by Megan McCoy
“My little imp, I’m going to ask a favor of you.” Fergus leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Please do not mention ghosts to my aunt. She is very fragile right now.”
“I won’t,” she said.
“And if she brings it up, don’t encourage her.”
“As you wish, my love.” Gabby batted her eyebrows at him, and he rewarded her with a smile that always made her insides stir.
“Hmm, someone wants to pass the train time doing more than reading,” he said.
“I have no idea what you mean.” She rattled Bonnie’s letter once more and started to read. The words blended together as she tried to concentrate.
“The fact that you’re not jumping at the idea of taking my prick inside you, tells me you’re still concentrating on my aunt’s… dilemma.”
“Dilemma?” Gabby carefully placed the missive on her knee and cocked her head. “You call seeing your son’s ghost a dilemma?”
“What would you call it, my love?”
“I would say it is her way of keeping her son alive,” she said.
“So, you admit it is all in her head.”
The train jerked, and Gabby pitched forward. She put her hand on her husband’s knee to right herself, and he moved her hand up to his crotch.
“So, you are interested in a little distraction from our trip, and from this conversation.”
“Nonsense.” She righted herself. “I always enjoy good conversation.”
“Yes, but this one is boring me.” He started to undo the buttons on his breeches and Gabby slowly shook her head.
“You think of only one thing, don’t you?”
“Only when I’m near you,” he said. His breeches parted and his cock sprang out. Gabby’s mouth watered. She wanted to drop to her knees and take him inside her mouth.
Fergus shook his finger back and forth and said, “No, no, no.”
“Why tease me and tell me I can’t?” she asked. Fergus was always inventive and playful in their lovemaking, and she always let him take the lead. But he didn’t tease her and not give her satisfaction; she was afraid that’s where this was leading. That’s the only reason he would use the word no.
“Why are you questioning me?”
Gabby looked toward the window. She ran her hands up and down her skirts and then looked back him. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She knew that look, the one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He had something planned, something that would bring pleasure to the both of them.
“I’m sorry, Fergus,” she whispered.
“Prove it. Lift your skirts and show me your quim.”
Gabby quickly gathered her skirts in her hands and moved them up as far as they would go. She spread her legs, giving him a perfect view of her quim.
“So lovely,” Fergus said. “Stroke yourself.”
“As you wish, my Master.” Gabby giggled as she touched her slit. Calling him Master was a game they’d started to play after their wedding. It made her feel sensual to give herself over to him, to give him complete control of her sexually.
“Spread it.”
She shivered as she followed his command. “Don’t touch your clit, but make your pussy as wet as possible.”
That would be easy to do. Gabby stroked her folds, gently moving her fingers up and down her sides. The caresses made her insides tingle, and her body shiver. She moaned softly as she fought the urge to touch her clit. It wouldn’t take much for her to come, to feel as if her body were shooting into the sky at the same rate the train was zooming toward Inverness.
“Such a lovely sight,” Fergus said. “Move that finger around and around and around.”
Gabby did as he ordered, and her eyes widened as he started to stroke his cock, his hand moving up and down. Their gazes locked on each other’s crotches as they worked themselves into a frenzy.
“Let’s see if we can do it at the same time,” Fergus said. His hand moved faster, and Gabby ignored his order not to touch her clit. She pinched and stroked it, and pulled it from her body, the harsh pain turning into pleasure. It didn’t take long for her orgasm to hit.
“Fergus!” she cried out, and her mouth opened as she watched long streams of white shoot out of his prick. She giggled and scuttled across the narrow divide, sitting next to him. She planted her lips on his and gave him her tongue. He sucked it into his mouth, and she savored the feel.
“I’ve told Bonnie we only need one room,” he said as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and started to clean himself up. “I hope she did as I asked.”
“I’m sure if she thought it was inappropriate, the rooms are at least adjoining.”
“Don’t plan on sleeping by yourself while we’re here,” he said.
