The Right to Remain Single: A Ghostly Mystery Romance Novella

by Monajem, Barbara

  Samuel Furbelow threw back his head and laughed. Max hurled his spear straight at Sam. It passed right through him, and then the ghost was gone.

  * * *

  James loosened his arms from about Thomasina, so she had perforce to step away. What a pity, for she felt safe in his embrace.

  She shuddered. Sam’s laughter curdled her blood in a way no ghostly wail could ever do. He’d been unnerved by the ghost in the past—as most people who couldn’t see him were—but not anymore. He hadn’t even flinched, while as for the poor monk—

  She got ahold of herself and hurried over to him. “Are you all right, Brother Antoine?”

  “He’s a sniveling idiot,” Sam said with a last snort of laughter. “But if he had any doubt that the ghost is evil, he doesn’t anymore.”

  “Shut your horrid mouth, Samuel Furbelow,” Thomasina said. The monk stood, brushed himself off, and crossed himself again with trembling hands.

  “Come now, Tommie-love. You were as scared as he was, clinging to Blakely as if your life depended on it.” Sam chuckled. “Fun for Blakely, no doubt.”

  “I wasn’t afraid. I was surprised. Max would never harm me.”

  Sam giggled, a dreadful, lunatic sound. “You don’t have any Latin, do you? I didn’t pay much attention in school, but I recognize curses when I hear them. Frightfully entertaining but completely useless. He can threaten Brother Antoine all he likes, but when it comes down to it, he’s nothing but a ghost.” He giggled again, and a shiver ran down her spine. “Was he shaking his fist and grimacing? A pity I can’t see him. I’d like to laugh in his face.”

  Brother Antoine looked at Sam as if he were mad. “You must not, monsieur. This ghost is dangerous. He is capable of any infamy.”

  Sam swung round to the unhappy monk. “He’s nothing but bluster. Start praying your heart out. Tomorrow night you’ll do the exorcism.”

  “No, he will not,” Thomasina said. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. And he mayn’t do it on Christmas Day, either.”

  The monk nodded. “Oui, mademoiselle. It would not be right.”

  Sam rolled his eyes, but conceded. “Oh, very well. You’ll just have to put up with me for longer, won’t you?” He leered. “I don’t mind being stuck in a house with a tantalizingly lovely female.”

  She reddened. “You’re disgusting, Sam.”

  “It’s my life’s work.” He sneered at poor Brother Antoine. “Maybe if you pray all through Christmas, you’ll have the stomach to deal with the ghost.”

  The monk rubbed a hand over his face, then tramped away toward the house.

  “Well, well,” said Sam, “look what’s up above you, love.”

  Startled, she looked up, and an arm came around her—James’s arm. He swung her out of Sam’s reach and kissed her hard and fast. He didn’t let her go.

  Sam narrowed his eyes. “Spoilsport.”

  James grinned. “Kind of you to point out the mistletoe, Furbelow.”

  “Enjoy her while you can,” Sam said sourly, and slouched off after Brother Antoine.

  “Thank you,” Thomasina breathed.

  James smiled at her. “My pleasure.” Judging by the look in his eyes, he might like to kiss her again.

  “We’re still standing under the mistletoe,” she said. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Obediently, he put his arms around her and kissed her—lingeringly this time. And when the tip of his tongue probed at her lips, she couldn’t help but respond. Their tongues touched, danced together.

  “Oh,” she said, but it sounded rather like a moan. How embarrassing.

  “Oh, indeed.” He laid his forehead to hers. “Lovely Thomasina.”

  The sound of ghostly clapping brought their heads around. Max danced a jig before them in the snow. He pursed his lips and mimed more kissing, and then did a strange little wiggle with only his hips.

  “Io, Saturnalia!” he cried.

  * * *

  Warily, James eyed the ghost’s bizarre pantomime.

  “Oh, he’s back! I feared he would not return for a while,” Thomasina said. “When he becomes too enraged, he vanishes, and sometimes he’s gone for ages.”

  “Perhaps he temporarily loses the power to make himself seen and heard.” James wished Max weren’t quite so easy to see at the moment.

