“Would you show me the garden?”
Alone, he knew she was hoping. His eyes returned to the sweet spirit next to him. He couldn’t do this to her. Would not….
“It is all right, Christian. I-I understand,” said Contessa. With her jaw set, her face lifted from her upturned palm with a regal air. She blinked rapidly and then lowered her gaze while her charming chin held firm.
He was not all right with any of this! And he didn’t want her to be understanding. Several oaths stomped through his mind as her lashes lifted revealing the tears that had gathered in her eyes. Visibly proving she hadn’t really meant what she’d said. Without warning, she rose and flew through first the table and then the door as she fled the room.
He wanted to follow her, say her name a hundred times, and feed her so many sweets she would sleep like a baby until noon and her gowns were so snug the fabric pulled at the threads holding them together.
“A walk, Christian, will you take me?” repeated the brat.
It took a great deal of effort for Christian to not roll his eyes in disgust. But it seemed he wasn’t getting out of it. Without speaking he nodded and then bellowed, “Jackson!” causing the others to jump.
It didn’t take long for the old man to return. “Yes, my lord?”
“Walk with us,” he commanded the butler, then stood and offered an arm to Muriel.
Those slate-blue eyes rounded. “He—we mustn’t trouble your butler. Mother will join us.”
“Yes, I’ll come,” said Lady Spencer, rising from her chair.
He didn’t trust his safety alone with those two any more than he’d trust a litter of plump kittens to survive time alone with a fox.
Christian shared a look with Jackson, conveying with his eyes that he still needed the old chap as chaperone for himself. Jackson’s slight nod showed he’d gathered the meaning of Christian’s desperate expression.
He knew it was immensely rude, but he did not bother to temper his longer stride as they followed the path around the rose bushes. Muriel and her mother had to take three steps for every one of his; even then they were struggling to keep up. Christian smirked. He was enjoying listening to the two ladies huff and puff along behind him. It certainly kept the ever chatty Muriel quiet. The last thing he wanted was to hear about the ton and all of the parties she was going to be attending.
The only guilt he felt was when he caught sight of poor Jackson, shuffling along behind the entourage as fast as his geriatric legs could move. Sweat created a shine on his brow, plastering his white hair to his skin. He knew he’d have to make it up to the loyal gent later.
Contessa had remained out of sight since dinner, and deep down, that troubled him. As they neared the corner of the garden, he could see where her chamber window would be if he could see it, but it seemed he could only see the chamber while with Contessa, and while inside it. His eyes moved along the wall from there, he could see the window for the chamber his mother was staying in…and she was watching. And frowning.
Certainly his mother was not pleased with this visit. With him. Somehow he needed to remedy that or his finances would suffer. He needed Contessa back, because it would be a cold day in Hell before he began courting Muriel Spencer.
Gloved fingers seized around his arm. Apparently he’d been distracted just long enough for Muriel to catch up. He swore mentally.
“Such a fine garden you have,” she said in a winded voice.
“Thank you.” He couldn’t say he agreed. Certainly it had the potential to be fine. However, it had been neglected until he’d moved in. And even then he didn’t yet have a fulltime gardener. So to him, it looked sort of ragged, and clearly she was lying.
That brought a frown to his face. Being lied to was something he really did not like, and his opinion of her slipped another notch or two. His eyes rose to the stone wall hiding Tessa’s window again. Where was she?
“Christian?” Muriel’s fingers moved along his arm. “Are you coming to our ball next week?”
How could such a delightful day turn so sour? Birds sang their usual, gleeful tune. Bee’s hummed their happy and industrious path around the roses and hollyhocks, and a cheerful breeze danced about them, playing with his hair, which he swept from his eyes. “That’s next week?”
“Yes. ‘Tis Friday. We’d love it if you could come.”
He drew a breath. The air was scented with the herbs just ahead of them, and the flowers along the path. Yet, somehow the pleasant aromas surrounding him were tainted with Muriel Spencer’s presence. “I’ll have to check my calendar,” he hedged.
“We’re having an Egyptian theme. You mustn’t miss it.”
“What would I wear to that?”
“I’d love to see you dressed as an Egyptian prince,” she added, fiddling with the lapel of his coat, and brushing her bodice suggestively against his arm.
Shifting away, he barely swallowed the bellow of laughter that attempted to burst forth. “An Egyptian prince? You must be joking.”
Clearly she was offended by that. Her blue eyes narrowed, her bottom lip popped out, and her hips cocked to the side. “I am most certainly not joking, Christian! Invitations to this are highly sought after. And I’ve just given you a personal one.”
He knew she expected him to be touched or flattered by this. But sadly for her, he was not. “I’ll have to check my calendar,” he said, returning to his earlier tactic.
Muriel exhaled gustily, and did he just hear a little growl while she stomped her beslippered foot in anger?
He definitely had to get away from this girl.
Later in his study—the only place he could escape Muriel—his ghost returned to him.
“Tessa, darling, what a relief it is to see you. Where have you been?”
“Here and there,” she replied cryptically as she settled upon the desk before him. Her golden wedding gown billowed out around her.
