by Jane Charles
The fire did need stirring. “There is one in the bedchamber.” Patrick gestured to the door adjoining this room to the next.
Laura smiled. “Of course.” She crossed over and opened the door leading to the bedchamber and disappeared inside. A moment later she returned, dusty poker in her hand and set about building the low fire.
He should be doing these things for her. He should have been able to pull her chair out this morning and more importantly, he should be the one protecting her, but he was impotent to do anything but converse with her.
The blue gown Laura agreed to wear today pulled against her derriere as she bent and stirred the flames. Desire sparked and Patrick swallowed a groan as he crossed his legs at his ankles before folding his hands across his lap. Apparently, not all of him was impotent.
She straightened, placed the poker in the stand and turned to him while she brushed her hands together. “I propose we continue working on the novel.”
Patrick would like to propose they do something much more enjoyable and would if he were whole. “Very well. How much do ya have written?”
She bit the top of her lip. “Not much.”
He arched an eyebrow. “How much is not much?”
Laura grimaced. “Nothing.”
Patrick uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. “So, ya only have your main character names.”
“Oh, no,” she brightened. “I have an outline.” She withdrew a piece of parchment and held it for him to read.
He glanced through the notes. These he had read before. “What is on the next page?”
Laura removed the top sheet and Patrick continued to read. Her outline read like every other horrid novel: dark gloomy castle, secret passages, a villain, kidnapping, specters, and all the stuff that makes a story horrid. It was the life he was living, minus the abduction, and they were in an old abbey, but it was close enough.
He glanced at her anxious face. He couldn’t bring himself to discourage her efforts. Instead, he decided to encourage her to try something new. “This should do well. These types of novels are all the rage.”
Her grin widened. “I know. I can’t read enough of them.”
“But, don’t ya wish to write somethin’ different?”
Laura grew serious and settled into her chair.
“There is nothin’ wrong with the story, but don’t ya want to give the readers somethin’ original?”
She bit her lower lip and didn’t say anything for a couple of moments. “How so?”
“Let the Abbey inspire ya. What stories do ya know of Mad Marcus and the murder of your ancestor?”
Her eyes brightened. “Better yet, I will write the story of my Uncle Edmond’s sister.” Laura leaned forward with excitement. “She had a terrible argument with her parents one night and the next morning she was gone. Her bed had been slept in, but she couldn’t be found anywhere and nobody ever saw her again.”
“Nobody?” Patrick found it hard to believe not one person knew what happened.
“It was as if she vanished into thin air.”
“Surely someone knows. A young, unmarried lady does not simply disappear from her home without anyone knowing about it.”
Laura bit the corner of her bottom lip as her eyebrows furrowed in thought.
“Blake never mentioned it to me,” he added.
“The family doesn’t like to speak of it,” she explained.
“Surely, there was an investigation?” Patrick questioned.
She shrugged. “I asked Uncle Edmond once, when I was younger, and he said it wasn’t discussed.”
“You never asked again? Or anyone for that matter?” If it had been his aunt, Patrick would have wanted to know every last detail.
“I was too afraid to.”
“We can use this.” He nodded. “Your heroine is desperately in love with a villain, except she doesn’t know he is a villain.” He glanced at the desk. “Who’s your heroine, again?”
“Alonza.” Laura began writing on a fresh sheet of paper.
“Alonza doesn’t know how wicked he is and is taken in by his charm.”
“He is handsome as well?” Laura asked.
“Of course.” Patrick leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “That is why he is such a successful villain.”
“Now what happens?”
“Her guardian, who Alonza thinks is evil, is against this suitor.”
Laura quirked her head and looked at Patrick. “He is not evil?”
He chuckled thinking of his three younger sisters who chafed at their father’s dictates. “He only seems so, but it is because of the rules he insists she follow, and he is tryin’ to protect her.”
“Oh,” Laura nodded. “And the guardian does not like…” She glanced through her papers. “I haven’t given the villain a name yet.”
“Use one of the awful ones ya were thinking for your hero,” Patrick suggested.
“If I can remember them.” She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes as if in thought. “Ernesto?”
“It doesn’t strike fear, but perhaps that is why it would work.”
Laura grinned and started writing. “Ernesto Scala.”
“Alonza is an heiress and Ernesto is destitute and woos her away with the intention of marryin’ her for her fortune.”
She wrote as Patrick spoke. “When does Patrizio arrive?”
“When it is time to save her, of course,” he said as he came to his feet.
“But what does he have to save Alonza from?”
“We will have to think on that, but ya will not have her faintin’ at every turn.”
Laura giggled and placed the quill aside before she rose to stand beside Patrick. She looked up at him, studying the intensity of his face. He was such a handsome gentleman, and kind. “Why am I the only one able to see you?” she whispered.
A cool brush of air slid over her cheek. “I think it must be because I have a message for ya.”
It was what she believed as well. “I want to know what happened to Blake, more than anything, but now I fear that. . .” She couldn’t finish the thought.
“That I will disappear when ya do?” he asked gently.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Is that so wrong of me to want to know the truth but not lose you as well? Am I simply being silly like so many of those heroines in novels or the debutants in London each Season?”
