These Haunted Hearts: A Regency Ghost Story (4 page)

Outraged questions jammed in Josiah’s throat, but he
could see she verged on fleeing if he pressed too hard for answers.
Now he’d found her, he couldn’t risk losing her. And who knew
whether he’d ever find her again? He still wasn’t sure of the laws
that prevailed on this immortal plane.

Very carefully he stepped back, giving Isabella space
and hopefully demonstrating benign intentions. He had to find out
what was going on, but first he had to banish the dread from her
expression. Her quivering fear hit him with the force of a blow to
the stomach.

“I won’t touch you.” The words cut at him like
razors. “Trust me, Isabella.”

A disbelieving huff of laughter escaped her as she
retreated onto the landing, preparing to run.

“No…” He surged toward her again before remembering
that she didn’t want him to touch her. Quickly he lowered his arms
but not before he caught another flash of panic in her eyes.

Whatever he’d done, it set his intrepid bride quaking
with fear. Good God, what was going on here?

He forced himself to remain still. After a few
suspenseful seconds, she too came to an unsteady halt against the
balustrade at the top of the stairs. She watched him unwaveringly
as if expecting him to strike at her like a snake.

She lifted her chin, a poignant echo of the vibrant
woman who had led him such a dance before promising to be his. “You
can’t hurt me anymore.”

He frowned in incomprehension. “Hurt you? I don’t
want to hurt you.”

She flinched at the hint of impatience in his voice.
“Don’t lie to me, Josiah.”

Sucking in a breath, he struggled for calm when
everything inside him wanted to insist that whatever evil she
thought he’d committed, it couldn’t be true. “I’d never lie to
you.”

Bitter cynicism unfamiliar to the woman he’d known
tightened her expression, although at least she stopped edging
away. “Of course you would.”

With every moment, he understood less. Foolishly he’d
imagined that he’d understand everything if he could just find
Isabella. Well, he’d found her and the mysteries became more
baffling than ever. “Won’t you tell me what I did, Isabella?”

Something in his tone must have convinced her to take
his question seriously. A series of emotions crossed her face,
fugitive as summer lightning. Fear. Puzzlement. Anger. Then a
profound sadness to match the stabbing grief he’d felt when he’d
woken without her and realized that he and his beloved were both
dead.

Grim premonition gripped him. “Isabella?”

Her black gaze settled upon him, somber and lightless
as he’d never seen it. “You murdered me, Josiah.”

GINGERLY CALISTA INCHED inside the Chinese
bedroom, feeling her way ahead with fumbling hands. There was a
full moon tonight so sneaking down from her eyrie in the east tower
hadn’t posed a problem. Unless she counted her nagging conviction
that this was a mistake and once Miles discovered how inadequate
she truly was, he’d cry off from marrying her, never mind the
promises he’d made.

This room was pitch-black. The curtains remained
drawn, blocking out the moonlight. With every step through Stygian
darkness, the temptation to turn and run like a frightened rabbit
grew.

She leveled her shoulders and told herself that
ghosts didn’t exist. Which did nothing at all to stifle her
nervousness about giving herself to Miles. And very little to
overcome her awareness of the oppressive, ancient spite infesting
the air in this chamber.

Miles would mock her, but perhaps she might change
her mind about insisting this would be their bedroom. The views
were lovely, but the walls seeped with the memory of old tragedy.
The possibly mythical princess. The far too real Josiah Aston and
his murdered bride Isabella.

No, they’d choose one of the numerous pleasant
chambers on the floor below. A girl could take her commitment to
modern scientific thought too far.

“Miles?” she whispered, although there was little
chance of being heard outside the room. Everyone in the house was
asleep and this entire floor had been left empty for the guests who
arrived tomorrow.

No answer.

Dear Lord, had he decided even before he had her that
he was no longer interested? Calista told herself that it was no
more than she’d expected, but even so, her belly cramped with
misery.

“Miles?” she hissed more loudly, wishing to heaven
she had a candle, even if it increased the chance of discovery.
Then instead of staggering around like a blind woman, she could
check the room, confirm he’d let her down and leave.

To try and stitch her broken heart together up in her
lonely room.

Too mortifying to contemplate. She straightened,
although nobody was present to witness her revival of spirit, and
reached in front of her.

She’d sit on the bed and wait a few minutes—at least
that proved her courage, the bed was said to guarantee a violent
death to any bride who lay in it. Easy to scoff at ridiculous
superstitions in the light of day. Less easy when she stood in a
closed room, straining to hear another person breathing.

A month ago, opening this beautiful, neglected house
for her wedding had seemed a brave, positive act. Now, Calista
reclassified the whim as rash and stupid. She counted herself the
most rational of creatures, but something in this room wasn’t
right. Even someone as insensitive to the occult as she sensed the
deep sadness surrounding her. The atmosphere’s heaviness was more
obvious now that she couldn’t see. Air that should be still moved
on her bare arms, making the hairs stand up on her skin. Since
Isabella Verney’s grisly death last century, there had been
numerous accounts of specters at Marston Hall. That disciple of
scientific method, Calista Aston, had always dismissed these
reports as the victory of imagination over reason.

At this moment, she wasn’t quite so sure.

Calista ventured another step and slammed into
something big and warm.

Like a ninny, she screamed.

***

“Calista, you goose, hush now. You’ll have a
crowd in here. And if we’re going to face down a scandal, I damn
well want the pleasure first.”

It was Miles. Living, breathing, provoking Miles.
Nothing unearthly visiting from the other side of the grave.

