Ghostly Enchantment

by Angie Ray

  The messenger’s mouth fell open. “But...but, my lord, what shall I say to Miss Vale?”

  Vincent narrowed his eyes. “You may tell Miss Vale that I intend to build the largest bonfire this shire has ever seen and burn the portrait. If it were only a few hundred years earlier, I am certain she would burn along with it. Now,” he said in a dangerously soft voice, “I suggest you leave before I decide to gut you and throw your carcass out for the crows.”

  The messenger’s hands froze on his hat. Then he slapped it back on his head and turned, almost slipping in the puddle he had created. He scuttled out the door.

  Smiling unpleasantly, Vincent turned, only to see Wilmott standing frozen in the middle of the hall. “Well?” he asked, still in that soft voice.

  Wilmott opened his mouth as if to say something, but apparently thought better of it. He hurried toward the servants’ stair.

  Vincent returned to the dining room. He picked up the glass of brandy and drained it in one gulp. As he lowered the glass, his gaze fell once more upon the portrait.

  Her brilliant blue eyes seemed to glow in the dim room. They laughed down at him, mocking and beguiling at the same time. He could almost hear her laughter. Low, enticing laughter that made a man insane with longing and desire.

  His hand tightened on his empty glass.

  Now, Haversham would be the one to hear that laughter. Haversham would have Elizabeth’s sweet smiles and honeyed kisses. Haversham would have Elizabeth in his arms and in his bed—

  No!

  He hurled the glass away with all the force he could summon. It crashed against the wall, splintering into a thousand glittering, tinkling shards. Brandy dripped down the wall. He stared at the stain, then turned on his heel and strode to the door, almost bumping into the footmen who were about to enter.

  They took one look at his face and fell back, their expressions fearful, but he ignored their fright. “One of you see that Zeus is saddled and at the door,” he ordered harshly. “The other fetch my hat and cloak.”

  They goggled at him, and he snapped, “At once!” They scurried off to obey.

  In no time at all, he was mounting his powerful black stallion and spurring the animal forward into the storm. Swathed in his greatcoat, his hat low over his forehead, he rode down Helsbury House’s long drive toward the main road. The wind and rain beat against his face and crept under his collar, but he didn’t notice the cold. Rage generated a scorching heat.

  Haversham! He should have thrown his glass of wine in the fop’s face three months ago at the Helsbury musicale when he had the chance. He should have challenged the milksop to a duel and sliced him to ribbons. He should have carved out the miserable cur’s liver with his sword and fed it to his dogs.

  And Elizabeth! He should not have been so lenient with her, either. He should have locked her in the ancient dungeons below Helsbury House and kept her there until she agreed to marry him without delay. She didn’t love Haversham—she couldn’t! The man was a mincing, prancing fop. He wore a corset and padded his calves, for God’s sake. He wrote the worst poetry imaginable. And if his voice was any higher, he’d sound like a choirboy.

  Vincent reined in Zeus as they rounded a sharp turn in the drive, then urged the animal forward again. Specks of mud and gravel stung his face as he rode, but he didn’t slow his wild pace.

  No, Elizabeth wasn’t in love with Haversham. She was only marrying the fop to punish him, Vincent. To punish him for wanting too much, for asking too much, for demanding too much. He should never have given up so easily—

  Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. The stallion shied, and in the blaze of light, Vincent glimpsed a swollen, frothing torrent blocking the path. The rickety bridge that had spanned the usually gentle brook was gone.

  Cursing, he drew back hard on the reins. Zeus whinnied in protest. Vincent pulled the nervous stallion in a circle, a small voice of common sense telling him to return to the house. The night was too dark, the rain too heavy, the road too treacherous.

  As treacherous as Elizabeth Vale.

  Hot blood surged through his veins again, wiping away all reason. He spurred Zeus forward, into the rushing river.

  The chill water lapped at his legs and splashed onto his arms. He could feel the current tugging at him, but he paid no attention. He had to keep going. He had to prevent Elizabeth from marrying Haversham.

  He clenched his jaw. How could she stand for that worm to touch her? After everything they had been to each other, how dare she let another man touch her?

  How could she have betrayed him so?

  For a moment, Vincent’s grip on the reins slackened. He slid sideways. Gritting his teeth, he wound his fingers in the stallion’s dank black mane, ignoring the numbness creeping through his flesh, and urged the horse forward.

  Torrents of water swirled around them, tugging at him and the horse. Vincent dashed the water out of his eyes and peered through the gloom. He could barely make out the opposite bank. Between his knees, he could feel Zeus’s powerful muscles struggling against the current. The water soaked Vincent, pulling and dragging at him. Tightening his grip on the mane, he leaned forward. “You can do it, boy,” he murmured.

  Zeus’s ears flickered, then pointed forward again. With a sudden burst of strength, the stallion surged against the current, battling the water with strong legs. A moment later, the horse’s hooves scrabbled on the rocky bank.

  Vincent rested his head on Zeus’s neck for a moment, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Damn, he was a fool to be out on a night like this. It was all Elizabeth’s fault. As soon as he could lay his hands on her, he was going to punish her for putting him through this. He was going to kiss her until she begged for mercy, until she begged for forgiveness. And then he was going to kiss her again. Kiss her until she admitted that she didn’t love Haversham, that she could never love anyone else except—

  Lightning flashed again.

  Zeus reared. The reins slipped through Vincent’s numb grasp. He fell onto the rocky bank, his head striking a sharp stone.

  Pain exploded through him. All vestiges of warmth disappeared, and suddenly he was cold—chilled to the very marrow of his bones. He couldn’t move. His eyes drifted half-closed.

  Water rushed by inches from his face. A twig churned out of the water, scratching his cheek. The fresh pain prodded him from his daze. He sat up and rested his aching head on his knees. He wanted to sit there on the wet bank and allow the pain to subside, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have time.

  Sluggishly, awkwardly, he rose to his feet. Black shadows whirled in front of him, making him dizzy. Stumbling, he reached out blindly for the stallion.

  His hand encountered wet, sleek hide. Zeus sidled nervously, knocking against him.

  He fell back, splaying his arms outward, trying to regain his balance. The spinning shadows whirled faster. He fell back, back, back...

  The impact of the icy water hit him with the force of a bludgeon. Oxygen whooshed out of his lungs. He sank below the water, the sounds of the storm becoming muted.

  Then he was swept upward. His head broke the surface, and the howling wind and raging river pounded at his eardrums. He gasped for air, barely filling his lungs before the current jerked him under again.

  He kicked and clawed at the water, but it filled his boots and weighed down his clothes, dragging him deeper and deeper toward the bottom. He strained to kick off his boots, but they were too tight. He fought to untangle himself from the stranglehold of his heavy cape, but it only twisted more tightly around him.

  He thrashed in the water, the sound drowned out by the blood pounding in his head. His arms and legs grew leaden. Water pressed against his eyeballs and his eardrums. His lungs were bursting from lack of oxygen. He realized he was going to die.

  Rage boiled through him.

  Elizabeth...you jade...damn you...

  The world grew quiet. Dark and quiet and freezing cold. His anger faded. The pain in his head and lungs was excruciating,
but the ache in his heart was greater.

  Elizabeth...you can’t marry him...you can’t...

  Water, tasting of dirt and mud, poured into his mouth and down into his lungs. Numbness crept through him, sweeping away the pain.

  Beth...

  *****

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