Conquered by the Ghost (The Conquered Book 3)

by Pippa Greathouse

  “I demand a rematch.”

  He pulled her back and whispered in her ear, “I have to finish a few things, but I’ll be back. We’ll see if you’re still intent on losing again so soon. And you’ll sit in my lap the entire game, next time.”

  Chloe felt herself lifted slightly off his lap and turned just before an iron hand landed, hard, on her bottom, and he said in a low, threatening voice, “And that, young lady, was for your swearing as I approached the room. Don’t make the mistake of thinking my memory is faulty.” He reached across her, using his fingers to put out the lamp, casting the room into darkness again. Then he stood her on her feet and disappeared before she could complain.

  Lighting the lamp, she continued looking at the chessboard. Throwing up her hands in defeat, she looked over at the kitten watching from the bed. “You were certainly no help, Purr. The least you could have done was distract him. One little swipe with your paw. Is that asking too much?”

  The kitten stood up and arched its back before leaping into her arms. Nuzzling with the creature, she lost her pique. “All is forgiven, Purr. Just remember whose side you are on when he shows up next time, all right?”

  Next time turned out to only be an hour or so longer. Although she had expected his return, it had taken her by surprise, and she stood up by the bed quickly.

  Purr, sensing the alarm in her mistress’ manner jumped onto the cherry highboy just beside the door. There she perched, like a vulture waiting for its prey. A moment later, the door opened, and a large shadow stood at the threshold.

  “It’s about bloody time,” Chloe muttered to herself before a loud hissing sound rent the air. The moment Ghost stepped inside, Purr launched forward with all her might at his face. Granted, as a kitten, she lacked much weight to use in battle, but her claws were thin and sharp.

  Ghost bellowed in rage, throwing up his hand to protect his face. The cat left a deep rip in his white shirt when she made contact. Proud of herself, Purr dropped to the floor and flounced across the room before jumping up on the bed.

  “Damned cat! If you can’t make her stop doing things like that—” Suddenly, he stopped. He had lowered his hands before he remembered to tell her to turn away or to put out the lamp.

  Chloe stared at him, unable to take her eyes from his face. She’d seen that pre-emptive measure before as Cooper, Purr’s sire from the Charlotte, had launched himself toward a man whom Chloe had been cross with. Catching a glimpse of those beautiful brown eyes and his handsome face, she knew the truth.

  It was no wonder everyone here called her by name she had assumed aboard the ship. Her captor thought it was her name because she had met him there.

  Her dream; her love…her ghost. The man she had loved for months and written about in countless letters for a year.

  Flesh and blood, he stood before her, alive and well.

  It was Ezra Miller.

  Ghost stood, unable to take his eyes from her face. She was full of shock, and her small face was pale enough, he thought she might faint. Those wide blue eyes stared, locked on his.

  Moving toward her, he intentionally slowed his steps; she was already on the verge of a swoon. It was understandable. All this time, she’d thought him dead.

  “Yes, Chloe,” he said softly. “I’m alive.” He reached a hand out, gently. “Are you listening? If you are, I’ll share with you what happened aboard the Charlotte when it went down.”

  There was no answer. She couldn’t seem to make herself talk; she blinked up at him after a moment, nodding. He reached out for her hand; when she didn’t offer it, he lightly took her fingers in his hand and led her around to sit on the side of the bed.

  Closing the door, he drew up a chair from the secretary and set it in front of her close enough so if she tried to dart around him, he could catch her. He reached out for her again, but when she didn’t willingly put her hand in his, he didn’t push.

  “When the Charlotte sank, Chloe, she broke up into pieces. I managed to hang onto a section, until another ship came by. Captain Smythe tried to get me to come onto the Mermaid’s Revenge, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The ship that rescued me, however, stopped only briefly in Charleston and went on to New Orleans.”

  Chloe was still staring at him with enormous blue eyes. He smiled, trying to get her to relax.

