Donna Fletcher

by Whispers on the Wind

  “You were acquainted with Max Radborne?”

  Claudia laughed until she almost cried. “Good Lord, young lady, Maximillian would have positively thrown a tantrum if he heard you refer to him in such an unacceptable manner.

  “Well, Max isn’t here.” Billie thought a moment and amended that. “At least I don’t think he is.”

  Pembrooke entered and both women grew silent.

  “Tea, m’lady?”

  “I think with this chilled weather a brandy would be more satisfying,” Claudia suggested.

  Pembrooke glared at her.

  Billie agreed with a smile. “A brandy would be perfect right now.”

  “Pembrooke,” Claudia commanded in a true lady of the manor’s tone. “Brandy.”

  Pembrooke looked at Billie for confirmation.

  She nodded her approval and with a huff and a grumble Pembrooke vanished out the door.

  “What do you mean you don’t think Maximillian is here? Have you seen his ghost?”

  “What do you know of ghosts?”

  Claudia shrugged and both women once again grew silent when Pembrooke returned with the brandy.

  Pembrooke stoked up the fire to keep a warm heat in the room then left, closing the door behind him.

  Claudia reached for both glasses, handing one to Billie. “Why do you ask?”

  “I had thought ghosts were more of spirit than flesh.” The brandy sent a warmth spreading through her and she relaxed, drawing the lap blanket more comfortably around her. “But Max’s spirit was of solid muscle and radiated warmth.”

  Claudia neglected to take a sip of brandy before moving the glass away from her mouth. “You touched him? He felt of flesh? Not spirit?”

  Billie took another sip of brandy as if fortifying herself against what she was about to admit. “Yes, I touched him and yes, he felt of human flesh.” She leaned forward to stare curiously at Claudia. “Is that possible?”

  Claudia swallowed back a generous portion of brandy before she answered. “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting a real ghost so I cannot say what should or should not be.”

  “The vicar believes I have exhausted myself, and I but dream the encounters.”

  “Sounds sensible to me.”

  “And what if I dream of him again tonight? What if he waits upstairs in the master bedchamber for me?”

  “The master bedchamber is where he haunts?” Claudia asked anxiously.

  “His bedroom, as he reminds me.”

  “That’s solved simply enough. Move to another room and see what happens.”

  Billie smiled with the delight of one who had just received a much-wanted gift. “A simple, yet practical solution. Thank you.”

  Claudia finished her brandy. “I must be off. The storm sounds as if it has worsened. I had best return home before the roads become muddy.”

  Billie insisted on seeing Claudia to the door herself, much to Pembrooke’s displeasure.

  Billie waved to a departing Claudia and watched the coach vanish down the road toward the village.

  Shutting the front door against the storm, she turned to direct Pembrooke to prepare another bedroom for her.

  With fright and alarm she stumbled back against the solid wood door at the sight of Maximillian Radborne standing at the foot of the stairs. He was dressed as he was in the mirror that morning and he wore the same warning expression.

  “As you can see, I appear wherever I wish in my house; therefore, it will do you little good to change bedrooms.” His tone was adamant and authoritative.

  Infused with the strength of the brandy, Billie stood straight and approached him. “You intruded on my conversation with Claudia.”

  “This is my house, madam. I will intrude where I see fit.”

  Billie poked her finger at his chest. “The manor is mine now, Max, and you will do well to accept that.”

  “Max?” he roared and with his hands clenched at his side, he stormed off to the receiving parlor.

  “Petulant ghost,” Billie murmured and proceeded to follow him when Pembrooke returned.

  “Matilda thought perhaps you would care to have your meal in the quiet of your room this evening after the long day you have had. Would that be acceptable, m’lady?”

  “Yes, I would cherish solitude this evening.” She moved to climb the stairs when she stopped and turned to Pembrooke. “Please bring the brandy to my room with two glasses. I have the distinct feeling I am going to have company this evening.”

