Haunted by the Earl's Touch

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘Why did you cry out?’

  ‘I had a bad dream. I was asleep. Something was chasing me. I fell.’ She shook her head. ‘I thought I fell. A long way down. But when I opened my eyes, I was here. And you came through the door.’

  She started shaking again. It had all seemed so real. Felt real.

  ‘Then it was your scream I heard.’

  ‘I suppose it must have been.’ But she’d heard the scream, too. It had come from somewhere else. Above her head. Hadn’t it?

  Or had she screamed in her sleep and frightened him off before he could do whatever it was he had intended? Before he could take drastic action. Before she could disappear in the tunnels below the house. Had he then pretended to burst in to allay her suspicions?

  She didn’t dare give voice to her thoughts, in case she was right. Or in case she was wrong. She was just so confused. She pressed her hands together, staring at his face, trying to read his expression.

  ‘Mary,’ he murmured. Then muttered something under his breath. ‘Miss Wilding. Sit down before you fall.’

  When she didn’t move he took her hand and led her to the bed. His large warm hands caught her around the waist and he lifted her easily on to the mattress. He looked down at the tangle of covers at his feet and then back at the window. His mouth tightened.

  ‘Someone was here,’ he said. His voice harsh. And it wasn’t a question.

  She shivered. You, she wanted to say. ‘I saw no one,’ she forced out. She could not let him know what she suspected. Nor could she accuse him without proof. ‘I saw no one. Only...only the White Lady. In my dream.’ It had to be a dream. She did not believe in ghosts. Would not.

  He cursed softly, then took one of her hands in his, clearly intending to reason with her. His hands curled around her fingers. He frowned. ‘You really are freezing.’

  He crossed to the fire, stirred up the embers and added a few lumps of coal, then came back to her, taking her hands in his and rubbing them briskly. He rubbed at her upper arms and she could feel the warmth stealing through her body. Not just because his rubbing, but because of his closeness, because of the heat from his body.

  He stared into her face. His breathing was also less than steady and there was fear in his eyes, as if she had somehow unnerved him. Fear for her? The very idea of it plucked at her heartstrings, made her want to confide in him. She just didn’t dare.

  His hands stopped their warm strokes and one came to her chin, tipping her face up, forcing her to either close her eyes or look at him. She chose to be bold, to return stare for stare. She would not show him how much she feared him, or how much she feared her responses to his touch.

  ‘Mary,’ he whispered, his rough voice containing a plea, as his warm breath grazed the cold skin on her cheek and his hungry gaze sparked heat low in her belly that seemed to trickle outwards.

  ‘My lord,’ she replied, shocked at the husky quality of her voice, at the difficulty she had breathing around the panicked beat of her heart.

  A soft groan rumble up from his chest. Then his mouth covered hers. The storm of sensation racing through her body could not possibly be a dream. The way his hands roved her back, the way hers felt the muscle beneath the linen of his shirt. Nothing in her experience could lead her to imagine anything so wildly exciting.

  Slowly he sank backwards on to the mattress. And heaven help her, she followed, not willing to break the magic of his wonderful kiss. His strong arms held her close against his body and he rolled her on to her back. He kissed her mouth, plying her lips softly at first, then his hunger grew more demanding, until she parted her lips and allowed him entry. He teased her tongue with little flicks and tastes until she dared taste him back. Such a heavenly silken slide. Deliciously wicked.

  When his tongue slowly retreated, she followed with her own, exploring the warm dark cavern of his mouth, tasting wine and him, mingled in one heady brew.

  A sweet ache, trembling inside her with longing, built slowly—a hot, anxious longing.

  A low groan rumbled up from his chest and he rolled over her, one knee pressing between her thighs, one hand steadying her at her nape, the other moving to stroke her ribs, to gently cup her breast.

  She gasped at the shock of it, at the unfurling pleasure of it that made her breast tingle. As if that light touch was not enough.

  She moaned.

