She hushed him by melding her lips with his. She was home at last and in his arms.
Also available from this author at Total-E-Bound Publishing:
Naked Art
Aurora Rose Lynn
Excerpt
Chapter One
The manor house’s outlines were eerie in the overpowering darkness as Paige Blackmoor pulled the car to a stop at the front entrance. A bolt of lightning illuminated the manor’s high roof for a brief second before pitch dark descended again. Thunder cracked through the air. Apart from the rain, there were no other sounds. She had a sense of déjà vu that warned her she had been here before, but to her recollection, she had never been in the area. The impression stayed with her, frightening her more than the day’s happenings had.
She gritted her teeth and decided to leave the headlights on. Those comforting orbs of yellow light kept her from turning the car around and racing down the unfamiliar, winding road. She needed this job, and although the circumstances appeared strange, Paige felt reassured that good things did happen to those who waited long enough. It wasn’t every day a woman got a job in a ritzy place—even if it was only maid’s work.
She bent her head over the steering wheel and looked at the manor, able to discern only a dim outline. Earlier that morning as she’d sipped her black coffee and read the classified section in the newspaper, her gaze had landed on the perfect employment.
Maid wanted at Rosebury Manor.
Excellent salary, benefits and room and board.
Only serious woman need apply.
The misuse of ‘woman’ rather than ‘women’ had immediately caught her attention but she attributed the mistake to a copyeditor being asleep on the job.
Paige had almost spilled her coffee into her lap as she’d pushed back the chair from the kitchen table and ran for the phone. The job had sounded so perfect, she couldn’t have let someone apply ahead of her. With shaking fingers, she’d dialled the number and asked for the person named in the ad. The person had asked what her name was and had said, with a great deal of repressed excitement Paige couldn’t fail to hear, that the job was hers as long as she arrived at Rosebury before eight p.m. that day.
It had meant a bustle of activity, but she’d managed to get everything cleared with the apartment manager from whom she rented her small bachelorette. Now she was here, irrationally afraid of the surrounding night and what might be waiting for her. After she had made the call to Rosebury and returned to the newspaper and her coffee, she had searched and searched for the ad, but was unable to find it again. Any number of reasons why she hadn’t been able to came to mind, but the most prominent one was that the ad had simply vanished. The whole day had been filled with apprehension as she’d remembered the ad’s misspelling, the manner in which she had been hired on the spot and not even asked for a résumé, and how the ad had disappeared as if into thin air.
Now that she was actually parked next to the manor, her instinct to flee fought with her good sense, which was telling her she was imagining this whole scenario.
Rain pelted the car’s roof.
With a white-knuckled hold, Paige gripped the steering wheel as another bolt of lightning shredded the black sky and lit up the manor and the surrounding tall pine trees. She had been here before, her subconscious warned her. What else could she do but march up to the front door and let the housekeeper know she had arrived? If the job didn’t work out, she was resourceful enough to find another job and place to live. She needed the job. Should she check her makeup? Even with the overhead light, she had no way to see if her faint pink lipstick was smudged.
With her resolve in place, she cut the headlights, threw her purse strap over her shoulder, opened the door and dashed for the manor before she could change her mind. She tried to avoid the mud puddles as the rain poured down on her. The end result was her flat black pumps got soaked with water. She lifted the old-fashioned knocker and pounded on the door. The massive wooden door opened. Soft light surrounded her.
A plump woman, wearing a severe, ankle-length black uniform, confronted her with a heavy frown. “What do you want?”
“I called earlier today about the maid’s job,” Paige replied, refusing to be intimidated.
The woman appeared to have been pretty at one time, but age and the effects of gravity had altered that. Now she was rather plain and homely.
“Oh. It’s you then. Come in then. Don’t stand out there waiting for Halloween. I’m Mrs Whittaker, by the way.”
The woman drew open the door just wide enough that Paige could squeeze in. The door slammed shut. Paige jumped.
“My, aren’t you a tad nervous?”
Paige wasn’t willing to admit she was. “No. It’s been a long drive, so I’m a bit tired,” she said, hoping her honesty wouldn’t offend the housekeeper and make her lose this job.
“Come into the kitchen and dry off. You look like a drowned church mouse. I’ll make us a cup of tea.”
The housekeeper turned and strode into the house. The bow of her frilly white apron was tied to perfection at her waist, giving Paige the impression the woman valued strict order. Her once black hair, now streaked with grey, was pulled up into a tight bun. Her black shoes were flat and looked as if she had bought them in the five and dime store.
Paige followed her through a luxuriously appointed hallway and down a long corridor. Her feet squished in her shoes. Doors were partially open on both sides, giving her the impression that she would have quite a bit of cleaning to do in this place. Which was fine by her—she was used to hard work.
“Sit yourself down,” the housekeeper said on entering a bright kitchen, as old-fashioned as the knocker on the front door had been.
There was a gas stove, cast iron pots and pans and very little in the way of modern appliances except for the refrigerator, which hummed softly. The aroma of fresh-baked bread filled the room, making Paige’s mouth water. The windows above the white porcelain sink were open and a pair of lace curtains fluttered in the wind. Potted rosemary, thyme and mint took up the generous windowsill space.
