Behind the Mask

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Again, she looked defiant. Chin high, dark eyes fiery. “No, we won’t.” She nodded her head once, sharply. “If you’ll excuse me, I have more cobwebs to sweep out.”

  “And I have more wood to chop,” John said. He didn’t, not really, but he figured if he followed his wife back to the house, they would end up consummating their marriage on the kitchen table. Tonight would be soon enough. He wanted to do this right, for her sake. A soft bed, the light of a fire, the proper preparations. Thinking of the night to come, he smiled at her. She did not smile back.

  Tessa felt a little better than she had that morning as she knocked the cobwebs from a corner of the small parlor. She attacked her chores with a new vigor. John might not love her, he might not have chosen her on his own, but he had passed up the chance to be rid of her without even taking a few minutes to mull over the possibility. Perhaps that was sad reason for celebration, but she clung to the small consolation as she went after more cobwebs with the broom.

  “Maybe John doesn’t love me,” she mused aloud. “But one day he will. He will love me the way a man loves the mother of his children, the way a man loves the woman he shares his life with. There doesn’t have to be... passion and romance and all that nonsense.”

  What sounded like the shuffle of a shoe against the floor behind her stopped Tessa in her tracks. Oh, her habit of talking to herself was going to get her in trouble one of these days! If John heard her talking about something so silly as love, he really would be ready to walk to town and be done with this travesty of a marriage. It was getting late in the day, and they couldn’t possibly make it all the way to town before dark. But he might be willing to take that chance if he heard her fanciful musings.

  But when she turned around, John wasn’t there. No one was there. Her heart leapt. Oh, no. A rat! A squirrel, she decided, choosing the lesser of the two evils. She walked to the doorway and glanced into the entry hall. A good sweeping had spruced it up a bit, but the space remained drab and less than lustrous. There were no rodents of any sort that she could see.

  She hefted her broom, heading for the broken chair that leaned against the far wall. There was a shadow there, where a squirrel... or something... might possibly hide. “Come on out,” she said in a low voice. Her heart thudded too hard; something caught in her throat. She had been well educated, was talented at watercolors and the violin, had read all sorts of books, and could embroider a sampler with her eyes closed.

  Chasing rodents with a broom was not a chore for which she had been trained.

  A flash of white seen out of the corner of her eye drew her attention, and she snapped her head around. “John?” She stepped toward the doorway to the stair hall, broom still raised. She did feel a little bit better with the weapon in her hand, whether she was about to face a squirrel, a rat, or a husband. “John, is that you?”

  She looked up the spiraling stairway, seeing no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Had she let her imagination run away with her again?

  The squeal of a chair against the dining room floor proved that she had not. Eyes wide open, she entered the dining room.

  And almost ran smack dab into Aunt Nell.

  If Tessa hadn’t been so shocked, she would have screamed. The moment for screaming came and went, and she didn’t so much as breathe.

  Grandmother Kathleen had told Tessa, on more than one occasion, that she and her younger sister looked very much alike. It was the truth, if you discounted the fact that Nell Holland was three or four inches taller than her older sister, wore her still-red hair down instead of gray hair up in a twist, spent her days in a tattered wedding dress, and was very, very dead.

  Tessa swiped out at the specter with her broom. It had no effect, going right through the shadowy image of Great-aunt Nell. “Shoo,” she said softly. “You should go on now, to wherever it is ghosts are supposed to go.”

  Nell’s lips moved, but no sound came forth. And try as she might, Tessa could not make any sense of the words the ghost tried to form with those lips.

  “We’re going to live here now, my husband and I, so you’ll have to find another place to haunt if you insist on staying here on this earth instead of moving on to wherever you should be. We passed a deserted cottage not too far back,” Tessa suggested. “I imagine that would suit nicely, for one ghost.”

  She should probably be scared, but now Tessa understood why Grandmother Kathleen had always referred to her sister as Poor Nell. Dead or not, the woman was obviously miserable. “And if you insist on living here,” Tessa added in a lowered voice, “you’ll have to stay away from my husband. You upset him terribly last night.”

