She chose her dark blue Empire-waist dress trimmed with a faint touch of ecru and hurried into it. She managed to twirl her hair into a messy knot at the top of her head while frantic strands slipped free and graced her neck and ears.
She put on her pumps, grabbed the tray from the bed and rushed out the door.
Matilda met her halfway down the stairs. “M’lady—”
Billie, in her usual haste, didn’t let her finish. “I have much to do.” She pushed the tray into a startled Matilda’s hands and hurried the rest of the way down the stairs.
She rushed to the small closet beneath the stairwell to retrieve her black cloak and bonnet. Holding them securely in her hands, she swerved around and collided with Maximillian.
He grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her and when certain she was surefooted, he took her firmly by the arm and hauled her into the study, releasing her and closing the door solidly behind him.
“Good morning, it’s a pleasure to see you, too,” Billie said, dropping her cloak and bonnet on the chair.
He walked over to her with such fierce determination that he caused Billie to take several steps back. When she could go no further, her back up against the desk, her hands braced on the edge, he stopped, reached out and brushed the frantic strands of hair away from her face.
“You need a lady’s maid,” he said. “Though I do favor the careless way you do your hair. It definitely suits you.”
“I assume that was a compliment, so I’ll say thank you.”
“And I thank you,” he said softly.
She detected the hint of passion that he subdued and her own voice trembled when she spoke. “Thank me for what?”
“Last night.” His whisper brushed her cheek as he bent down and kissed her like a lover introducing her to his lips for the first time. Sweet, gentle, considerate. Far different from the demanding, passionate, crazed man of last night.
She discovered she liked both sides of this dual lover.
“Did you enjoy me?” he asked candidly, bracing his hands on either side of her and pressing his body to hers.
His blunt question did not disturb him in the least. He actually looked pleased with himself, wickedly pleased. He wore that arrogant smile that made him appear all the more handsome and his body, pressed so intimately against hers, warned her that his passion was far from under control.
She kept her wits, though her body ached to arch against him and feel his hardness sink into her. “You were quite pleasurable.”
He pressed his forehead and nose to hers. “Detail pleasurable.”
She looked at him strangely. “Detail?”
He rubbed their noses slowly together. “Precise detail.”
She grew nervous thinking of the intimate words needed to comply with his command. How could she tell him how much she had enjoyed the way he tasted her so intimately or that his touch sent tingles and shivers through her or that his kisses were unforgettable?
“Tell me,” his whisper urged when she hesitated.
His nose no longer touched hers but his face remained only a fraction away. He watched her with intent eyes that promised he would not be denied his answer.
Where to begin? What to say? She shifted uncomfortably and searched for appropriate words.
“Let me help you,” he offered, as if sensing her discomfort and wanting to ease it. “Did my kisses please you?”
Her eyes widened with her smile. “Very much.”
“And when I touched you,” he said, brushing his knuckles across her nipple, “did you find that enjoyable?”
Her breath caught and held momentarily as she nodded vigorously.
“And when I tasted you,” he said, pressing his hard manhood to nestle between her legs, “how did you feel?”
The same way it was making her feel at this moment, hot and bothered. She kept that observation to herself and answered in a whispered reluctance, “As though I was in a dream that brought me endless pleasure and I never wanted to wake up.”
He bent his head. She pressed her finger to his lips, preventing him from stealing a kiss.
“I woke up.”
He took a step away from her. “And?”
“And I would appreciate an answer.”
“To what question?”
She braced herself for his response. “Are you a ghost?”
“What do you think?” he asked, his arms folded across his chest and with an arrogant rise of his brow.
She stood straight. “I think you play games with me.”
“Then you have but one choice.”
“Which is?”
“Uncover the secrets of my death and set me free.”
She sighed and threw up her hands. “You always talk in riddles.”
“Solve them,” he challenged. “You’re intelligent.”
“Another compliment,” she gushed. “You’ll be turning my head before I know it.”
“You don’t need a man to fill your head with empty compliments. You need a man to match your sharp wit, your stubbornness and to satisfy your unbridled passion.”
Passion. He always spoke of passion. Did the man never think of love? She walked around him and snatched her cloak and bonnet off the chair. “Since you mention my wit and stubbornness I might as well put them to good use.”
She slipped on her cloak and placed her scoop bonnet on her head, tying the ribbons firmly beneath her chin. “I’m off to uncover secrets and reveal the true ghost of Radborne Manor.”
His strong voice halted her at the door. “Billie, will you be able to deal with the truth?”
Her smile did not hide the sadness in her eyes. “I have no choice.”
o0o
Maximillian collapsed in the chair before the hearth, burning with a low flame. He had never expected this turn of events. He had never dreamed he would find a woman of such strong will and attractive spirit. But then he hadn’t counted on Belinda Latham entering his life.
She had completely turned his world upside down. He had been focused and direct in his mission and now his thoughts were . . .
