Hosts to Ghosts Box Set
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Hosts to Ghosts - Box Set
Hosts To Ghosts
Lynne Connolly
Published by LMC Publications, 2013.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
HOSTS TO GHOSTS - BOX SET
First edition. December 4, 2013.
Copyright © 2013 Lynne Connolly.
ISBN: 978-1502217509
Written by Lynne Connolly.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Hosts to Ghosts - Box Set
Black Leather, White Lace; Vernon | By | Lynne Connolly
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Black Leather, White Lace; | Nathaniel
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
The Haunting of Belle Sauvage | A Hosts to Ghosts Story | By | Lynne Connolly
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Three scorching stories in one box set! Vernon, Nathaniel and The Haunting of Belle Sauvage!
In the linked stories of Black Leather, White Lace, brothers, Vernon and Nathaniel Heatherington, face each other from the yawning chasm of the English Civil War. Their involvement ends in tragedy, when they kill each other in a duel, and they are condemned to haunt the family home until they atone for the sin of fratricide.
Vernon finds his redemption during the Regency, when Cassandra, the current countess, desperately needs his help to protect her from her boor of a husband. His love for her is the only thing that can save her, but Vernon cannot promise anything else.
In the present day, Nathaniel finds the house filled with investigators from the ghost-hunting TV series Hosts to Ghosts. He’s more concerned with Sylvie, the American Countess, whose husband threatens to derail the estate and the house. He must sacrifice his happiness to give her the heir she desperately needs to save the inheritance.
The Haunting of Belle Sauvage is set in present day France and America. In France, the owner of Hosts to Ghosts is forcibly converted to a vampire. Although he swears to keep away from his beloved wife Karey, Jordan has to return to the old USA plantation house when an ex lover threatens to kill her. Voodoo, lost treasure and Jordan’s new state all mitigate against Jordan finding a future with his wife, but Karey has enough courage to fight for the man she loves.
Black Leather, White Lace; Vernon
By
Lynne Connolly
Prologue
1645
Vernon Heatherington swiped his hand wearily over his eyes. Never before had he worked so hard, either when he was a young earl at Court, or when he had ridden in the King’s cavalry under the command of Prince Rupert.
Now he was home, the place he should never have left. War had left its mark here, too. Most able-bodied young men had left to fight on one side or the other, but they were managing, just. It meant that at harvest time no one could stand idle. House servants, male and female, even the earl himself had to put a shoulder to the wheel if they were to make the most of the crops.
With the sun shining low on the horizon he could finally go home and see what his wife and the two domestics left in the kitchen had made for his dinner. The house servants wandered along behind him. It was a revelation to find this kind of life suited him, that he enjoyed the simplicity of this existence. If they kept quietly attending to their own business, they might avoid the attention of Parliament altogether. It seemed just a matter of time now until the King asked the Parliamentary forces for their terms.
He approached the great house from the rear. Rustead Abbey had been new a hundred years ago, and now the red brick was beginning to gain the soft patina of age. A handsome house, not overlarge, but with all that was required of an earl’s residence, including a many windowed Long Gallery on the top floor, just below the attics. That was a reminder of happier times, where the portraits of his ancestors rested peacefully side by side.
A commotion on the terrace attracted his attention. His wife’s voice sounded, high and panicked. He couldn’t make out the words but it was enough to make him break into a run.
When he rounded the corner what he saw made his blood run cold. Five men surrounded Anne, men dressed in rough, military clothes, stained from traveling and fighting.
Not here, oh no, not here! “What do you want?” he roared, in his loudest possible voice. It worked. Three of the men spun around.
The one at the front, the one dressed in a simple leather jerkin, breeches and breastplate, his dark hair cropped close to his collar, was his brother Nathaniel. His traitor brother.
For a blink of an eye the two stared at each other, and then Vernon strode forward. “What are you here for, Nathaniel? You’re no longer welcome, you know that.”
Nathaniel didn’t bother with greetings. He brandished a document, one he thrust towards his brother. “I have an order to commandeer this house. I’m claiming it in the name of Parliament.” His clear, blue eyes flashed a warning. One that Vernon ignored.
“I want you all out of here. How dare you claim anything here? The King is the ruler at Rustead Abbey!”
The four men surrounding Anne took a step towards him. Perhaps she could get to safety, if he kept them busy.
“I’m sorry, brother, I have to insist.”
Vernon narrowed his eyes. “You always wanted this house, didn’t you? Was this the only way you could get it? By theft?”
With a sweep of his arm, he drew his sword. Everyone went around armed these days, not knowing what was around the next corner. Well he would not take this imposition lightly. He’d had enough.
He raised his weapon, only to meet steel. Nathaniel had his own sword ready, and tried to knock his aside. But Vernon wasn’t the dilettante swordsman he’d been at the beginning of the war. He was a seasoned cavalry officer, and he no longer fenced with a flourish and an elegant twirl. He fought for one reason only. To kill.
