Margo Maguire (11 page)

The roar of thunder and crash of lightning nearby did not distract any of Ravenwell’s guests who stood spellbound in the dining room. Even Sam felt astonished and more than slightly aroused by the spectacle.

These were not shadowy figures appearing in the moonlight. They were not wisps of smoke. The couple was clearly visible in the bright light of the room. There were no images being projected—at least, none that Sam could detect. There was nothing under the table or above it—no method of suspending the figures in thin air.

The possibility that the ghosts were real crossed
Sam’s mind for the first time since he’d heard about them. Perhaps Ravenwell truly
was
haunted.

Rain pelted the windows of the inn while the ghosts made love to each other, their actions becoming more intimate with each move of their bodies. The erotic tableau was shocking, but even more astonishing was Lady Alice’s appearance. She looked exactly like Lilly Tearwater.

And Sir Emmett was a duplicate of Sam.

T
he experience was like watching from afar while he made love to Lilly, yet his breathing quickened and his muscles tensed as he watched. Her kisses and caresses shot through every nerve of his body, right to the center of his being.

He pressed her soft curves close to his hard length, fitting them together in a sensual haze while nipping at her lips with his teeth. His arousal met her softness, drawing him closer and closer to the brink of paradise.

And suddenly the ghosts vanished.

Sam’s glance whipped across the table toward Lilly, but she instantly rose to her feet. “The rain…” Her voice was unsure. Shaky. “I-It’s coming down so hard, there might be leaks…”

Sam hardly noticed the clamor of voices around him. He should pursue her. He should find a quiet, private place where they could undress each other slowly—taste and touch and stroke every aroused inch of their bodies. He saw Lilly’s eyes, and knew she hadn’t been indifferent to the stirring display.

But he took several deep breaths and sank into a
chair, while those who had witnessed the “apparition” discussed it in shocked and bewildered tones. There was no point in going after her, of catching up to her. He was incapable of taking her in his arms, of showing her the depth of his desire for her.

Several minutes passed while Sam composed himself. When he felt steady enough to walk, he left the dining room and walked down the hall to the reception area. It was ridiculous to have become so inflamed by what must have been photographs. Somehow they’d managed to make the pictures seem to move.

Standing at the window near the front door, Sam watched the rain and considered the methods that might have been used to cast his and Lilly’s images into the space above the dining table. There were many new scientific advances outside his own field—the telephone, the phonograph, incandescent lights—and though they were not widely used, Sam was sure that an enterprising individual could figure a way to make use of these inventions.

Lilly Tearwater must have hired someone to do this.

Sam had an old friend who worked for Mr. Edison at Menlo Park, and they’d talked many times about the innovative work going on there. Perhaps Mr. Edison’s laboratory had developed a method that could make photographs seem to move, and a way to display the image in the atmosphere. Sam would make a point of writing to his friend in New Jersey tonight.

The rain suddenly ceased.

One minute it was brutally pounding the inn, and the next, it was over.

Tom Fletcher burst in from outside and called for
Lilly. Rain dripped off him, forming a puddle on the floor, before he noticed Sam and walked over to him. “Have you seen Charlotte? Or Lilly?”

“No—”

“What in hell happened here? The lightning alone was spectacular, but the rain…”

“What about the rain?”

“It only fell here—at Ravenwell. Every place else in the district is dry, at least, as far as I can tell. Was anyone hurt in the storm?”

Sam felt his forehead crease. He shook his head. Fletcher had to be mistaken. “Not that I’ve heard. How can you be sure the storm only occurred here?”

“Well, it wasn’t raining down at our place. When I saw that lightning strike so close to the inn, I— Charlotte!”

Charlotte walked past Sam and smiled up at Tom, oblivious to his distress. He took her shoulders in his beefy hands. “Are you all right?”

Sam saw that she was puzzled until Tom let her go and made a sign with one hand. Then she nodded and signaled something back to him.

“
Why?
You want to know why?”