  He raised his head, looking down into her face. The fire and the candle gave just enough light to see the silver glitter of his eyes, the sensual cast to his mouth as his gaze searched her face, then skimmed down to where his hand rested on the swell of her breast. Slowly he moved his thumb over her nipple. It tightened beneath the fabric of her night rail. And her insides clenched.

  Of their own accord her hips arched into him, seeking relief from the tender ache. He closed his eyes briefly, but there was pleasure in the brief wince of pain. And the hunger in his expression intensified.

  Again his head lowered and her lips parted in anticipation of his kiss. Only this time his gentle mouth drifted slowly across her cheek in light brushes that made her want more. Until he found her ear and breathed hot moist air that sent shivers sweeping across her breast, down her back, into the very core of her.

  She wriggled and moaned.

  He laughed softly in her ear, sending another spasm through her body. Then his scorching mouth was moving onwards, to her neck where he licked her and her pulse spiralled out of control, to the hollow of her throat, where he breathed deeply, as if to inhale her essence, across the rise of her breast to the nipple he had stroked with his thumb.

  She held her breath.

  Then his mouth closed over it. Hot. Wet. His tongue flicking and tormenting while she wriggled and squirmed beneath him, seeking to break the ever-tightening cord inside her.

  ‘No,’ she gasped.

  He raised his head, looking into her eyes with that penetrating stare as if he could see right into her mind, as if he knew what was happening inside her body. ‘No? Shall I stop?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, though it took all of her will.

  But as he started to move, she couldn’t bear it. ‘I must not. It isn’t right.’

  ‘It feels right,’ he said in that deep raspy voice. Seductive. Enticing. ‘You feel right.’ He cupped her breast. ‘Perfect, in fact.’ He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘But you are right. This must wait until we are married.’

  Married. But she hadn’t agreed they would be married.

  He kissed her mouth. Chastely. Sweetly. Preparing to leave.

  Hot with desire and hunger, her lips clung to his. Her hands grasped his shoulders, pulling him down to her, as she lifted her body to press her breasts against his wide chest. It felt so good to be close to him. To feel his strength. To feel connected.

  Her thighs parted to press her mons against that beautifully heavy and hard-muscled thigh. She rocked her hips. Sweet pleasure, stole her breath and made her want more.

  He broke away.

  ‘You must make up your mind, Mary,’ he said, his voice a low growl. ‘Marry me and finish this, or...not.’

  She stared up at him. He was speaking of lust, not love. He was being forced into this by a grandfather he hated. Once they were wed, would he resent her? How could he not? But what was the alternative?

  She turned her face away, trying to think, trying to make sense of it all.

  The mattress shifted as he stood. The door clicked shut.

  He had left without a word, quietly. Like a ghost. Did he assume she’d given her answer?

  If so, what did that mean for her future?

  The heat of her body slowly returned to normal and she rose from the bed, feeling the damp chill at her breast where he had suckled. The heat of embarrassment washed through her. How could she be so wanton with a man who—who might well prefer her dead?

  She limped across the room and turned the key in the lock. She balanced the fire irons on the vase and stepped back. Had she forgotten to set them there last night? H
ad Betsy moved them? She couldn’t seem to remember.

  Could she have moved them herself and wandered down the tunnel? In her sleep? Was she indeed hysterical, her fears getting the better of her once she fell asleep? Could she also have opened the window?

  She swallowed the dryness in her throat. Was it her mind playing tricks? Or was she just trying to find an excuse for him, for the earl, because she didn’t want to believe he intended her harm?

  Was she foolish enough to want to say yes to his offer of marriage?

  She crawled back into her bed, her mind going around and around with questions she couldn’t seem to answer.

  * * *

  The next morning she felt so listless, so tired, she had asked Betsy to bring her breakfast in bed. She just could not face the Beresford family. Not the earl. Not the cousins. And definitely not Mrs Hampton.

  Betsy returned with a tray looking as cheerful as always. ‘Eat up, miss,’ she said. ‘You’ll soon feel more the thing.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She glanced out of the window at a bright-blue sky. ‘The weather looks fine today.’