When his men would have surrounded them, Nathaniel called out to them. “Leave be! I’ll handle this!”
One muttered, “Have a few scores to settle, Captain?” and they stepped back, clearing a space for the fight. One took Anne by the arm, not ungently, and pulled her back.
Vernon spat fire, and attacked. Nathaniel met his vicious blade with parries and deft sidesteps, but it was some time until Vernon realized he wasn’t attacking. “Damn you, fight!”
“Not unless I have to,” Nathaniel panted, making another parry, knocking aside Vernon’s blade.
They fought for what seemed like forever, too evenly matched for either to make inroads on the other. The men made raucous bets, infuriating Vernon further. The swords clashed and clanged, occasionally hitting the hard paving of the terrace with a dull thud. They fought until the sun went down, until Nathaniel forced Vernon to face the sharp ray
s, slanting straight into his eyes. “Give over, Vernon. Let us take the house.” His words came out between harsh pants, each marking a swing of his sword. Blood trickled from numerous small wounds on his arms and body. This was no duel for first blood; otherwise it would have finished long ago.
“Never, you’ll never take Rustead away from me!”
Vernon twisted, meaning to move back, away from the glare of the sun, but he stumbled.
Right on to Nathaniel’s blade.
Cold seared through his body, and he knew he was done for. With the last strength left in his arm he thrust up, snarling defiance, and was gratified to hear his brother’s cry of pain, until the world went black.
* * * * *
“Dear God.” Clasping his hand over the deep wound in his side, Nathaniel stared down at Vernon. Why hadn’t the fool listened? If he hadn’t taken the Abbey, someone else would have done. Better it stayed in the family than passed out of it. He meant to tell Vernon, then arrange matters so the Abbey was in his care, but could pass back to Vernon, the rightful Earl, when things had died down a little.
It was difficult to draw breath, worse than after a long fight. With his dying breath, Vernon had ensured that neither brother inherited. Except that he, Nathaniel, was the earl now. For a time.
A very short time.
Chapter One
1814
Cassandra stood with her husband in the Long Gallery of their home in Rustead Abbey. Both were dressed rather strangely, for being Halloween, his lordship’s fancy had alighted on a costume ball with a spectral theme. Cassandra was dressed most uncomfortably in the clothes of a Royalist lady; uncomfortably because she had discovered the clothes only a couple of days ago in the spacious attics of the house, and after they had been laundered there really hadn’t been time to alter them properly. Pins stuck in her from all angles where her maid had altered it for her. The gown had been fashioned for a much larger lady.
The arrangements for this ball had been rushed, since Lord Rustead had arrived from London a few days before with several companions, announcing that more were on the way. Cassandra avoided London when she could. She used to like it, but she couldn’t bear the pitying glances cast her way in every ballroom and every concert hall these days.
Her husband had attempted a skeleton costume, but the suit was showing signs of the dissipation into which he sank progressively earlier in the day. His watery gaze studied her. “Can’t think why you want a private word, old girl. Couldn’t you have told me later? Got a house full of guests to see to.”
He would be too drunk later to understand her, but she didn’t say this out loud. Edward’s family had been careful to present him in his best guise before they were married, but now Cassandra was Lady Rustead, nobody bothered to conceal the effects of her husband’s long and determined pursuit of all the pleasures society had to offer. The white paint, which adorned the simple black shirt and breeches, in an imitation of the bones that were presumably underneath had flaked a little, and red port stains revealed the evidence of his lordship’s favorite tipple.
At the moment the expression on his once-handsome face was decidedly peevish. “Can’t think why the damned servants didn’t fill the decanters up here.”
Probably, Cassandra thought, because they knew you would come up here.
Distinctly, she heard a voice in her head, a male voice she was almost used to hearing. We hid them. If you have to speak to him in private, best done while he is relatively sober.
She had persuaded herself that the voice was just her own imagination, but sometimes she wasn’t so sure. The strong, male timbre had been her companion since she had arrived in this house six years ago, and every time she crossed the threshold, coming in from the garden or a visit, it had been there, waiting for her. He expressed opinions she never dared utter, except in her heart, shared her woes and her small triumphs. Now here he was again.
The Portrait Gallery, one of the showpieces in the house, blazed with the light from dozens of candles set in chandeliers and wall sconces. If Edward didn’t look to his finances soon, they would have to start counting the number of candles they used, but fortunately, not quite yet. Edward never lifted a finger to administer his estate, and his steward was a lazy as he was. Cassandra’s fingers itched to study the books, to put at least some things right, but until she quickened, she was forbidden to do so. It was exquisite torture, to watch the house she loved falling to pieces about her ears.
She drew a breath and prepared to announce her lie. “Edward, I think I may be expecting.”
His face lit up, his brown, bloodshot eyes showing some of the sparkle his must have had before debauchery took over his life. “Really? You’re sure?”