“Never.” She settled her skirts on her lap. The smell of sex permeated the compartment. “We need to open the window to let in some air.”
“Some cold air,” Fergus said. “Do you have scent in your bag?”
“Of course, I do,” she said, a little offended. “You bought it for me for my last birthday.”
“Spray it around, so this place smells like a high-class bordello.”
“You’ve been promising to take me to one,” she said. “It sounds like an interesting visit.”
“Perhaps I shall,” he said. “But you are, as I’ve always said, far too curious.”
“My darling, there is no such thing as being too curious.” Gabby got up, found her bag, and took out her scent bottle. She sprayed it across the room, put it back, and took up her place next to him just as there was a knock at the door.
“Come,” Fergus said.
A matron stuck her head in and smiled before she said, “Tea?”
Gabby wiggled against his side, but her soft snore told him she hadn’t woken. She’d fallen asleep about twenty minutes into their carriage ride. It was dark now, and from the amount of time they’d traveled, he thought they had about thirty, maybe forty-five minutes before they arrived at Maque.
Despite what he’d said to Gabby, he was worried about Bonnie. Her letters had become increasingly desperate. At first, he’d just thought it was the grief over losing her only son. But after she’d started mentioning Malcolm’s ghost visiting her in her sleep, he knew something was wrong. He’d already thought about traveling to Scotland to sort things out, but then the invitation for Yule time had arrived, and Gabby had been excited for the trip.
It was surprising to him that she’d found someone to cover at the newspaper. She loved that place. It was the best thing he’d ever done for her. At first, he’d thought people would shun the paper, because it was being managed, and written, by women, and at first, they had. The first year had been rough, but after Gabby, and a reporter named Mariella D’Acosta, had hunted down a murderer, who was a member of the nobility, and demanded justice for the women he’d been killing, people had taken them seriously.
The subscription rate had increased, and the paper’s reputation had grown. Now it had a place of honor as a real purveyor of news and not just a gossip sheet. He was proud of his wife, and the ladies that made up the newspaper staff. He knew Gabby would hire male staff, if anyone had applied. While the newspaper was doing well with the public, male writers were less inclined to associate with an all-female staff. His wife had been the catalyst behind the paper, of course, even if she hadn’t bought it herself.
But if there was one thing the newspaper had taught him, it was that Gabby went after things and got what she wanted. She was no one’s lapdog. In fact, she was like a dog with a bone. When she grabbed hold of something, she didn’t let go until she’d gotten to the end. While that was generally a good thing, he worried that it wasn’t going to be so with this situation.
His aunt Bonnie was in a precarious position. Malcolm had been her own child, and as the next of kin, Fergus had inherited. He was not going to do anything to hurt Bonnie, but he didn’t know what he could do to help her. He wanted to talk with her about leaving Maque. He had a feeli
ng it wouldn’t be a fun conversation. Bonnie loved Maque, and she had a great staff that took care of her. At least he hoped that was still the situation.
He felt as if he’d failed Bonnie. He should have taken care of all this when Malcolm had died. Or more to the point, when he’d been murdered. The local constabulary had been less than stellar in finding his killer. They’d investigated, but failed to find anyone responsible. He should have stepped in then, but he didn’t. If Bonnie was having nightmares about this, if she was dreaming about ghosts, which he knew didn’t exist, it was his fault.
Malcolm had died so young, and at such a tragic time in his life. He’d finally found love, a woman named Evie whose father was a merchant. Fergus remembered how his cousin had written him about “the most beautiful woman in the world,” and how he was going to “convince my mother to move to Bath after Evie and I are married.”
It was that problem, Fergus believed, that kept Malcolm from proposing to Evie. But before his life had been taken from him, Malcolm had proposed, or at least he’d written Fergus that he was going to; Fergus wasn’t sure if his cousin had ever taken the big step, because he’d never heard the woman’s name again.
