Shame doused her desire, and Belle swung around to face the wall. His description made her feel vulnerable, more so than when he had held her. She readjusted her gown and shift, both of which had let her down. And her shawl was a puddle on the floor. She let the useless thing lie there.
“Still here?” he asked. “Why not run screaming that the lord of the manor has ravished you?”
She ignored his taunt and focused on the gold embossed frame that had bit into her back. The golden frame contrasted sharply against the deep crimson patterned wallpaper. Inside the frame was the portrait of Lord Terrance’s father. Her thoughts, which a moment ago had swirled like a hurricane, settled with unease.
“As I have already told you, my lord,” she said in a calm tone that belied her worry that both father and son might be listening, “I am not interested in acquiring a husband.”
“Why not?”
By the breath that brushed her neck, he was close. Her hard won composure crumbled, and she hugged herself to hold onto what little remained.
“You are still a young lady, gently born,” he said. “Your manners are presentable and your features comely.” He curled a lock of her hair with a finger and tugged it. “And despite your denials, you do enjoy the pleasures a man can give you. It makes no sense to turn away from a married life.”
“I would never trick a man into marriage.”
“If you wish to be courted, London is the place to find eligible men to fill your delicate ears with Byron’s words.” His finger traced her ear lobe. “And bestow soft kisses on your hand.” He raised her hand to match action to word. “Instead, you are in Cheshire, in the dead of winter. What is a reasonable man to make of your intentions?”
She snatched her hand away. “Even if I were back in London, I would not moon over a man who cooed sonnets in my ear.” She moved along the passageway, away from the overwhelming temptation to lean back, to let him pleasure her. “But that is neither here nor there. I came here at your mother’s behest.”
“Ah, yes, the ghost.”
“You do not believe in such things.” She traced the line of another frame.
“No, I do not.”
She faced him then, chin high, eyes firm. “Well, my lord, that answers your question, for I do believe in things not seen by ordinary people. What you consider mere children’s tales or old women’s superstitions has a deep root in my everyday life. As for seeking a husband, experience has taught me that there are few—no why not confess the truth. There are no eligible men in our society who would overlook such ‘irrational’ beliefs in their wives. So, rest assured, I am not in your home to catch your interest. I am here to catch a ghost.”
Chapter Eight
Belle held up a hand when Lord Terrance would have spoken. “Until this moment, I have kept my promise to not speak of such things, but understand this. Though I may not speak of them, I still believe in them.”
He grazed her cheek with his knuckles, beginning a tremble in her again. “Life would be simpler if you tried not to.” There was a disturbing thread of sadness in his voice. “By holding to this stubborn stance, you seal yourself to a life of empty nights and lonely days. Is that what you want?”
“That is the life I live. It is not of my choosing.”
He shook his head. “It is most entirely of your choosing.” This time, a note of steel threaded his words. He tipped her chin up. “Close your mind to the dead and focus on the living. You said you learned from experience that men would not want a superstitious wife. I say you missed the lesson entirely. Put aside these foolish fantasies and begin to live your life.”
“By denying who I am?” She dislodged his grip.
He shook his head, looking frustrated. “Think not only about your future, but of the man who may wish to marry you.”
What did he mean? Did he hint that he might wish to marry her if she denied her beliefs? She dashed away that false hope. She was certain he spoke of Jeffrey.
“I have it on the best of authority that Jeffrey already plans to ask Lady Delaney to be his wife. What I believe or not will make scant difference to him.”
She made to walk away, but he gently pulled her back. “And is he the only man who may wish to marry you?”
“I will not marry a man who does not understand me. If he asked me to be other than what I am, how, then, can he truly care for me?”
“You are being deliberately stubborn. I cannot believe your grandfather is willing to allow you to throw away your future like this.”
“My grandfather loves me and believes in who I am.” As you do not. She smiled to mask her hurt. “This brings us to the real matter at hand.”
“That is?”
“Since I have now paid my penalty, it is time you paid your debt.”
His face assumed a bland mask. “You will hold me to it?”
“You gave your word.” She did not care how awkward he might feel. She would not let him slip out of his payment after he had so skillfully extracted his tormenting kiss.
“Very well. To show my good sportsmanship, I will even advise you to pick anyone but the Parkers.”
“Why not the Parkers?” she asked.
“You would find it difficult to obtain an invitation. They run inside their home the moment they see me come.”
“As you said, the choice is mine. I will make arrangements and let you know when, where, and with whom we will sup.”
He gave an elaborate bow. “May I escort you downstairs?”
Belle shook her head, more at the thought of him touching her than a rejection of his escort. “I wish to have a closer study of these portraits. Alone.”
He hesitated and then said, “Dinner is at eight.”
She was not ready to face anyone else for the rest of the day, so she pretended to study a portrait of King Charles. “I remember.”
His departing footsteps were the loneliest sounds Belle ever recalled hearing.
