Rebecca's Ghost

by Marianne Petit

  “I forget to breathe when I'm around you, “he whispered near her ear.

  He heard her groan and claimed her lips with his, kissing her with all the urgent passion surging through his limbs.

  Then he realized the intensity of his actions and drew back, showering kisses around her lips, her jaw. He nibbled her neck, elated that her head lobbed back, prompting him to kiss the sweet hollow of her throat; swallowed the tip of her nose beneath his lips; kissed her closed lids, and felt her languid in his arms.

  His mind reveled in the velvet warmth of her mouth; in her eager response.

  Very aware of her reaction, he felt her quiver against him and his gaze flew to her eyes; eyes filled with delight.

  Again, he kissed her neck, kissed behind her ears. He inhaled the rose scent of her skin, her hair.

  Transported on an intense journey he could not stop, a warning consciousness flared then dissipated.

  Drugged, drowning, every fiber of his being felt ignited, sensitive. Every touch of her fueled his heartbeat. Every willing response pushed him over the edge of wanting more.

  She pulled away and he nearly toppled over.

  Her face flush, her eyes wide, she licked her lips and he thought he'd go insane.

  “My Lord.” Her hand jerked to her chest as though she too needed to take a moment to breathe. “I think we should--”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “'tis best. “ Reality seeped back into his torrid mind, began to cool his heated person, though his loins ached and his veins bulged.

  She gestured toward her instrument. “I must practice. I--”

  “But of course, you must. “ He bowed, needed to bolt from the room lest she see the effect she'd had on his body, for surely she would faint from the sight.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Retiring for the evening, thoughts of their passionate kisses on her mind, Elizabeth strolled past Philip’s study only to be stopped short by the deep baritone of his voice.

  “So tell me, what did you find?”

  She loved his voice, the deep resonance of the tone that sent her pulse raging like a river over the edge of the world. And those kisses…

  She sighed.

  Dare she believe that perhaps hope for a happy future lingered in these halls? That she'd found a place where her heart could rest? That the past was behind her?

  Wrapped in a silken cocoon of euphoria she barely heard Philip's words.

  “Tisdale, Jonathan.”

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  How had he come to know her guardian’s name?

  Befuddled, her gaze darted about her. Seeing no one, she inched toward the doorway, listening with bewilderment.

  Philip’s voice sounded clearer. “You say Skent came across the name while in London?”

  Suddenly the door hinges creaked.

  Her back against the wall, she held her breath. Her knees quivered.

  If Philip peeked into the hall…

  “Yes,” Tyler answered as he pushed the door partially closed.

  Straining to hear the conversation, she leaned closer to the sliver of space now left open between the door and the frame.

  “Well, I’ve posted this in the Virginia Gazette. Here listen. Looking for said person, disappeared from Hampshire on Sunday the 28th of April. Jonathan Tisdale, a tall, lean man, about forty year of age. He professes to be a doctor of medicine, user of unorthodox means of medicine, mesmerism.”

  Nausea began to well in Elizabeth’s throat.

  “Whoever apprehends the said Tisdale and brings him to me, at Ablington Manor shall have Ten pounds if taken in Virginia or North Carolina. Eleven, if taken in South Carolina, and twenty if taken anywhere else on the Continent.”

  Elizabeth slid away from the door. The blood drained from her face.

  Tisdale here? Providence have mercy!

  She ran up the stairs, slammed the door to her chambers behind her and thrust her back to the door.

  How had Philip learned of her past; learned of her guardian?

  She bit her lip till it throbbed like her pulse.

  Would he question her? Would he send her back to her guardian?

  Her mind, congested, her body racked with spasms of alarm, she began to pace.

  Yes. Somehow, Philip must have learned that I lied. What other reason would there be for him to search for Tisdale?

  Finding it difficult to breathe, she gulped in air.

  I won’t go back to Tisdale. I won’t!

  Her fingers shook as she removed her gown and undergarments, then put on her night-shift and slipped into bed.

  Perhaps he wouldn’t question me. Perhaps ’twas only a coincidence.

  Elizabeth bunched her pillow and tried to get comfortable.

  Perhaps he needs Tisdale’s services.

  Nay!

  She sat up. Her knuckles slammed into her pillowcase.

  Unorthodox medicine, ‘twas what Philip had said.

  She turned over, then again.

  Perhaps her guardian had stolen from him. The thought didn’t surprise her. She had no trouble picturing him as a thief; though how or when he could have stolen, as the villagers had accused him of doing, at the moment escaped her.

  She couldn't go back. Wouldn't.

  London! The thought struck her.

  She sat up.

  In the five years she’d been with her guardian, he’d never been to London. The dredged up thought, more from desperation than reason, pushed back her tears.

  Philip didn’t know of their association. Whatever business had brought Tisdale to London had been years before she knew him. That had to be right. It had to be…

  For hours, she tossed and turned; her thoughts centered on the conversation she’d overheard earlier.

  Restless, she threw back the covers and slipped on her sleeping jacket and slippers.

  Thinking perhaps a cup of hot milk would ease her troubled mind, she quietly opened the door and crept down the hall.

  A silence engulfed her.

