A Phantom Affair (13 page)

As never before, she longed to put her hand on his to ease the pain on his face. “It must have been horrible.”

“Horrible? Yes, but I never once wished I was dead. Mayhap that is why I survived then.” He went to stand before the glass. “Mayhap that is why I still cannot surrender to the inevitable. Then I should have died, but I did not. Every morn, I woke with the determination that I would not give in to my captors. Every night, I went to sleep repeating that vow.”

“And you survived.”

“With luck.”

“And returned to England.”

“With the help of those who believed I was not dead.” He chuckled. “Unlike most men, my dear cousin Lorenzo was delighted when he received the tidings of my resurrection. He wants the title no more than I do, although his reasons are different from mine.”

“What are they?”

“Mine? They are simple. I would prefer to spend my time in London sitting in the Commons and debating the great problems of these days instead of being surrounded by the stuffiness of the Lords.”

“And Lord Wulfric's?”

“I—oh, you mean Lorenzo.” He laughed ironically. “Odd that I thought often of ridding myself of that title, but yet it clings to me. This all is something I still must adjust to. As for Lorenzo, he wishes to bury himself in his quiet life of reading and writing letters to his comrades around the island. Making decisions and overseeing the lands belonging to the Abbey interfere with that.”

“Then I am sorry for both of you.”

“Don't be.” He grinned. “At least, don't be sorry for me. My life has taken an enchanting turn.”

“That is unquestionably true.”

“And I have a goal.”

She sat straighter. “Corey, after what happened today, you must own that you need to rethink that jobbernowl idea. I shall find my own husband on my own.”

“Of course.”

“
When
I wish.”

“Of course.”

“So you have changed your mind about that absurd vow then?”

He shook his head. “A Wolfe's vow lasts a lifetime.”

She raised a single brow.

With another laugh, he said, “Point well taken. Let me rephrase that. A Wolfe's vow lasts forever.”

“That is ludicrous.”

“I agree.”

“Do you?” Ellen leaned forward, folding her arms on her knees.

“But it is a vow I have made, and I shall not break it.”

“Even if I ask you to?”

“Even if you ask me to.”

Yawning as she gazed across the rose garden of Herrold Hall, Ellen stood and stretched, being careful of her arm, which still ached on each thoughtless motion. Although almost a week had passed since the accident, every thought drew her back to that moment, for every thought was filled with Corey. He was the most bothersome man she had ever met—and she had no escape from his whetted wit and knowing smile.

Nor did she wish one.

She tensed at that thought and was rewarded by another twinge along her arm. Blast Corey Wolfe! Even when he was not with her, he complicated her life. Yet she could not fault him when
she
constantly delighted in thinking of him and the few moments they had stood together by the seawall. Then she had thrilled at the first uncertain steps in a courtship. Now he was becoming as familiar as her favorite wrapper, but he was growing no less enticing and intriguing.

She never had met a man quite like him, and she guessed she never would. She
hoped
she never would, because she had no need for another ghost to be keeping her awake half the night with invigorating conversation.

With another yawn, she closed the book she had been trying with little success to read. Marian would be looking for her by this hour. Her friend could not understand Ellen's need for a few moments of quiet time alone. Thank goodness Corey seemed to sense that Ellen needed this respite from the insanity surrounding her.

“Miss Dunbar!”

Ellen glanced to her left and saw Sullivan rushing toward her with unexpected speed. “What is wrong?”

The abigail slowed and shook her head. “Nothing wrong, Miss Dunbar. Lady Herrold sent me to tell you there is a caller for you.”

“A caller? Who?”

“She did not say.”

Ellen sighed. Marian was dauntless in her determination to find Ellen a husband. The fiasco at the strand had not lessened her resolve. In fact, it seemed to have strengthened it.

Not wanting to keep the caller—and Marian—waiting, Ellen hurried to the parlor where Marian received her guests. She faltered as she was reaching to open the door. An unmistakable glow took shape to her right.

Glancing in both directions along the corridor, she saw no one else. Even so, she dared not lift her voice above a whisper. “Corey! Why are you here? Who is in there with Marian?”