She bit her lip. She couldn’t go that far. “Not completely. But it looks promising.”
He threw back his head and barked a sharp laugh. “Ha! Delighted to hear you’re finally doing your duty, m’dear.” He grinned broadly. “After three years I’d given you up. Well, best you stay here then, instead of coming up to Town with me.”
“Yes.” Relief surged through her. That was why she had played this, her last, desperate card. By the time he discovered her lie, she might have been able to put some order into the estate, and perhaps even made a small part of it safe from his depredations. The timing was right. On a previous, brief visit last month, he’d spent some time in her room. It was enough.
“I’ll be off in the morning, then. I’d hoped to take you with me, but...” He scanned her body, taking his time, although Cassandra had reason to know he was capable of little more these days. Fleetingly she wondered how he managed with the London whores. Perhaps they used tricks she didn’t know about, or had little reason to learn. His body was still comely enough, but no woman could fancy a man once he’d vomited in her bed.
“Are you coming, coz?” A handsome man strolled towards them, dressed as her Cavalier counterpart. This was Edward’s cousin and heir, William Heatherington, as debauched as Edward and twice as vicious.
He bowed, turning the graceful gesture into a mocking salute. “Good evening, ma’am. I didn’t realize you were here, too. Will you grace us with your presence downstairs?”
Cassandra glared at him mutely. She suspected William was pushing her husband into an early grave, but since he was hurrying there anyway, it mattered little. William was as tall as Edward, but slimmer and his brown eyes were less bloodshot. Either he had a better head for drink than his cousin, or he threw half of what he pretended to drink away. His deceivingly soft eyes gleamed at her.
“Cassie here says she’s in the family way,” Edward blurted out.
Since she was looking at him, Cassandra saw the mockery in William’s eyes change to pure hatred. Just for a moment she feared for the entirely imaginary child in her womb. Now she knew for sure William had pretensions to the title and inheritance. She would have to take great care in the next few months, until it became obvious her child was illusory.
She broke eye contact with a toss of her head. “I will not go downstairs again tonight. Please convey my apologies to your friends and try not to break the best crystal.” Edward wouldn’t have a chance to do that, since Cassandra and the servants had locked the best crystal in the laundry cabinets, well away from possible depredations. That was one thing she could do. The servants knew that as soon as they sighted her husband’s carriage, they were to lock away the more valuable breakables in the house. He’d been here for nearly a week now, and he hadn’t even noticed the best porcelain and crystal had disappeared.
Regaining his equilibrium, William smiled and draped one elegant arm around his cousin’s ample waist. “We’d better get back down to the ladies.”
With an avuncular pat on her shoulder, Edward turned away from her. “Somebody’s got to see to the guests. If you want to retire my dear that will be quite in order.” He shambled up the gallery towards the door at the end.
Sick at heart for the death of all her hopes, Cassandra decided to go t
o bed, feeling no obligation to entertain any of the individuals currently wrecking her dining room and green drawing room.
It had been the final insult to learn that their guests were the most raucous of London’s bloods and the most racy of its widows and married women, who were notorious for seeking their pleasure anywhere they found it. He might as well have asked her to share her table with whores.
At least whores were honest, requiring a fee rather than eternal love or something equally as unattainable. Cassandra strolled slowly up the long gallery, in the opposite direction to the one her husband had taken, towards her bedroom. Perhaps her faux pregnancy would give her a chance to pack and leave, although she had no idea where she could go. Edward’s possessiveness had driven away all her old friends and her parents were abroad, in the service of their country. Nowhere to go, no one who cared.
Perhaps she could retire to another of Edward’s houses. Luckily, the entail encompassed three houses and estates, so Edward could do no more than mortgage them. Perhaps there would be enough left that she could live quietly and modestly once he’d gone. It was all she had left to hope for. She no longer felt the tragedy of a promising young man, now destroyed by drink and probably disease as well. When he had no ready money, he came back and found something else to sell. He’d destroyed any emotion she felt for him long ago.
She stopped to stare at the portraits in the long gallery. There was a definite family ‘look,’ one Edward possessed, despite his florid complexion and increasing girth. If they looked after themselves, the Hetherington men and women tended to the lean, their near-black hair almost universal, except for a few notable exceptions. The eyes seemed to be blue or gray. No brown eyed people amongst them apart from Edward and his cousin William. Their ability to breed true had been a standing joke.
Some of the men had a noble history. Cassandra paused before a full-length portrait of a Cavalier gentleman. Vernon Heatherington, Lord Chiltern. Shortly after the portrait had been painted, he’d inherited the earldom from his father. Then came the famous duel that had ended his life, and shortly thereafter, that of his Roundhead brother. If it hadn’t been for their younger brother, a babe in arms in the nursery, too young to take sides, the ancient line of Heatherington might have died out at that point.