The bedroom was smaller than the one they had just left, but decorated as grandly with art and a wall of books edging the fireplace. The one small part of her mind that was still working suggested these might have been the marchioness’s private rooms. The soft grays and yellows were a shadow of the brilliance of the marquess’s bedchamber, but more restful and feminine.
Marian’s prattle bounced through Ellen’s head as a maid held out a nightdress Ellen guessed had been retrieved from a storage trunk in the attics. The scent of herbs, which would ward off insects, billowed from it. Compliantly, as if she were no more than a babe, she let Marian help her get ready for bed.
The thick mattress surged upward to envelop her. As she rested against the pillows, she stared at the material shirred between the tester posts of the mahogany bed which was flushed with russet fire in the light from the hearth. Flowers rippled across it in a glorious copy of the garden.
“Here,” Marian whispered, holding out a handkerchief. “You must stop crying. This household has suffered a horrible loss tonight. We must not encumber Lorenzo with our own grief.”
Ellen wiped the back of her hand gracelessly against her wet cheeks. “You don’t understand, Marian. Lord Wulfric was so wondrously amusing. I was ready to fall in love with him tonight.”
“As you have with so many others.”
“But I never had a chance to fall out of love with him.”
“Hush.” She pulled a chair from the dressing table closer to the bed.
The sound added to the cacophony in Ellen’s head, but she said nothing as Marian spoke softly. When her friend vowed to stay by her side until she could sleep, Ellen closed her eyes and burrowed into the pillows. She winced as she tried to make her arm comfortable.
“Shall I read to you?” Marian asked.
“If you would get me a book, I shall read to myself.”
“I would be glad to read to you.”
Ellen wondered how anyone who was trying to be so nice could be so irritating. She struggled to smile, but was only able to grimace as she said, “No thank you. Find me something dull, so that I shall have no choice but to sleep.”
Marian set herself onto her feet and bustled to the hearth. Pulling out a book, she brought it back to the bed. “This should bore you. It appears to be some sort of parish report.”
Taking the book, Ellen nestled into the pillows again. She opened it and stared at the words. They threatened to blur together as she swallowed her tears. When she heard the door close behind Marian, she sighed. She did not like being false with her bosom-bow, but all she wanted was to be alone.
She set the book beside her and leaned back. Staring at the flowered material in the canopy, she let the tears slide across her face and onto the linen beneath her. She wondered if Lord Wulfric would have seemed as unappealing in the daylight as her other admirers. Now she never would know.
A low whistle lilted through Ellen’s dreams. She sat, then groaned as she bumped her bandaged arm. When had it been bandaged? Her head was clearer now, and the gaps in her memory taunted her. Searching the darkness, she saw a wisp of a cool glow near the window beside the dressing table. Could it be dawn already? No, for the other drapes still swathed the other windows in starlight and shadows.
The whistle came again.
“Who is there?” she called. “Marian, is that you?”
Her eyes widened as she watched, unable to move or speak, as the glow by the window thickened and coalesced into a shape. It was taller than the lyre-backed chair, taller than her stepfather, but not as tall as the spindly Mr. Wolfe.
A man!
What was a man doing in her room at this hour? Any of the servants would have knocked or, more likely, delayed their errand until she awoke. An intruder?
The glow edged closer. As it separated from the river of starlight flooding the carpet, it stepped between her and the mirror on the dressing table. Nothing reflected in it but the starlight.
“Forgive me for disturbing your slumbers, Miss Dunbar.”
That voice … she knew that voice! She gasped in a strangled whisper, “Lord Wulfric! But you’re dead!”
Corey could not keep from smiling as he saw the shock on Miss Dunbar’s face. It was a face he would have enjoyed looking at under any circumstances, but with her ruddy hair loose around her shoulders and her sapphire eyes heavy with sleep, she was even prettier than he had guessed when he took note of her in the gardens. Her downy skin had been burnished pink by the linen cover on the pillow, and the splatter of freckles across her pert nose accented the curve of her cheeks.
