These Haunted Hearts: A Regency Ghost Story (2 page)

Reluctantly she drew away. Tomorrow… Tomorrow when he
kissed her, they wouldn’t need to worry about proprieties. Fear
that wasn’t quite so delicious shivered through her. She wanted to
lie with Miles more than she’d ever wanted anything, but she
couldn’t help but worry that she’d disappoint him.

Tomorrow they’d share the carved bed that loomed
behind her. The bed that was much closer than it had been. While
kissing her, Miles had nudged her backward.

He caught her face between his hands. “Calista,
darling Calista, if only you could see yourself how I see you. You
wouldn’t torture me this way.”

“We shouldn’t be here alone,” she whispered, resting
her hands on his shoulders.

She didn’t know why she lowered her voice. Something
in this hushed, close room always made her want to tiptoe. Nobody
else loitered on the upper floor of her father’s hitherto neglected
mansion on the Norfolk Broads. The servants were too busy preparing
for the festivities and readying a long-empty house to welcome the
onslaught of visitors. The guestrooms on the level below were
bustling centers of activity, as was the ground floor where the
wedding celebrations would take place. But here, high above the
bleak but beautiful countryside, she and her betrothed were
isolated.

Miles stroked his hand down her cheek with a
tenderness that she felt to her toes. Clawing doubt receded on a
tide of need. “Of course we should.”

“Tomorrow—” she said on a fading protest as he gently
pushed her back onto the mattress. When Miles kneeled above her, it
sagged under their weight.

For all her pleasure in his touch, something in her
didn’t want to be on this bed—and not just because Miles tempted
her to impropriety. She’d believed herself immune to the house’s
dark legends, but she discovered that she wasn’t quite as
level-headed as she thought. A Chinese princess had cursed this
bed. In the full light of day, Calista treated such superstition
with contempt. Here, in this shadowy room, malevolence whispered
from the very wainscoting.

“I’m not sure I can wait until then.” He rose above
her, supporting himself on his arms.

She struggled to shore up the crumbling remnants of
common sense. “It’s only one more day.”

“How cruelly you say that, as if my torment doesn’t
signify.”

“Of course it matters,” she said unsteadily, panting
with forbidden excitement.

The amusement ebbed from his face and she couldn’t
quite interpret his assessing look. “I wish I believed that.”

She frowned. The gravity in his voice seemed out of
kilter with their flirting. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that sometimes I feel…my passion for you
outweighs your passion for me.” His voice was deeper than usual,
his words more hesitant.

“No…” Shocked she stared up into the perfect planes
of his face. Her eyes had adjusted to the dull light so that she
saw the uncertainty that flickered in his hazel eyes. Miles
Hartley, Viscount Kendall, wasn’t by nature an uncertain man. “No,
Miles. You know I love you.”

“Then prove it.” His voice was harder than she’d ever
heard it and his jaw set in an unfamiliar stubborn line.

Surprise held her briefly silent. She was used to his
easy manner. But this man looked ready to take on the world and
seize what he wanted from it.

“This time tomorrow, we’ll be married,” she said
shakily. “You can’t tumble me here with the house full of
people.”

“So you say.” Still he looked as if he conceded
nothing.

Calista grabbed his arms, feeling the tensile
strength under the dark blue riding jacket. Right now, he seemed
like a stranger. “Miles, what is it?”

He shook his head and his gaze slid away from hers.
Disquiet filled her. She hadn’t been sure if he was joking when
he’d started this game. Now she knew something was wrong. Something
more than male frustration that she didn’t succumb without demur to
his lures.

“Miles?”

He stared directly at her, his hazel eyes dark and
somber as she’d never seen them. “It’s just—”

He paused, searching for words, he who never lacked a
ready quip or a witty riposte. Her disquiet transformed into a
coiling mass of adders hissing and squirming in her belly. She’d
known this day would come. She’d known that he’d recover from
whatever whim had made him want her. She braced for him to reject
her, to send her back to the lonely prison her life had been until
he’d miraculously fallen in love with her.

Miles spoke in a rush. “I feel you’re holding
yourself back from me.”