  ‘Snow’s on the way,’ Betsy said. ‘The calm before the storm.’

  Mary laughed, but said nothing. She was used to local predictions of weather. They invariably turned out wrong. There seemed to be this feeling among country folk that good weather heralded bad. She tucked into the tea and toast she had requested while Betsy set out her gown.

  ‘His lordship is off to the mine,’ Betsy said, shaking out the creases in the blue muslin. ‘I heard him asking for that there black beast of his. Joe says it’s a vicious animal. The stable lads are all scared of it.’

  Mary frowned. ‘The earl never mentioned he was going to the mine.’

  ‘He arranged it with the manager, Mr Trelawny, yesterday.’

  And both men knew she wanted to go, too. Did the earl think she wouldn’t find out, or had he decided that she would be his wife and therefore the mine would soon be under his control? ‘Has his lordship left already?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, miss.’

  ‘Go and find out, would you? And ask him to wait, if he hasn’t gone. Ask him to have the carriage readied for me.’ And if he had left? Might it be an opportunity for escape? ‘Betsy, if I missed him, please ask that the carriage be put to so I can follow on. He must have forgotten I was to go with him.’

  Betsy stared at her. ‘But your foot, miss.’

  ‘It is well enough. Please hurry.’ She’d taken off the bandage before Betsy had come back with the tray and, though her ankle was still discoloured by the bruise, the swelling had quite gone and it only really hurt if she moved carelessly. It was strong enough for a carriage ride and a short walk. She wanted to see the condition of the children at the mine. She’d read a great deal recently by some forward-thinking women about the cruel conditions of such places. She could not bear the thought that those kind of conditions existed at something for which she was responsible.

  While Betsy hurried off to do her bidding, Mary dressed. Fortunately for her, she’d been wearing her front-closing stays when the rest of her things had gone over the cliff, so she managed fairly well, and only needed Betsy to fasten the back of her gown when she returned with the news that his lordship was waiting. But not for long.

  ‘I can’t say he was pleased, miss, but he ordered up the carriage.’

  Mary wrapped her woollen cloak around her, tied on her bonnet and pulled on her gloves. ‘And I am ready. Now if you would be so good as to lead me to the front door, I can make sure I am not delaying his lordship any more than necessary.’

  She followed Betsy along the corridors and realised she no longer needed a guide. She was becoming quite familiar with the old house’s twists and turns. But this morning it was better to be safe than sorry.

  Losing her way and arriving late would be all the excuse his lordship needed to leave without her. And this would be a chance to survey the roads around the house. The next time she left, she intended to follow the road across the moors to Helston where his lordship had not warned the inhabitants they must not sell her a ticket for the stagecoach.

  As much as she wanted to trust him when he was kissing her senseless, the answer had finally come to her just before she fell asleep. If she agreed to marry him, she would be wholly in his power. He would be able to do anything he wanted and she would not be able to object. A very bad idea while she had no idea why his grandfather had pushed them together.

  The first order of business was to find Sally Ladbrook and find out what she knew. Then perhaps she could think about what to do in regard to the earl. Because the last thing she wanted was to be at the mercy of a vengeful husband in a damp and draughty house where ghosts seemed to roam at will and, according to legend, people could disappear without a trace.

  Beresford was standing beside the carriage when she exited the house into the sunshine. His face was set in its usual grim lines as he looked up at her approach. There was no sign of his horse. ‘Good morning, my lord,’ she said brightly.

  ‘Good day, Miss Wilding.’

  There was nothing of the passionate man he had been in her room last night in the icy gaze he bestowed on her. She half-wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. But she hadn’t. Nor had she imagined the scream that had awoken her from her horrible dream. ‘You knew I wished to go with you, my lord. You might have sent word.’

  ‘You weren’t at breakfast, Miss Wilding,’ he said, with a slight nod of his head, ‘or I would have told you of my plans.’

  Oh, yes, she really believed that.

  His raised a brow. ‘I thought you might prefer to wait until your ankle is perfectly well.’