He shook his head, confused. He hadn’t had a sane thought since she entered his life. If he wasn’t concerned over her improper behavior, then he was concerned with his uncontrollable urge to possess her. His feelings for her ran deep, so deep he wasn’t even certain he understood them.
He had lost complete control with her last night and he had never lost control with a woman in his life. But when he had seen her standing there naked, her softly curved body glistening with droplets of bathwater, he had succumbed to his raging desire to possess her body and soul.
He wanted her more than he wanted any woman he had ever been with and her intimate surrender to him only made matters worse. Their lovemaking had been so completely satisfying that he found himself thinking in terms of love.
Love. A word he had strongly and purposely avoided over the years. He had not even believed in its existence. To him it was as real as ghosts. And now that . . .
His father materialized through the hearth, startling Maximillian.
“Must you do that?” he snapped, his relaxed posture turning rigid.
Oran gracefully took the seat opposite his son. “I am a ghost; that is what I do.”
“It’s quite unnerving.”
“I daresay that Billie would agree with you,” he said with a laughing grin. “Having a ghost pop in and out of your life at his will can be a tad disturbing.”
Maximillian stood, walked around to the back of the chair and braced his hands on the top. “I have no choice.”
“You have more of a choice than I do,” Oran said sadly. “You should use it wisely.”
“I am attempting to.”
His father grew annoyed. “Confide in Billie, let her help.”
“She could also be hurt,” Maximillian argued. “I do not want to see her become so embroiled with this problem that she places herself in danger.”
“The day she arrived at this m
anor she placed herself in danger,” he warned. “When will you listen to me?”
“When will I listen to you?” Maximillian repeated incredulously. “When will you listen to me and not give Billie useless information?”
“Derry Jones is not useless information.”
Maximillian rounded the chair and paced in front of the hearth. “I told you he is unimportant and as for the mastermind of the group residing in St. Clair” —he shook his head— “I’ve come up with nothing on that, not even a suspect.”
“You’re not looking in the right places, not talking to the right people.”
“I spoke with almost everyone in the village and no one knows anything.”
“You haven’t spoken with the right people,” Oran insisted, sternly.
Maximillian stopped his pacing and stared at his father. He sounded like he used to when Maximillian was but ten and had not handled a task to his satisfaction. He had never raised his voice or hand to Maximillian. Calmly and forcefully he would reprimand him and explain he expected more from him, the heir to Radborne Manor. “I am doing all I can.”
Oran shifted in his chair. “I realize that, my son. And I realize you are limited in your approach. That is why it is so important for you to trust Billie.”
“And endanger her as well.”
Oran looked at his son with weary eyes. “She could be in more danger not knowing the truth. What if she unknowingly becomes involved with the very person you seek?”
“I don’t know who that person is so—”
Oran interrupted anxiously. “Precisely, and neither does Billie, leaving her vulnerable.”
“My protection of her now is more than adequate, actually more adequate than if I confided in her,” Maximillian offered.
“And what if she discovers the truth before you can offer an explanation?”
Maximillian cringed. “I don’t plan on having that happen. When the time is right she will be told.”
“And what then?”
Maximillian smiled broadly. “By then she will belong to me completely and will have no choice but to accept the inevitable.”
Oran laughed. “Billie doesn’t strike me as the type of woman to accept a man’s dictate. She possesses too strong of an independent nature and is too sharp of wit to bow to any man.”
His father’s words angered Maximillian. “She’ll have no choice. She traversed an ocean to a new destiny and she will accept it. She has no family to return to. Her future is here and here she will stay.”
Oran raised his brow. “You have decided all of this for her?”
“I know what is best.”
“For her or you?”
“I am lord of this manor,” he reminded his father.
Oran smiled. “But she is presently lady of the manor and no ghost.”
Maximillian groaned and dropped down in the chair. “I tire of being a ghost.”
“I know the feeling.”
Maximillian glanced with worry at his father. “I wish—”
Oran held up his hand. “What’s done is done. Let us finish this and find peace. Now tell me what Billie has discovered and what she is up to.”
Maximillian shook his head. “She’s off to—” He jumped out of the chair, startling his father.
Oran laughed. “She’s up to something, isn’t she?”
“Bloody hell, yes,” he said and stormed out of the room.
Chapter Eighteen
Several heads turned when Billie entered the Cox Crow Inn. She smiled at all the startled faces and made her way around the tables to where Bessie and Marlee sat in the far corner near one of the two windows.
“M’lady, what are you doing here?” Bessie asked with concern.
Billie slipped off her cloak and bonnet and joined the two women at the table. “I’ve come to talk with you.”
“At the inn?” Marlee stared wide-eyed at her.
Billie glanced curiously from one woman to the other. She then cast a quick peek over her shoulder. A sea of surprised faces stared back at her.
She turned back to the two women. “I suppose it isn’t proper for the lady of the manor to frequent the local inn?”
Both women nodded.
Billie shrugged. “Well, I’m not your customary lady of the manor. I’m an American and my customs differ. So, St. Clair will have to abide by my strange ways.”
