I got ready for bed and settled in beneath the covers with the old book in my lap and the bedside lamp on. The book was thick. The pages were yellowed. I grabbed a washcloth from the en suite bathroom and gently turned the pages. Reading the old-fashioned handwriting was a chore, but I was soon completely engrossed. Year after year. Hundreds of sightings of the white lady by all classes of people, from staff and cleaning ladies to a well-regarded prime minister. Manly Manor had been host to many dignitaries and important people over the years. No-nonsense people. People who weren't easily frightened.
Each sighting was chilling in its own way. But the most frightening was recorded over twenty years ago. The white lady had appeared to my predecessor on the eve of her wedding to Manly. She woke from a deep sleep to find the white lady standing at the foot of her bed, staring at her. The description was so vivid it was like the duchess had written the entry herself, and maybe she had. The entries were clearly written by different people over the years.
I wasn't afraid of ghosts, but I looked around the room, jumping at shadows, tempted for the moment to hide beneath the covers. The last duchess had died tragically. The book suddenly burned in my hands, right through the washcloth I was holding to protect it. If the journal hadn't been so old and fragile, I would have hurled it across the room. Instead, I slid out of bed and carried it gingerly to the vanity across the room, where I slid it into an empty drawer, out of sight.
I had no reason to doubt the journal's authenticity. There was only one conclusion I could draw—Manly had, indeed, omitted the poor white lady's curse from the ghosts he'd told me about. Maybe out of kindness. There was no reason to needlessly scare me, after all.
I'd been brave, too, until that last entry. I'd read the taped news clippings. Studied the photographs guests had taken from the grounds of the white lady in the window. Kept my composure as I realized the white lady haunted the second-floor bedroom chambers and hall, right where I was. She appeared dressed in a flowing white medieval gown and liked to unnerve guests by looking them directly in the eye. She could often be seen from the grounds below, looking out from a second-floor bedroom window that was described with some detail and shown with excruciating clarity in one of the photos.
I knew that window—it was mine, this room's. Manly had given me my pick of rooms. I'd chosen this one, been drawn to it. In the morning, it had plenty of sunlight, and the view of the gardens was exceptional. Manly hadn't warned me of the other occupant. But then, I hadn't told him which room I'd chosen.
According to the book, Manly had been as intrigued with the white lady as I was now. He'd even hired an Oxford historian to trace the white lady's myths and see if there was any truth behind them. It appeared there was. A young bride had fallen out the window on her wedding night during the fourteen hundreds and broken her neck and died on the stones below. Rumors abounded that her new husband had thrown her from the window in a fit of jealous rage. The next day, one of his most trusted knights disappeared. Rumors that the knight had been the bride's lover and the husband had killed him as well haunted the husband the rest of his life. The husband had the stones the lady had died on dug up and hauled away.
The lady was buried in the village chapel beneath an effigy of herself next to her husband of less than a day, their hands clasped. Apparently so he could keep an eye on her through eternity. The book included a photo. I'd seen those graves before on my one visit to the chapel. At the time, I'd thought it was charming and romantic the way their hands were joined. Now I shuddered.
The white lady, Manly, and Ren were all on my mind as I finally fell asleep with the light on in the small hours of the morning. I supposed no bride-to-be sleeps well the night before her wedding. But I woke with a start to the sound of a slam and something banging.
I sat upright in bed. The room was cold again, colder than it had been. My window was open. Drops of rain pelted the window ledge. The shutters banged back and forth. Outside, a squall raged.
I flicked on the light. Shivering, I pulled a gossamer robe on over my thin silk nightgown and closed the window. The carpet squished under my feet beneath the window where the rain had come in and soaked it. A joke was a joke, but this had gone too far. I heard a door slam down the hall and running footsteps outside my door.
I tried to fling open my door to go after the perp. My dramatic entrance was foiled. My door was still locked from the inside. I frowned. More footsteps. I grabbed the nearest thing for self-defense—an umbrella. Not ideal, but at least it was sturdy and had a sharp, pointy end good for gouging. I unlocked the door with trembling fingers and dashed into the dark hall, an umbrella-wielding avenger and ghost hunter.
