I am aware something has happened to me, but I don’t know what it is. All I know is I was a different person before the stranger walked into this shop.
I glance at the money lying on the ledge. Then I walk up to it. I pick up one bill and sniff it. The scent of new leather fills my nostrils. Then underneath it, another scent floats up… him. Instantly, my heart starts racing. Who is he? Why does my body react to him in this way? I jerk the money away from me and put it back on the pile. I move away from it as if it is tainted or dangerous.