  “While I was there, I managed to get a glimpse of the Arabella. I saw what Captain Smythe had done with her. I even saw Miss St. John and Miss Collingwood, sitting with the commander in a carriage, and tipped my hat to them. The commander didn’t see me, and I moved on. A few weeks later, I managed to get a job as a crewman on another ship to get back home to England.”

  A little crease had dimpled just above the bridge of her nose, showing the inner struggle. He had a tremendous urge to reach out and smooth it away but didn’t. “Do you believe me, Chloe?”

  She gave him a little nod. Her brow, however, was still creased. This time, he put his hand gently on her arm, and she lowered her gaze to it.

  “It was quite by accident, when I got home, that I found they were mourning my death. The captain and the commander were there at my service. They both caught a glimpse of me, and I turned back into the shadows.”

  Chloe opened her mouth to speak but was unable to get sound out. She tried again, with only a whisper.

  “Why? Why didn’t you speak to them?”

  He took his time. Finally, he answered, “I shot a man, Chloe. I killed Captain Poche. He led the crew of the Mermaid’s Revenge in committing atrocious acts against other ships while I was on her. Although I didn’t assist in them, and most of the time, I was in the brig, I was still considered part of them…” He raised his gaze to the window beyond her. “It doesn’t matter. I was still associated with Poche. I might be hung, if I showed my face and they discovered I still live. It’s impossible for me to ignore the fact that I killed him.”

  “But it—” she protested. “It wasn’t your fault. You saved all of us by doing that. He was a bad man.”

  “Bad men have the same rights as everyone else, Chloe. I wish I could believe you.”

  “I’ve even heard Captain Smythe say that,” she argued. “Please believe me when I say he thinks of you as noble.”

  He laughed softly at her comment and smiled into her indignant face. “Fairy tales are easy to believe when you wish the best for someone. Unfortunately, I’m a pragmatist.”

  She shook her head. “It’s the truth. You need to hear it from the captain’s lips.”

  He stared down at her for a long time. “I promised you I’d take you downstairs,” he said. Holding out a hand, she looked at it skeptically; he lowered it. Instead, he stood to his feet and moved to the door, opening it and waiting.

  “I thought,” she whispered. “I thought you were a ghost, Mr. Miller.”

  “I know. And in more than one way, so I am.”

  Her eyes rose to meet his. “What shall I call you, then?”

  “The same thing everyone else does.”

  She frowned, and he continued. “Ghost,” he said softly.

  Chloe’s mind was racing as she tried to process it all, yet time seemed to stand still as he explained things. How could she not have realized he was Ezra Miller, the moment he spoke? Hadn’t she spent the last year committing everything about him to memory—his deep, soulful, brown eyes, his lopsided grin, the silky, brown hair, given to curls because he let it grow much longer than fashionable. But most of all, his voice—that deep, sometimes stern, yet sometimes gentle voice that stirred a woman’s soul.

  He’d told her to call him Ghost. She searched the face of the flesh and blood man before her, trying to confirm the truth of what he said. There they were, light but present—the scars she remembered. One ran down his forehead, ending just at the bridge of his nose, another down the side of his handsome face. His dislike of cats suddenly made perfect sense.

  Before he had turned his life around, Ezra Miller had fancied redheads; on the Charlotte and w
hen he was full of whiskey, he’d admitted it. Lily had descended to the lower decks against orders; so had Arabella and Chloe. At just the same time, he’d been ordered by the captain to find a place to sleep off the excess whiskey he’d consumed, and he’d seen Lily. A tussle had occurred, and in the end, nothing had actually happened. But Miller had ended up in the brig.

  The ruckus was brief. An unafraid Arabella had climbed on his back. Chloe had crawled to the top of a stack of crates with Cooper, the ship’s tabby cat. Just after the cat had jumped down to attack him and left scars on his face, Chloe had shoved the heavy crate of apples over on top of him, knocking him off his feet and unconscious. But just before it hit him, he’d looked up and met her eyes. She would never forget that look.

  Now, Chloe looked up at him uncertainly, her face pale. Had he kidnapped her to pursue revenge for her actions? As she looked up into gentle eyes, however, she assured herself she had nothing to fear. Had he wanted to, he could have harmed her dozens of times before now. Yet besides a sore bum, he treated her as if she were a lady. He even instructed his staff to do the same.