He hadn’t said what she expected. She could only
stare at him with a frown. “I don’t understand.”

But she did, oh, dear Lord, she did.

She’d never trusted this happiness. Self-preservation
insisted she reserved a fraction of her soul from him. So that when
the inevitable happened and he decided he didn’t love her after
all, she’d survive. What astonished her was that Miles had sensed
the barriers she raised between them. She’d tried so hard to keep
her doubts hidden and play the carefree bride.

He kissed her again, but the entrancing sweetness had
leached away. Sorrow squeezed her heart even as she kissed him
back. This was how it would be in years to come, she knew. Little
by little, he’d realize what a poor bargain he made in marrying the
Earl of Stansfield’s awkward daughter. With every day, the glow
that lit his eyes when he looked at her would dwindle until nothing
remained.

They were so different. Why didn’t he see that? He
was famous for his graceful manners, admired wherever he went. She
was ill at ease in company and likely to say the wrong thing. He
was sophisticated and no stranger to sensual pleasure. She’d spent
most of her life with her nose buried in a book. He was
breathtakingly handsome. The best anyone had ever said about her
was that her looks were unusual. She was well aware that “unusual”
was a word that carried a thousand spiteful synonyms in its
wake.

If she was brave, she’d end the engagement now and
face down the scandal. She should make a clean break before Miles
hurt her as he would undoubtedly hurt her. But she was too weak.
She wanted all she could get of him. She wanted to hold on to the
sweet knowledge that at least for a short while, he’d loved her.
Even if only a little.

Her mouth clung to his with a passion that made him
regard her with a puzzled frown when he finally raised his
head.

“Calista?”

Her eagerness would surprise him. To protect herself,
she’d fought to pretend coolness in response to his passion. But
fear made her desperate to snatch what pleasure she could while he
still thought he wanted her. Fighting the tears that would betray
her misery, she stared up past Miles toward the tester above her
head.

“It’s just wedding jitters.” The excuse was losing
its efficacy. She’d repeated it so often to explain fears that
stabbed much more deeply than a bride’s natural nervousness.

Once or twice, she’d come close to confiding her
doubts to Miles. Every time, she’d stopped herself from speaking.
If he took her seriously, he’d think she was appallingly poor
spirited. Most of the time,
she
thought she was appallingly
poor spirited. If he didn’t take her seriously, he’d try and cajole
her fears away as childish fancies. She couldn’t bear that.

Unlike the counterpane, the tester was decorated not
only with flowers and fanciful Chinese buildings, but also with
faces. A wizened mandarin glowered down at her. His devilish black
eyebrows tilted over eyes strangely stitched in vermillion. In her
imagination, the face’s smile turned demonic, as if mocking her
futile yen for Miles to love her as she loved him.

“The best way to defeat your fears is to face them,”
Miles said steadily.

Calista’s eyes widened as she ripped her attention
from the exotic embroidery. “You really want us to anticipate our
vows?”

He shrugged and pressed his hips into her belly.
Innocent and clumsy, she might be. Brainless she wasn’t. Right now
Miles wanted her, whatever the future held. His hard heat made her
tremble with desire.

“I don’t want you to be afraid anymore,” he said.

Then love me forever.

She stifled the plea. He’d think she was pathetic if
she said such things. She needed to keep some pride to save her
when he realized that marrying her was a mistake. “I’m not sure a
scandal is a better choice.”

“We wouldn’t be the first couple overcome by lust
before we meet the parson.”

“We can’t.” With a trembling hand, she reached up to
brush the fall of soft dark hair back from Miles’s forehead. “You
know we can’t. Someone would catch us and Papa would have an
apoplexy.”

Calista already suspected that the world laughed
behind its hands at her. She’d laugh herself at the idea of such a
plain woman thinking that she was a suitable match for society’s
darling, Viscount Kendall. She’d laugh if she hadn’t been so near
to crying.

She stared up at his remarkable face and told herself
that she wouldn’t cry. She’d marry Miles tomorrow and take what
came. She’d need every ounce of bravery, but abandoning the game
before it started was too lily-livered to contemplate.

