But while Althea’s smile across the table at him was kind and understanding, the looks on the faces of his men were full of jocularity. His last glance down at Chloe steeled his resolve.
He bowed his head. Taking a deep breath, he began the seaman’s prayer; the one he’d heard Captain Smythe say time and again, asking for God to calm the raging seas…
It was the only one he knew.
Gaining acceptance…
Chloe kept glancing up during the meal and seeing him watching her. She wondered what he was thinking. As soon as it was over, she asked if she could do the dishes, but Althea refused.
“This is my job, dearie. Ghost mentioned that he wasn’t finished showing you the house. Go with him.”
Chloe moved toward him, saying over her shoulder, “Next time, Miss Althea.” Turning to him, she smiled. “What’s next, Mr. Ghost?”
“Just Ghost. I don’t need more years added. I’m old enough.”
Chloe didn’t ask how old he was. “But it doesn’t seem right. I’ve thought of you as Ez—” She paused abruptly, embarrassed. Finally, she averted her gaze and just added, “Yes, sir.”
He gave her his lop-sided grin and opened the door in front of them.
Chloe gasped and froze. He had stopped her just inside the opening of the music room. The walls were a brownish gold, with a hint of coral in the intricate design of the paper. A white baby-grand piano stood, close enough to the French doors that she would have the necessary light if she decided to play.
She couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face as she turned. Her voice was almost inaudible. “Oh, G-ghost—may I?”
His handsome smile answered, followed by a, “Please.” She slowly moved toward the fine instrument. The bench matched it, but the top was covered with soft tulle, and she leaned down to run her hands gently over it.
She looked up at him hopefully. “Is there something you wish to hear?”
“Whatever you wish to play.”
He stood in the doorway, mesmerized as he watched her face. The sun was waning on the horizon, and he observed her profile—almost a silhouette—as she ran her hands over the material and gracefully lowered herself onto the bench.
Lovingly, she ran her fingers along the keys up, then down, picking out chords. Then she found her place and closed her eyes, beginning to play softly.
Her touch on the keys brought the briefest of memories to him. His mother had this kind of touch, and the piano responded in kind, with a voice that was delicate and lovely.
He smiled, watching Chloe’s fingers float over the keyboard with such grace. Her melody wafted through the air as it reached him. He’d expected a simple tune, but what she produced was a sweet, complicated piece, one of England’s oldest melodies. Her eyes closed as she played, as if she danced with the music in the room ever so sweetly.
He was transfixed.
It was only as her fingers neared the end of the piece that he moved toward her and sat down. Tears had begun to trickle down her small face, and he brought his arm to rest across her shoulders gently. When she felt him touch her, she opened her eyes and looked up.
“I am amazed,” he whispered gently.
She sniffled. “Thank you, sir. I-it’s such a privilege to be able to play an instrument as fine as this one.” She looked up to see his smile. “What are you thinking, sir?”
He leaned forward on the piano, turning to face her. His answer was extremely gentle. Tilting his head down at her, he said softly, “I’m thinking I wish I knew who the real Chloe is. Tell me, young lady, who is she?”
“She is no one special,” she breathed, looking away.
He brought her face back to him. “Oh, but I disagree. I think she’s very special. And what is it she wants?”
She blinked. “To be accepted,” she said quietly. “To be part of a family, not above or below anyone else.”
He reached out and moved her hair back from her forehead. “What makes you say that, Chloe?”
She tried once again to turn away from him, but he refused to allow it. Bringing her chin back toward him, he lifted it. “Answer me.”
She took a deep breath. “When Mama and Papa were alive, I didn’t even know I was different. It wasn’t until Mama died and he remarried, I realized it. Then, suddenly, I knew.”
“Different”” he said softly. “You are exotic. You are beautiful. And no one cares about the color of your skin, except you. You are breathtaking, Chloe.”
“All I want is acceptance. That’s all. There was none for me there…after that.”
“Acceptance,” he echoed softly.
“Yes.”
He looked down and gently moved her tears away with his thumb.
“Oh, Chloe,” he said softly, bringing her close to his chest. “I know the feeling of being an outcast, very well. He brought his lips down softly, down into her hair, before speaking. “But listen to me, Chloe, and listen well.”
There was a long pause before she looked up into his face. “Yes, sir?”
“You need never worry about being accepted here.”
Chapter 10
More than one way to skin a cat…
Ghost was in the study when he heard her cry of distress and stood up immediately.
“Oh, dear God! Please help us!”
It sounded like a prayer, and he knew she was in trouble.
It was amazing he’d heard it at all. Had it not been a warm day and the windows in the study open, he might not have. Even though he was inside the manor, he was out the door and had her in his sights in less than a minute. What was she doing out here by herself? His eyes scanned the area, searching for possible threats. Not for one instant would he allow anyone or anything to pose a danger to the young woman he loved more every day.
The moment she saw him, Chloe rushed straight into the safety of his arms without hesitation.
“Shh, moppet. I have you. Calm down and tell me what frightens you?” He smoothed back her silky red hair, inhaling the blissful, honeyed scent.