Fergus parted the curtains in the carriage and looked out at the black sky. There didn’t seem to be any stars tonight, or maybe it was just too early for them to be out. He’d spent a lot of time here when he was growing up. He and Malcolm had played near the loch, and in the mountains. He hadn’t really grieved for Malcolm. It had been almost a year, and he’d let it all pile up.
This was his fault. He needed to take care of things. He prayed Bonnie didn’t need to be institutionalized. If that was the case, it was another burden on his shoulders.
“Where are we?”
“Almost there,” he said.
“I didn’t mean to sleep so long,” she said. “I didn’t mean to sleep at all.”
“Traveling can take a lot out of you,” Fergus said. “I’m sure there will be a meal waiting for us when we arrive. Eating always makes me sleepy, as you know. So, we won’t really speak with Bonnie until tomorrow.”
Gabby put her head on his shoulder.
“Please don’t mention ghosts to her, no matter what her letters have said.”
“As you wish,” Gabby said. “This is your family, and I will let you take the lead.”
“My family is your family.” Fergus kissed the top of her head.
The carriage turned left, and Fergus knew they were on the last part of their trip. “We will be there within minutes.”
“As I said, I will follow your lead.”
Fergus thought about it for a moment. “Gabby, you are the smartest woman I know, and I appreciate your insight into life, and the challenges that it puts in our paths. But ghosts are not something I want to think about, and I don’t want to encourage her.”
He was sure he was repeating himself, but he had to admit that the closer they got to the house, the more rattled he became. He needed food, and a good night’s sleep.
The carriage rattled to a stop in front of the house. The door immediately opened and Bud, Bonnie’s butler, hurried out the door. Fergus alighted as fast as he could and helped Gabby out.
“Lord Fergus.” The butler bowed and turned to Gabby. “Lady Gabriella. We are incredibly happy you’re here.”
“Who’s we?” Fergus asked. Bud had never really been overly thrilled to see Fergus.
“All of us, sir.” Bud cast a furtive glance over his shoulder. “Your aunt, sir, she’s not herself.”
Fergus grabbed Gabby’s hand and said, “Take us to her. Now.
Chapter 2
Gabby followed Fergus down the dark, cold hallway. She had expected Bonnie to meet them in the drawing room, but Bud told them she’d retired early, pleading a headache. It was as if they were in an Ann Radcliff novel and they were in a gloomy castle instead of in a Scottish manor home.
Bud stopped in front of a door and lifted his hand to knock. He pulled it back before it could land and shot a pleading look in Fergus’ direction.
“Oh, for the love of all that is holy.” Fergus pushed his way in front of Bud and knocked. “Aunt Bonnie, it’s Fergus. I’m coming in, and Gabby is with me.”
There was no answer. Fergus put his hand on the knob and turned. The door creaked as it opened. The room beyond it was dark, with very little light, except for a candle near the bed. The fire in the hearth was out, and Bonnie sat in front of an open window, the cold December air blowing her unbound hair around her shoulders.
“What is this?” Fergus boomed out. He turned to Bud. “Get this fire lit at once, and shut that window!”
Gabby rushed to Bonnie’s side. The woman was colder than ice after a December storm. “Bring blankets and hot tea,” she ordered. “Bonnie, let’s get you into bed.” The vacant look in the woman’s eyes was unlike anything Gabby had ever seen before. Gabby rubbed Bonnie’s arms and said, “Bonnie, can you hear me?”
Bonnie blinked, then turned her gaze away from the window. She stared at Gabby for a moment, then turned her head in Fergus’ direction and said, “Malcolm?” She tried to stand, but fell back in the chair.
“No, Bonnie, it’s Fergus.” He stepped to her other side. “Gabby is right, we need to get you into bed.”
“Fergus,” Bonnie said. “What are you doing here?”
“You invited us for Yule time,” he said.
“Did I? I’m so sorry, I’ve forgotten. Let me see to your meal, you must be hungry.” She tried to stand again, but her wobbly legs betrayed her, and she fell into the chair.