  He, however, had redeemed himself. All the things Bella had told Chloe about him saving them all aboard the Charlotte came rushing back to her. When Poche had demanded to know where the ladies on the ship were, he’d sent the attacking pirates to the opposite side of the ship from where their cabins were. When Poche was about to shoot Gregory, Miller fired his own weapon at him, killing him and saving the lives of Arabella, Gregory, and many others on the ship.

  Even Gregory described the actions as heroic. It was self-defense. If only Miller could take Chloe to the captain, everything could be cleared up.

  From the first moment she heard of his actions during those last moments before the Charlotte sank, Chloe’s heart had been lost. She’d allowed herself to dream of him, elevating him up to almost saintly stature, never daring to believe she might per chance face her ghost one day.

  When Miller moved toward her, she hesitated a moment, watching him. This man was every bit as handsome and appealing as the image she had allowed herself to all but worship for months now. But he was not an apparition; he was flesh and blood and bone. True, he was not above showing his displeasure in her presence and had been bossy and maddening at times. She had felt the sting of his hand, the warmth of his breath as he whispered in her ear, the hard muscles of his legs when he pulled her to sit on his lap.

  At the door, she paused. Her lungs filled with his clean, woodsy scent, so contrary to what one would associate with a dangerous man. He was real, alive and standing before her, ready to take her on a tour of his lair. She should run, scream, demand to know his plans. Yet Chloe allowed herself the freedom to walk with the ghost of a man who had, up until now, consumed most of her fantasy. Fantasy, however, was now gone. This was reality.

  Hartwycke…

  Ghost carefully led her down the stairs. Even the weather seemed to cooperate. The wind died down, and the afternoon sun peeked through the clouds as he brought her on a tour of the estate. He watched her eyes carefully as he brought her into the drawing room. They were wide.

  “What do you see, Chloe?”

  She glanced up at him. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly. “Is it yours?” Then her face turned scarlet, as if she immediately regretted asking. “I’m sorry, G-Ghost. It’s none of my business.”

  He chuckled softly. “It’s all right. And yes, it is mine. I’d like you to meet some of my friends who share it with me, after I show you around.”

  She looked around the beautiful room they occupied momentarily. The hearth took up most of the wall, made of marble, and she left him to walk forward and lovingly run her hands over the carved relief mantle top and down the sides. The cool stone felt good under her fingers, depicting creatures from the sea.

  “This is amazing,” she whispered. She looked carefully at the brocade wallpaper that adorned the wall in her favorite color of green, putting her hands behind her back and clasping them.

  He watched her, his smile quirking up on one side. Leading her to the window that looked out over the distant view, he pointed out the deer grazing not far from the house. Since the rain had stopped, a mother and two fawns happily enjoyed the green grass not far from the house. Chloe gasped with delight.

  She pointed off to the right, where a small decorative building with a domed ceiling stood. “That’s lovely. What do you use it for?”

  It was a moment before he answered, “Gates uses that. He keeps watch over who comes and goes on the property.

  She leaned forward a bit to see it better. “Why? What happens if someone comes and goes from the back way?”

  Those blue eyes were mesmerizing, he thought, as he studied her oval face.

  “Those entrances are secured, Chloe. No one enters or exits except from the front door or the door to the courtyard. I’ll show you later.”

  She glanced up curiously. “I see.”

  “I doubt you do. But it’s all right. The gardener raises all kinds of things out there. You might even want to use a corner of it—but you’ll have to catch him when he’s in a good mood and ask.”

  “Perhaps an herb garden?” There was hope in her eyes, and he saw it.

  “I don’t know if herbs are among them. He also does the flower garden around the outside of the house. In the spring, the tulips are lovely. And he keeps the roses in bloom. He says it keeps him young and sane.” He grinned at her. “When you meet him, you’ll have your doubts about the ‘sane.’ Would you like to see it, after I show you the house?”

