Bedeviled Bride (Regency Historical Romance)

by Knight-Catania, Jerrica

  “Let me go!”

  He held tight. He hated to treat her like a pup that needed to be brought to heel, but he couldn’t let her continue this way. If John and Bonnie were going to have an illicit liaison, there was nothing either of them could do about it.

  “Leave it alone, Beth,” he said, lowering his voice to a warning tone.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” she bit back.

  “Fine. I’ll tell you what not to do. Do not worry about what your brother and your maid are probably not doing. And do not deny my advances, for I’ve had to be without you all bloody day and I'm desperate to see you in this lovely present I bought you.”

  “Michael—” she started to protest, but he was having none of it.

  Without further ado, he reached out and grabbed his wife around the waist. He untied the front of the robe and pushed it off her shoulders until it fell to the ground in a heap.

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “My God, you look good enough to eat.”

  Beth's cheeks colored predictably, and Michael's cock jumped beneath his trousers. Without another word, he hauled her into his lap and they fell back against the mattress. Then he kissed her, until he was sure the only thought left in her head was Michael.

  Thirty

  The weeks passed with painful slowness for Beth. Waiting for the full moon was tortuous, especially since the visits from the ghost became more frequent.

  The woman appeared to Beth, and Beth alone, so far as she knew. It wasn't as if she brought it up to anyone other than her husband, and she was trying to do even that with less frequency. He'd done his duty to her by seeking out Madam Rosa. Beth would just have to be patient and wait until the moon allowed for the séance. She would have all her answers then. Until that time, it wouldn't do for her to worry Michael with the details of every ghostly encounter.

  Besides, they'd been far less disturbing than that night she'd seen her after her trip to the kitchen. Beth couldn't seem to stay away from the west wing, and on most occasions, the woman simply reappeared in the mirror, but said nothing. And by the time Beth turned around to try and see her in the flesh, the woman would be gone.

  Now, they were mere days away from the séance and Beth's anticipation was mounting. She'd yet to tell her brother or Bonnie , but the Kerrs had asked about their visit with Madam Rosa as soon as they returned home.

  She couldn't put it off any longer though, so she sought out her brother, who would no doubt be with Bonnie. Beth had no idea if anything had transpired between them yet, but the two were practically inseparable. John had taken over duties as Michael's valet, since he was intimately familiar with cravat tying and such. This proved to be convenient, since his duties tended to coincide with Bonnie's. They could be found most afternoons hunched over a book in the library. Beth wasn't sure if they were reading or whispering sweet nothings to one another, but at least they were out in the open and not sneaking about behind Beth's back.

  One thing was for sure, though: as long as Bonnie was here, John would be too.

  As expected, Beth found the pair in the library, sitting opposite one another at a desk, a book sideways between them. Two pair of eyes snapped up to look at her and both stood immediately, Bonnie with a curtsey and John with a nod of his head.

  “Were ya needin' something, milady?” Bonnie asked, her cheeks flushed a little pink.

  “No, no, I...well, I need to speak with the two of you.” She gestured to the sitting area and they both crossed the room, leaving the book abandoned on the table.

  “Is everything all right?” John asked with genuine concern in his tone.

  “Everything is fine,” she assured her brother, noting how...mature he seemed to her all of a sudden.

  Perhaps she'd done the right thing after all in insisting he serve in their household. Gone was the arrogant lift of his nose and the stubborn set of his jaw. Either he'd learned a valuable lesson or he'd fallen in love, heaven help her!

  Tucking those thoughts into the back of her mind for later contemplation, she cleared her throat and leaned forward on her seat. “The thing is,” she began, “is that there is...that is to say, we have...” Oh, goodness, now that she was about to say it, it seemed so very silly! “The house is haunted!” she finally blurted out.

  Both John and Bonnie stared back at her, their eyes wide, but with mischievous smiles playing on both their lips.

  “Well, that's hardly news, sis,” John said with a little chuckle. “What do you think we've been in here reading about every afternoon?”

  Beth felt her jaw unhinge as she stared blankly back at her brother. “You mean, you knew?” She couldn't quite believe they knew of the ghost.

  “Forgive me, milady, but the name of your home is Ghost House. And all the cold spots and drafts where there shouldn't be drafts...well, we just assumed. I found that book—” she gestured to the table where the book lay open, “—quite by accident one morning. Practically fell off the bookshelf at me, it did.”

  “What book is that?” Beth asked, curious and excited at the same time. Perhaps she'd begin to get some answers even without the séance.

  “It's more a journal, really,” John put in. “Generations of inhabitants of this house recorded their other worldly experiences in that book. Most of them were run out of the house by one ghost or another.”

  “Some saw fit to have the ghosts exorcised, but no one has ever had the house cleansed, so they keep coming back...the ghosts, that is,” Bonnie added.

  “Cleansed? Can a medium perform this task?”

  “Not usually,” Bonnie continued. “You'll need a witch.”

  “A witch?” Beth couldn't quite believe her ears. Bonnie made it sound as if such people were easy to come by.