  At this, Poor Nell smiled.

  “It isn’t amusing,” Tessa insisted.

  Nell shrugged her shoulders.

  “Tonight, you should probably stay out of the way altogether. We won’t be using the ballroom.” Tessa didn’t especially like the idea that her great-aunt might be watching while she did her wifely duty. It was somehow undignified. “You could have that huge room all to yourself. What do you say?”

  Aunt Nell shook her head.

  Tessa pulled out a chair and sat down, her knees suddenly weak. “I’m talking to a ghost. How am I going to explain this to John?”

  “How are you going to explain what?”

  Tessa shot out of her chair and spun to face her husband, who sauntered in through the door that connected the dining room to the kitchen. Nell was gone. And John had put on a shirt. How disappointing.

  “I didn’t finish,” she said, not ready to tell her husband that she had been carrying on a conversation with a long-dead relative.

  “Didn’t finish what?” he asked as he walked toward her.

  “Cleaning the house.”

  “Of course you didn’t finish,” he said with a shake of his head and the beginnings of a smile. “There’s a month’s work here, at least. I made a few repairs to the barn, but I didn’t finish, either.”

  “I don’t feel so bad, then,” she said as he walked past her.

  “I’ll get cleaned up. I saw dinner on the stove.” His grin grew wider. “When I married you, I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “A little,” she said.

  “Give me ten minutes?” he asked as he headed for the stair hall.

  “Of course,” she said.

  When John was gone, Tessa searched the dining room for a sign of Aunt Nell. Nothing.

  “Behave yourself tonight,” she ordered in a hushed voice.

  Her answer was a soft whisper that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

  4

  John fed the roaring fire, stoked it until the flame blazed nicely, and then turned to smile at his bride, who sat up in bed with her dark hair down and her white nightgown buttoned to her chin and her eyes wide with terror. Tessa looked as if she was bravely waiting for him to come to bed and beat her.

  That would change. If he handled this first time right, if he was patient and tender, she would understand that their marriage bed could be exciting and pleasurable for her, as well as for him.

  Again, a number of candles had been lit. If a draft put out the candles tonight, they would still have the light of the fire. Tessa seemed to require light, and if she wanted illumination, she would have it.

  No odd drafts or noises had plagued him this evening. Nothing that should have been solidly planted on the floor shook. There was no ghost, his wife was waiting, and all was well here.

  When he began to undress, Tessa lifted her chin and closed her eyes. She sat there with her spine rigid and her mouth thinned, so prim and beautiful and self-sacrificing.

  “You can watch, you know,” he said patiently as he tossed his shirt aside. “We are married.”

  “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you,” she said softly. Her eyes remained shut.

  “You won’t embarrass me,” he assured her as he sat on the side of the bed to remove his boots. “It’s perfectly natural for a husband and wife to see one another without clothing.”
He wanted, very badly, to see Tessa naked, and he would. Soon. When she was ready.

  Tessa’s only answer was a wrinkling of her nose. “Perhaps we should save that for another night,” she said, her voice low.

  He crawled beneath the quilt and slid almost to the center of the mattress. Tessa was so close to the edge on her side a gentle shove would surely send her to the floor. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Her eyes flew open. Scared? Yes. But that wasn’t all he saw there. She was also curious. Curious was good.

  Tessa closed those eyes again when he kissed her. Last night she hadn’t responded, but tonight she did. She kissed him back. There was uncertainty in her kiss, but there was also wonder and an inkling of desire.

  When they had been kissing for a good three minutes and nothing had yet flickered, lurched, or shattered, John relaxed. It wasn’t so bad that they had waited until this second night. Yesterday had been a long day, and they had both been nervous last night. Today had been better. Tonight would be perfect.

  He cupped Tessa’s breast through the linen of her nightdress, raked his thumb over a nipple that hardened at his touch. She inhaled and withdrew, surprised at the sensation, but quickly relaxed and brought her mouth back to his.

