Hosts to Ghosts Box Set

by Lynne Connolly

  “What do you think he told the others?” The soft, American tinged voice electrified his senses like a live wire.

  He stepped back and smiled, knowing his whole expression softened when he looked at her. She was dressed simply, just classically cut black pants and a light sweater in soft pink, but her very simplicity threw Jo’s hard-edged chic into relief and demonstrated it for what it was; a woman trying too hard to look good.

  When he held out his hand in wordless greeting she crossed the room and put her own into it. If this was all the bliss he was allowed, then he would take it. Touching her was as vital to him as breathing. He drew her hand to his mouth and kissed the back, only dimly aware this was an outmoded greeting. It seemed entirely appropriate to him.

  “I’m different.” Jo Goodson wasn’t giving up easily. She glared at Sylvie, her eyes flashing a challenge. “He said he was bored with you within weeks of your marriage. You weren’t enough for him. He must have been mad to marry a woman so unadventurous in bed.”

  He caught Sylvie’s startled glance and returned it. He had no more idea what Jo was talking about than Sylvie. Did Nev have certain predilections, or did he see himself as a sexual animal? Nathaniel had no idea. His dreams about Sylvie involved certain strenuous activities, but he’d generally been so heated by then, he hadn’t gone on to imagine any variations on his central theme.

  “Nev Heath had his mad years,” he said firmly. “You were part of that, Jo. I mean to stay here now, to help Sylvie run the house. I plan to settle down.”

  “You?” Derision filled Jo’s carefully modulated tones. “Settle down? For about six months, tops, then you’ll be off to another trouble spot! Not that I mind,” she added hastily. “You explained all that to me, and I know what I’ll be letting myself in for. After all, I understand you and what you need. Unlike other women.” Her gaze was pointedly aimed at Sylvie.

  “The position of wife isn’t available,” Nathaniel said. A moment ago he’d been preparing to give Jo Goodson the blistering set down she deserved. Now he only wanted to get rid of her so he could snatch a few precious moments with Sylvie. “Neither is mistress. Not anymore.”

  Jo’s eyes narrowed. “Mistress? Rather old fashioned, especially for you, Nev!”

  He faltered, not needing Sylvie’s unspoken mental message. Be careful, she’s a medium! To remind him to be extra careful. While he doubted Jo was as gifted as she claimed to be, his enhanced senses did pick up more intensified feelings when she was around. She was a sensitive, even if she wasn’t a full medium.

  The older woman, Doris, now she had definitely connected for a brief moment, and been astute enough to exploit it, but not Jo. In his spirit form he could have walked right through her and she wouldn’t have noticed.

  He should shut off the mental link between Sylvie and himself, but he couldn’t bear to. With the connection open, with his mind blending with hers, he felt her presence, her personality, and he wanted to immerse himself in her for as long as he could, as close as he dared.

  “What do you want me to call you? Whore?” He curled his mouth into a sneer.

  He saw Jo’s hurt, and was sorry for it. He had never wantonly injured anyone’s feelings before. He’d respected women, loved them occasionally but never had close dealings with them. Not even with the one he’d loved. He let his expression freeze into neutrality.

  “What’s she done to you? What does she have on you?” Jo demanded.

  “More than you would ever understand,” he replied.

  “Nothing, I have nothing,” Sylvie said at the same time. She took a step forward. “I always treated him as a human being, not as a thing, a conquest, something to own. You want the title, you’re welcome to it. It means nothing these days. Him, I’m keeping for a while. If you let me know your forwarding address, I’ll send him to you when I’ve done with him.”

  Nathaniel wanted to break into applause, but he was afraid to disturb the sudden stillness that fell on the room.

  With a convulsive movement, Jo strode past them, elbowing him aside. “I take nobody’s leavings,” she threw at them before she left, slamming the door behind her.

  Nathaniel relaxed and leaned against the cheap table that bore the expensive cash register. “You were simply magnificent.”