“Bud, help me,” Fergus ordered.
Gabby moved aside and the butler took her place. The two men took her arms and moved her toward the bed. They laid her down and she rolled onto her side, turning her back to them.
“Gabby, find her maid and please help prepare her for bed.”
“Yes, Fergus,” Gabby said. She glanced at Bud. “Where can I find the maid?”
“In the hallway, I’m sure, hiding from the ghost,” Bud said. “Her name is Juliette.”
Gabby left the room, and true to what Bud had said, she found a young girl cowering near the stairs. She looked to be no older than twenty; her hands shook, and her eyes were full of fear.
“How long has Lady Bonnie been like this?” Gabby tried to keep her tone gentle. It would do no good to berate the girl.
“For a few days,” Juliette said.
“How many is a few?”
“Since yesterday,” Juliette said. “I could not get her to eat, or drink. She just kept saying Malcolm was coming to see her and she needed to wait. It’s been since… since she came.”
“Who is she?” Gabby asked.
“The spiritualist,” Juliette said.
Gabby wanted to run back to Fergus and give him this news, but right now she needed to help tend to Bonnie. If she hadn’t had any sustenance since yesterday, it would explain her inability to focus.
“Did she send for this woman, or did she show up on her own?”
“Mistress sent for her,” Juliette said. “But I believe she met her through a mutual friend, a lady name Kate Canon. She lives in a neighboring house. I don’t know the other woman’s name.”
Gabby nodded. “Strengthen your back, Juliette, and help me prepare Lady Bonnie for bed. There is no ghost, I promise you that.”
Juliette didn’t move. She clasped her trembling hands together.
“What is it, Juliette?” Gabby asked.
“The cook says the ghost visits at night, as it did in the Dickens tale. It comes to her every night, and will harm those of us who attend her.”
“That was a fictional story,” Gabby said.
“But it took place at Christmas, and it is Christmas now,” Juliette said. “What if there is truth in it? What if Lord Malcolm is coming back to right the wrong?”
Gabby sighed. “Keep your superstitions to yourself. If you’ve not the backbone to do your job, perhaps you should be reassigned to so
mething not as pressing.” She hated to threaten the girl, but it would be best to put a stop to it now. Thoughts swirled in her mind. Hadn’t she, just that afternoon, been arguing with Fergus about the idea that there might actually be a ghost, that Malcolm was still in this realm?
Juliette strengthened. “No, ma’am, I will do my duty.”
“And I will be with you,” Gabby said. “I’ve ordered tea. Hopefully they will also bring some toast, and we can get some sort of food and drink into Lady Bonnie’s system. It will help her to be herself again.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Juliette said. “I’m sorry for being fearful.”
“Never say you’re sorry, Juliette,” Gabby said. “As women we need to be strong. Show your strength now by doing your duty, no matter your fears.”
Juliette’s eyes brightened and she said, “As you wish, ma’am.”
She started to move, but Gabby put her hand on the young woman’s arm. “You said the talk around the house is that Malcolm has come back to right the wrong. What wrong is that, Juliette?”
“His murder, of course,” Juliette said. “Everyone knows he was murdered.”
Gabby looked over her shoulder. “My husband was told he had a heart seizure.”
“He was killed, ma’am.” Juliette looked toward the bedroom. “He was poisoned.”
“They are a superstitious lot around here, but it doesn’t usually come into play at Christmas,” Fergus said. “I blame Dickens.”
They were in the dining room, the remains of their dinner littering the table. “Darling, that story came out almost fifty years ago. How can you blame him?”
“It is a popular tale that is read all year round,” Fergus said. “How can you not blame him for bringing ghosts into play at Christmas?”
“But you don’t believe in ghosts,” Gabby said.
“I do not,” Fergus replied. “But the staff does. And this business about Malcolm. It’s nonsense. Gossip amongst the staff, that’s all.”
“It explains his death at such a young age,” Gabby said. “Poison.”