  “I shall make certain no one disturbs you, m’lady,” Pembrooke said quite seriously before disappearing down the hall to the kitchen.

  Billie was almost at the top of the stairs when she stopped, turned and softly asked, “Are you coming, Max?”

  “I’m already here, Belinda,” came the soft reply from the top of the landing.

  Chapter Eight

  “You are not to make any changes to my manor,” Maximillian demanded, easing himself into the chair beside the burning hearth in the bedchamber.

  Billie stood in the center of the room, her arms crossed and her toe tapping in annoyance. She ignored the tremor in her stomach and her legs and proceeded to defend her home. “This manor now belongs to me and I shall make whatever changes I feel are necessary.”

  “I think not.” He stood and moved with swift litheness in front of the hearth. The blaze of flames behind him sent his shadow wide and long over Billie.

  She shuddered but then she had a thought that brought a smile to her face and forced her forward on shaky legs to announce, “You can’t be a ghost. Ghosts don’t cast shadows.”

  He produced a witty smile and shook his head. “Who filled your head with such rubbish about ghosts?”

  “Shadowless ghosts are a fact,” she defended.

  “An old wives’ tale.”

  Billie prepared to argue when Maximillian continued. “We can debate this issue at another time. At the moment I am more concerned with my manor’s appearance and reputation.”

  “Reputation?”

  “I had hoped that the haunting tales would subside in time. But now with your penchant for spreading gossip—”

  Billie took umbrage at his remark. “I do not spread gossip!”

  “You gossiped about my appearance not only with Claudia, but with that pious fool of a vicar.”

  Billie bit back a scolding retort. “I sought advice from the vicar. Who is a gentle and understanding man, unlike you who are arrogant and stubborn.”

  He bowed ever so elegantly. “Thank you for the compliment. A lord of a manor could be nothing less.”

  “You are a deceased lord,” she reminded firmly.

  “Who intends to make certain his manor remains intact along with its reputation. You will do as I direct.”

  Billie’s hands curled into fists at her sides and with a stubborn tilt of her head she challenged him. “I will do as I please.”

  He approached her while his stern voice clearly warned that she comply immediately. “You will do as I say.”

  “Or what?”

  This woman who barely reached his chest in height and who he could scoop up in his arms without sparing a breath dared to contest his authority. He wondered with an insolent smile if her demonstration of courage masked the truth. Did her pretty, slender legs shake beneath her dress? Did her hands tremble beside her curvaceous hips? Was she actually afraid of ghosts? Of him?

  He moved closer to her, his coat brushing her dress. “I’ll haunt you.”

  The whispered brush of wool against wool unnerved her. He stood much too close. “You already haunt me.”

  “Not intimately.”

  She remained speechless for a moment before blurting out, “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He leaned his face next to hers. “I dare what I please.”

  With a slight tremor to her voice she answered, “You are no gentleman, sir.”

  He stepped away from her and roared with laughter. “Look to the vicar if it is a gentleman you wan
t. He will pray for your soul—” His eyes narrowed, his smile vanished and in a rough whisper that sparked the sensually charged air around them, he added— “Whereas I will tempt it.”

  Heat, warm and tingling, like fine brandy just swallowed, weaved its way through Billie, leaving her with a yearning for another taste. She forced herself to respond, not surprised to hear the tremor in her voice mount. “I prefer you seek your just reward.”

  He slipped out of his coat, tossing it on the chair before casually stretching out across the bed. “I enjoy my earthly reign.”

  “My mother once told me that spirits sometimes remain earthbound due to the circumstances surrounding their death.”

  “She’s quite possibly right.”

  Curiosity brought Billie closer to the bed. “I was told you drowned.”

  Maximillian patted the spot beside him, inviting her to join him as he delivered his stunning answer. “That I did, but there had been several attempts on my life before that fateful night.”

  So shocked by his confession, she rushed to the bed without thought to her improper actions and joined him. She sat beside him, her pumps hastily discarded and her stockinged feet tucked completely beneath her dress.