  With Jo’s exit, Sylvie’s hauteur left, too. “I’ve learned from the best. Nev’s swanky friends and his relatives taught me when I was still in London. He has a cousin, a girl, who took a particular interest in me. She taught me a lot of the tricks you people use.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” When he reached for her, she didn’t move away, as he’d feared she might, but came willingly. They held each other closely. Nathaniel thought it was the most blissful moment of his life. Quietly holding her, feeling her breath hot against his neck, he wondered how heaven could provide anything so good, and knew it couldn’t. Not for him. She lifted her chin and kissing her seemed to be the only logical thing to do. So he kissed her.

  * * * * *

  Sylvie knew this man for the one she had fallen in love with when he was only a voice in her head, encouraging her, sharing private jokes and bearing with her sorrows. But this was so much more. To touch him was to be aroused, even a gentle touch on the hand had her instantly on alert, keen for more. In his arms, she felt safe, womanly, wanted. All things she hadn’t allowed herself to feel for years, not since Nev’s first betrayal, mere weeks after their wedding. But this wasn’t Nev. He felt different, moved differently. Nev would have instantly grabbed her ass. He liked dragging her closer, making the encounter passionate from the start, but this man, Nathaniel, drew her firmly against him and smoothed his hands over her back, as though he was gentling her for something else.

  His kiss was different, too. He caressed her with his lips, then opened his mouth and traced the shape of her lips before settling in the center and waiting. She opened willingly, eagerly for him. He didn’t immediately thrust his tongue inside, but felt his way, as though he wanted to memorize everything about her. He took his time.

  She wanted this man. This one, Nathaniel Heatherington, not Nev Heath, the man she had married after a few days of complete madness. It was just as well, considering the decision she had come to in the early hours of the morning. She had suddenly opened her eyes and seen him, sleeping on the daybed at the foot of her four-poster. Until she sat up all she could see was the top of his head, but when she sat, she saw the upper half of his body, decorously clad in a t-shirt, and the blanket covering the rest of his body. She had wanted to ask him to join her, but knew where that would lead, and then the thought had struck her, as though it had come from something inside her.

  Why not?

  If this was all she would ever have of him, then she’d better make the most of it. And there was something else. Something she shared with him as soon as he lifted his head to smiled into her eyes.

  “I want you, Nathaniel. Give me something to remember you by.”

  His voice came softly, a hoarse rasp at the back of his throat. “You know I cannot.”

  “Why not? You’ll be—you’ll be gone in a few days. It’s Wednesday, and Saturday is Christmas Day. You know how I feel about you. I doubt I’ll ever meet anyone who will make me feel the same way. For six years you’ve been with me, sharing my worst despair and watching me make something of my life. Six years, you haven’t been able to touch me, but you’ve been in my most intimate places. In my head. Can’t we finish that? Can’t we be intimate in another place?”

  He didn’t release her, but he loosened his hold on her. “I can’t do it to you. I have a feeling that once we make love, the parting will be agony, and I’ll have to leave you behind. I want you to have a happy life, Sylvie, to find someone to share it with. I won’t leave any shadows behind me.”

  She lifted her hand to caress his cheek. “We have to share a room.”

  He grimaced, but from her words, not the caress. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said we were reconciled until Friday.” Fri
day. The day before he was due to—leave.

  “No, you did the right thing. But you slept in the wrong place last night.”

  He smiled gently. “I felt you watching me. When you were asleep again, I got up and went to the library. Ghosts don’t sleep, not really.”

  He wanted to emphasize the difference between them, but she wouldn’t let him. “You’re not a ghost. Not now and not until Christmas Day. You’re a man now, and you have a man’s feelings.” She slid her hand between them and lightly stroked the hard bulge at the front of his jeans. “I can tell,” she said wickedly, glancing up at him through her lashes.

  He laughed, but the sound was shaky, and he put his hand over hers, stilling her movements. “No, Sylvie.” To her delight, he sounded less certain this time.