And her other curves—
He chuckled as she grasped the blankets and pulled them to her chin, interrupting his pleasant perusal. “No need for such a maidenly reaction,” he said, coming around the end of the bed, “when you have nothing to fear from me.”
“But I heard them pronounce you dead!”
“True.”
“Then this must be a dream.”
“You did strike your head very hard on the ground.” He reached toward her, but she pulled back. “I wished only to be sure that Mr. Bridges tended to your injuries. He is a good doctor, but I was concerned he would concentrate only on me and not turn his attention to you. I assume he bandaged your arm.”
She did not want to own that she had no idea who had seen to her arm. “If you are but a dream, I can wake up.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “When I open my eyes, all of this will be gone.”
Corey leaned one shoulder against the upright of the tall bed and folded his arms across his chest. He hoped she would not persist with this. He had guessed her to be more fanciful than the other pragmatists who surrounded him. That was why he had chosen her to talk to in the garden. If he had come to his cousin now, Lorenzo would have dismissed him as nothing more than an impossibility. Tonight Corey needed someone who was willing to look beyond the obvious. He hoped Ellen Dunbar could.
When her eyes opened, he smiled into their warm depths. No, she was not beautiful, for her chin was a bit too assertive and her hair a bit too red. Yet …
She opened her mouth to scream. He held up his hand, and she cowered.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said. “You were not scared by the seawall. There is no reason to be scared now.”
Ellen stared at it. She could not—even in her thoughts—call whatever this was Lord Wulfric. Her fingers slid along the bed. Gripping the book, she drew it from beneath the covers. She threw it as she shouted, “Get out of here! If …”
The book flew right through him. It struck the wall behind him. As he turned to look over his shoulder, he mused, “Very good shot, Miss Dunbar. You would have been an asset to our cricket team during my days at school.”
“Oh, my,” she whispered.
A knock sounded at the door. “Ellen!” called Marian. “Are you all right, my dear?”
Ellen continued to stare at … what was it?
“Go ahead and answer the door, if you wish,” said the voice which sounded exactly like Lord Wulfric’s. “I can wait.” He chuckled. “It looks as if I have all eternity ahead of me.”
She swung her feet over the side of the bed and groped for the borrowed wrapper. When it was tossed to her by the—by the whatever that glow was, she pulled it over her shoulders. She tensed, fearing it would be as clammy as death, but save for one cool spot, the silk was warm with the breeze fluttering through the window.
Rushing to the door, she jerked it open. Marian stood on the far side, her hand raised to knock again.
“What are you doing out of bed?” she chided. “The doctor ordered you to rest.”
“Marian, I …” Ellen stepped back as Marian bustled into the room.
“Come back to bed and go to sleep.” Marian smoothed the covers. “You need to settle your head.”
Ellen glanced uneasily at … whatever. A broad smile added a rakish gleam to—she might as well call it Lord Wulfric, for lack of a better name—to Lord Wulfric’s face. Swallowing rough
ly, she watched him as she asked, “Marian, will you look over by the hearth?”
“Did you see a mouse?”
“No.”
“A rat?” She shivered and yawned. “Get back in bed while I check.”
Ellen took one step, then paused as she watched Marian cross the room. Her friend walked right past Lord Wulfric, bent to look at the hearth before coming back to Ellen, carrying the book.
“There’s nothing amiss here, and you would be wise to be cautious with such a valuable book,” Marian said in her sternest voice. “Now to bed with you. Promise me you will stay in bed until noon.”
“Marian?” Her voice quivered on the single word.
Her bosom-bow’s frown softened. Guiding Ellen toward the bed, she said, “I know this has not been an easy night for you, but you must rest. If you would like, I shall sit with you until you are asleep. We can talk about plans for the rest of the summer. There are several young men I would like you to meet.” Her lips curled into a predatory smile. “If all goes as I hope, you may be announcing your betrothal before your visit is over.”