  “Who wanted you dead?”

  “That, my dear, is the question.”

  Her smile was brilliant. “No, that’s the answer.”

  He was rendered speechless by her beauty. He studied her with appreciation as he would a fine work of art. Lines, angles and shadows all blended perfectly to create a vision so lovely that a man could get lost in her radiance forever.

  She continued, undisturbed by his silence. “We need to discover who intended you harm and then you will be able to rest in peace.”

  With his senses soaring, but his pragmatic side in control, he addressed her sternly. “That could prove dangerous.”

  “I shall seek help.”

  “From whom?”

  She scrambled off the bed excited by the prospect of solving her ghostly dilemma. “Claudia and the vicar.”

  He swiftly left the bed, his movement startling Billie and sending her stumbling back. He reached out, grabbed her arm, swung her around and planted her with a firm plop on the edge of the bed.

  His towering height intimidated and his sharp voice cracked like a whip, causing her to jump in surprise. “You expect an old busybody and a pious weakling to help you solve murder attempts?”

  Perturbed by his overbearing manner, Billie stood and poked him hard in the chest. Not that it bothered him in the least; his chest was much too thick with muscle for her slender finger to do any damage. “What better person than Claudia, who openly admits she enjoys gossip. She could learn much.” She poked him again, much harder. “And as for Vicar Bosworth, he is also in a position to hear much as well as being a caring soul who would willingly offer his assistance if I requested.”

  He grabbed her attacking finger. “He is a weakling who can offer you no protection.”

  “I can protect myself.”

  He turned her own finger on her, delivering a small poke to her nose. “You can’t even defend yourself against a ghost.”

  “But I can,” she said with a sweet smile. “I shall solve this mystery and off you will go to your just reward.”

  “You’re so sure of that?”

  “Yes, if you are a ghost. If you are not?” She stared at his intensely handsome features, gooseflesh rushing over her. She feared the idea of him being of sound flesh and blood, for if he was then she would find herself penniless, homeless and at his mercy. “Then I shall discover the reason for your deception and seek reparation.”

  His response surprised her. “You possess much courage.”

  He released her finger and took several steps away from her. He paced in front of the hearth, deep in thought. Perhaps she could help. She could go places he couldn’t. She could question people he couldn’t. She could also find herself in danger.

  He stopped and turned a serious expression on her. “If I allow you to assist me in this matter, you will obey me without question.”

  “You aren’t my husband,” she challenged.

  His voice grew stern. “I am lord of this manor.”

  She reminded him yet again, and with a smile, “Deceased lord.”

  He commanded firmly. “Lord nonetheless, and you will obey me.”

  A sudden thought struck her and her answer came swiftly. “Of course.”

  He walked over to her with the grace of a majestic beast skillfully bearing down on its prey. “You acquiesce too easily. What is on that stubborn-headed mind of yours?”

  She stood her ground and offered him a teasing grin. “I realize that your spirit is bound to the manor. Therefore, once I leave here I can do as I wish with no threat of you following.”

  His grin was far from teasing, it was feral. “Remember, Belinda, the manor is your home. You must return here . . . to me.”

  With that he cupped her chin, leaned down and kissed her lightly. “And I do so look forward to our time together. Don’t you?”

  She opened her mouth to respond.

  He whispered, “Perfect.” And closed his mouth over hers.

  Startled by the invasion of his tongue, she jumped. He stilled her with his arm around her waist and gently guided her up against him. His tongue teased hers into response.

  Lost in a world of new senses and emotions, Billie slipped her arms around his neck and savored every moment. He tasted good, so very good, like nothing she had ever tasted before. And the length of him was so hard against her that he heated her to the core and brought tingles to her most intimate of places.

  He gently ended their kiss and eased her away from him. He raised her hand up to his lips and placed a soft kiss across her fingers. “Our time together will be memorable.”