The lights were completely off. The hall was dark, perfect for flying bats and ghosts, not for me. The only light slanted in from my open door. Which direction had the footsteps gone? I looked around wildly. First to my left. As I turned to my right—
A hand encircled my wrist, disarming me of my weapon before I could even hit the self-open button. Hey, an open umbrella scared vicious dogs, so why not a ghost? The umbrella clattered to the floor and rolled away as my assailant pressed me against the cold stones of the wall with my wrists pinned.
"It's you." Ren's voice belonged in the dark like the forbidden caress that it was. Even surprised, he sounded amused. "My mistake. I thought you were the white lady."
"Me? Because we look so much alike, a murdered woman and me."
"Flowing white robe, pale, creamy skin, skimpy gown." His gaze fell to my heaving chest. "You can understand my mistake."
Damn him. He had to feel my nipples poking into his chest, too. "Douchebag." I squirmed, trying to free myself.
"Me? I'm not the one impersonating a ghost. What did I do?" he whispered against my neck.
He was very much flesh and blood. In the cold hallway, his heat was enticing in every way. Under different circumstances, I would have loved to curl into him. Instead, my heart beat like a rabbit's and I fought every animal urge I had.
I didn't answer.
"You heard it too?" he said.
I nodded, not trusting him. This could all be part of his joke. "I heard a thump and someone running in the hall."
He nodded toward the umbrella. "And went ghost hunting with an umbrella?"
"Better than coming out empty-handed."
He laughed. "Who's unarmed? I have a knife in my pocket."
Now that he mentioned it, I felt it. He was pressed that tightly against me. "You were expecting a living person, too, then."
He still had my wrists pinned against the wall. "You didn't answer my question—what did I do?"
"Left me some late-night reading," I said. "In case I couldn't sleep? Very thoughtful of you. The white lady journal isn't the most calming. Next time maybe Bluebeard or some Poe? And a glass of spoiled milk."
"What are you talking about?" In the sliver of light, he was breathtaking, and looked honestly perplexed.
"You didn't leave me the journal?" I was too aware of the hard planes of his body pressed against mine to think as clearly as I needed. My body was betraying me. So many points of contact—my breasts and his chest, our thighs, my wrists held tight in his grip. I was his captive in more ways than I wanted to admit.
He studied me. "Where is this book?"
"Let me go and I'll show you." It was my duty to protest, but I wasn't completely sure I wanted my freedom.
He lifted one eyebrow and gazed into my eyes. There was that damn connection again, so powerful it made my knees weak. Good thing he had me pinned to the wall like a prize butterfly. My breath caught. My heart had no intention of slowing, and I was mesmerized.
"You're not putting up much of a fight."
"Unless I fight dirty, I don't stand much chance of getting free. And really, I'd hate to put a knee to that lovely groin of yours."
He didn't flinch. He grinned. "Lovely groin? Have you been eyeing me? I'm flattered. I could give you a closer look." He pressed up even more firmly against me.
This wasn't going well. If anyone came into the hall now, they'd get the wrong impression.
My mouth was dry. I licked my lips. "The damn cursed thing is in my bedroom."
He angled his face toward mine, a breath between us and a kiss I knew I'd regret.
I turned my face away. "Come take a look if you don't believe me."
"Subtle. I didn't say I don't believe you." He released me so suddenly that I nearly collapsed into him. "It was only a matter of time before you lured me to your room."
"Can we stop with the games?" I said, rubbing my wrists to rid myself of the branding heat of his touch. "Do you want to see it or not?"
"If you insist." He stooped and scooped up my umbrella.
"I do. I can make a point as well as you can. And you can do me the favor of getting that horrid book out of my room." My voice shook. I was losing my bravado. The journal, and him, had upset me more than I liked to admit.