  “Or a wizard,” Bonnie added, nodding her head enthusiastically. “Mediums don't tend to cast spells and enchantments. They can contact those who have crossed over and ask them to leave, but that's where their powers typically end. A witch can enchant the house to protect from further unwanted guests.”

  Beth's head was spinning. How did Bonnie know all of this? And why had the pair of them kept it from her all this time? Enchantments and spells? Michael didn't even really believe in ghosts; trying to convince him they needed a witch to cast a protecting spell over the house was going to be a difficult sell.

  “May I...borrow the book?” she asked.

  “Of course!” John jumped from his seat to retrieve the book.

  By the time he returned, Beth remembered the initial purpose of this interview.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the book from him. “I did come here for a reason, though. We are going to have a séance in three days' time. Madam Rosa will come when the moon is full and will contact our ghost. Hopefully she will be able to rid us of her, because heaven knows I can't take many more sleepless nights. And then I will speak with Michael about a...a witch, I suppose.”

  “A fine idea, milady.”

  “Thank you,” Beth said. “Madam Rosa has requested we gather the staff who are closest to us, and family too, so both of you will need to be there.”

  Bonnie's eyes turned round in her head. “You mean to say, we will be participating?”

  “Yes, if you—”

  Bonnie let out of a little squeal of obvious excitement. “I've always wanted to be part of one, milady! Thank you!”

  Beth smiled at her maid and then met her brother's eyes. “John?” she asked. “Will you join us, then?”

  “I wouldn't miss it,” he told her as his gaze turned to the bubbling girl beside him.

  Beth fought the urge to laugh at their young love and decided to leave them alone at last. She slipped through the door, making sure to leave it wide open, and then escaped to her chamber to begin reading the book.

  ***

  Beth nestled under the covers and opened the journal to the first entry. Rain beat hard against her window and thunder sounded overhead. She tried to ignore the ominous weather as she began to read.

/>   January 5, 1632

  My name is Gwendolyn Laing and I am nineteen years of age. I live in the Highlands and my home is called Cnoc na Sithe or Hill of the Faeries. When I first saw the land upon which my father would build this house, this is what I saw—a hill of beautiful faeries—as it was perhaps the most magical sight I'd ever seen. My father even put the name on the official documents, much to my delight.

  However, the house, in all its glory, is not a house of magic and wonder, but a haven for a spirit that refuses to move on. While the house was being built, a man fell from the rafters while painting the west wing. Mama refuses to go to the west wing now and papa even moved his study from there to the main part of the house. The west wing now sits abandoned by everyone but me. I don't mind the ghost. I remember the man when he was alive. His name was Otis, and he was young, with a family, and now he simply remains to make certain they are taken care of. I visit his wife and children often and report back to his spirit. I'm not sure how long this will go on—how many reassurances he will need of his family's well-being, but I will continue to visit until he moves on to his final resting place.

  March 15, 1632

  Mama and Papa refuse to stay in the house with the ghost. We are leaving and selling the house to a positively wretched family. I fear for Otis and wonder if his spirit will ever move on now.

  Beth closed the book, keeping her thumb between the pages to mark her place, and stared out the window. Whatever happened to Otis, she wondered? Clearly his spirit moved on eventually—she would just have to keep reading to find out. Opening the book again, she looked at the next date in the book. June of that same year. The new family was leaving already.

  Beware to any who dare purchase this house. Its inhabitants will haunt you for the rest of your days.

  A shiver chased down Beth's spine. She continued reading, though, despite the eerie feeling that stole over her. Page after page revealed more and more stories of ghostly inhabitants of this house. For centuries, ghosts had been taking up residence here and driving the living from the land. But Bonnie was right—the house had only been exorcised, never cleansed. She absolutely had to speak with Michael about hiring a witch to perform such a ceremony.

  Before she sought him out, though, she turned to the last few pages of the diary and found his own sister’s entry. The handwriting was a bit messy, as if she were in a hurry to commit the story to paper as quickly as possible. Quick math revealed that Katherine could not have been more than ten years old at the time.

  September 16, 1806

  I regret I must rush to write this! The coaches are being brought ‘round as I write, so that my family might return to England, to our permanent home in Kent. My parents have told us that it is because Father has urgent business in London, but I know this is not the case, as I’ve been eavesdropping on their conversations of late. Mother has become so frightened by the West Wing Wraith, as I’ve taken to calling her. All summer she has been terrorizing us—moving things from one room to another, banging doors and moaning through the night—but worst of all, she invaded mother’s dreams. I heard my father recounting the dream to Mrs. Kerr, who sent him to see Madam Rosa, a medium with whom they had a séance. She tried to rid the house of the wraith, but it didn’t work! If you are the next to inhabit the house, take great care!

  Beth slammed the book shut and tossed it aside with a shiver. Good heavens, the West Wing Wraith had been here all this time! Why would she not leave? And why didn’t Katherine warn them about this before they left London?

  In all fairness, Beth realized Katherine might not remember the overheard conversations from fourteen years earlier. Or perhaps she’d chosen not to remember them. It seemed to be a rather traumatic event. At least she knew her husband hadn’t brought her here knowing what Katherine had known. His knowledge truly seemed to end at the house’s name. The name that the seventh inhabitants of the manor had given to the house. They had moved there after hearing stories from the locals, certain they would be the ones to rid the place of ghosts for good.