Tom drew her outside, where Sam couldn’t watch or hear the rest of their conversation. It was just as well, because he planned to investigate what Fletcher had said. He couldn’t believe the man had it right—that the storm had occurred only at Ravenwell. That was preposterous.

But when Lilly came into the room, carrying a bucket and a handful of tools, Sam was distracted from his purpose.

“Have you seen D-Davy Becker?” she asked. Her color deepened and she avoided Sam’s gaze.

She was clearly unnerved. Was it because the scene in the dining room had so clearly represented them? Or was she worried that he’d discovered how it was done, now that he’d had a closer look?

He hadn’t, but he had no intention of admitting it to her.

“No, I haven’t,” he answered. Unwilling to let her off too easily, he nodded toward the tools she carried. “Do you need some help?”

The question flustered her, but she finally replied. “We’ve got a b-bit of water coming in through the kitchen roof. Davy can fix it—I just have to find him.”

“I don’t mind doing it,” Sam said. He took the bucket and hammer from Lilly. “Show me where.”

He wanted to see her squirm.

Sam followed Lilly into the kitchen, where an older gentleman with a balding pate frantically placed cooking pans on the floor and on various surfaces in order to collect the rainwater that dripped through the ceiling.

“Miss Tearwater!”

“I’m doing what I can, Mr. Clive,” she replied. “Have you seen Davy?”

His mustache twitched. “Look at my beautiful Bavarois! Ruined!”

“I’m terribly—”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Sam said. He didn’t care for the way the chef badgered Lilly, as if she were personally responsible for ruining the fancy pastry. “I doubt anyone will be looking for dessert tonight.”

Not after that scene in the dining room.

He went outside to assess the damage.

The kitchen was a one-story addition to the building, so the roof was not dangerously high. Samuel took the lantern from Lilly’s hand and illuminated his climb up the ladder. “It’s charred,” he called down. “Lightning must have hit here. It should be covered until it can be properly patched.”

Lilly could tell that it was bad by the amount of rain pouring into the kitchen. She considered repairing it with one thought, but the lightning had been caused by her magic, and she didn’t want to risk another disagreeable consequence. Who knew what would be ruined next time?

Lilly could hardly believe she’d let her irritation with Samuel goad her into such an impulsive display. She’d let her deepest desire manifest itself for all to see. She was mortified.

“Is there any canvas in the barn?”

“What?”

“Canvas. Have you got any canvas in the barn?”

Lilly bit her lip and watched him climb down. His backside was streaked with rainwater and she closed her eyes against the memory of how it had felt under her hands as she’d pulled him against her. The vision had been as real to her as if she’d actually touched him.

“I—I’m not sure,” she finally replied. His kisses and caresses had felt just as she’d imagined them, and her bones had fairly melted. “Davy will know. Or Tom.”

“At least it’s not raining anymore.”

“True.” She had to get hold of herself. It wasn’t as if she’d
really
touched his— “I’ll go and find Davy!”

She left Sam with the lantern and ladder, and fled.

Meeting no one in the reception area, she skirted the dining room and went up to the attic to see if Davy was there, checking for more leaks. He wasn’t, but at least all was dry up there. And quiet.

Lilly lowered herself onto an overturned box and rested her head in one hand. There was no reason to be embarrassed. Samuel would never know that she was responsible for that performance tonight. And once he left Ravenwell, she would never see him again.

His disbelief had grated on her, and because of that, she had made a fool of herself. Putting her own face and Samuel’s on the ghosts… Everyone must have noticed. Even Samuel.

She wondered if the sensations that had coursed through her during the spectacle had affected him, as well. Judging by the expression in his eyes when he’d finally looked over at her, he’d been equally aroused.

Once again, she’d let her talent shift out of her control. And the “ghosts” had behaved shame-fully—exactly the way she would wish to do if she were not a proper young Englishwoman.

Sam awoke in a cold sweat.