He grabbed me by my wrist and hauled me into my room, pulling the door closed quietly behind us. Quite a trick with a door and hinges so old they creaked with the slightest provocation. I had to give it to him. He was smart enough not to want to be caught with me or wake the other guests, who were all sleeping like the dead.
He tossed my umbrella casually aside and stood indecently close to me, still gripping my wrist. "You didn't see anyone or anything?"
I shook my head. "Nothing."
He relaxed. In the full light, he was less threatening, but more beautiful and intense. More dangerous to me. I wanted him with an ache that would never ease. I wanted him the way love songs speak of desire. Just one taste of his forbidden fruit. One tumble in his bed. One night to last a lifetime. One night before I sacrificed myself on the altar of a marriage of convenience.
He wanted me, too. Desire emanated from him. It was written on his face and in his stance. I was on a razor-thin edge, torn between stepping into him and stepping away. One-sided desire was one thing, but mutual heat had all kinds of possibilities. The regret from not acting on it would be a lifetime of torture. If only. If only. After tomorrow, I'd be married. I'd be ruined for him. He'd hate me for everything I'd taken from him. There was only tonight, but neither of us trusted the other. Falling into bed with him would leave me at the mercy of fate and my mother. And even Ren. I honestly didn't know which I feared most.
I clenched my fists and straightened my spine.
"It's frigid in here." His gaze held mine.
Nice choice of words, I thought. "The wind blew the window open. At first I thought that was what woke me."
He pulled me up close against him. "We could start a fire."
I wrenched my wrist free of his grip and took a step away from him. "If we trusted the fireplace. It hasn't been used in years." If I trusted you.
If he was startled, he didn't show it. He turned away from me and looked around slowly. Recognition dawned. I swore he shuddered, but given everything that had happened, I might have imagined it.
"I haven't been in this room since I was…young." He got a faraway look in his eyes. But if he was remembering something from this room, it wasn't pleasant. "Uncle boarded this room up after…years ago. I'm surprised he's letting you stay here." He returned his focus to me.
"I'm not sure he knows," I said, accidentally letting it slip how confined Manly was. He didn't move about the castle much. He stayed mostly to his suite of rooms.
"You should have told him." Ren's voice was hard.
I was surprised he was taking Manly's side on anything. "Why? All the other rooms were full. This room has a pleasant view and a cozy feel to it. We cleaned it up. Added a few fresh linens. What's wrong with it?"
"It's bad luck." He looked around again with his jaw set.
"That's it? Bad luck?" I relaxed.
"It's the most haunted room in the castle." He looked haunted himself. "The white lady fell to her death from that window."
"I know," I said softly, wondering what he was thinking and what this room really meant to him. I restrained myself from asking. I couldn't afford to be sympathetic. "I read the book."
"The book." He held out his hand.
The book was in the drawer where I'd left it. I grabbed it and held it out to him.
He took it slowly and studied it. "This is it?"
I nodded, not understanding his puzzled reaction. "Take that…that thing back to the library."
"This isn't the diary." He raised his gaze to mine.
"Of course it is." I flipped it open to the first page. "See?"
He shook his head. "It's a diary chronicling the ghost sightings. But not the one from the library. Not the one I know. I've never seen this before."
His certainty sent a shiver up my back.
"Stop it," I said, wrapping my arms around myself. "The joke's over."
"Maybe, but it's not mine." He took a step closer to me.
"Then whose?"
"I have no idea. Not afraid of ghosts?" He set the book down. "Then why have you gone so pale?" He swept me up in his arms.
"I—"
"Don't stay here tonight. Not with everything that's happened. I promised I'd protect you from any big, bad ghosts. I have a nice, deep bed in the least haunted room in this place." He lifted an eyebrow. His eyes were dark and round. His hands were hot and tantalizing on my back.
And I was tempted. So very tempted. Before I could answer, he caught the back of my head. His lips came down on mine. In the heat of the moment, I forgot myself. For just an instant, I relaxed into him. Into the comfort of his fearlessness. Into the attraction that went against all reason. I let him nibble my lips. Let him slide his tongue into my mouth and his knee between my legs.