Having her trust pleased him beyond words. At the moment, all he could think of was how her perfect small frame fit against his larger one, as if God himself had made her just for him.
“He’s going to kill Purr,” she whispered in fright. “Please stop him, Ghost. It was an accident. Make Woody see reason.”
A dark curse silently escaped his lips. It would have to be Woody. Give him the devil, himself, Ghost thought, and at least, he would have a chance to talk sense into his opponent. Woody was impossible to reason with when he was in a mood. “No time for details, my girl. Where is he at this moment?”
“In his greenhouse, looking for something sharp to skin my cat with,” she warned, terror in her wide, blue eyes. Her words tripped over one another and she tried to explain. “Purr didn’t mean to use one of his potted plants to relieve herself. She just thought it was a nice patch of dirt, honestly. Besides, she knows animal feces provides important nutrients to the soil.”
Ghost fought the urge to laugh at that, but no sooner had he considered it, Woody’s angry voice grew closer. He knew the angry man was heading their way. It was then that he noticed something wiggling between himself and Chloe and realized it was Purr.
Bloody cat. He should have suspected as much. He considered for a brief moment tossing the cat through the greenhouse door and letting Purr and Woody settle their differences. Purr could probably take care of herself quite well. But as he glanced down at Chloe, he decided otherwise. She was too tenderhearted. He could never do that to her.
Glancing back to the house, he knew it would be impossible to carry Chloe back to safety before his gardener emerged from his domain, ready to kill the cat and not caring that his lady would be devastated by the threat. Ghost pressed Chloe down and pointed toward one of the lush green bushes large enough to hide both of them. “Quick, hide her under there. It’s dark enough, and it might keep her out of sight until Woody calms down a bit.”
Instead of s
hoving the kitten inside, Chloe knelt down and tucked herself inside the small space, clutching the animal deep out of reach.
Damn and blast, Ghost thought. There was no help for it. He’d have to hide under there, as well. Chloe was not about to let Woody get to her cat, and there was no way in Hell he was letting anyone intent on doing harm to the cat come close to her.
If only his friends could see him now, he reflected, sheltered under a bloody bush on his own property, hiding from a scrawny gardener who weighed half as much as he did. They’d be laughing themselves into fits. Chloe was whispering to the kitten to stay quiet as she turned to face him. Purr very nearly escaped her hold, but Ghost grabbed the little ball of fur and helped Chloe get a better grip on her.
He looked down, smiling as Chloe’s beautiful blue eyes met his, and she gave him a grateful smile. She had so easily stolen his heart. Those eyes, filled with raw, honest emotion tugged at his soul, and her dimples made him long to kiss her until she couldn’t breathe.
Without a thought, Ghost moved his lips over hers and enjoyed the taste of her mouth. He pulled her closer to deepen the kiss, and she eagerly responded.
Just then, however, the cat decided to protest. He could hear Woody close by now, muttering his plot to provide cat meat for tonight’s supper. Chloe turned her back to Ghost now, shielding the kitten and putting more distance between the mad gardener and his prey.
“Bloody cat thinks she can use my plants…” Woody bellowed, his footsteps tramping around the area.
“Ghost, you have to protect Purr,” Chloe demanded in a low tone, backing her body closer to him and molding her small frame into his large one.
He closed his eyes as his body reacted to over a year of celibacy. He was hard and ready to claim her, but hell if their first time would be under a yew, with Woody looming close by and armed with a sharp weapon. Grabbing her hips, he held her still and tried to think about something other than her soft bottom pressed into his groin and her sweet, soft hair and delicious lips. He thought of cats… Tabby cats lashing at his face... Kittens leaping across the air in his own home, stabbing him with sharp claws… Cantankerous old men wearing frayed hats…
He lowered his hand from her delightful backside, but her dress had bunched up when she had backed up against him. Instead of feeling cloth, his hand encountered a silky, smooth leg.
Bloody hell. He should have ripped his hand away, but his fingers couldn’t help but caress the exposed skin, enjoying the warmth of her thigh. Ghost knew he was going to Hell for many things, most he had the good sense to regret, but this was worth the price of losing salvation. He longed to move his hand upward and see if she was aroused as he was.
He dared not.
Those thoughts abruptly vanished as, suddenly, the bushes above their heads were spread open.
“I’m sane again now.” Woody’s voice was still angry but sounded reasonable now, at least. “Both ye can come out now. Sassy Lady, keep that blasted cat out of my garden, or next time, I’ll gut it.” His voice was full of censure. “Ghost, get yer hands off the innocent lass. Ye ain’t married yet.” Woody stood up straight. “Now. These were yer own orders, if ye recall. Ye said we’re all startin’ over fresh. Either bloody do things right, or don’t do ’em at all. Ye made the orders.” He started to turn back toward the greenhouse and paused. “Follow ’em.”
The bushes had closed back above them, and Chloe remained still a moment before she sighed with relief. “Thank goodness. He’s being reasonable again. But I warn you, Ghost. I swear, if he even thinks of gutting my cat again, I will steal the teeth right out of his mouth.”