It was well before dawn, but he knew that further sleep would elude him, at least for tonight. The dreams haunted him—hands holding him down, poking with sharp sticks, pulling and tearing… Sam’s fingertips throbbed with the memory of his nails being pulled out while his comrades had been forced to watch. And for what reason?

To strip the westerners of their manhood as their
captors slowly killed them? If that was it, the Mahdi’s men had succeeded very well. Sam was the only one of his party to survive—if anyone could say that the life he had now was worth living.

He had to get outside, into the fresh, clean air.

Desperate to get out of the confines of his dark room, he threw on some clothes and slipped out, making his way quietly through the dark halls. No one else was astir.

A few moments later, he let himself out the door leading to the back garden and stood still, taking in a deep lungful of flower-scented air. Only then was he able to stop shaking.

Morning stars filled the sky and the sight of them eased his heart. There had been a time when he thought he’d never see the sky again, never hear English spoken, never again touch a beautiful woman.

He supposed he ought to be grateful for the first two, but he’d become greedy in the days since his arrival at Ravenwell. He wanted Lilly Tearwater. And he didn’t care if she was a fraud.

In the predawn light, Sam picked his way through the garden and arrived on the path that led through the meadow to the lake. He could have carried some of his equipment and left it at the chestnut tree, but he wanted to walk unfettered, as if he had all the freedom in the world.

Sam was beginning to suspect that his brother had made the ghost wager for more than one purpose. Jack had probably assumed that once Sam left London, he’d be forced to overcome the terrors that plagued him. It was likely that his brother had wanted to push him beyond his secure, comfortable environment.

But Jack hadn’t been in the Sudan. He didn’t understand the monumental effort it took for Sam to climb out of his bed every morning and face the day, knowing that he was the only one of his group who’d survived.

Jack couldn’t understand that the aroma of certain spices, the smell of unwashed bodies…any number of things could trigger Sam’s most horrific memories. Just those few moments in Ravenwell’s dark kitchen had somehow transported him to the pit. He’d actually believed that his captors had come for him.

He didn’t know what was worse—feeling such an intense attraction to Lilly and being unable to do anything about it, or facing the rest of his professional life working within the dull confines of a university office or classroom.

Alone.

Sam wasn’t bred to live a tame existence in the civilized cities of the world. Since childhood, his life had been one exotic experience after another, exploring new and distant sites all over the world. There was a time when Sam believed he’d find a woman like his sister-in-law, someone who loved adventure and would be willing to give up a comfortable life to travel with him, wherever his research took him.

But if he couldn’t stand the thought of climbing onto an elephant’s back, if the crowded streets of Calcutta made his blood run cold, if the slightest whiff of camel dung nauseated him, then how could he ever resume the life he’d known and loved for all of his thirty-one years?

He let out a slow, deep breath, then sat down on
the sandy beach and cherished the sight of the wide expanse of sky above him. He had a feeling that if he could overcome his aversion to being touched, then he would be able to master the other dark fears that tormented him. The rest of his life would fall into place.

The earliest whisper of dawn crept across the tops of the trees, and Sam heard the first chirps of the birds as they awakened. It was a peaceful setting, something he would never again take for granted.

There was no point to putting off writing his letter to Mr. Phipson. Until Sam could do more than just
watch
himself make love to Lilly Tearwater, he was powerless to go out into the world.

D
ressed for travel in a modest, dove-gray suit, Mrs. Stanhope stood at the reception desk, glowering at Lilly. Her husband stood slightly behind her, his expression slightly embarrassed.

“Are you certain you wish to leave, Mrs. Stanhope? Our ghosts do not usually—”

“We will remain at Ravenwell not one second longer, Miss Tearwater. Last night’s display was…was—” The woman covered her nose and mouth with a delicately embroidered handkerchief. “Such lewdness…”

“My wife understands that you are not to blame for the behavior of ghosts, Miss Tearwater,” Mr. Stanhope said. “But…”

The man continued to apologize for their abrupt departure, while Lilly felt ashamed all over again. She could not blame the Stanhopes for leaving, but they’d reserved their room for two weeks. Lilly needed the income from that room, but she did not feel justified in holding the Stanhopes to their agreement.