As his hand slid up my thigh, inching up my short silk nightgown around my waist, sanity returned. I pushed him away. "Get out." I shoved the book at him. "And take this with you."
He looked almost contrite. Almost. "Bliss. I'm sorry. I'll sleep here tonight—"
I stuttered, unable to speak. My finger shook as I pointed toward the door.
"You take my room for the night," he said, laughing. "The white lady has no beef with me. But you…you're the bride. If you see her—"
My whole arm trembled with anger as I kept pointing. "Do you want Manly throwing me out a window? Out." I pulled my robe around tighter.
A ghost of a smile played on his face. "Last chance."
I looked away so he wouldn't see my lie. I wanted him to stay. "You should go."
He hesitated. "Lock your door."
I nodded, not telling him it had been locked before.
"And no investigating strange noises." He grabbed my phone from my nightstand and typed his number in. Before I could stop him, he called his phone from mine. It rang in his pocket. He ignored it. "There. You have my number. Need anything, call. I'll come running."
I opened the door. "Don't let anyone see you sneaking out."
"Who said I'm sneaking?" He grinned. "And you're welcome."
I grabbed the door, ready to slam it, and frowned. "For what?"
"Breaking the curse."
I didn't have to guess at his meaning—I'd thrown my hot "lover" out. How could the white lady be jealous of that? I gripped the edge of the door so hard my knuckles turned white.
"I wouldn't slam that if I were you." He winked and said to himself, loud enough to make sure I heard as he walked away, "Twice in one day she can't slam the door in my face. That has to be a record."
I gently closed the door behind him, locked it, and leaned against it, breast heaving. I clenched my legs, remembering his knee between them, and swallowed hard. I'd be sleeping with the light on for the rest of the night, too.
I was climbing into bed when my phone dinged. I grabbed it. Ren had texted me an old rock song about being afraid of the dark and going crazy in the night. I couldn't help grinning. Monsters in the closet? How about a ghost in my room? Damn him. He would have been so perfect. If only we were on the same side. If only circumstances we
re different. Story of my life—if we'd been born in the same generation, I could have loved the man I was going to marry. If not for my fiancé, I could have fallen in love with Ren.
I pulled the covers up over my head and played the song. I found myself smiling and hoping I didn't need a drink of water in the middle of the night. I'd rather die of thirst than get out of this bed and face myself in the mirror. As I listened, I couldn't help wondering—besides the small matter of murder hundreds of years ago, what had happened in this room? And why did it disturb Ren so much?
Chapter 6
I woke to the sound of rapping, rapping, gentle tapping, and then more pounding on my bedroom door.
"Bliss?" Pound, pound. "Bliss, are you awake? Are you okay?"
Julie and Faye.
I rubbed my eyes. The light was still on. And crap! I'd overslept. On my wedding day. But at least the white lady hadn't frightened me to death in the night. "Coming!"
I bounded out of bed and opened the door for the women.
Julie held up a breakfast tray. "Surprise! We didn't see you down at breakfast. Good idea. Why take the chance? Bad luck for the bride to be seen before the ceremony. Nice spread your new mister had set out, though. Too bad you missed it. We snagged you some of the choicest morsels."
Behind her, Faye held up a tall thermal cup. "Coffee!" Her brow furrowed. "Force of habit. I really didn't think you'd need caffeine on your wedding day. But you'd better enjoy it before you're doomed to a life of tea." She raised an eyebrow and ran an eye over me. "Maybe you do need it. What happened to you? You have major bedhead. You look like my nieces when they play under the covers."
"Rough night." I stood back to let them in.
"Since when did you start locking your door?" Julie asked as she set the tray on the bed.
"Since last night, when things started going bump in the night." I glanced between the two of them. "Neither of you heard it? Out in the hall?"
They glanced between themselves.
"Not us," Faye said. "Not down in the servants' quarters."
I rolled my eyes. "Sorry. I forgot."
Duked: Duke One, Duke Society Series Page 5