“Then it will be an ale you’re having,” Marlee said with a smile, raising her tankard high.
“An ale it is,” Billie agreed, wondering if it was as strong a brew as the American ale.
Bessie served her a full tankard and Marlee raised her own in a salute. “To the new lady of Radborne Manor.”
All the tankards were raised along with a cheer for Lady Radborne. Talk returned to normal after that and no one seemed to find it peculiar that Lady Radborne sat among them; she had been accepted like no other lady before her. The thought pleased her.
“Now what is it you wanted?” Bessie asked.
Billie lowered her voice. “Have either of you heard of anyone in St. Clair being involved with the wreckers?”
Marlee shrugged. “There may be one or two who would help for an extra coin or two.”
Billie took a sip of her ale before she shook her head. “No, more involved than that, like someone who would actually command a group?”
Both women shook their heads vigorously. “No one here is that involved.”
Billie finished another swallow, the generous brew tasty. “Are you sure? Couldn’t someone have kept their unlawful activity silent?”
Bessie answered. “St. Clair is a small village. Everyone here knows everyone. If someone was heavily involved with wreckers the village would have heard about it.”
“And neither of you have heard anything?”
Marlee added her thoughts. “Nothing. Gossip flies around here. We surely would have gotten wind about such activities.”
“There’s something going on here in St. Clair,” Billie insisted and took another swallow of ale. “Derry Jones wouldn’t have mentioned the place otherwise.”
Bessie gulped back a hefty swallow and then spoke with a tremor in her voice. “He was probably bragging like men do.”
“Sure enough,” Marlee agreed. “A man’s not a man unless he brags about something.”
Billie wondered if it was the light-headedness from the ale she drank that made the women appear nervous. “I suppose if something was going on you both would know about it?”
Marlee boasted. “There’s nothing that goes on in St. Clair that we don’t know about. Right, Bessie?”
Bessie seemed reluctant to agree, but she finally nodded in agreement.
Billie continued. “Then you both were aware of the smuggling activities in the caves beneath Radborne Manor?”
“How did you find out about that?” Marlee asked.
“I took myself on a tour of the caves,” she admitted proudly.
Bessie almost choked on the ale she had just swallowed. “You went to the caves?”
“Yes, and saw the stacks of barrels and crates, which leaves me to believe that the smuggling activities are still going on.”
“What else did you discover?” Marlee asked with what she assumed was an innocent voice, but sounded heavily riddled with guilt.
Billie was about to admit that she met Oran Radborne’s ghost but thought better of it. “Only that it is a perfect place for smugglers to hide their spoils. How long has this been going on?”
Bessie reluctantly answered. “Lord Oran Radborne had an agreement with some men who smuggled goods from time to time.”
“What kind of agreement?” Billie asked, wondering if Claudia had neglected to tell her everything about Oran and the caves.
Marlee explained. “The cave was a drop-off point for their shipments. Oran would be given a percentage of whatever goods he favored; in turn the men had the use of the cave. No one was hurt. It was strictly a business arrangement.”
“
What went wrong?” Billie asked, sensing the two women knew a lot more than they admitted.
Bessie took over. “We heard something about a larger smuggling and wrecking crew attempting to take over the smaller one.”
“I assume the small crew didn’t favor this?”
Bessie and Marlee cast anxious glances toward each other.
Bessie continued speaking. “They didn’t have a choice and neither did Oran Radborne.”
“So one of the new crew murdered Oran.”
Both women nodded, Bessie confirmed. “It’s assumed that’s what happened.”
“What about Maximillian? Did he know anything about his father’s illegal dealings?”
Marlee answered. “He was probably aware of it. This type of dealing is not unusual. Some manors fall on hard times and have no choice but to resort to this type of unlawful trade.”
Billie recalled the financial papers Mr. Hillard had supplied her with. Radborne Manor was in no jeopardy of financial loss now or in the near future. So why had Oran agreed to such nefarious dealings?
“Maximillian must have halted all dealings after his father’s death,” Billie said.
Marlee supplied her with detail. “He was in a fury. He had the old magistrate removed and a new one assigned. He spoke with other lords in the area and got them to agree to bring a halt to the illegal dealings. They were about to organize an association to help bring about the demise of all wrecking and smuggling activities in the area when Maximillian Radborne met with his death.”
Billie tipped her tankard up for another swallow and was surprised to see it empty. Bessie hastily refilled it from the earthenware pitcher on the table.
“The crates and barrels now in the caves would mean that the smuggling is still going on,” Billie said, speaking aloud her thoughts.
Bessie offered her own conclusion. “More than likely since the manor has sat empty for about eight months except for Pembrooke and Matilda being there.”
Marlee frowned at Bessie.
Bessie ignored her. “That’s why you should be cautious and stay out of the caves.”
Marlee piped in as well. “That’s right, m’lady, stay out of the caves.”
Donna Fletcher Page 17