She hoped none of the other guests were so of
fended that they would also decide to go. She could not expect to find anyone who would take the room on such short notice, even if she had a list of patrons interested in visiting. Lilly knew of no one who could just leave home to go on holiday at a moment’s notice.

Mr. Stanhope settled their bill and walked out with his wife, just as Mrs. Bainbridge joined Lilly at the desk. “I’ve set Davy to patching the kitchen roof,” she said. “I can’t get over it. A storm, just here. We had nothing down in Asbury. Not a bit of rain. And the lightning—why, it glowed orange. Never seen anything like it.”

Lilly shrugged as if it puzzled her, too.

“The Stanhopes are leaving?”

Lilly nodded.

“The ghostly antics, I suppose.” Mrs. Bainbridge pursed her lips. “I heard a few stories… Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“What they say happened in the dining room last night? Sir Emmett and Lady Alice…er…”

Lilly bit her lower lip. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Well…” Mrs. Bainbridge sighed. “There’s nothing for it. We’ll just have an empty room for the next two weeks.”

“Ladies,” Mr. Dawson said, folding his newspaper and tucking it under his arm. He’d been sitting in a comfortable chair near the windows and could not have missed Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope’s abrupt departure. It seemed to Lilly that over the past few days, Mr. Dawson had been in her sight every time she’d looked up.

She supposed that wasn’t so odd, considering that Ravenwell was not a huge place, and Lilly rarely
ventured far from it. But she hoped Mr. Dawson was not becoming infatuated with her as Mrs. Bainbridge had suggested. Besides the fact that he was much too old for her, the frank interest she saw in his eyes made her distinctly uneasy. She did not feel the same attraction.

“May I help you, Mr. Dawson?” asked Mrs. Bainbridge.

“I could not help but overhear that you have a sudden vacancy.”

Lilly suddenly recalled Mr. Dawson’s earlier request for a room for his friend. She had forgotten about it, since the inn had been fully booked for months and cancellations did not occur very often.

“I’m certain my London friend would be willing to let the room, even without forewarning.”

Lilly did not hesitate to answer. “If you’ll give me the gentleman’s address, I’ll wire him this morning.”

“Allow me, Miss Tearwater,” Mr. Dawson said. “I was planning to go down to Asbury this morning, myself. I’ll be happy to let Mr. Hamlet—my friend—know that you have a room for him.”

“That was convenient,” Mrs. Bainbridge said when Mr. Dawson had gone. “If Mr. Hamlet arrives tomorrow, you’ll only be out the price of one night’s lodging. And whatever meals the Stanhopes might have taken.”

Lilly tapped one finger against her lips and wondered if it wasn’t a bit too convenient. A moment later, she discounted her misgivings. Mr. Dawson
might make her uncomfortable, but he certainly had not convinced the Stanhopes to vacate their room.

It had been Lilly’s own rash conduct the night before that had done it.

There would be no apparitions tonight. Lilly had made that decision immediately after last night’s disaster, and she reiterated it to herself once again. Mr. Payton and all the other Ravenwell guests had enough to marvel over for weeks. And those who were scheduled to leave today already had plenty to talk about when they returned to their homes.

By late afternoon, Lilly’s new guests had arrived and were settled, tea was being served in the garden, and she had an hour to herself, before Mrs. Bainbridge left to go home.

Lilly collected her newest books on Egypt and Athens and left the inn, heading for the beach. As she took to the path, she had no intention of even glancing in the direction of the woods where she assumed Samuel was working in his chestnut tree. It seemed impossible to control her impulses when he was near. And Lilly did not know how she could face him after all that had transpired the previous night.