She remained in the gallery long after Lord Terrance left. The memory of their impassioned embrace would not leave her as easily as he had. How was she to sit across from him at dinner and see his strong hands expertly wield his knife and fork and not imagine them caressing her? How could she watch his sensuous lips brush his wine glass, and not remember how he had taken possession of her mouth? She picked up her fallen shawl, hugged herself, and wandered the shadowy hallway, drawn toward the light by the far window.
Was he right? Would people know that she had been ravished? She could not bear to let that happen. No one must suspect the effect Rufus Marlesbury had on her. After the many pitying looks directed her way because of her broken engagement, she had promised herself to never let people see her as weak.
It grew late; the winter sun sat low over the empty hills and fields. She should return below before it grew too dark to negotiate the corridors. She straightened with resolve.
She would skip dinner, since her appetite was gone anyway. Lord Terrance might deduce why she wished seclusion, might even laugh at her timidity. His enjoyment of her fears did not matter. Before she next faced him, she must compose herself, be rid of these troublesome sensations he had generated. Mendal could relay the message that Belle had a megrim.
She turned away from the window only to discover the long corridor ahead was bathed in darkness. She had tarried too long. Using touch to orient herself, she went back the way she came.
She vaguely recalled the path. The rise and fall of each frame against her palm marked her progress. She turned left and then right. The stairs should be coming up soon.
She turned a corner and stopped in dismay. Although no light signified where she stood, a familiarity brought a sinking sensation. Lord Terrance had kissed her here. How could she have come back to this spot when she had walked the other way?
Her palm touched a he
avy picture frame, and shock spiked through her arm, into her body, and erupted out of her back. At that moment of contact, a spirit’s overwhelming anger eclipsed her wants and needs.
She swung around to see who had used her as a portal. The darkness remained. Belle hugged herself to control her shaking. Air cooled by degrees, and her shawl proved inadequate yet again. Once back in her room, she would get rid of it. It reminded her too much of how easily Lord Terrance had disrobed her.
But she had to regain her room before she could do that, and she was no longer alone.
Belle took a shaky breath and prepared to reason with this restless spirit. “Whatever you seek, I can help.”
The coldness circled her, and she followed its advance until she no longer knew which direction she faced. Controlling her panic, she let her purpose for coming to Clearview rule her response.
“I mean you no harm. Her ladyship summoned me to help.”
“You desire my son,” a harsh voice said.
Heat suffused Belle’s cheeks. Did she wear her emotions on her sleeve? And then another thought surfaced. His words confirmed the spirit haunting Clearview was indeed the late Earl of Terrance, Rufus Marlesbury’s father.
The ghost must have seen her kissing his son, and now it berated her on her behavior. Obviously both father and son found her an unsuitable match. She refused to take umbrage. It might surprise them both that she agreed wholeheartedly.
“I will not take any action to have him. I came to help you, and the moment I do so, I will leave Clearview. You have my word, my lord. You need not worry on behalf of your son. Indeed, you should be proud of him. You and Lady Terrance have raised a wonderful man.”
Her words seemed to still the spirit. She sensed him at her right side, and she turned to seek its presence only to confront a wall. That overwhelming agitation was gone, however, and in its place, peace invaded the corridor.
“Is that why you stay at this manor house?” Belle paused and thought about the man’s death and her last vision. “How did you die, my lord? Did someone deliberately harm you?”
A bitingly cold wind whipped her backwards and made her swallow her next question. She would have tumbled to the ground had she not grabbed a heavy portrait for balance. It tipped sideways under her weight.
Suddenly, all went calm again. The portrait under hand shifted back into position. Belle let it go in fright and backed away.
The cold air warmed marginally, and she sensed that her supernatural visitor had departed as abruptly as he had appeared. Now that the spirit was gone, another worry surfaced. When she first touched the late Lord Terrance’s portrait, and the spirit had used the contact to enter her body, she had feared it would take her over. There were terrifying accounts of such possessions.
At the idea of such an invasion of her body, her legs buckled, and she sank to the cold floor. Her skin grew chilled, as if she was caught in a wild snowstorm. Though she had encountered spirits before, none had frightened her as this one did, even after it left her.
Shivering uncontrollably, she replayed her conversation with Lord Terrance. He had told her that she had chosen her life. Could he have a point? Simply because she could sense such supernatural disturbances, must she deal with them too?
He had suggested that if she but chose differently, put aside her fantasies, she could live as a passionate woman. Could she do as he asked? Close her mind to this aspect of her life? Find a husband, have children, claim a chance to be cherished and loved and enthralled by a man’s desire, as she was whenever Lord Terrance touched her?
Surely that was a more favorable existence than to cower in the dark, live a shadowed existence, and act as if she were part of her society, yet remain excluded from it in all the ways that mattered?
She took a deep breath, and then another, and willed her body to be calm and her mind to be rational. One encounter with the ghost of Clearview, and she was ready to bolt home. If this entity visited Lady Terrance nightly, no wonder she slept so little and seemed so fragile.