  “You were right, he does celebrate Saturnalia,” Thomasina said. “I never really listened before, seeing as I didn’t understand Latin, but he says that—what he just said—a great deal at this time of year, and he dances, too.”

  Hopefully not as obscenely as he’s doing right now, James thought grimly. He tucked her hand in his arm and turned her toward the house. “Let’s go.”

  The ghost appeared in front of them, humping the air and making crude gestures with his hands.

  “Stop it, Max,” James said in Latin. “I understand what you’re asking me to do, but I cannot.”

  The ghost’s mouth dropped open. He groaned. “You are impotent?”

  At first James didn’t understand the word the ghost used, but another gesture from Max made it clear. “No, of course not.” He moved to leave, hoping the ghost would let be, but Thomasina held back.

  “He’s trying to tell you something,” she said. “We shouldn’t be rude.”

  The ghost was the rude one, but James didn’t intend to enlighten her. “He wants us to join in—in Saturnalia celebrations with him.”

  “Oh, how sweet. Hurray for Saturnalia!” She smiled at Max and blew him a kiss, which he caught in his ghostly hand. Then he mimed to her, indicating she should kiss James again.

  She laughed, blushed, and obeyed. Growling a little with frustration—for he longed to do precisely what Max suggested—James kissed her back.

  “She wants you,” Max hissed in James’s ear. “What in the name of Jupiter and all the gods is stopping you?”

  James broke the kiss and glared at the ghost. “Proper behavior. She is not my wife.”

  “Take her to bed, and she will be.” He mimed sweeping Thomasina off her feet and laying her in the snow, and then proceeded to demonstrate exactly what she and James should do.

  Thomasina put her gloved hands to her stinging cheeks. “Oh, heavens. Is he…?”

  “Yes, that’s precisely what he,” James said, and this time she let him escort her away—after a brief, fascinated glance at the ghost.

  “He wants you to go to bed with me?” Must she sound so pleased about it?

  “Yes,” he grumped.

  “Is that what Saturnalia was about?”

  “It was like any other celebration that gets out of hand,” James said austerely. “Dancing, drunkenness, et cetera.”

  She giggled. “You needn’t sound so starchy. He just wants us to join in the fun.”

  The ghost was right behind them, muttering Coward! in James’s ear. “That may be part of it, but…”

  “But what?”

  He resigned himself to the truth—or at least a portion of it. “He says you are in danger. He insists that I must protect you.”

  She made a face. “Poor Max. He rescued me from Sam once before, but maybe he fears being unable to do so again. I think he’s right. Sam has changed. He’s not himself—baiting my father, giggling in that horrid way, and completely unafraid of the ghost. It’s as if—as if he’s gone a little bit mad.”

  James wasn’t sure he would go to those lengths, but Furbelow had an unaccustomed air of desperation about him. Might he try to force Thomasina once again, knowing the ghost couldn’t stop him?

  “We’re stuck with him for at least three more days,” Thomasina said glumly.

  “Yes, but I don’t have to tup you to protect you,” James said. “Pardon my language, but it’s the outside of enough to expect me to do so.”

  “He knows you would like to,” she teased.

  He didn’t answer—for what could he say to that but the absolute truth? That he longed to possess her, from her sweet mouth to her lush breasts to her hot, wet core. Whi
ch was putting it almost as crudely as Max’s demonstration.

  Thomasina chuckled, enjoying his discomfiture. “I don’t suppose he has the same standards of behavior as you. Weren’t the Romans flagrantly scandalous? I expect the Warrens would have been right at home in Ancient Rome. I’m beginning to think I would.”

  He compressed his lips on a retort, and immediately she relented. “I’m sorry, James—don’t be annoyed with me.”

  “I’m not annoyed, I’m tempted. You’re utterly delightful, and I wish I could do as I please rather than what honor requires.”

  She licked her lower lip, and a shiver of desire headed straight for his cock.

  Fortunately, his brain was competing for attention. He rubbed his temples. “I don’t see how assaulting you could possibly help Furbelow. Your father would disinherit him on the spot.”

  “Sam thinks I would agree to marry him rather than bear the shame of ruin—which is absurd, as I would merely go live with my scandalous relatives. What I fear is that shock and anger might kill Papa.”

