Trapped for one hundred twenty-one years… in a garden of stone.
In 1887, Ursel Seagrove wanted nothing more than to save her lover from an evil warlock. Ogden Butcher was stealing the powers of witches and warlocks in Victorian England, and Ursel’s lover was determined to stop him. Instead, he was killed and she was trapped in stone.
For years, Remington Chase has fantasized about the manor, using its creepy garden as a playground for his fertile imagination. Now, armed with the deed to the house, the best-selling horror novelist can’t wait to use the setting for his next book. He’s drawn to the statues and one in particular. The stone woman is everything he’s ever dreamed about. When Remington comes across a strange book of spells, his words bring Ursel back to life and she steals his heart with a single kiss. Unable to let his dream woman go, he vows to join her in a dangerous search to destroy Ogden before the warlock can strike again.
Ursel never expected Remington to help her on her quest. Something in the man calls to her, makes her feel things she never thought possible again. It’s almost like she already knows him…
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Excerpt
“The first thing we have to do is get rid of all these statues. They look like something that came out of one of your books.”
Remington Chase stared dumbstruck at Jude Hyde, the designer his best friend had recommended, and shook his head. “No. No, and no. They stay.”
“Remington, darling. You’re kidding me, right? Did you hire me to redo these gardens, or do you want to? You have to trust me. The statues will fetch some money at auction that we can use for more picturesque ones, like lions, or tigers.”
“This isn’t a zoo,” Remington said, standing up straighter. “I don’t want lions and tigers. I want the statues that are here. Period.”
Especially the one in the south garden.
Jude sighed heavily, and then turned to Remington, his arms crossed over his chest. “People will laugh at you if you keep them. You want your home and your gardens to be your showcase. Do I see you inside, telling the interior designer what she can and can’t do? No. I must have total control. End of story.”
“Fine. Then you’re fired and I’ll find someone else to do the gardens.” Remington started toward the main house and Jude’s hail made him stop.
“Now, let’s not be hasty. Maybe we can come to a compromise. You have to admit, there are too many here. I counted twenty-three in the four segments around the fountain alone. Who knows what’s in the outer reaches.”
Remington cocked his head. He’d be damned if he’d let any designer browbeat him. He wanted beautiful gardens, yes, but he also wanted to keep some of the statues that held such memories for him.
“Do you know why I bought this house?”
“Because you’re a millionaire author with nothing better to do?”
A laugh escaped Remington’s lips. “Hardly. I have a great deal to do. But I grew up near here, and my friends and I used to sneak onto the grounds and play around these statues. I’ve used quite a few of them as muses for my work.”
Jude shivered. “Yes, I can imagine. I’m sorry but your brand of, um, literature doesn’t appeal to me.”
“It may not, but I know my money does.” He waited for the designer to disagree. When he didn’t, Remington smiled. “The creepiness of this house will fuel many new books for me. The more books I write, the more money I make, and the more I have to spend on renovations, and new additions to the gardens. And if I add on I’ll need designers, and contractors.”
Remington let his words hang in the air. The implication was clear: do as I want or I’ll spend my money with someone else.
“Very well. May I at least move them around?”
“All but one.” Remington took off toward the south garden, stepping between the yews, the designer hot on his heels. He stepped through the stone portal and stopped in front of the reclining woman on the bench.
“Oh my lord, how disgusting.” Jude stepped back. “She’s covered in grime. And she looks like she’s just seen a ghost.”
“Exactly. When I was younger, she fueled my imagination, and inspired my first ghost story. I owe my career to her.”
“You act as if she’s alive.”
“To me, she is.” Remy stroked her hair, which flowed back and dangled off the bench on which she reclined. “She stays here. Everything else can be moved, as long as it’s not sold or given away. I’ll even let you bring in a lion or two.”
“You’re very gracious,” Jude said, sneering at the statue.
“I would think a man making as much money as you would learn to be more grateful to his employer.”
“Forgive me.” Jude pasted a tight smile on his face. “Shall we visit the rest of the gardens?”
“No. You go. I have work to do.”
The designer scurried away and Remington stared at the woman, her face locked in anguish. What would cause a carver to produce a statue that looked to be in such pain? He’d often wondered about it.
When he was a boy, he’d wandered in here while he and his friends explored the supposedly haunted manor. He’d called them all in to look at the naked lady, who reclined on the bench as if waiting for a lover. They’d all marveled at her breasts, but Remington had pushed away their hands when they’d tried to touch her.
She was his. He’d found her, therefore the statue belonged to him, and no one else could touch her.
He crouched down and stroked the statue’s hair again, his cock stirring to life. What would a psychiatrist say, he wondered, if he let it be known that a fake woman was not only his muse for his work, but made him harder than any flesh-and-blood woman ever had?
Remington stood and adjusted his pants. His cock pushed against his briefs, eager to be let free. He was sorely tempted to relieve himself. The only thing that stopped him was the idea that one of the workers would wander in. Wouldn’t that make great headlines for the journalists? Horror novelist caught masturbating. Film at eleven.
Yet, he didn’t want to leave her. She made his juices flow in so many ways. Maybe he should have her moved into the house, into his bedroom.
He shook his head at the thought. That was a little strange, even for him. If he caught himself trying to mount her, he would have to have himself committed. Which would give him even more fodder for his novels.
Still, it was a beautiful day outside and he could do some work here. That’s what laptops were for, right? He headed to the house, stopping at the archway and turning back.
“I’ll be back later. Don’t go anywhere.” He laughed at his joke, and then headed for the house, glad to have this glorious day to spend in his new garden.