It was over. Ghost took the time to adjust himself before helping her from their hiding place. Any question of how Woody found them was answered when his two mastiffs jumped up to lick his face. When they started nosing around Chloe because of Purr, she cringed and announced it was time to go back to the safety of the manor. Ghost watched her go, the moment of passion lost.
Damn dogs.
Damn cat.
Damn Woody.
Damn the fact that he’d ever told his men they should start over!
Chloe stopped inside and leaned back against the door, closing her eyes. Purr hopped down and disappeared, but Chloe was still unable to move. Her heart was pounding, and she was shivering from her shoulders all the way to her toes. Her body had betrayed her. When his lips took hers, she had almost thrown her arms around his neck and invited him inside her mouth. Purr had begun wiggling just then, however, and the cat had reminded her that they were outside under a bush with an armed Woody prowling nearby.
She hadn’t realized pressing her bottom up against him would be so…so arousing. These feelings were new to her, and she didn’t know quite how to deal with them. She only knew that feeling his groin up against her was delicious. She’d wanted to stay there forever. When Ghost had put firm hands on her hips and held them still, she’d been terribly disappointed.
Then his hand had moved to rest on her thigh. She’d wanted it there…no, she’d wanted it higher, closer, deeper.
Her face became crimson as she was unable to put the thought of his hand moving across her thigh from her mind.
Suddenly, the door swung inward, and she whirled back.
He stood before her, his eyes husky and dark, hungry. Hers must have been the same.
Chloe couldn’t help herself. She flung herself into his arms and raised up on her tiptoes as far as she could to press her lips to his. When she felt the passion of his mouth on hers, she put out her tongue to dance with his.
His hands, in the dimness of the room, moved down her body until he cupped her backside and lifted her higher, until her legs were wide and around his waist. His hands were under her skirts, grasping the globes of her bare bottom. She thought she might shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment.
Without warning, the door to the kitchen was flung open, and they both froze. Ghost flattened their entwined bodies as far as he could against the door. Neither of them moved.
“Ghost? Have you seen—” Althea’s voice!
In his arms, Chloe held her breath. Neither of them moved in the darkened room, and Althea turned and left, moving back into the kitchen. Had she seen them?
Chloe gave a strangled cry and wiggled down out of his arms, turning and running with all her might back up to her room.
Sounds and shadows…
Over the next week, Ghost found he had become quite concerned about the safety of not only Chloe, but the entire household. He’d spent most of his time with her. However, he needed to know what was going on in town; was there news in Ainsley of Chloe’s capture? News of the plot to kill her? He needed to know.
He sat in the corner of the alehouse, enveloped in old scratchy clothes, with Woody’s old hat on his head. He set it slightly sideways, hoping it didn’t fall apart and land around his shoulders, revealing his face. Woody was quite unhappy about his demanding to borrow it but let him when he explained it was for Chloe’s sake.
He’d gone to his usual corner, making eye contact only with the Edmund, the barkeep, who nodded slightly and kept wiping down the bar when the men sitting at it spilled their drinks. A few minutes later, Edmund brought over his usual.
It didn’t take long. Two men came in. He recognized them at once, remembering them from both the alehouse, the day before he took Chloe off the street in front of the wharf, and from the warehouse, the next day.
They talked quietly, almost too quietly, but he heard them. However, they hadn’t been there for more than ten minutes, when the door opened, and in walked Captain Gregory Smythe.
He was shocked, although he was unsure why. Captain Smythe had been responsible for Chloe for the past year; of course, he would be looking for her. Lord Darby must had taken the ship to deliver the cargo in America. Ghost slumped his shoulders even further and pulled the old hat further down to hide his scars. He slacked his jaw between sips of ale to change the look of his facial structure.
The captain approached the barkeep and spoke to him, looking around the house, letting his eyes rest on each person before sitting down. His gaze rested on Ghost for just a moment. There was no sign of recognition, but Ghost dared not let himself relax.
It was only a moment before Gregory approached a man closer to the bar and spoke to him. Ghost listened carefully, thinking he heard his name. Looking away, he frowned.
However, the captain began moving about the room. Now, he was speaking to a few men only two tables away. Once or twice, Gregory’s gaze rested on him.
His heart began to pound. Was it because he was afraid Gregory would find out he had Chloe and his past would be out in the open? Or was it because he realized he was fast falling in love with her? Forcing himself to sit and listen to the conversation, he took another sip of ale.
But Gregory was not a man easily fooled. He was smart. Ghost let his demeanor slouch a tiny bit more. It was imperative no one recognize him.
One man in the house spoke up. “There’s rumor going round that a new bloke has started up a shipping business. Only seen him once. Seems he looks a lot like the bastard son of Lord Jaymes. He disappeared a few years ago. But they had his memorial a year ago, when he died, so we know it isn’t him.”
“Old man’s been strange since then,” another spoke up. “If you try to see ’im, go in the daytime. Got several mastiffs with a nasty-temper. In addition, ye might get shot.”
Ghost caught, out of the corner of his eye, the two hired thugs turning to each other.
The third man at the table with Captain Smythe nodded his head. “Old man has another son. Rumor was he was jealous of the bastard. We all wondered if he was responsible for the boy’s death.”
Conquered by the Ghost Page 10