Her ladyship could not even seek out her son for comfort and advice, for he did not believe in such things. After months of solitude and anxiety, she had sought aid from an outside source, and by doing so, had widened the rift within her family. How could Belle leave now, reject her ability to help the countess, a woman who had been as kind to her as a mother?
With a sigh she stood. Her legs still trembled, but she was determined to not run away. Nor was she foolish enough to believe that if she dealt with this one ghost, she could snuff out her talent as one did candlelight.
She had resigned herself to a lonely future. Yet, with one kiss, his lordship had made her rethink her decision. That must not happen again. It did not signify how much her body craved another lifestyle. It simply meant that she lived in a society that refused to accommodate both her heart’s desires and her special calling. One must give way to the other.
This time, when Belle strode along the corridor on her way toward the stairs, she pushed open curtains to let in the late afternoon sun to light her way.
All thoughts of Lord Terrance were pushed aside, and she focused, instead, on his father. The late earl had died last spring in London. The public report said it had been a hunting accident. Moment by moment, Belle became certain that it had been murder. Why else would his spirit remain at Clearview? Obviously, he could not rest as long as his murderer walked free. Did he seek to protect the rest of his family from this villain, or was vengeance his sole purpose?
Most curious of all, why was he at Clearview? Why not roam Richmond Park where his body was discovered? His remains had been brought here, so that might be the link. Or did the man or woman responsible for his death reside in this house?
She pulled her shawl tighter and made her way downstairs. By the time she reached her bedroom door, she knew what she must do. To release this troubled spirit from his earthly worries, she must discover what distressed him. And if the ghost refused to tell her, his human family must do so. Avoiding people was no longer an option. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until she laid the ghost of Clearview Manor to rest.
THE MOMENT Belle entered her room, Mendal looked over at her and gasped. Her maid had always been very observant. Belle felt shattered, both by Lord Terrance’s torrid kiss and then her terrifying encounter with the ghost. Her lips were sore, and she was sure her gown was askew, perhaps even torn, for she felt a cool breeze at her lower back, and her skin was so chilly she probably looked like a ghost. She wiped her cheek and realized she was also crying. Her maid was no fool.
Earnest, less observant, barked in welcome and came over with his tail wagging.
She held up her hand to forestall her maid’s questions. “I need you to do something for me, Mendal.”
“Anything, my lady.” There were tears in her eyes now.
“I am physically unharmed, Mendal,” she said. “Breathe easy on that score.” But I need time to recover in private.
Belle sent her maid to the servant’s quarters to procure information about the Parkers. Where did they live? Who lived in their household? What was their current circumstance?
“And Mendal.”
“Yes, my lady?”
She gave her the shawl. “Burn this.”
Mendal was gone a good hour, bless the thoughtful woman. During that time, Belle washed her face, brought normalcy to her scattered hair, and sponged herself clean, relishing the feel of cool, clean water as it wiped away all signs of her fevered emotions. She then put on her leather glove and took out the owl to feed her. Once the bird was returned to its cage, Belle sat on the floor and buried her face in Earnest’s fur for a prolonged hug. That last act especially helped her recover a semblance of serenity.
On her return, Mendal laid a piece of paper with the Parkers’ directions on the night table and hurried to ready Belle for dinner. As s
he slipped a white cambric muslin dress over Belle’s head, Mendal spoke about the Parkers.
They had fallen on hard times, the maid said, and were likely to be thrown out of their home by spring. The husband was away in London seeking work. The wife had recently recovered from an illness. She had four adorable little ones who were always well-behaved in church, though they were rarely seen in school anymore. The local vicar checked on the family often, especially this winter.
Belle’s gown fell elegantly over her stays and slip. The material was light yet warm. It had a demi train and long sleeves. Far better than anything the Parkers could afford. Pinched below her bosom, it showed off her figure. Belle’s chest squeezed tight as she imagined what Mrs. Parker’s figure must look like after her recent sickness.
With a critical eye, she viewed the trim of scalloped lace that was broad over her bosom and narrow by her shoulders and murmured, “It will do his lordship good to see the condition his tenants live in. I hope he squirms.”
Mendal draped a warm, violet Pomona wrap over Belle’s arms. It perfectly matched her eyes. “Can they afford to feed two more, my lady?”
“We will feed them,” she said. “Tell the housekeeper that I will need a banquet for seven prepared and packed, ready to be delivered to the Parkers by three and thirty sharp. I shall go first to prepare them for Lord Terrance’s later appearance.”
“Is this truly wise, my lady?” Mendal asked.
Belle understood the meaning beneath her maid’s words. What she meant was, is it wise to go there alone with his lordship? That did not bother Belle. The entire Parker family would be her chaperones. No more kisses in dark corridors.
“I go for a meal with a widow and her small children, Mendal.” She waved the directions at her maid. “According to this, they are quite close by, so it will be a short journey there and back. I will also have Earnest for protection.”
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