Something in her expression must have convinced him
that her courage stirred. His smile became less strained. “They
wouldn’t catch us tonight.”

She caught her breath. “T-tonight?”

“Yes, tonight.”

He’d always been gentle with her. This hint of
arrogance thrilled her. “Where?”

He raised his head and cast a telling look around the
room. “Why, here, of course.”

Something other than excitement at the prospect of
giving herself to Miles made her heart skip a beat. She’d stifled
her fears of the future as she’d stifled them so often since her
betrothal. But in this stuffy room, other fears stirred. “In the
haunted bed?”

“I thought you dismissed the legend. That’s why you
had the bed brought up from the cellars and put back together. You
said a woman who believed in science would never fall victim to
ludicrous superstition.”

Ordering the bed restored had been an act of
defiance, not just against the tragic legend. “I did say that,
didn’t I?”

His uncharacteristic ruthlessness faded into the
affection that always warmed her. “In fact, you insisted this would
be our marital bed, curse be damned. About the same stage you said
you didn’t believe Marston Hall was haunted and the aspect was so
pleasant, you wanted to live here instead of in one of my houses.
You said that even if the doomed Chinese princess’s robes formed
the bed’s hangings, her spirit was long gone. She had no further
influence over the living.”

“I didn’t say damn,” Calista prevaricated.

Miles laughed softly. She loved his laugh. Just the
sound of it made the world a better place. Oh, she was so
overwhelmingly in love with him. He’d destroy her before he was
done, however much she battled to protect herself, however often
she exhorted herself to be daring and seize this chance.

“Perhaps not. But you definitely said that even if
wicked Josiah Aston was dragged from the Chinese bed on his fatal
wedding day, the bed has no power to curse all newlyweds in this
house.”

“I know my qualms sound absurd.” She’d always
dismissed the tale of the Chinese princess drinking hemlock after
her paramour deserted her. Somehow, today, as she lay on the bed
and contemplated her own wedding, the gruesome tale gained fresh
sway. “But I’d like formalities out of the way before I test the
legend.”

“I’d like to banish any lingering specters with good
earthy lust before I make an honest woman of you on the morrow, my
love.” He paused, inadvertently giving her a chance to relish the
endearment. “The specters in this room, who I don’t believe in at
all. And the specters in your heart, who wield far too much power
over you.”

Her show of bravado hadn’t fooled him one whit. She
hadn’t fallen in love with a stupid man. Which occasionally seemed
like a pity.

Miles rolled away and stretched out upon the heavy
cream silk, his thoughtful gaze never shifting from her. Even
recognizing the intelligence that lurked beneath his decorative
exterior, she was surprised that he saw so much of her turmoil.
Most people found her hard to read. Briefly the temptation to
confide her fears hovered once more. Then like a coward, she
avoided the questions in his eyes.

“You’re a barbarian, Miles, putting your boots on
that cover. The embroidery is priceless.”

His lips curved in a lazy smile. “If you’re going to
nag like a wife, beloved, at least offer me some husbandly
privileges to sweeten the pill.”

“Miles—”

“Please.” He extended his hand toward her, palm
upward.

Heaven help her, she was a hopeless case. She
couldn’t resist him. She could never resist him. Which of course
was a large measure of the problem.

Hesitantly she placed her hand in his and felt
immediate warmth when his fingers closed hard and secure around
hers. At moments like this, she could almost believe that the love
in his eyes would endure through the years.

“You’re as wicked as Josiah Aston.” She hoped he
wouldn’t hear the revealing huskiness in her voice.

His smile indicated that he recognized his triumph
over his bride’s scruples. “Only with you, Calista.”

“If we’re discovered, we’ll be the talk of the
county.”

“I’ll make it worthwhile.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

Actually she had no doubts he was a wonderful lover.
His kisses set her ablaze. She’d spent the last months wandering in
a daze of hunger for more than the circumspect encounters they’d
sneaked under the watchful gaze of parents and society. Her doubts,
as ever, centered on her ability to satisfy him.

“And of you.” It was as if he read her mind. He sat
up and pressed a fervent kiss to her palm. “Midnight.”