  She disengaged her hand from his and walked away from him, a warm shiver racing through her. She hadn’t expected this. Kissing a ghost wasn’t supposed to feel so . . .

  She braced her hand on the fireplace mantel and stared into the flames. Kissing a ghost was impossible. Ghosts were spirits, not flesh and blood. They couldn’t feel or touch and certainly not kiss. He owed her answers, plain and simple.

  Billie turned.

  He was gone.

  She hurried to the door. It remained locked from the inside. She spun around, searching the room for any possible means of exit. She found none.

  Confused by the recent turn of events, she drifted through the rest of the evening, eating little of her supper and retiring early.

  With lights extinguished except for the glow of the hearth flames she lay in the large bed, sleep eluding her. Busy thoughts cluttered her mind. Why had there been attempts on Max’s life?

  Why would someone want him dead?

  The answer that intruded upon her thoughts was not at all to her liking. She wondered if an irate lover had wished revenge or a husband who had discovered that his wife was dallying with Max wanted justice. Marlee had mentioned how the ladies all found Max attractive and she had to agree with them.

  The artist had not embellished the painting. Maximillian Radborne, Earl of Strathorn, was a stunning specimen of a man. A man or ghost, whichever the case, far out of Billie’s reach.

  She must keep things in perspective; dwelling on his remarkable features would do no good. She must consider the consequences and plan accordingly. She had to investigate the attempts on his life and learn the truth: Was he a ghost or man? Only then could this vexing problem be solved.

  Tomorrow she would speak with Claudia and the vicar and ask for their assistance. Tonight she would get a good night’s sleep.

  She punched her feather pillow several times and attempted to comfortably rest her head. It took much effort and an hour of tossing and turning before she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

  The rowboat bobbed and tossed in the rough sea. Billie fought hard with the oars to control it. The rain and wind attacked her scantily clad body and the cold chilled h
er to the bone. Her eyes searched the dark sea. She couldn’t find him. Dear lord, she couldn’t find him. But she had heard him call to her Heard him call out for help. And she was here, ready to help him.

  The darkness grew heavier around her, the sea more rough, and she felt as if something were closing in around her.

  “Max,” she screamed. “Max, where are you?”

  No answer came. Only the sound of the raging storm that grew more intense by the minute.

  “Max! Max, please! Maximillian, where are you?”

  “Shh, Billie, I’m here. Everything is all right. I’m here with you.” His warm arms encircled her and cuddled her against the strength and heat of his body.

  She settled comfortably against him, her fretful dream fading as she finally slipped into a peaceful sleep.

  “Stay,” came a hushed whisper that tickled Maximillian’s bare chest just before she rested her head on him.

  His arms closed more strongly around her. “Sleep. I’m here.”

  But for how long? His thoughts warred. He admired and respected her spirit and courage. And his attraction to her startled him. He had desired many women over the years and had had his fair share, never involving himself in long, emotional relationships. He had always kept his distance and emotions under control.

  And yet with Billie, control was nonexistent. He hungered to possess her body and to challenge her mind.

  Why had she come into his life now? When it was so impossible. When soon his ghostly reign would end.

  He breathed deep of her sweet scent, burying his face in her hair, the silky texture caressing his skin. She would be his for a short time and he would make their time together unforgettable. And then . . . he shook his head and hugged her tightly to him.

  Chapter Nine

  “Attempted murder?” Claudia Nickleton repeated in astonishment.

  “You did say murder?” the vicar offered as well, pushing nervously at his glasses.

  Billie continued pouring each of them a cup of tea from the flower-sprigged bone china teapot. Her calm demeanor and steady hand made her reference to murder sound as if it was a normal teatime subject.

  She passed Claudia’s teacup to her and offered the vicar his before taking her own and sitting back in the drab gray high-backed chair. “I merely suggested that perhaps there was more to Max—” She paused and corrected herself. “Lord Radborne’s death than first thought.”