  Clearly, they’d not been successful.

  A gentle knock came at her door and Michael peeked through without waiting for her to answer. “May I?” he asked.

  Beth smiled from her perch on the bed. “Of course,” she said, surprised he’d actually knocked since he normally barged right in.

  He sauntered into the room, looking relaxed and rather pleased with himself. And far more handsome than any man should have the right to look. Her heart gave a little flutter at his lopsided grin, meant just for her.

  “I wondered if I might convince you to take a walk with me?”

  Beth widened her eyes in disbelief and turned her gaze out the window, then back to him. “In this weather?”

  Michael gave a little chuckle as he crawled into bed with her, pressing her into the mattress with a kiss that made her toes curl. When he pulled away, he stared at her with lust-veiled eyes and smiled. “Not outside, my little ninny,” he teased. “Just downstairs.”

  “Oh, well in that case, I would love to take a walk with you, my lord.” She watched with fascination as he lifted himself off her and climbed from the bed. His muscles rippled tantalizingly beneath his shirt and she fought the urge to pull him back into the bed with her.

  Clearly this walk had a purpose and she was rather curious, so she took his hand and extricated herself from the covers. As she did, the book of ghosts slid to the floor and landed at her feet with a thud.

  “What’s this?” Michael asked as he reached down to retrieve it.

  Beth hesitated. Should she let him read it? Of course she should, she reasoned. Perhaps then he’d truly believe her encounters were real.

  “John and Bonnie found it,” she explained. “It’s a journal dating back to the sixteen thirties…it tells about every ghostly encounter this house has ever seen.”

  Thirty-One

  Michael stared at the book. Its leather-bound cover and gilded edges were familiar to him, though he hadn't seen it in years. Not since that last summer they came to visit. Katherine had tried to tell them about it—pleaded with them, really, to read it. But reading was not something boys of twelve and sixteen wanted to do when they were so close to being sent back to school for the next term. Not even Benjamin, who was the more bookish of the three of them.

  “Every ghost?” he repeated. How many had there been?

  “There have been dozens,” Beth said, answering his unspoken question. “And every other family has fled because of them. That must be how your father obtained the land. No one wanted the house that knew of its history. Well, except for one couple—they clearly wanted to be heroes, but it didn't work out so well for them.”

  Michael's mind spun as his wife prattled on about the specters that had supposedly inhabited their home. “What do you think it is about this place that draws them and keeps them here?” he asked.

  Beth sighed and took the book from him, then flipped through the pages, shaking her head. “I've tried to find a common thread—a clue—but I haven't. It seems that the souls of those who die here—and they always seem to die in the west wing—linger, without exception.” She tossed the book to the bed and looked up at him with a bright smile. “But you came here to take me on a walk, did you not?”

  “Tired of the ghosts, are we?”

  “Exhausted. I would be happy to never hear the word ghost again,” she said as he led her from the room.

  Her hand latched onto his elbow and Michael patted it with his own free hand. “Well, I shall be happy to indulge you, then. And if we're lucky, Madam Rosa will get rid of that spirit for good.”

  Beth gave him a sideways glance and a little giggle at his avoidance of the word ghost. They trotted down the main staircase together in contented silence, though Michael's anticipation was mounting. He'd had a rather large surprise delivered less than an hour ago and he couldn't wait to see the look on Beth's face when she saw it.

  “Where are we going?” she asked as he
steered her down a lesser-used corridor on the main floor.

  “I just thought to explore our home a little more,” he replied, keeping a nonchalant tone to his voice. “We stick to the same rooms all the time, I wanted to see what else the manor had to offer.”

  Beth smiled and tugged him a little closer as they walked, and Michael's heart gave a little leap. It was good to finally be in accordance with his wife.

  As they approached the door behind which the surprise was hidden, he paused. Feigning curiosity and acting as if he'd never even noticed the door before, he said, “Hm...I wonder what's in this room?”

  Beth lifted her brow and stared at him oddly. “Are you not going to open the door to satisfy your curiosity?”

  “Ladies first,” he replied with a smile and gestured for her to do the honors.

  She thankfully took the bait and pushed the door open. The door's loud creek was followed quickly by Beth's astonished gasp. She stood dumbfounded on the threshold, much to Michael's delight—it had been his goal to render her speechless, after all.

  “What...how...where...” she stuttered, clearly at a loss for words.

  Coming up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders, Michael said, “I ordered it when we were in Inverness a few weeks ago, and they delivered it this morning. It's not a Broadwood, but I believe it will suit your needs just fine. Do you like it?”

  “It's...it's exquisite, Michael,” she breathed. She turned to face him and his arms fell to embrace her about the waist. “Thank you.”

  He leaned down to meet her lips in a tender kiss and lingered just a moment to take in the delicious taste of her. She'd clearly been sipping on tea that afternoon, for she tasted soft and sweet. He pulled back and looked at her through veiled eyes. “Will you sing and play for me?” he asked.