“Why didn’t you answer me?” Temper sent her
nonsensical fears scampering into the shadows.

He laughed softly and put his arms around her. Until
the first time Miles held her, she’d never felt she had a place in
the world. He anchored her every time he touched her. She closed
her eyes and relished his heat, even as her heart kicked into a
gallop at the prospect of that strong, male body naked against
hers.

“I wanted to tease you.”

“By scaring me silly and risking discovery,” she said
crossly, although held so close, it was difficult to maintain her
annoyance.

As if by common consent, they stood a few seconds
without speaking, waiting to hear if anyone climbed the stairs to
investigate the cry in the night.

The house around them remained silent.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Miles drew away and led
her toward the bed. Or at least she assumed he led her toward the
bed. The darkness disoriented her. The darkness and the dizzy
pleasure of being alone with Miles.

“I nearly didn’t,” she admitted in a low voice,
following without resistance.

“Let me open the curtains.”

She shivered with the trepidation that his embrace
had briefly vanquished. Any nervousness about ghosts receded under
a more immediate fear of what was about to happen. “I’d rather do
this in the dark.”

He laughed again. “How do you know?”

Miles seemed to take this encounter so lightly. One
of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him was the way he
responded to life with a smile. But something in her resented his
failure to recognize her surrender as the huge concession it
was.

“I don’t.”

“Then trust me. I’d prefer to do this in a blaze of
light so I see every expression on your lovely face. In the absence
of a hundred chandeliers, moonlight must suffice.”

She stumbled to a halt. He frequently called her
pretty and his darling and other such flummery. The problem was
that just now he’d sounded so genuine, if she wasn’t careful, she
might start to believe him, in spite of the damning evidence of her
looking glass. His casual reference to her beauty cut straight to
her yearning heart. She wanted to be beautiful for him. As he was
beautiful for her.

“Miles…” she said helplessly.

He raised her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on
her palm. The caress tingled to the soles of her feet and she began
to tremble, this time not with fear.

“Stay there,” he murmured.

Her skin tightening with wanton anticipation, she
listened to him prowl around the room. He seemed to have an
unerring instinct for where he went. With a swish of the curtains,
moonlight flooded the chamber, turning black to molten silver.

She poised uncertainly, trapped between the craven
urge to flee and a powerful hunger for this ultimate closeness.

She watched Miles at the window. The light limned
him, turned him into a being from another world. The magnificent
sight made the breath catch in her throat. He wore a loose white
shirt and breeches. She’d never been so aware of his height or the
lean strength of his body.

He turned and at last she saw the smile that tilted
his mouth. His eyes focused on her and the smile faded, replaced by
an expression that looked like awe. He tautened into stillness as
he surveyed her from her unbound hair to her bare toes peeping
beneath the white hem of her simple night rail.

The moonlight was so bright, she saw his Adam’s apple
bob when he swallowed. She could almost imagine that he found her
as breathtaking as she found him. His expression smoothed the
sharpness from her uncertainty. The clamorous babble of thoughts in
her head quietened to a low hum of need.

“You’re undressed,” he said huskily.

It seemed foolish to blush when they both knew she
was in this room to offer herself to him, but heat flushed her
cheeks. “I wasn’t sure what to wear.”

His joyous smile made her toes curl against the
Turkish rug at her feet. “Or not, as the case may be.”

“Or not.”

She waited in an agony of pleasurable suspense for
him to seize her, ravish her into delight so that she had no chance
to remember the dictates of propriety. But he approached slowly, as
though afraid if he moved too abruptly, she might vanish. By the
time he stopped in front of her, she trembled with apprehension and
desire. Her body felt too small a vessel to contain the storm of
emotions raging inside her.

He reached out to smooth her hair away from her face.
His touch always turned her knees to custard. Now, when the bed and
all it portended filled the shadows behind him, the glance of his
hand set her burning. If such a seemingly innocent touch had this
effect, she’d most likely combust into ashes before they were done
tonight.

Calista bit her lip and stood in shaking stillness as
he trailed his hand across her neck and shoulders. His touch felt
like a discovery rather than a seduction. Although of course she
was seduced. Her heart thundered and her breasts tightened against
the thin lawn of her nightdress. He glanced down and her blush
heightened as she realized he saw her beaded nipples pressing
against the fine white material.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, running his hand down her
side then up again.

A tremulous sigh escaped her. This tender wooing
lured her deeper and deeper into the turbulent waters of desire.
She should move, speak, do something to encourage him. But his
touch was so delicious, she found herself unable to do anything
beyond accept this worship. His scent was spicy, clean. Familiar,
yet with a musky tinge that awakened her senses.

Through the haze of pleasure enveloping her, she
managed to send up a silent prayer. That the reverence she read in
his face would last. That he’d still love her after he’d taken her
to bed. That he’d look at her like this in the morning when she
stepped inside the Marston parish church to pledge herself to him
for the rest of her life.

Finally after what felt like an eon of teasing
touches, Miles cupped her breast in his large, capable palm. His
thumb brushed her nipple and she sagged as sensation roared through
her. At last, at last he bent his head and kissed her with a
ravenous ardour that outstripped anything she’d experienced before.
She sighed and gave herself up to pleasure. The doubts that harried
her drowned in a torrent of passion.

Clumsily, trying not to break the kiss, he tugged off
his shirt. They both laughed breathlessly. Then laughter died and
heat shuddered through her as she flattened her hand on the bare
skin of his chest. They’d snatched occasional moments of privacy,
but never before had she been free to learn the mysteries of his
body at her leisure.