Restored to Love Read Free Page A

of the Dalverton family, and the Seventh Viscount of Maracay. She thought back to when she’d first encountered  Marcus and Daniel. She’d convinced herself they were just figments of her imagination. Never having opened any of the few remaining books scattered on the shelves, she’d had no way of knowing Daniel’s name, nor even what he looked like, let alone of fantasising about the Cavalier in such intricate – and personal – detail.
    Marcus, still frantic, started pacing again. ‘You must do something!’
    â€˜But I don’t see what’s so important about a book.’
    Marcus stopped dead and stared at her. ‘You do not comprehend the importance? Do you not understand about anchor points? Sweet mother of Jupiter, I have allied myself to an imbecile!’
    Unperturbed by the emotional outburst, Gillian asked, ‘What points?’
    â€˜Anchor points! That which is most precious to us as free spirits. The thing which gives us sanctuary, form, energy, being and life!’
    â€˜And Daniel’s anchor point is a book?’
    â€˜Yes, yes! Now tell me you can save him? Get to it, Mistress, for I believe he has little time left! He is already so low he is unable to escape from its pages in order to help himself!’
    All had suddenly become clear. Gillian also recalled  Daniel mentioning that Marcus “resided” in a painting but only now did she grasp exactly what he had meant.
    She took the damaged book back to her workshop. There she carefully disassembled it, page by page, placing each one safely between sheets of blotting paper to dry. Then, with new boards and a simple green cloth, she carefully rebuilt the volume, reading about Daniel’s life as she went. It had been an experience, and it was clear that his adventurous nature had, to some degree, led to his downfall. Yet, from what she remembered of their first meeting, he didn’t seem to be unbecoming, or even undesirable. In fact the more she read, the more she felt she wanted to know the man himself.
    Later, Gillian went back to the library and took down the small Van Dessen from above the fireplace. Under the cracked brown varnish she was able to make out some sort of battle scene, with members of the Roman Legion fighting what she thought looked like Persians – or maybe Egyptians, it was hard to tell. She gave it a clean, which it desperately needed, and after a little strengthening of the canvas and frame, she left it in the workshop so Marcus could calm himself by standing guard over Daniel’s book.
    After two days, the glue had set completely and the pages were once again strong enough to be turned without suffering any damage. Yet, after four more days, Daniel still hadn’t appeared to Gillian, and neither had Marcus. During the daytime, she’d thrown herself into the restoration projects, and in the evenings, she sat in the workshop, silently willing them to appear. In the end, she gave up, convincing herself once again that they had merely been figments of her overactive imagination.
    Gillian ended the following day covered in dust and grime and, after a light dinner, she retired to take a long bath. The hot water was invigorating and the smell of lavender and citrus let her drift off into a fantasy world of bisexual men and uncomplicated sexual gratification. Her fingers became skilful tongues and eager cocks, made slick by the scented bath oils, and as she soaped her breasts with a flannel, she came hard and fast, in a flurry of suds and loud gasps.
    It gave her a much-needed release and she basked lazily in the afterglow for a good half-hour before finally getting out of the water and towelling herself dry. Dressed in her bathrobe, she went back into her room, still floating on the memory of her orgasm – and realised that Marcus was standing at the foot of the bed.
    He was wearing a short toga of deep burgundy, cinched at the waist with a plain rope belt.