  “Yes.” It was time for her trump card. “Give me a baby, Nathaniel. Give me an heir to your title.”

  Chapter Six

  He froze. She felt the stiffness in every part of his body, not just the part where their hands met. Ready by the time he pulled away, she dragged him back against her. “No, Nathaniel, listen to me.”

  He closed his eyes for a brief moment and then returned his attention to her. Under his intent, blue gaze she talked to him. It was as well she’d planned in advance, otherwise that mesmerizing stare would have scattered her thoughts to the wind. “You say you’re here to right a wrong, and we both thought it was to find the person who wants to kill you. But what if we’re wrong? What if you’re here to provide the heir? Can you really say you’re so sure? Nathaniel, you told me Nev is dead, gone, won’t come back. He only has females on his father’s side of the family, and females can’t inherit. There is no one; the College of Heralds has done an exhaustive search. They’re either women, or non-nationals who aren’t willing to change their nationality to inherit the title. The title dies.”

  He sighed, a soft breath she felt on her cheek. “I know.”

  “But you’re an earl, Nathaniel. You’re an elder branch, and in the body of Nev, you’re married to me. Our children would be legitimate, acceptable.”

  He gave a short laugh. “The legitimacy is somewhat questionable.”

  She lifted her hands to his face, bracketing his cheeks to stop him looking away, to make him look at her. “I’ve studied the history of the family, and it wouldn’t be the first time. Would it?”

  Something crossed his eyes, a shadow of concern. “No,” he said shortly.

  “You might be here for that reason. To give me a child. You’re the only person in the world who could do it, now Nev’s gone. He meant to come back and start a family, and I agreed, but he kept putting it off. Before I knew about Jo Goodson, I thought he’d finally decided to give it a try, but it was too late. I’d already decided to leave him. I planned to go to London and get a proper separation, then a divorce. The Heatheringtons aren’t my family, I owe them nothing, so Jo Goodson would have been luckier than she’d thought, if she managed to get Nev to the altar. And she would have done. Nev would have wanted someone to take the role of wife. It saved him a lot of trouble. It’s too late now, isn’t it? If we don’t do this, the family’s dead, gone, history.”

  “Perhaps it’s time the family went,” he said.

  “You don’t mean that, do you?”

  He stared at her, his eyes unblinkingly meeting hers. No!

  The answer was spoken directly into her mind, the way he always used to, and it emphasized the continuation of their friendship, and of their love. When she’d thought it was safe, she had confessed her love. She couldn’t take it back now he was here with her, in the flesh.

  One more fierce stare and he closed his eyes as he bent to kiss her. His mouth settled on hers, an almost reverent pressing of his lips to hers, before the pressure increased and he opened his mouth for a complete taking.

  His mouth ravaged her, taking everything, giving himself. His tongue entered, mating with hers, teasing it with gentle strokes, then pushing deeply inside. She gave herself up to the moment, meeting his demand with her own, showing him what she wanted, how she wanted it. With a groan, he pulled her closer before tearing his mouth away. “Are you sure? Please, be sure.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I spent most of last night thinking about it, after you left. Make love to me, Nathaniel. You know you want to.”

  “Yes, oh yes I want to, but it’s not fair for you. You know I have to go—die in a very few days. You deserve a full life, Sylvie. I can’t, can’t go, thinking you won’t get over this, that you’ll atrophy. And if I give you a child, it will be worse. Let the Heatheringtons pass into history. Enough families have done that already. There are plans in hand for the estate.” He lifted his head. “Though I never thought the house would survive past the family.”

  He tried to hide it, but with his mind open to hers, she felt his pang of regret. It was enough. She lifted her hand to his cheek again, and gently turned it so he gazed into her eyes once more. “If I promise to do my best not to wait for you, will you do it? I want you, Nathaniel, and I want to know what it’s like to love you properly. Like it or not, you’re the love of my life and I’ll remember you forever. I hope, when I finally die, you’ll be there waiting for me. But I also promise I won’t put a hold on the rest of my life. If I like a man, I will sleep with him. If I like him enough, I’ll marry him. Meanwhile, you’ll give me most of what I want. A child, this house and some point to my life. Will that do?”