  The stairs that led to William's room spiraled before her.

  She stopped.

  A sudden impulse to see him came over her and she placed a foot on the step.

  He would be asleep, she reasoned thinking she should just go back to bed.

  The floorboard creaked under her pressure and she hesitated, uncertain if she should continue.

  If William woke to find her… if she frightened him, the whole house would wake.

  The impulse too strong, she reached the landing, glanced around, then hurried down the hall.

  She almost took a step into William’s room when a shadow on the wall caught her attention and she peeked inside.

  Philip sat on William’s bed.

  Holding his son’s hand in his, he stared down at the sleeping child.

  Elizabeth watched as he slowly turned William’s hand over and lightly ran his finger over his palm.

  The scar. An instant’s squeezing sorrow grasped her heart. The scar left by the candle.

  How could she have accused him of not loving his son? ’Twas no wonder he hadn’t thrown her from his home. The thought that he still might skidded alarmingly across her mind.

  Even though the room was dark, save for a candle burning on the table beside him, she could see the look of love radiating from Philip’s face.

  He tucked William’s hand under the covers then gently brushed a lock of hair from the child’s forehead. “Sleep tight little one. Sleep tight.”

  His whispered words brought tears to her eyes.

  And she’d thought he didn’t love his son?

  Elizabeth glanced away, unable to see through the clouding mist.

  As the shadows gathered in the corners of the room from the candle’s flickering light, so the guilt gathered in the corners of her mind. Never before had she spoke her mind so freely. So why had she done so to Philip, a man that had caused her no threat, had no hatred toward her? If the truth be known, she rather fancie
d him. He made her feel giddy and for the first time in her life, he gave her hope. Hope that perhaps she had a future with a man.

  “Curse you Rebecca.”

  Philip’s soft, but angry words drew her from her thoughts.

  She watched him rise, his hand clenched, his body taut.

  “Even from your grave you hold me prisoner.” His shoulders slumped.

  He loved her still.

  Elizabeth stood in lonely silence and felt the cold night air whipping through the halls—whipping straight through her heart.

  ***

  Philip glanced toward the sleeping child. Asleep, he looked like an angel.

  A shiny mop of curly black hair framed his round face. His dimpled chin and heavy fringed dark lashes quivered slightly in the wake of some dreamy thought. Bathed in the light glow of candlelight, he looked so peaceful. One would never suspect all the anger and torment that could fill such a small body.

  How dare Elizabeth suggest he not love his son?

  He glanced away.

  Still…

  His gaze once again rested on his son.

  The truth rang in his ears. He could not bear to look into his eyes. Eyes so much like Rebecca’s that memories of their life together, came flashing back, overwhelming him with sorrow. And the guilt—his guilt.

  “You know, she thinks I am a terrible father.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Says I don’t spend enough time with you.”

  What kind of man watched his son from the shadows? What kind of man could be so weak that the mere thought of looking upon a child’s face made him crumble; that allowed a child's tantrum to steal the strength from his body and the dull his ability to think?

  “Have I been a failure?”

  He brushed his finger along William’s arm.

  Other than that eve in the parlor, those few blissful moments spent with William listening to Elizabeth's music, had he put aside time for the child?

  Elizabeth was right. In his own weakness, he had neglected the boy.

  William moved, his hand dropped by his side.

  “Damn it.” Philip grabbed the candlestick. The flame danced before him, illuminating William’s scar—illuminating the haunting memories of that accidental day. He had been home for naught more than a month. A welcoming home party, Mary had called the gathering of friends. He had thought the visit good for William; had brought him presents from abroad. A ball, a boat, books.

  For weeks he had watched him struggle with the demons that robbed him of a normal life, and yet he had felt hope. Hope that diminished that cursed day, with every scream that tore from his son’s lips, as the doctor attended to his wound. Hope that disappeared each time he watched his son struggle in a body frustrated with incapacities. He could no longer bear to watch the boy struggle with his inability to speak; could no longer bear to see the pain reflected in the boy’s eyes. So like a thief in the night, he stole a glance in the darkness.

  Philip swung around and headed for the door. Let Elizabeth think what she may of me. It mattered not.

  He caught sight of her long silvery hair as she rounded the corner. “Mistress Elizabeth.”

  “Yes?”

  She sounded annoyed.

  It mattered…

  “Do the phantoms of the night keep you awake?” Had nightmares once again disturbed her sleep? “How do you fare?”

  The need to comfort her hurried his stride as he made his over to her.

  “Your concern is not warranted, though I thank you. I slept fine. I thought I heard a noise.”

  His brows arched. “From the other side of the house?”

  “The walls are thin.” Her voice firm, her chin set in stubborn determination, he sensed a struggle to keep her composure.

  He saw a flicker of apprehension in her eyes. “More than likely you heard my heavy footsteps.”

  Perhaps the walls were thin. Twice now, he had overheard her defended his honor. The thought pleased him.

  She had plaited her tresses into long braids, which fell to her waist.

  He brushed a loose silken tendril from her delicate face.

  Her glance darted. Golden flecks danced in the green of her eyes.

  God’s blood how he wanted her this very minute.