  He had known Tessa would be a good wife, but until this moment, he had not known that she would also be a good lover. She might not realize it yet, but there was passion within her. Fire. And he was going to awaken that fire. He was going to stoke it the same way he had stoked the fire in the stone fireplace.

  One by one, he unbuttoned the tiny buttons of Tessa’s demure linen nightdress. “One day,” he said, as he accomplished the task, “I’m going to come to bed and find you waiting here naked.”

  “Is that— ” She swallowed, then took a deep breath that caused her breasts to rise and fall enticingly. “Is that a good idea?”

  “Trust me, it’s a very good idea.” He opened Tessa’s gown, revealing perfect breasts and the creamy valley between. He lowered his head to kiss that valley, taking Tessa by surprise.

  The candle on John’s side of the bed snuffed out, and Tessa tried to sit up.

  “Not again,” she whispered.

  “It’s nothing,” John insisted. With a gentle hand, he forced Tessa to lie flat again.

  The candle on Tessa’s side of the bed flickered and went out, and so did the candles on the dresser, but they still had the flame from a roaring fire to light the room.

  Tessa moved her face close to his. For a moment, he thought she was going to kiss him, but instead of touching her mouth to his, she whispered, “I can’t do this with her watching. It’s just not right.”

  John was undaunted. He grabbed the edge of the quilt and pulled the thick coverlet over their heads. It was quicker and easier than arguing with his wife about the existence of a ghostly spirit. “Then, we’ll hide. She can’t see us now.”

  The bed shook, once. He wrote the shift of the furniture off to the effects of his own movement. Maybe one bed leg was shorter than the others. He would fix it tomorrow.

  He laid his mouth against the side of Tessa’s neck, kissed her there, flicked his tongue against her soft, sweet skin. His hand slipped through the opening in her nightdress, and he cupped one bare breast. She breathed deep, and he felt it; her heart beat fast and hard, just as his did.

  She was so soft, so fragile. And she trusted herself into his hands, literally and figuratively.

  “Tessa?” he asked, barely taking his mouth from her. “Do you know what’s going to happen?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Would you like to touch me?” He wanted her to be as comfortable as possible with him; he did not want her to be afraid of anything. Most especially, he did not want her to be afraid of him. With every second that passed, that was more important.

  “Yes.” Moving slowly and uncertainly, she reached out and laid her hand on his chest. Not exactly what he’d had in mind, but if that was what she wanted it was fine with him. “You’re very different than I am,” she whispered. “Very... hard.”

  She had no idea.

  Her fingertips stroked him, a feathery touch that almost sent him over the edge. Those fingers teased his own flat nipples, traced muscles, and danced to his neck. And then Tessa whispered again.

  “You smiled today.”

  The statement took him by surprise. “I suppose I did.”

  “I’m glad.” She kept her voice low, as if she was afraid Aunt Nell might be listening in. “Yesterday you didn’t smile at all, and I thought... I was afraid.”

  “It was a long day,” he explained. “You didn’t smile, either.”

  “You’re right, it was a long day,” she whispered. She licked her lips, sighed softly. “And I was... a little scared.”

  “Are you still scared?”

  “A little,” she confessed. “Not so much as I was yesterday.”

  He kissed her, long and deep, and when he swept his tongue into her mouth, she gasped. But then she kissed him back with a renewed passion, parting her lips and asking for more.

  They fit together well, lying there side by side, mouths joined, bodies barely touching, skimming against each other, sharing heat. He had always known taking Tessa to his bed would be no chore, but he had not expected it to be so joltingly powerful, either.

  He took Tessa’s wrists in his hands and rolled her onto her back, hovering above her with only their mouths and hands joined. The quilt still covered them, a cocoon, a tent. She breathed, with obvious effort, as he raised the hem of her nightgown and spread her thighs with his knee.

  The bed lurched.

  “Ignore it,” he said “It’s nothing.”

  She did.