She didn’t know what had been worse, the indecent spectacle in the dining room, or running away from him later, as if she been guilty of…

Well, she
was
guilty, she supposed. But there was no reason for Samuel ever to discover that fact. And she would certainly never admit that Lady Alice’s actions in the dining room mirrored Lilly’s deepest longings.

She wanted to lie in a lover’s arms, to feel loved and cherished…to know that she was all-important
to him. And the love that Lilly returned would know no bounds.

That kind of intimacy wasn’t likely to be found at Ravenwell or in Asbury. The men at the inn were primarily husbands, traveling with their wives. Samuel Temple and Mr. Dawson were the exceptions. As for the men in Asbury, everyone in the district knew that Lilly was responsible for Charlotte, and most of them believed Charlotte was a simpleton.

The only Asbury man who’d shown any serious interest in Lilly was Alan Graham, the vicar’s son, and he had been away at university so long that Lilly doubted he remembered anything about Charlotte. Even so, he was pompous and much too enamored of his own appeal. Lilly could not imagine herself entertaining tender feelings toward him.

Especially not since meeting Samuel Temple.

Lilly stopped in her tracks and hugged her books to her breast. Her attraction to Samuel had been instantaneous, even though he’d come dangerously close to accusing her of fraud. She could hardly fault him for that, since it was true.

She knew her longing for his touch was irrational. She was a respectable woman. A lady. She could not indulge in a love affair with a stranger, even though her heart longed for such intimacy with Samuel Temple.

Lilly cringed when she thought of his scars. She had seen the damage done to his hands, and could only imagine the horrors he’d endured, the things he’d seen. Her throat burned when she thought of it, and Lilly could not blame him for his revulsion to being touched. It was surprising that he could function at all.

If only he would allow small amounts of contact, she might be able to help him become accustomed to touch again. It seemed only logical that with a gradual exposure to her touch, his memory of the horrors associated with his imprisonment would recede.

But he would never allow it. Lilly had to face the fact that every time she’d forced the
illusion
of her touch upon him, it had only upset him.

Discouraged, she resumed her trek down the path, but was intercepted by Charlotte, who motioned for her to follow. They were so close to the chestnut tree that Lilly knew that’s where they were headed, and she tried to ignore Charlotte’s request. But her friend was insistent, so Lilly prepared herself for an encounter with Samuel.

He stood at the base of the tree, beside a thick rope ladder that hung from one of the branches above. “Miss Tearwater,” he said, as if there was no awkwardness between them.

Lilly felt relieved.

“Hold this, will you?”

He handed her a small box that contained a row of glass jars, and left her standing by the tree, balancing the box on top of her books, while he went to Charlotte. Handing her a sketchpad, he used hand gestures to communicate with her, after which Charlotte nodded and walked off into the meadow, among the wildflowers.

“What is she doing?” Lilly asked.

“Tracking a worker bee.”

Lilly handed the box back to him. “You learned to talk with Charlotte so quickly.”

“We manage,” he said, turning to climb the rope
ladder. “She’s bright and she’s interested. She asks about everything.”

Lilly sighed at the sight of his backside, and remembered how it had actually felt during those few moments last night when she had experienced all that Lady Alice had felt: the taut muscles flexing under her hands, the heat of his skin as he held her close. And Lilly thought of her own response, a quickening of her blood and a deep heat that had permeated to her core.

“You never said anything about last night’s apparition,” he called down to her.

Lilly choked and nearly dropped her books.

“Are you all right?”

She squeaked out an affirmative sound.

“Did anything about last night’s apparition strike you as being different from the usual…antics of the ghosts?”

Lilly dodged a honeybee that flew down from the hive, and avoided looking up at Samuel, who sat high on the wooden platform, his long legs dangling over the edge.

She was so embarrassed.

“Am I the only one who thought Lady Alice bore a striking resemblance to you, Lilly?”

Her gaze shot up to the branch where he sat. “I’m sure you’re mistaken, Mr. Temple. How could—”

“That’s exactly what I would like to know. And I’ll figure it out before I leave Ravenwell.”