Despite the fact that she would as lief speak of anything but the parade of suitable suitors Marian had lined up in her head, Ellen almost said yes. Her answer faltered as her gaze was caught by Lord Wulfric’s. A nonchalant shrug of his shoulders reminded her of his words. He was prepared to wait for as long as necessary until he told her what he wished. Would he then leave?
“I shall be fine, Marian,” she said faintly while Marian tucked the covers around her.
“Of course you will.”
She flinched when she realized Lord Wulfric had answered.
Marian did not seem to notice Ellen’s reaction as she echoed, “Of course you will. Just rest, and you shall be well in no time.” She bent to kiss Ellen’s cheek. “Good night, my dear.”
“Good night,” she replied automatically, but she stared past her friend to where Lord Wulfric was walking to the hearth.
Marian closed the door quietly behind her.
Ellen erupted from beneath the covers, swinging her feet over the edge of the high bed. She ignored her aching head and arm. “She did not see you!”
“Probably could not.”
“Nor did she hear you.”
“Apparently that is true as well.”
“So only I can see and hear you?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I hit my head too hard, and this is all my imagination.”
He picked up the book from the stand where Marian had left it and carried it toward the shelves. As he passed the dressing table mirror, only the book was reflected, floating as if by some dark magic.
When Ellen gasped, he glanced at the mirror. The sardonic arch of his eyebrows could not hide the surprise in his voice. “By all that’s blue, I did not suspect that would happen.”
“If you are a …”
“Go ahead and say it. A ghost.” He chuckled. “It is not a word that is uncomely on the lips of a lady.” When she said nothing, he added, “I noticed that you did not tell Marian there was no rat in your room.”
“What are you?” Ellen watched him put the book back on the shelf. Except for the odd radiance around him—and the lack of a reflection—nothing seemed amiss. And the book flying straight through him, came the taunting reminder.
“You don’t believe in ghosts? You are a pragmatic Scot after all, I fear.”
She narrowed her eyes and said, “We Scots believe in all kinds of things that rumble about in the night.”
“I have been a very quiet and considerate ghost.”
“You woke me with a whistle.”
“You would have preferred I woke you with a kiss?”
Heat across her cheeks warned Ellen she might be blushing. Hastily she asked, “Why are you here?”
“I live here.” Again he chuckled. “Or I should more properly say I lived here.”
“But Marian didn’t see you.”
“Neither hide nor hair nor rat’s tail.”
“This is no time for silliness, Lord Wulfric.”
“Really?” He walked toward the window. The incandescence surrounding him did not dim as he waded through the swath of starlight flowing into the room. “You should call me Corey now. It would be more appropriate.”
“Excuse me?” She had not thought she could be more baffled, but every word he spoke added to her confusion.
“I’m not really Lord Wulfric any longer.” He gave a shrug as he sat on the windowsill. “To be honest, ’tis just as well. The title never fit me comfortably. Lorenzo was a good sport to surrender it when I came back from France, and now it is truly his. That seems only fair.” Glancing around the room, he mused, “And the Abbey will belong to Nessa and her family.”
“Nessa?”
“My sister Vanessa.”
Ellen recalled meeting Lady Vanessa Wolfe at an assembly in London a Season or two ago. The young woman had been the talk of the ton because she had failed to find a match. Apparently, she had made a choice if she now had a husband and child. Marian would know. Marian was attentive to all those details of London life.
Again he laughed. “Too bad Nessa’s first was a girl. Lorenzo would have happily stood by to let the title go to her son. Now he has it again.”
“How can you be here?”
“That I don’t have an answer for, but I know why I am here.”
“Why?”
He stood and gave her a rakish grin. When he walked toward her, she tried to make herself small against the grand headboard. She slid toward the opposite side of the bed, but his hand settled on the coverlet. The odd glow surrounded it. She recoiled, not wanting to guess what might happen if she touched that light.