“That damned ghost.” The housekeeper grunted the words as she leaned over the sink and slammed the casement windows shut. “He always wants to peek in and see what’s up. Like I’d have my skirt out of kilter just so he can take a quick look.”
“Ghosts don’t exist,” Paige said, astounded. She seated herself at the table and noted the sugar bowl, creamer, and a crock of what looked like freshly made butter in the centre of the table.
What had she got herself into with this crazy woman? Didn’t ghosts, if they existed at all, have anything better to do than peep under her dress? She repressed a belly laugh of amusement. There were all kinds of people in the world, and for now she would have to put up with an old woman who believed a ghost was interested in scrutinising her panties.
The housekeeper bustled about, apparently the type of person who couldn’t stand still for even short periods of time.
“Sure they do, hon. It’s just a matter of connecting the real world with the spiritual. Sometimes, humans are just too blind to see what’s right under their noses.”
She opened the oven, allowing Paige to see two perfect loaves of bread baking. The housekeeper pulled on a pair of red and white chequered oven mitts and lovingly withdrew the bread, placing it onto racks on the counter next to the stove.
Paige thought back about the newspaper ad and how, after she had phoned, the ad had disappeared as if it had never been there to begin with. She brushed a stray strand of hair from over her left eye and shrugged. Ghosts weren’t her problem, and if the housekeeper wanted to make them hers, that was no hair off her chest.
“The ghost is real,” the housekeeper said. “He must have heard you were coming and wanted to welcome you to the manor. But you’ll find out about him for yourself during your stay here. Would you like a currant scone with your tea?”
Paige nodded. “I’d love one.”
Would the ghost require
that she lift her skirt for his voyeuristic tendencies? Heavens, but there were no such beings as ghosts. Even as she reflected on that, she saw the vivid sea-green eyes of the man who tormented her dreams. He was nothing more than a ghost painted by her imagination. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sight that was never far from her consciousness. Blood thrummed through her veins as it always did when she thought about those eyes—intelligent, warm, compassionate.
Like a honeybee searching for nectar, the housekeeper dashed around the kitchen, filling the shiny, stainless steel teakettle with tap water and placing it on a gas burner. The woman obviously lived here alone much of the time, Paige decided, and her sanity seemed to be hanging in the balance.
“When are you going to interview me?” she asked suddenly. She didn’t want to spend the next hour hearing about a silly ghost if she wasn’t going to be hired for the job.
Mrs Whittaker raised thick eyebrows. “An interview for what?”
“I thought you, or whoever it was on the phone this morning, had told me to come here and the job was mine if I got here before eight.” She fixed her gaze on the old woman’s white collar, edged with a tiny bit of lace.
“Heavens! That was me you spoke to. As soon as I heard your voice, I knew you were right for the job.”
“How could you tell?”
The housekeeper rubbed her hands on the front of her apron. “I just could. Did you change your mind?”
“Oh no, of course not. What will my duties include?”
Rain splattered against the kitchen windows like the rat-tat-tat of a small gun firing repeatedly. As Paige looked outside, another bolt of lightning jagged through the darkness. She gave a little shriek as thunder crashed overhead, and drew back in her ladder-backed chair set facing the dining table.
Mrs Whittaker seemed oblivious to the shard of light or Paige’s fear. “To keep this place clean. I’m gettin’ a bit old for anything except cooking.”
Paige’s curiosity kicked in. “Does anyone else live here?”
“Only Lord Carondolet. That’s the first thing you must learn while you’re here. You must never, never disturb him.”
A vision of a crotchety old man flitted through Paige’s mind. “Does he ever come down for dinner?”
Mrs Whittaker turned on her with an expression of absolute horror. “My dear,” she exclaimed. “His lordship never comes down to the servants’ quarters. It’s perfectly unheard of. It’s not the way things are done at Rosebury Manor.”
“Where does he eat then?” Paige felt out of place, like a backwoods bumpkin among the exquisite furnishings and ornate paintings. What little she had seen of the manor was not for ordinary folk like her. In her mind’s eye, she saw grand lords and ladies wearing shimmering silks and colourful satins who did nothing more strenuous than think of a foxhunt or the next masked ball.
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About the Author
Aurora Rose Lynn, a bestselling erotica author, lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and conure. She enjoys writing romance with a sensual twist but first and foremost, her stories must be about love. When she isn’t writing romance, she writes young adult and fantasy stories under a pen name.
Email: [email protected]
Aurora loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
Also by Aurora Rose Lynn
Blue Dragon Challenge
Lust or Go Bust
Vampire’s Captive
Wild Ride
Lonely Hearts
Call Number
Silent Witness
To Conquer a Lady
Wrong Side of the Law
Chocolate Temptation
Mistress of the Damned
Wicked Woman
Kiss Me…If You Dare
Sinfully Decadent
Ravishing Sara
Stripped Bare
Sex Anyone?
Rules of Arrest
Lady Jaguar
Moon of Sacrifice
Imminent Conquest
Little Nothings
Sweet as Fire
Naked Art
Riding Shotgun: Shotgun Bride
Riding Shotgun: Wanted!
Christmas Spirits: Fantasies
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Table of Contents
Title page
Whispers in the Dawn Page 17