At least, Sam hoped he’d figure it out.

“Aren’t you afraid of being stung?” Lilly asked. He was somewhat surprised that she didn’t just bolt when he said he was going to determine what was
going on at Ravenwell. Perhaps the distance he’d put between them reduced her unease, although he’d done it for purely selfish reasons. The farther away he stayed, the better.

“I’m not exactly fond of bee stings, but I don’t react much to them anymore.” He’d used an age-old method to neutralize his reaction to the bees’ venom when he’d first started working with them. The series of stings he’d received in a controlled fashion had rendered him nearly immune to the bees’ venom. The sting he’d received on his first afternoon at Ravenwell would have gotten no worse without treatment.

Sam wore special gloves and coveralls when he had direct contact with the hive, but that part of his research was weeks away. And he didn’t want to talk about bees now.

“Your ghosts… It seemed as if their appearance lasted longer than usual last night.”

“I can’t say that I noticed the time.”

“Trust me,” he said, remembering the taste of her lips and the way her hands had caressed him. “The episode persisted.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Now, I’ll just lea—”

“Last night’s storm was strange, too, wouldn’t you say?” he asked, to keep her from running away from him again.

“Yes, it was. It certainly was unusual,” she replied, making a show of being interested in the crates that were stacked nearby. She wore a serviceable blue blouse, tucked neatly into a black skirt. Miss Tearwater did not appear to be encased in thick petticoats, so Sam was treated to a natural view when she bent to open the lid of one box.

He imagined undressing her, layer by layer, touching her smooth skin as he exposed her. Caressing her throat, teasing her breasts with his thumbs, spanning her waist before he moved lower.

He jabbed his fingers through his hair and looked away. “Have you ever been away from Ravenwell, Miss Tearwater?”

“Once, a few years ago.” She opened the box that contained his microscope.

“Where did you go?”

“To London. Maude took us, but Charlotte despised it.”

“Why?” he asked, beginning to feel more controlled again.

“There were too many people who couldn’t understand her. She was very…” Miss Tearwater looked up at him. “It was very frightening for her. I’m quite sure Charlotte will never leave Ravenwell again.”

“And what about you?”

She turned away and peered into another crate. Sam had noticed the books she carried, and remembered her fascination with foreign places. He’d wager another hundred pounds that her dearest wish was to travel to some of them.

But she had told him she could not leave Ravenwell.

“I promised Maude that I would take care of Charlotte. Which means I must stay and keep Ravenwell profitable. In any event, I’m reconsidering Mr. Hinkley’s suggestion. Perhaps it
would
be best if I built another guest wing. And started up a coach line between here and the railroad.”

“I thought you didn’t like that idea.”

“I may have been hasty. What are these?”

She held up the can and bellows he used when he wanted to smoke out a nest. The way Lilly and he communicated was not unlike the bees’ dance, he mused. They took steps forward, then circled. They intimated without stating outright what they wanted to know.

“I’ll show you some time.” He glanced up at the clear blue sky. “I have traveled far and wide and have never witnessed such strange weather as you have here at Ravenwell.”

Not that Lilly had any control over it, but it was one of the many oddities he’d encountered since his arrival here. Were the ghosts a part of some climactic aberration, rather than a hoax or some supernatural phenomenon?

Sam had to admit that the two phantoms had seemed spectacularly real last night. And he could no longer deny that he’d physically
sensed
Lilly during the apparition in the dining room. He’d felt none of the agony of physical touch, only the pleasure.

“I am at a loss,” she said, breaking into Sam’s thoughts. “I can no more explain the weather than I can the ghosts.”

There.
She’d put into words the connection he’d just made. Only he didn’t know what conclusions to draw.

She picked up his field glasses and looked through the lenses toward the meadow. “There’s Charlotte! It’s as if I could reach out and touch her!”

Charlotte might appear close, but Sam was getting no nearer to understanding Ravenwell.