  “Your father is stronger than you think. His whole purpose in life is to take care of you. He’d be more likely to run Furbelow through—if he got to him before I did.”

  She smiled. “My knight in shining armor. Don’t worry about me. Forewarned is forearmed. I’ll lock my bedchamber door at night and be perfectly fine.”

  He wished he could be sure of that. Danger and deadly peril, the ghost had said. Danger of rape, certainly, but although vile, it wasn’t usually deadly. Many women considered ruin a fate worse than death, but Thomasina wasn’t one of them. Most likely Max didn’t understand that, stuck as he was in an antiquated way of thinking—whatever that might be.

  “Is there more than one key to your door?” he asked.

  “Mrs. Day has keys to all the rooms, but—”

  “Then that won’t do. Keys can be stolen.” Damnation, there was only one way to protect her. Three nights, maybe four or even more. How would he survive with his honor intact?

  Still, he had no choice. “I’ll have to stay in your bedchamber at night.”

  Chapter Six

  “You mean you’ll…” She withdrew her hand from his arm and stood back a little. Now that going to bed with him seemed a real possibility, she found herself completely unnerved.

  His smile was rueful and kind. “Not quite so appealing, is it, when you think it might actually happen?”

  She tried to collect her thoughts. She liked him so very much. She wished she could keep him.

  “It is and it isn’t,” she said. “I’m not the same person as four years ago. I don’t want to be ruined—but nor do I object to it, either. It doesn’t seem to matter much anymore. What I want is something else entirely—or rather, something more.”

  “Intimacy,” he said.

  “Yes!” How wonderful, and yet so natural, that he understood. It felt as if they had known one another forever. She twisted her hands together, a little embarrassed but mostly eager. “Not merely of the body, but of the mind and heart as well.” She glanced up at him. “As your Cavalier poet says.”

  “So he does,” James said. “He’s a nuisance at times, but there’s no doubting his worldly wisdom.”

  She tucked her hand back in his arm. “I wasn’t being nosy, you know. He showed me the poetry. I thought it was yours at first, because ghosts can’t write.” She bit her lip. “He wanted you to, er, tup me that night.”

  “And berated me repeatedly after you left. I’ve often wondered if he misses the physical aspect of love—or perhaps just wants us to enjoy it while we can.”

  “Max does the same—encouraging people, that is. The little wood past the orchard is the local lovers’ retreat. Sometimes he disapproves of a young man and drives him away, but if he approves, he keeps everyone else away instead. Joey’s mother swears that Joey is a direct result of Max’s assistance. He made sure her irate father didn’t catch them until it was too late, so he had no choice but to allow them to marry. They are a very happy couple, so Max was right to help them.”

  James smiled down at her. “Both our ghosts approve of falling in love and marrying. Perhaps in their long experience of humanity, they recognize that intimacy, in all its aspects, is best expressed within marriage.”

  Yes, she thought, wondering if by depriving herself of marriage, she was depriving herself of that delightful intimacy, too.

  Perhaps, but she had chosen her safe path and meant to keep to it. “As long as all the aspects are there, which they would not be if I were to wed someone like Mr. Tilson.”

  “Nor if I were to marry one of father’s heiresses. But you needn’t worry. Perhaps Max suggested what he did because I cannot protect you at night unless I am in your bedchamber. I’ll be there to ensure your safety, but that’s all.”

  She couldn’t suppress a sigh.

  His lips twisted regretfully. “Hopefully, I can manage to avoid being caught by a servant coming in at dawn to build up the fire.”

  She shook her head, grateful for the prosaic turn of the conversation. “Mrs. Day finds it tiring to go up and down stairs, and Martha is so grumpy in the morning that I get my own fire going rather than require her to wake early. She makes up for it in the evenings, when Mrs. Day wants to sit with a cup of tea.”

  “Good. But if we should happen to be found out, you needn’t worry. I shan’t let your father force you to marry me.”

  “What about your reputation? For Papa might make a huge stink, you know.”

  “My reputation can go hang. What matters is your freedom to do as you choose.”