“Major Jerome Poindexter. Major Poindexter, retired, if there is any fairness in this world.”

“Who—?”

“My one time commander.” Distaste dripped from every word. “The very epitome of a carpet knight, if you wish the truth.”

The door opened before Ellen could reply. Marian smiled and ushered her into the room. Although she wanted to look back to see if Corey was following, she knew it was unnecessary. He could not be shut out of any room.

A squat man peered at Ellen through a gold-rimmed quizzing glass. His hair was streaked with gray, and she guessed him old enough to be her grandfather. Pinched features did not match his round belly. She was certain his thin lips rarely turned up in a smile.

“Miss Ellen Dunbar,” Marian said with all the pomp she enjoyed, “this is Major Jerome Poindexter.”

“Retired?” prompted Corey.

“Retired,” Major Poindexter said as he took Ellen's hand in his pudgy fingers and bowed over it. “My pleasure, Miss Dunbar.”

Marian smiled as she motioned for them to sit. “Major Poindexter called at Wolfe Abbey to give Corey a look-in. He is understandably upset by the events that he had not heard of before this afternoon.”

“Do not be so sure,” Corey warned. He went to stand behind Major Poindexter, who was picking up the glass of wine on the table by his chair and taking a generous drink. “Jerome never bestirs himself without reason.”

“Miss Dunbar,” the major said, “I understand you were with Lord Wulfric at his final moments.”

“
Lord Wulfric?
” Corey mumbled something else under his breath before adding, “Now that I am put to bed with a shovel, you have forgotten how it made your nose swell that my title was more prestigious than yours, Sir Jerome.”

“Yes,” Ellen said, trying to listen to both conversations at the same time. She was becoming no more adept at this than she had been when Corey first appeared in her room at Wolfe Abbey.

“Did he mention anything of me or the unit?”

“A narcissist to the end?” Corey folded his arms on the back of the major's chair.

When Major Poindexter shifted and frowned, Ellen guessed he was sensing the chill that surrounded Corey. She said quietly, “No, he was bereft of his senses.”

“That is a shame.”

“Yes,” she said, although she was uncertain what the major specifically meant.

“Has this so-called accident been investigated?” he fired back.

Marian gasped, “Major, are you suggesting it wasn't an accident?”

“An officer gains many enemies when he has to give orders that can send men to their deaths.”

Corey's laugh startled Ellen. When she flinched, Marian put her hand on Ellen's arm.

“I am fine,” Ellen whispered. She looked past the frowning major to Corey's grin. A dozen questions filled her head, but she could not ask a single one.

He soothed her curiosity when he said, “Do not judge others by your own standards, Jerome. I did not send my men off to die without going with them. Tell him, Edie, the constable checked the rest of the fireworks and deemed it nothing but an unfortunate accident.”

“He did?” She put her fingers to her lips when Marian and the major regarded her with astonishment. Corey chuckled, but she said over the sound the others could not hear, “You may rest assured, Major Poindexter, that a complete investigation was done by the local authorities. It was nothing but an accident.”

Marian's eyes were wide. “Who told you that, Ellen?”

“Someone,” she answered before turning back to the major. “You can be satisfied nobody wished Corey Wolfe harm that night.”

“Save you, Jerome,” Corey muttered. “Are you happy now? A quirk of fate succeeded where you did not in getting rid of me.”

Ellen choked back her gasp. She waved aside Marian's concern, then rose. “Forgive me,” she whispered, “but please excuse me. Thinking of the accident again is more unnerving than I had guessed.”

Rushing out of the room, she paused and looked up the stairs. To return to her room meant another conversation with Corey. Just now, she wanted to put as much distance between her and every aspect of this shocking mull as she could. She hurried down the stairs and out to the stable. She did not have her riding habit, but she wanted to race across the hills and try to escape from her thoughts … even though she knew it would be impossible.

Searing pain swept up Ellen's arm. She moaned. Why did no one come to ease this agony? She could hear voices. Anxious voices, shouts that ached within her skull, whispers of dismay.