  Sweat popped up on Tessa’s flesh and his own. The heat they generated grew second by second. A few more minutes, and she would be his wife in every way. He trembled, he wanted her so much.

  “John?” she whispered breathlessly. “Are you... hot?”

  “Yes,” he said, as he took his mouth to her throat again. Oh, she had such a magnificent throat.

  “I’m hot,” she said.

  It was the truth. Sweat made her nightgown cling here and there. He kissed some of the sweat away.

  “I can’t... I can’t breathe.” A hint of panic touched her voice.

  John raised up. It was indeed stifling under this quilt. With an impatient hand, he threw the cover off.

  But even without the quilt, it was unbearably hot in this room. The fire blazed too high. Much too high and hot.

  “I’ll open the window.” John sat up and grabbed the sheet with every intention of tossing it to the floor.

  “No!” Tessa popped up into a sitting position herself, holding the sheet to make sure his naked body remained covered. “I’ll do it.”

  His virgin bride scrambled from the bed, holding the front of her nightgown closed in spite of the heat, and pattered on bare feet to the window. She grabbed the sash and lifted it, then stood there for a moment and let the cool autumn air wash over her. John leaned against the headboard and smiled as a breeze pushed Tessa’s hair away from her face and pressed her nightgown to her body. She truly was magnificent.

  She turned around and gave him a soft, not-quite-easy smile. “That’s better.” After just a moment’s hesitation, she walked toward him and the bed. Her smile slowly died. The flame in the stone fireplace blazed high once again, and as Tessa reached the bed, the window slammed shut.

  She spun around. “Aunt Nell!” she said, exasperated. “I told you to leave us alone tonight!” Tessa returned to the window and opened it again. As she turned around, it slammed shut with a bang.

  John crossed his arms over his chest, fighting for calm. This was too much to take in all at once. Try as he might, he could not come up with a reasonable explanation for the opening and closing of that window. Was it possible that the house truly was haunted? And had his bride been communicating with the spirit?

  “You spoke to her?”

&
nbsp; Tessa caught her bottom lip in her teeth and wrinkled her nose. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I saw her this afternoon, in the dining room.”

  He sat up straight. “You saw her?” Either his wife had lost her mind, or this house really was haunted. He felt quite sure Tessa was in full possession of her faculties. Denial was no longer possible.

  Tessa nodded. “I told her not to upset you, but—” She shrugged. “I think she likes tormenting you.”

  He was not surprised by that bit of news. This was truly torment. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Tessa lowered her head and began buttoning her nightgown. “I guess we have to find out before we can... you know.”

  “Be intimate. Engage in sexual intercourse. Make love. Consummate our marriage.” His face grew warm, and it had nothing to do with the fire. “Join in the marital embrace. Copulate. Screw. Anything but you know!”

  Tessa’s lower lip trembled. “You don’t have to be mean.”

  John immediately regretted losing his temper. “Sorry. I’m just incredibly frustrated.”

  “I understand.”

  Unfortunately, she didn’t understand. Not entirely. Marrying a virgin was highly overrated. Having a ghost intent on ruining his first days as a husband was torture.

  Nightgown fully buttoned, Tessa returned to the bed. “Tomorrow I’ll try to find out why she’s so determined to keep us from”—she hesitated, but then she looked him in the eye and said, very softly—“consummating our marriage.”

  He wished she had chosen one of the other options. She made their coming together sound very legal and cold.

  “Maybe I should sleep across the hall,” he suggested. Last night he had fallen asleep beside her, exhausted and frustrated, and when he had awakened early in the morning, she had been gone. But tonight... tonight he was likely to roll over half asleep and take her without the preparation he knew she needed. A man simply could not live in this condition.

  “No,” Tessa said as she slipped beneath the covers. “Apparently neither of us snores, and besides”—she shrugged—“there were only linens for one bed. I wouldn’t want you sleeping on a nasty bare mattress. I suppose I could collect some of those sheets that were used to cover the parlor furniture, but I haven’t had a chance to launder them and they’re quite dusty. Not fit for sleeping on, I’m sure.”