“Did you see us in the garden?” he asked, hoping she hadn’t but suspecting she had.
A big sigh escaped her pale pouting lips. Her shoulders rose and fell with it, and he knew she’d seen them.
“I’m not interested in her,” he rushed to add. “You must know that.”
“I can see she irritates you so,” Tessa whispered in that dreamy ghost-like voice of hers.
He laughed. “You have no idea.”
Quiet settled around them like a different kind of phantom.
Christian pushed it way with a request, “I need you and Jackson to stay close to me. Especially while they’re here.”
“Why?” Her emerald eyes rounded and then glittered in the candlelight.
“She means to trap me.”
A pretty frown took to her face. “What do you mean?”
“Just like the prince trapped you, Muriel believes if she can get caught alone with me, we’ll be forced to wed.”
“Caught by whom?”
“Her mother, of course.”
“So she can become the next countess…”
“It would be motivation enough for many, I’m afraid.”
“How could I help, Christian? I’m dead,” she murmured, tears welling in her eyes fracturing the light shining through her.
A fissure formed in his soul every time she did that. He reached to gather the wetness from her cheek. “Hush, my dear princess, do not weep…”
The door opened. Speak of the devil, he thought, as Muriel drifted toward them on a fluttering cloud of lavender gossamer. One wisp of chestnut hair hung free from her elaborate chignon, which she twisted around an extended finger. Her mouth was quirked with mischievous intent.
He exhaled and looked at the tear upon his finger; wishing the rest of Contessa could be this tangible again.
Muriel strode directly toward Contessa without seeing her, of course. His ghost cringed away as the brunette drew close enough to pass through her invisible legs and skirt that dangled from the edge of the desk. On some level, that really angered him, and he wrestled with the sco
wl that threatened to encompass his expression.
“Hello, Christian,” Muriel said so sweetly his teeth ached. “I’ve missed you. Is this where you’ve been hiding?”
He scanned the desk. “I’ve been…studying,” he said, flipping open the first book his fingers touched.
“About faeries?”
Internally he cringed. He hadn’t realized he’d grabbed that one. “Er, yes. Don’t you find the wee creatures intriguing?”
She laughed. The sound grated on his nerves. It was not the delicious tinkle that Contessa emitted. “I suppose so,” she replied, removing the book from his hands and closing it.
To his surprise, the chit actually moved onto his desk and propped one hand out to brace herself. A naked hand. Evidently she meant to do exactly what he’d just been telling Tessa she would do.
“What can I do for you, Lady Spencer?” Christian didn’t even try to hide the annoyance that was thick within his tone.
“I’ve wanted to be alone with you…”
He slanted a glance toward Tessa’s angelic face. She was frowning and leaning farther away from the spoiled brat. Her eyes met with his, and he cocked one eyebrow, hoping she’d catch on to his thoughts.
Muriel moved her fingers over his. He slid his hands to his lap. Muriel frowned at that, but kept on task with her apparent plan. “I know it is reckless of me to want to be near a well known rake, such as you…”
Him, a rake? He settled roughly into the cushion of his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. She didn’t know him at all, and he couldn’t help but feel offended by that. Not that he cared what she thought of him, but he wondered if that truly was the talk of the ton, or just a sly maneuver she was using to ensnare him.
Contessa drifted from the desk and settled onto a velvet chair behind Muriel at the darkest corner of the chamber. Her hair, ribbons, and gown fluttered in that invisible breeze surrounding her, and she lifted one hand to the shutters nearest her. A little line of concentration creased her brow and the window opened per her mental command. He saw no change in her appearance, but he suspected she’d made herself visible when she said, “I fear you are not alone as you wish, my lady. I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you.”
Wanting to bellow with laughter at Muriel’s startled reaction, Christian stuffed a fist against his mouth. A little snort escaped out his nose.
“You!” The one word sounded like an accusation. “I did not see you there when I came in.” Her falsely blushing cheeks turned red with rage.
“I’ve been here for quite some time, I assure you. Surely you do not believe I materialized from thin air, do you?” Only he noticed the nervousness in Tessa’s voice as she lifted an open book from her lap. It was the one he’d purchased for her in London, and he wondered how she’d brought it here when he knew it had been in his bedchamber.
Muriel sprang from her seated position and stared at Contessa. While she appeared to be snuggled up upon the velvet-covered chair, she couldn’t help but bob slightly.
He held his breath.
Would Muriel realize she was a ghost? Would Muriel notice that Contessa’s locks of honey moved not because of the fresh air coming from the open window, but because of her spiritual form? Would the selfish girl comprehend that the historical cut and the intricate handwork of Contessa’s regal dress made her look more like a fey princess from a far away realm and simply, positively medieval?
Apparently not. Or apparently she’d situated herself in enough shadow to hide the truth of her form, because Muriel did not see.
“You were in here alone with him?” One pointed finger stabbed in his direction. “Studying faeries?”
“It is one of our favorite topics. However, I’m reading Jane Austen at the moment,” drawled Contessa as she turned a page, pretending to do it with her fingers. If she’d been living at the moment, he knew her cheeks would have been a pretty shade of pink. Obviously it was difficult for her to act so nonchalant. “Have you ever—?”