  She would never accept such a sacrifice on his part! She would have to take the blame upon herself, but it was no use telling him so. They would just have to be careful.

  “Your happiness,” he said.

  If only she knew what that meant. A few days ago, she’d had a vision for her perfect, untrammeled future—but now, she wasn’t so sure.

  * * *

  Indoors, they parted to dress for dinner. James left Thomasina in her bedchamber, attended by Martha, changed into evening attire, and wrote a quick letter to Colin Warren. He could protect Thomasina for now, but later he might not be in a position to do so. He hastened downstairs and found Joey setting the dining table.

  “Just the man I want to see,” he said. “To whom shall I give a letter to be posted?”

  “I can take it,” Joey began, then shook his head “No, best give it to Mick, sir. I have to stay to serve dinner, but he’ll take it to the village now and see that it’s put on the mail coach tonight.”

  James eyed the young footman. “Can you spare a moment from your duties and come to the stables with me? I’d like to speak to you and Mick together.”

  Joey willingly accompanied him outdoors. Once the door was shut behind them, he asked, “Begging your pardon, sir, but is it about Mr. Furbelow? ’Cause me and Mick, we don’t trust him. Martha will sleep in Mrs. Day’s room while he’s here, but what about Miss Tommie? Me and Mick, we could keep watch in the corridor, but if the master finds out, he’ll want to know why, and Miss Tommie, well…” He ground to an embarrassed halt.

  “She explained the problem to me,” James said. “I’ll protect her, never fear.”

  Joey let out a breath. “That’s a load off my mind, sir, and that’s the truth.”

  In the stable, James gave the letter to Mick. “I’m as uneasy as you and Joey about Mr. Furbelow’s presence here, and I want Mr. Colin Warren to know as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll go straightaway, sir.” Mick hefted a saddle onto a huge bay stallion. “This fellow needs exercise. He don’t get much nowadays, since Mr. Warren don’t ride no more, and he’s no lady’s mount, that’s for sure.”

  James caressed the bay’s velvet nose. “He’s a powerful one. I wouldn’t mind taking him out someday.” How, he wondered, would he manage to court Thomasina in only a few short days? Once Furbelow and the monk were gone and Colin informed, he would have no valid reason t
o stay.

  First things first. “I’d like you two to keep your eyes and ears open. Let me know if you notice anything…unusual about either Mr. Furbelow or Brother Antoine. Anything suspicious.”

  Joey frowned. “Such as what, sir?”

  “I have no idea. I’m not convinced that they are really here because of the ghost. Mr. Furbelow is deep in debt, and the reward for getting rid of the ghost is nowhere near what he needs. Add to that my doubts that Brother Antoine can really perform an exorcism, and I can’t help but wonder what their true motives are.”

  “That monk’s took to his bed, scared witless by our ghost.” Joey hesitated, and then blurted, “What about you, sir? Do you mean to drive the ghost away?”

  James shook his head. “No, Miss Thomasina wants him to stay. So do I, and so do you, and so do most of the villagers, I’ll bet.”

  “Aye, that we do, sir. He’s a right good ghost.” Mick paused. “Suspicious, eh? Like Mr. Furbelow riding to the village to buy some rope?”

  Rope?

  “What’s he want rope for, I ask you?” Mick went on. “And if he does need it, we’ve plenty here in the stables. Never known him to spend a penny more than he must.”

  “Maybe he got it on credit.”

  Mick raised his head from tightening the girths. “Nay, sir, hereabouts we know him too well. If he pays nowt, he gets nowt.”

  James nodded. “Where is this rope?”

  “Took it indoors, he did. Says he can’t trust us not to confuse it with ours.” He reddened. “Like we was idiots, sir. What he meant, if you ask me, was that he’s afeard we’ll steal it and sell it.”

  “As if we would!” said Joey indignantly.

  “He certainly does his best to make everyone dislike him, doesn’t he?” James said. “Thank you, and please continue to keep your eyes open.”

  Mick heaved himself onto the stallion’s back. “Will do, sir, never fear.”

  On the way back to the house, Joey said shyly, “Me and Mick, we was saying seems like Providence sent you here special to take care of Miss Tommie.”