“Send for a doctor!” she cried.

Or did she? She heard only another moan. From her or from another?

Lord Wulfric!

Lord Wulfric or Corey? Her mind seemed lost in time. She could not guess where she was or when. No matter what she called the man who had been the Marquess of Wulfric, he had been with her when the fireworks exploded. He had pushed her aside, protecting her with his own body.

“Ellen! Ellen, can you hear me?”

The disembodied voice struck her like a blow. Marian! She could recognize that demanding tone even in the depth of this horror.

Why did she hurt so badly? Was she dying? Was she dying … too?

“Corey!” She willed the last of her strength into that single word.

“Open your eyes,” came back the soft command. Corey's voice!

Darkness stabbed her eyes as she obeyed. Gray specters drifted around her. She recoiled. Their faces were nearly as familiar as her own. Lorenzo Wolfe, Marian, Mr. Bridges, Fenton … all of them wafted toward her.

“No!” she gasped.

Strong arms turned her against a firm chest. She gripped the front of a satiny waistcoat and sobbed. Fingers stroked her tangled hair with the tenderness of a father. Or of a lover.

She tilted back her head to look up at the sorrow on Corey's face. His palm cupped her chin, his fingers splaying across her face as he brought her mouth toward his. The beguiling warmth of his touch surged through her, freeing her from the bonds of anguish. Slowly her fingers rose. She ached to touch him, to feel his lips over hers, to lose herself in unexplored pleasures.

“Corey,” she whispered.

“Edie …” His voice vanished into the wave of cold that washed over her.

In horror, she pulled away and stared at the luminescence surrounding him. He was dead. He would never hold her. He would never kiss her. She hid her face in the pillows and surrendered to the grief, her sobs ringing through the room like the bells ringing the passing of the Marquess of Wulfric.

At a soft sound, Corey set aside the book he had been paging through in the small parlor at the back of Herrold Hall. He had hoped to find something here to help him pass the time during the night. Sleep seemed to be something he no longer needed. He had made that blasted vow to respect Edie's privacy the morning after he had first visited her in this ghostly form, so he could not wake her and engage her in conversation.
She
still needed to sleep. He wondered what other spirits did during the darkness. Mayhap he was supposed to make things go bump in the night, but such pranks grew monotonous.

Reading was a pastime he never had had enough time for before going off from this earth. Now he had all the time he wished and so very much more. A novel or some political satire would make the hours fly by more swiftly until he could pay Edie a call.

He selected another from the shelf. Like everything in this house, the book had to do with Reggie Herrold's dogs. He had seen no books that might have been Marian's, confirming his long-held suspicions that she strained her mind with nothing more strenuous than the gossip of the
ton
.

He heard the sound again. Someone was weeping.

“Edie!” He swore and dropped the book on a table. It clattered against a lamp, setting it to swaying, but he was in Edie's bedchamber before he had the thought to steady it.

He put the blasted lamp from his head and rushed to where she was thrashing on the bed. The bedclothes were tangled around her, and her hair was lathered against her forehead with sweat. She murmured something. The only word he understood was his name.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he whispered, “Edie, wake up. 'Tis nothing but a nightmare.”

Her lashes fluttered against her ivory cheeks, which were streaked with tears, and she stared up at him. “Corey, you—I dreamed—no, 'tis impossible.”

“What is impossible, sweetheart?”

A pair of tears inched along her face, and he had to fight his urge to brush them away. If he touched her, she would be left with scorch marks in her skin. But to see her weep, to feel her heartbreak within his heart, he could not let her suffer like this without trying to help.

Gripping a handful of the counterpane, he wiped her cheek. Her eyes widened at his touch, which was insulated by the thick layers of cotton and lace.

“I am here,” he whispered. “Do not fear the darkness, for it is when I can be with you most easily.”

“I have no fear of the dark,” she answered as softly, “but of waking one night and being alone.”

“You shall never be alone, sweetheart.” He swept her hair back from her face with the blanket. “I promise you that.”