  By then it might be too late. By then she might have succumbed to his powers of seduction. ‘I prefer to go today. And here I am. Ready to go.’

  Something hot flared in his eyes. Anger, no doubt. No man liked a woman with a will of her own. He bowed slightly. ‘Your carriage awaits, but time does not.’

  One of the grooms leapt forwards to open the carriage door and she climbed inside and settled herself against the squabs. He climbed in after her.

  Startled, she edged deeper into the corner. ‘I thought you planned to ride?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Don’t feel you must keep me company.’ Oh dear, that sounded rude.

  ‘I never do anything I don’t wish to do, Miss Wilding,’ he drawled and stretched out his legs, brushing against her skirts in a way that felt all too intimate. But what could she say? He was playing the perfect gentleman, sitting opposite her on the seat, facing backwards.

  She winced inwardly. She had intended to make a note of any landmarks she saw as a means of finding her way—she’d brought along a notebook and pencil for the purpose. She could hardly do so with him sitting there watching her. She would just have to try to hold them in her memory.

  She stared out of the window, trying to look as if her interest was idle curiosity. Here there was a large barn. There an oddly twisted tree, but they were moving so quickly it was hard to keep track.

  ‘What do you think of Cornwall?’ he asked.

  Be quiet, I’m trying to follow our route, she wanted to snap. Instead, she pursed her lips as if giving consideration to his question. ‘It’s very different from the countryside in Wiltshire.’

  ‘How?’

  She turned to face him. ‘The sea. The moors. The mining. Even the way the people speak. I can barely understand some of their words.’

  ‘It is not so very different from Wales,’ he murmured, as if remembering. ‘They also have their own language.’

  ‘Did you live in Wales?’

  He nodded. ‘For a while. When I was young.’

  His willingness to talk about the past surprised her. ‘Did you like it there?’

  His eyes turned the colour of a winter sky. Bleak. Cold. Clearly she’d touched a nerve and she expected him to withdraw into his usual chilly distance.

  ‘No.’ He took a deep breath.
‘Not true. There were good times as well as bad.’ He turned his face to look out of the window as if he preferred to hide his thoughts, but the way the light shone on the window, she could make out his reflection. Not the detail, but enough to see him close his eyes as if shutting a lid on memories their conversation had evoked. ‘It was a hard life,’ he murmured. ‘But I learned about mining and the men who risk their lives below ground.’

  ‘Tin mining?’ she asked in the awkward silence.

  He turned back, his expression once more under control. ‘Coal.’

  ‘Did you work in the mine?’

  ‘As a hewer?’ He shook his head. ‘I wasn’t strong enough, then. I did later. Alongside the men in my uncle’s mine. My mother’s brother. He believed a man should learn every part of a business he intended to follow. The way he had.’

  ‘Even the heir to an earldom?’

  He smiled a little, as if amused by a recollection. The atmosphere in the carriage lightened. His face looked younger, more boyish. ‘Especially the heir to an earldom. He is not a great respecter of nobility. He thinks they are all soft and idle.’

  ‘Is that what you think?’ she dared to ask.

  He gave her question consideration. ‘I think there is good and bad in every class of society.’

  As did she. Strange how they were in accord on some things and so at odds on others. Like the inheritance, for example, she thought grimly.

  He leaned forwards, picked up her gloved hand from her lap and held it his. He massaged her palm with his thumb. The bleakness was entirely gone from his face, and now his expression was pure seduction. ‘Have you thought any more about our future?’

  The stroke of his thumb was scrambling her thoughts. Her body was vibrating with longing, her pulse jumping. She swallowed. Forced her mind to focus. ‘Our future? I have certainly thought about my own.’

  His eyes danced, as if she amused him. ‘You cannot think about one and not dwell on the other. Don’t take too long to come to a decision.’

  ‘Why?’

  The caress ceased, though he did not release her hand. If anything, his fingers closed tighter around it. He fixed her with his inscrutable gaze. ‘It’s a matter of life and death, isn’t it?’