When he spoke her name, she found his face too disturbingly close to hers. His gaze captured her, pinning her in place as surely as if his hands pressed her into the pillows. Her heart beat so loudly she was sure he could hear its pounding. The dark patch covering his eye only added to his roguish demeanor. Mischief sparkled in his other eye, warning her that Corey Wolfe, the late, yet unmourned Lord Wulfric, intended to be a spirit unlike any she had ever heard of.
His hand rose to cup her cheek, then drew back. She did not speak. She did not dare to voice any of the thoughts careening through her head as she remembered the sweet fire of his touch by the wall. But now … would there be warmth or no sign of life? When he sighed and turned away, she suspected he was as unwilling to discover that as she was.
“Lord Wulfric?” She hastily corrected herself when he glared back at her. Worse than being haunted by a ghost that set her heart to racing would be being plagued by a furious phantom. “Corey, there is no need for you to remain here. You have lived your life. You should go on to your reward.”
His sharp laugh startled her. “After so many people have wished me to go to perdition throughout my life, including your dear friend Lady Marian Herrold on more than one occasion, I think it is the better part of good sense to remain here.” Again he leaned on the bed post. “And besides, Miss Dunbar, I owe you a debt.”
“A debt?”
“For what you did in the garden.”
“You owe me nothing. I did nothing.”
“You tried to save me. You sat beside me when no one else did.”
She frowned. “How could you know that? You were bereft of your senses.”
“Not all of them.” Chuckling again, he sat on the edge of the bed.
She watched the brilliance spread over the counterpane like oil across water. It inched nearer to her, but stopped before the light could brush her. She drew her legs back, not wanting them to be touched by that iridescence, which might be as fiercely hot as the flames on the hearth or utterly lifeless. Fear thickened in the depths of her heart.
“I saw you,” Corey continued, bringing her eyes back to his suddenly somber face, “sitting beside my deathbed when you should have been lying here, letting the household worry over you. Are you always so stubborn?”
“Always.”
“Then it is just as well that I never had a chance to call on you, for I have been told I have less sense than a pair of obstinate oxen myself. No doubt, we would have been in the midst of a brangle within minutes.”
“No doubt.” She bit her lip to keep it from trembling.
He grinned. “Don’t look so dolorous. I enjoyed living, and I intend to enjoy this experience by repaying you the duty I owe you.”
“But, my lord—I mean, Corey, I told you that there is no debt between us.”
He stabbed a finger against his chest. She half-expected it to fly through as the book had, but his finger stopped as if it had impacted on living flesh. “I feel there is a debt to be paid.” His eye closed slowly. “Blast, ’tis impossible to wink at a pretty girl while I wear this patch.”
“Do you still need it?” she asked hesitantly.
“I assume so.” Folding his arms in front of him, he grinned again as he said, “You are changing the subject, Miss Dunbar. I will repay you. Don’t forget. I warned you that I am as stubborn as a Scot.”
Ellen could not keep from smiling. “That is, indeed, stubborn.”
“At last, you have seen the sense of not arguing. So what shall it be, Miss Dunbar? What can I do for you?”
“I have no idea.”
“Come now. There must be something you want that I can help you obtain.”
“No.” She prayed her face would not betray her, for she could not speak the truth. She wished Corey were alive, so she might learn if this fluttering of her heart each time he smiled at her was something more than calf-love.
“If you don’t know what I can do for you, then I shall have to come up with something on my own.” He rose and strode back and forth between the bed and the hearth. Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “I have just the dandy! If I cannot repay you, I shall do something nice for your dear friend Marian.”
“That would be nice, although,” she added uneasily, “wouldn’t she need to see you?”
“She would faint away deader than me.” His rumble of laughter sounded like distant thunder. “So I shall accede to her dubious wisdom and help her get what she wishes for you.”
A Phantom Affair Page 3