“Is that so?” A gray-blue glare shot toward Christian. “Well!” Her arms hung to the sides with rounded fists at the ends. “I will leave you to it then.” And she stormed from the study, the fragile material of her gown whipping around in her wake. But as she opened the door, she became even more flustered. He heard why as she snapped at her mother, “Not now!”
The door banged shut and then it was peaceful again.
“Thank you,” he said as Contessa returned to her perch upon his desk. He decided she belonged there. How dare Muriel try to crowd her out!
She nodded, a tiny smirk playing about her mouth. Her transparent finger followed the grain twisting through the polished wood. Her pretty eyes remained lowered; hiding that lingering sadness residing there.
“It was fun seeing her so flustered, wasn’t it?” he continued, hoping to cheer her.
Nodding again, she said, “She did not notice I was a spirit.” And the fact she was a spirit was the true crux of the situation.
He offered a chuckle, trying to brighten her mood and his. “She’s too self-absorbed to notice something like that.”
When he failed at removing the tension between them, he rested his hand, palm up, on the desk before her. “Lay your hand upon mine, Contessa.”
She did, again avoiding his gaze, as he repeated her name three more times.
Nothing changed.
The warmth of her spirit caressed his skin, but there was nothing more tangible. Nothing more he could grasp. No heartbeat to touch. Christian ground his teeth.
“Let us go to Tabitha. Have her look in her book of spells again. Perhaps we can come up with something.”
The witch didn’t seem too happy about being cooped up in her suite while she hid out waiting to play chaperone. Even though he’d given her one of the nicest accommodations he had available at the castle.
The red-head was nestled, it seemed quite comfortably, upon the silk-upholstered chaise tucked between the fire and the window which looked out upon the gardens and countryside.
“So tell me,” said Tabitha. “The first time you spoke her name, where were you?”
“In my bedchamber.”
Tabitha’s eyebrows twitched with something that seemed a bit like disapproval. “And after that?”
“At the ball.”
“Hmm.”
“Are you thinking we should try speaking her name in my bedchamber?”
“And hers, I would suggest.”
“Are you certain you have nothing that would help?” Christian went on.
With a sigh, which sounded suspiciously like a groan, the witch fished the book out of her bag. “I will look again.”
They waited while Tabitha took more time perusing the pages than she had before. The only sounds being his breath, the witch’s soft muttering, and the paper as it crinkled with each turn.
Tabitha stiffened as she paused to read, then finally said, “We could try this…I hadn’t thought of it before.”
“What is it?” asked Christian.
“A revealing charm.”
“Well, chant it, speak it, or whatever it is that you do.”
Tabitha chuckled. “I will speak the words in your bedchamber just after you utter her name.”
As they traversed to his chamber, Jackson intercepted them bearing news. “It seems Lady Spencer and her daughter have decided to cut their visit short.”
Christian smiled. “They’ve left?” he asked hopefully.
Jackson nodded.
“And my mother?”
“Has remained. She still wishes to meet Lady Contessa.”
He was working on that, but it did create another problem. While Muriel would not notice she’d met a ghost, the marchioness would. If he could not bring Contessa back to solid form, he’d have no choice but to send Mother back to London disappointed. And that would not fare well for his monetary situation.
Chapter 21
Magic
“Let us try her bedchamber,” Christian offered, w
hen nothing happened after the spell was spoken in his chamber.
As they moved into her room, Contessa felt both nervous and hopeful at once as Tabitha uttered the words another time just after Christian said, “Contessa.” And this time, she flickered to life before returning just as quickly to ghost form. The sensation was shocking. One moment she felt nothing, the next an overwhelming wave of weighty sensation, and then nothing again. She wanted to cry and when Christian swept a tear from her chin, she realized she already was.
“Once more,” he suggested. She could hear in his voice he did not like to see her this way.
But the witch shuddered and turned suddenly to the mirror. “Do you feel that?”
“Feel what?” Christian asked.
“Someone is watching,” hissed Tabitha, and she looked frightened for the first time since they met her.
Christian peered into the glass. “Are your parents there?” he asked.
“No.” At least she could not see them in the looking glass, but as the witch had said, she too sensed a presence.
“Your parents? What is this? You did not share this information with me before.” Tabitha’s words were curt with anger, and it was clear she’d been offended by this omission.
“I’m sorry, Tabitha, I should have told you. I saw my parents looking back at me one night,” she offered hesitantly as the witch turned a demanding look upon her face.
“You’re certain that is who they were?”
“Yes. They acknowledged as much when I addressed them so.”
Without warning the witch chanted the revealing spell at the mirror and another castle appeared in the reflection.
Contessa gasped, and heard the others do the same.
The picture was empty of people, and the chamber was most definitely not a reflection of them or her bedchamber. Before them was a spacious room with marbled floors, and pillars, and windows draped in burgundy velvet. Long tapestries depicting faeries hung from ceiling to floor upon the walls. Besides a few tables, there were no furnishings, as though they looked upon a gallery rather than any chamber of import. The only other thing missing was the presence of family portraits which would normally be displayed in such a place.
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