A smiled pulled at Patrick’s lips. “There is nothin’ about ya that is silly. I would know. I have three younger sisters. Silly ones.”
“I wish I would have known you when…” She couldn’t say alive.
“When I was not dead.”
She cringed, but it was the truth. “Would you have noticed me in a ballroom, or would the beautiful young ladies have had your attention?”
“Laura, none are more beautiful than you.”
Heat spread across her cheeks, but she knew he was not telling her the truth. For two Seasons she had been painfully aware she was not nearly as lovely as many of those presented.
Patrick quirked an eyebrow. “Ya don’t believe me?”
“You are being kind.” She smiled.
“No, I am not,” he said fiercely. “I would have noticed ya and written my name by every waltz allowed without tarnishin’ your reputation or givin’ Blake a reason to call me out.”
Laura stared up at him. He meant it. He was not being kind or flattering. “I so wish we could have met then.”
“As do I.” Patrick lowered his mouth to hers. His lips were cool, yet they still warmed her in ways she couldn’t explain. His touch may be a mere whisper against her skin, but it was a blanket to her soul. If only she could put her arms about him and hold him close, but Laura feared if she grasped too tightly her hands would go through him and she would only end up holding herself.
He pulled back and looked down at her. “Dance with me.”
She blinked. “Pardon?”
“Dance with me.” He g
rinned. “We don’t need music.”
He lifted a hand and she gently touched hers to his so that she clasped it without breaking through his form. His hand slid about her waist and Laura settled her left hand onto his shoulder. Patrick began to hum and started them off. She followed his lead and they began dancing around the room. With each step, she drew closer and closer to him. Laura would have thought he was pulling her close but knew he could not. Soon, her head melded with his chest and her whole body heated despite the coolness of his. Had they danced in this manner in London, they would have set every tongue wagging with their scandalous display of affection. But, as they were here, alone, and nobody could see them, Laura didn’t care.
“I wish I could truly hold ya,” Patrick whispered.
“You are.” Laura tilted her head up to look at him. Patrick lowered his mouth to hers once again. At a gentle swipe of air, she parted her lips and more coolness invaded her mouth. She fought not to grasp hold when all she wanted to do was pull him closer, to feel his body next her hers and more than just coldness pressing upon her. She wanted to feel the heat, his heart, his body. Tears sprang to her eyes, wishing for what could not be and she finally gave herself up to what little passion they could share.
The longer they kissed the more solid he became and Laura could almost feel the muscles flex beneath her palms. Fingers threaded through her hair, but she wasn’t about to break the kiss. Patrick pressed his hand against the small of her back. She grasped his other shoulder. The texture of fine linen moved beneath her fingertips. Was it a dream? Was she only imagining he was becoming real because she wanted it so badly?
Patrick slid a hand around her waist and up until it clutched her breast. The movement cooled and heated her at once and her nipples tightened. Laura groaned at the pleasure and he jerked away. “I am sorry. I should not have taken advantage.”
She blinked up at him through her tears. “You didn’t.”
Patrick studied her with concern. His thumb brushed across the tear on her cheek. He pulled his hand away, looking at the dampness with wonder. “How am I able to wipe away your tear?”
“Could you be becoming more real?” Hope bloomed. Was it possible that the more they interacted, the more real he would become? Was it possible to make him whole again? Her heart raced at the possibility. Could she save Patrick?
“Laura, dear? Are you up here?”
Laura jumped away at Aunt Ivy’s call. The woman had the worst timing. Why did she feel guilty almost being caught doing something she shouldn’t? It wasn’t as if her aunt could see Patrick, or could she? While he was more solid than before, Laura could still faintly see the objects behind him.
“You have kept yourself up here for hours,” her aunt said coming into the room.
Patrick stood beside Laura, sliding his hand up and down her back. Aunt Ivy never looked at anything, or anyone but her. Surely if she could have seen Patrick there would have been some form of reaction.
“I am sorry.” Laura stepped away from him. Even if Aunt Ivy could not see Patrick, it was wrong to allow him to caress her back while she stood in conversation with her aunt. It simply wasn’t proper. “I was so involved in what I was doing, I must have lost track of time.”
“Clearly,” her aunt sniffed. “It is luncheon and we have a guest.”
Laura had no idea it had grown so late.
“Mr. Franklin has come to call and we asked him to stay.”
“He didn’t waste any time,” Patrick grumbled from behind.
Laura fought not to turn around and question him. What did he know that she didn’t and why did Patrick care who called on her uncle? It took a moment before she remembered who Franklin was. Oh, yes, he was a young man she had been introduced to following services soon after she came to live at Torrington Abbey. If she recalled, he had light blue eyes, blond hair and was not much older, or taller, than she. “Perhaps Uncle would like to continue his visit in private. A tray can be brought here.”
Aunt Ivy chuckled. “Laura, he is not here to see your uncle or me, but to call on you.”
Laura pulled back. “Me, why?”
Aunt Ivy smiled and her eyes twinkled. “I think he might be smitten with you.”