  She nodded eagerly. “I’d like that very much.” She leaned forward. “I can see the roses from here. They’re lovely.”

  “Yes, but be careful. The flowers are beautiful, but they hide long thorns, and you can’t always see them until it’s too late.” He watched her expression as she looked up warily.

  “Is that meant to be a warning, sir?” she whispered.

  He put two fingers under her chin and lifted it slightly. “Perhaps it is,” he said. “Come with me. Let’s see if we can locate Chubs.”

  Chapter 9

  A family of sorts…

  “Chubs? I take it he is portly?” Chloe said, trying to keep pace with Ghost’s longer strides.

  The low, deep laughter that followed did something strange to her. “I’ll let you be the judge. Come.”

  Chubs, however, was not at his post when they came to call. Ghost didn’t seem alarmed or surprised. He led her about, checking out possible places the servant might have gone off to. They found him in the kitchen, stealing a bit of dinner from Smiley, who was passing samples around.

  “Mash is good,” a scrawny, one-eyed man commented as he took a bite. He was dressed in smart, butler’s attire. A black eye patch might have been off-putting, but his genuine smile and manner made up for it. Chubs was the exact opposite of what the typical butler should be, Chloe decided. It made him perfect.

  “Aye. New recipe I come up with,” Smiley announced in his own unique pirate speech as others commented on the smooth potatoes. “All about the boilin,’ see. Cain’t undercook the bloody things, but cain’t leave the little bastards on the fire too long. Cooks like meself discover important things like that.”

  Chloe stared at him. She knew he’d noticed her at the door before he’d shared that insight. He gave her a sly grin, just daring her to contradict him. She shook her head and stayed silent as Ghost motioned for her to walk ahead of him into the room.

  “Language, Smiley. There are ladies present. Miss Tucker, may I present the table of all knowledge,” Ghost said, grinning at the large round table. “You’ve met Smiley and Althea. This gentleman is Chubs, the best butler for miles around.”

  Althea snorted. “Only because there are no other butlers for miles around.”

  “Did you say something, Miss Snoot—” Smiley paused, suddenly, glancing at Ghost. Chloe followed the direction of his glance, realizing the man behind her had a look of censure on his face.
Was no one allowed to make disparaging remarks toward Althea?

  Immediately, the one-eyed Chubs looked toward Althea. “Should I announce—”

  “No,” she said firmly.

  Everyone else at the table rolled their eyes, and Chubs shrugged and chuckled toward Chloe. “So. Ghost’s lady finally got out of bed, did she?”

  She stared back at him, returning his grin with twinkling eyes. “If you are referring to me, sir, I awakened at five this morning. But I didn’t see you here.”

  Chubs put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his palm. “Five in the mornin’, you say? Ah, I remember now. Sleepin’ soundly in my bed, I was, and dreamin’ of findin’ my other eye.”

  Watching Ghost from the corner of her eye, Chloe noticed he looked about to say something, despite the expression of mirth he wore. Was he trying to spare her sensitive feelings? True, these men did seem to forget most people weren’t as blunt and sarcastic as they were.

  She spoke up before he could. “And did you?”

  Chubs sighed dramatically. “Alas, no. But I’ll keep on lookin’. Care to help me, seeing as you have two beautiful eyes, yerself?”

  “I’m always available to help a person in need, but it depends. I appear to be at the mercy of M…” she paused for a moment “…Ghost’s orders, right now. You’ll have to ask him.”

  Ghost raised an eyebrow. “Smart girl. Perhaps too smart for your own good. Currently, I’m keeping an eye on you. Right now, I’m not inclined to allow you to go off on search parties. Perhaps another day.”

  Chloe looked away from his stern expression. Even when she perceived him as being severe, she found herself responding to him. She forced herself to turn away, glancing around the table.

  “Good morning, Smiley. I’m glad you took my advice about cooking the mash. You know where to find me if you need any more instruction.”

  Smiley growled at her, and she chuckled.

  “Good day, Smiley. And Chubs. And you, too, Miss Althea.”