  “It seems I’ve taken a liking to the halls at night. My bed is used to being empty, my sheets cold.”

  At his words, she inhaled sharply and took a step back. Her eyes widen and he wondered what he’d said that had surprised her.

  Her nightdress of white shimmered with her movements.

  She appeared ethereal, unreal in the dim light of the flickering candles; an apparition of beauty that graced the dark halls of his soul.

  “Perhaps Nona, or one of the other maid servants should warm your bed-I mean your sheets.”

  Her cheeks warmed to a pale shade of pink; a blush that bested the fairest roses in his garden.

  “What I profess to say is this household has more than one brass bed-warmer.” Heavy lashes shadowed her cheeks as her gaze lowered for an instant.

  The only bed-warmer he wanted between the sheets wasn’t of the metal kind, but of the flesh; her flesh.

  “Yes, perhaps, though I doubt ‘twill help.”

  His gaze fell to the creamy expanse of her slender neck, then dropped slowly downward.

  “Perhaps a cup of posset to help you sleep,” she offered.

  “I’ve no need for warm milk.”

  What he needed was a warm, luscious body, her womanly body molded against his.

  “I… if you have someone draw some water, I will set you a calming bath.”

  “Ah, yes, I forgot.” He studied her full ripe lips. “You dally with herbs.” Lips that once again beckoned to him-taunted him. “And you think this might help?”

  “It aids my sleep.”

  A bath in his chambers with Elizabeth… What an intriguing thought.

  A shiver of awareness prickled his skin pleasurably; a pleasure that made his heart pound and his blood to race.

  He stepped closer, within inches of her.

  Her breath caught.

  Her sweet flowery fragrance intoxicated him-made his thoughts numb.

  She stepped back. “If you show me to the kitchen, I will fetch what I need.”

  Grinning, he bowed. “By all means, follow me.”

  Yes indeed. This eve could prove interesting after all.

  ***

  Very aware of Philip’s close proximity to her person, Elizabeth moved with haste down the stairs.

  The fact they were both inappropriately dressed hadn’t gone unnoticed by either one of them, she was sure.

  Jacketless, with his shirt sleeves rolled up, she couldn’t help but notice his muscular arms.

  Her eyes had been drawn to the crisp black hair that flirted with her from the edge of his open shirt.

  And from the way he had glanced over her body, he was well aware she wore naught by her nightclothes.

  Puzzled by his obvious interest in her person and his lack of anger, she stared blankly down the stairs.

  If he knew about her guardian, why hadn’t he asked her? Why wasn’t he mad? Didn’t he know?

  His suddenly relaxed manner unnerved her.

  Her steps quickened.

  She had to be out of mind, offering to set him a bath.

  Her intent was to learn what he knew about her guardian; however, the mischievous glint she’s seen in his eyes a moment ago, shouted volumes.

  He had misunderstood her offer and she couldn’t blame him. Whatever was she thinking parading around half-unclad in the middle of the night?

  If he thought she would step in his chambers for a moment…

  Her cheeks warmed and she silently thanked the darkness of the hall.

  I will set him the herbs in the kitchen, nothing more.

  She bit her lip in annoyance. Why had she made the suggestion in the first place? She would learn nothing of her guardian this night.

  Fire! />
  Caught off guard by the vision that flashed across her mind, Elizabeth stopped short.

  Philip knocked into her.

  She stumbled forward. Abruptly caught by her elbow, he held her balance and she took an unsteady breath.

  He stepped by her side. “You must proceed with care. The stairs are dark. If you give me rise to, I shall--” he stared.”What in the name of--you are shaking. Come, let me escort you downstairs.”

  “I… William. He--”

  “Is sleeping where I left him but a moment ago.”

  He took the candle she held and lit the sconces on either side of the stairwell. “Come.”

  He pulled her close to his side, took a step and began to accompany her down the stairs.

  She lifted her skirt and followed his lead.

  Perhaps he was right. She had seen the sleeping child with her own eyes.

  Sleep. She needed to close her eyes and rest. It had been a long day.

  She glanced at him, reminded of the conversation she had overheard earlier.

  If he had found out about her guardian, he would be mad, would he not? He didn’t appear as though he were. Perhaps she had misunderstood the whole conversation between him and Tyler. Perhaps for the moment she was safe.

  Safe. Not like William.

  Another vision of flames flared in her mind’s eye; and with it the sense that William’s life was cloaked in danger.

  Startled, she grasped the wall for support.

  Panic and fear, stark, vivid fear crept up her spine.

  Philip’s strong arms held her steady. “My God--Elizabeth. What is it?” His voice held a note of concern.

  “I…” Searching for a plausible explanation, she glanced away.

  She had sworn to keep her gift hidden from all those who would forever look at her as though she were an oddity.

  She met his gaze. “Nothing. I… I felt faint--nothing more.”

  Her heart pounded. She took a deep breath.

  The only smoke she’d encountered came from the flame of the candle he held in his hand when he had moved it closer to see her face.

  Once again, her gaze darted around her. Perhaps her vision had been wrong. Perhaps he was right. ‘Twas folly for her to panic. No smoke blurred her vision.

  But the icy fear that twisted around her heart persisted.