If she didn’t know better, Laura actually thought Patrick growled at her aunt’s proclamation. “What if I am not smitten with him?” And how could she be? Not with Patrick in her life and currently standing right next to her.
“You have not given him a chance.” Her aunt turned toward the door. “Now, come along.”
Laura glanced back at Patrick and offered and apologetic shrug.
He simply winked and blew her a kiss.
Gracious, what was she going to do about this situation?
Patrick waited until Laura had gone before he grabbed for a small statue to throw against the wall – but his hand went right through it, which only added to his frustration. “Damn and blast.”
He had felt her. Every single inch of her body pressed against his with the exception of the clothing between them. She had felt him too, and had held onto his shoulders. When she grasped him and was able to gain purchase, he’d almost crowed in delight, but didn’t dare lift his lips from hers for fear the magic would disappear. Instead, he’d clung to her, absorbing her heat, feeling her pulse and taking her breath. The physical contact nearly brought him to his knees, but Patrick held strong, relishing in the passion that sparked between them. Would he eventually be able to hold her in truth, make her his?
She had been aware of his touch as well. Her nipple pebbled beneath his fingertips. And yes, it could have been because everything about him was cold, but he refused to believe that was all. She responded to their passion as much as he had.
Patrick stomped across the room and punched his fist into the wall. Unfortunately, it didn’t do any damage nor did it cause him any pain, which left him further irritated. “Why didn’t Blake introduce the two of us before? Why did I go wherever it was I went to avoid the Season? If I had met Laura two years ago we may have married.”
He was certain they would have wed. It didn’t matter the circumstances because he now knew in his heart his mother had spoken the truth. As much as he didn’t want to marry at that time, Laura would have changed his thinking, and his heart, if only Blake would have introduced them.
Perhaps they would have already had a child. With Laura as his wife, he would have never sailed away and would have had no reason to bring news of Blake back to her. They would have been happily ensconced in their home, with each other.
He could offer her nothing now. Only cold kisses, even colder caresses and waltzes.
Franklin could give her everything Patrick could not, and Laura was with him now enjoying a bloody luncheon.
He should stay away and allow her a normal life. One where she could find a husband, who was warm, living and breathing, but as much as he knew it was the right thing to do, he could not. As much as he would hate standing by, watching her be courted by someone else, Patrick couldn’t remain in here, waiting, and so he stalked out of the east wing.
He found the family with Franklin in the formal dining room partaking of the meal. Laura’s eyes widened briefly at his appearance but quickly turned her attention to the food on her plate. He sauntered in and settled in the chair beside her.
“It is unseasonably bright weather we have been having,” Franklin said after placing his fork on his plate.
Most of the plates were near empty. Patrick must have remained upstairs longer than he realized.
“Yes, it is,” Lady Torrington agreed. “Don’t you think so, Laura?”
She blinked at her aunt. “I suppose. I’ve spent little time in Cumbria, so I am not sure what to expect of the weather.”
“For the most part it is dreary and rainin’ this time of year. Not at all enjoyable,” Patrick whispered in her ear.
“Cumbria, especially here, has lovely weather. And, the mountains are breathtaking,” Franklin offered.
“It isn’t true about the weather,” Patrick insisted. “However, the mountains are nice,” he begrudgingly admitted.
Laura bit her bottom lip and remained focused on Franklin.
He really shouldn’t try and talk with Laura when others were about. It wasn’t fair to her, but he couldn’t let this fop fill her mind with untruths.
“Have you traveled much, Mr. Franklin?” Laura asked.
Patrick focused on the man and waited for an answer.
“I’ve been to London, Bath and Edinburgh,” he answered.
“That is travelin’?” Patrick asked in disbelief. Of course, traveling to the Continent wouldn’t have been the wisest choice. Now that Napoleon was on Elba perhaps it would be easier to visit France or Italy or Spain. Patrick had always longed to visit those countries, but it had been impossible. Now he would never be given the opportunity.
“I’ve always wished to travel to Ireland,” Laura said.
Patrick looked at her. Was she only saying this because she knew that was where he was from or did she truly wish to go there?
“Why would you wish to do so?” Franklin asked. “I can’t see a reason to visit such a place.”
“I’ve heard wondrous tales of leprechauns and fairies.”
Patrick barked out laughter and Laura grinned mischievously.
“Surely you jest, Miss Chetwey,” Frankly said haughtily. “There are no such things as you are well aware.”
Laura eyed him askance. “Do you only believe in what you can see? What of ghosts?” she asked with a grin.
Franklin chuckled. “Now I know you tease. There is no such thing.”
“I am not so certain,” Laura mumbled as she brought the cup of tea to her luscious lips.
“Really, Laura, you do go on.” Her aunt giggled nervously, looking between Laura and Franklin.
Did she fear the man may lose interest in her niece because of her fanciful notions? Of course, a few weeks ago Patrick would have considered them ridiculous as well. Given his current state, he would almost believe that in addition to ghosts, perhaps leprechauns and fairies do exist.
“Certainly there are other reasons you wish to visit Ireland. Real reasons,” her aunt insisted.