  He sighed, staring at her. As she watched, tears formed in his eyes. He made no attempt to hide them. “Yes, it will have to do. I don’t think I can hold off any longer.” He kissed her again, but this time the kiss was reverent and soft. “Now.”

  She laughed shakily, but didn’t object when he released her, and grasped her hand.

  Outside, a few of the film crew wandered across the vast marble tiled space. Breakfast was obviously over. They glanced at Nathaniel and Sylvie, curiosity sparking their gazes, but Nathaniel didn’t stop, towing Sylvie across the hall. Just as they reached the staircase, Doris Alcock and Angela Murdoch, the producer, came out of the dining room. Angela, all tweedy efficiency, lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve been going through today’s schedule and there’s a slight change. Could you do your piece to camera at eleven, instead of two this afternoon?” Nathaniel’s had turned his face away from her to confront the producer, but Sylvie knew from Angela’s expression, that he’d turned on all his aristocratic hauteur. Her smile faded as she stared at him.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. The words were soft and sounded mild, but their effect was not. Since the crew had arrived at the Abbey, they had turned the place upside down. Cables trailed on the floors, bright lights threatened the integrity of the portraits up in the gallery, and at its centre was Angela, giving orders, arranging timetables, frightening the regular staff into disappearing for most of the day. Conservationists and cleaners could usually hold their own against most people, but Angela could put the willies up anyone. Even a ghost.

  But not Nathaniel. “We have some estate matters to discuss,” he continued, his voice carefully even. “We will come to you when we have the time.”

  “Our schedules are too tight to wait on you.” Angela paused before adding, “My lord.”

  Nathaniel nodded, and turned back to Sylvie. She’d never seen anyone behave in that way, and she had to admit she was awed. His smile immediately warmed, and he tugged on her hand. “Come, my love.”

  She came, walking with dignity up the long, impossibly high, marble staircase, carpeted with a red fabric that unavoidably reminded her of Gone With The Wind, and what Rhett did to Scarlett there.

  He didn’t stop until they reached her bedroom. She could have sworn the door opened before he touched it, but she was past caring, heat burning into her body as though it was real flame. He only took his intent gaze from her for the briefest moments, to make sure his footing was secure, or to glance at the door in front of them. Always, his attention returned to her so she knew she was the center of his u
niverse. As he was hers.

  He kicked the door closed behind them and pulled her into his arms, bending his head to take her lips, but at the last moment he paused. His lips hovered above hers, his breath hot on her lips, he said in a low voice, “You won’t change your mind, will you? I have just enough control to stop now, but only just, and I’m not completely sure of it.” She stared at him, mesmerized, wondering how she could ever have taken him for Nev, even for a moment, or how she could have mistaken lust for love. This was love. If she said no now, he’d still love her. Not that she was about to do it.

  “I thought about it for hours. And it all boils down to this. I want you, Nathaniel and I want you any way I can get you. I do think you might have been sent here to prolong your line, but I really don’t care. That’s the truth, or as close as I can get to it.”

  With a sound suspiciously like a sob, he lowered his mouth the last quarter inch and kissed her.

  Their mouths joined as if it was their natural state. Not apart, not talking, but together, all the time. She leaned back against the door and he followed her, curving his arms about her waist. They kissed for a long time, it seemed, although time seemed to revolve around them, to make them the center of its existence. For a wild moment, she thought; If we stay here forever and never come out, perhaps time will stand still for us.

  He drew back and she realized he’d heard her. Of course he had. “Let’s pretend that, shall we?” His voice caressed her softly but until he masked it, she saw the bleak longing in his eyes. They both knew it couldn’t happen. The bleakness was replaced by a spark of warmth, different somehow to the raw need she knew was reflected in her own eyes. “It will last forever, love. In some universe, in some other time, what we do here will last forever.”