by Heather Boyd
Mrs. Osprey arrived with the dish of water and Giles took it from her. He cleaned Lilly’s hair carefully, washing all traces of sickness away, and toweled it dry. When Mrs. Osprey handed him a comb, he tugged it through the damp ends slowly. Beautiful hair—silver white, thickly curled around her face, neck, and torso. He laid the strands over another towel and finally raised his gaze to her face.
Lilly’s eyes were closed, he could see that much. Her pale lashes lay heavy against the swell of her cheekbone. A sting of emotion rippled through him, and he struggled to understand his reaction.
Lilly was a tiny woman. Pale like moonlight. The thick lengths of hair covered most of her face, so he reached out and carefully slid the strands away from her cheeks.
He forgot to breathe.
Hollow rushing filled his ears and the world around him darkened, focused on this one place. The sparkles floating in front of his eyes were blinding, until he simply had to draw in a breath of lemon-scented air to keep seeing the vision lying in the bed before him. The drapes were still open, and it was still day.
Lillian Winter was his ghost.
Chapter Five
GILES STAGGERED BACK from the bed in horror. His hands rose, as if to ward away an evil. All this time. His mind blanked for a moment, and then he knew the truth.
He was going to fry in hell.
His soul would be eternally damned for the stupidity he had wallowed in for the past two years. He closed his eyes and counted to twenty. It was just not possible. Lilly could not be his ghost. Reopening them did not change his situation. Perhaps a good stoning would.
“God save me,” Giles whispered.
“Beg pardon, my lord. Is something the matter?” Mrs. Osprey asked.
Giles could not answer. His thoughts swam around in circles. He walked toward the window, but glanced back at the bed. “Oh, fuck.”
Mrs. Osprey gasped, but he did not care. He was already in a great deal of trouble. A great deal more than he thought he was in when he’d first agreed to house Lillian Winter as a guest. Offending his housekeeper with his poor choice of words was the least of his troubles. God was laughing at him for his wicked ways, and the laughter was going to continue for a long time to come. For all of eternity, perhaps.
“Milord, please,” Dithers begged.
“Of all the stupid, idiotic, insane lapses of judgment, I think this one is possibly the finest in the known world.” Giles couldn’t stop the flow of words. “Just couldn’t keep it in my bloody trousers, could I? No, no, just wave it about and display myself for the world to see. Fuck, you bloody arsehole. God damn it.”
He looked at the bed and swore some more, probably shocking poor Mrs. Osprey into palpitations, because Dithers removed the innocent spinster from the room.
Another breach of etiquette, but who was counting, right?
“God damn me.”
Considering all the blunders he had made over the years, this lapse, leaving him alone with Lillian Winter, was in no way the worst. If her father found out what Lilly had seen him doing . . . Giles shuddered.
Pistols or swords?
Would he have a choice? He doubted there would be even one witness. A shallow grave and a rumor he’d gone abroad. Giles had never professed an interest in the sea, so he hoped that someone, someday, would look for his body, if only to give his uptight sister the chance to say she had seen it coming. He might just deserve what was coming, too.
He walked back to the bed and stared down at the face on the white pillow. Lilly hadn’t moved. Pale and perfect, one thin hand draped at her side, and not a hint of color showing. Was she truly alive? He hesitated to touch her again, but he had to be sure.
With trembling fingers, he touched the back of her pale hand and flinched, awareness of her existence thrumming through him in an unwelcome rush.
Atticus whimpered, looking at him over her prone body, tail thumping the bed in anticipation. The dog was waiting on a miracle, was he? Giles touched her hand again, rubbing his fingers in small circles, upwards to her wrist. She was cold. Her pulse, when he found it, was still slow.
Dithers re-entered the chamber, and Giles stepped away from Lilly, guilt and self-disgust whirling in his brain.
“How is the young miss, milord? Is there anything I can get for her?”
Yes, a pistol or a great big blunderbuss would do nicely so Lilly could shoot him. He deserved a ball between his eyes. He would even hand her the weapon and cheer her on as she pulled the trigger. If she ever recovered from whatever had happened to her last night, that was.
Giles struggled for an appropriate response, but could only manage two words. “Hot bricks.”
Dithers departed, leaving him alone with her once more. Giles did not care what the servant might think of his agitated state, but he longed for someone to tell him what to do.
He strode to the fire and threw in another log. The blaze scalded his face and he was glad for it. Perhaps it could cleanse away the darkness he left behind in his wake. Behind him was an example of his darkness. He turned to look long and hard at the lump under the bedding. He had imagined what his ghost had been like when alive too – now he would get to find out.
Perhaps.
He wanted to laugh at the situation, but feared he might leap over into madness. He had played many a wicked game in front of this innocent woman, dreamed of doing unending, unearthly feats of passion in her cold embrace. Never once had the possibility entered his lust-filled brain that she might have been real.
Alive. Shockable.
Or that she could possibly be the woman once intended for his bride. What the hell was she doing in London, gadding about in a nightdress?
He brushed his fingers across her palm, an intimate gesture usually shared between lovers. Startled at his unconscious relocation to Lilly’s side again, he clasped his hands behind his back. Lapses like that would only turn up the fires of his guilt. He was seared on both sides and his bollocks were shrinking in retreat. He had better start keeping his trousers on, and his hands firmly to himself, if he wanted to enjoy what was left of his life.
Retreating from the bed, he sank into a chair, and dropped his head into his hands. His behavior put him well beyond the pale. He knew it very well, indeed.
He looked up as Dithers returned, handling the cloth wrapped bricks carefully. Giles looked at him blankly.
The butler waited patiently, but after a moment he quirked his head to the side. “We will need to get the bricks in soon, milord. Shall I lift the covers, or will you do the honors?”
Giles bristled at the thought of a man anywhere near Lilly. He stalked to the bed, placed himself between his servant and the unconscious woman, and lifted the covers.
“She isn’t much bigger than when the accident happened,” Dithers mused.
“You’ve met her?”
“I was here temporarily for the house party. I remember them bringing her back to the manor.”
An irrational irritation grated on Giles’ nerves. He’d deliberately absented himself from the house-party, had been away at the time of the accident, to avoid the girl. He hadn’t laid eyes on Lilly since she was little. If he hadn’t avoided doing his duty and entertaining his mother’s guests, he might have recognized her as the ghost and behaved far differently. He might have made love to her instead.
That thought shocked him to his boots.
He was attracted to the ghost. No, not the ghost. He was attracted to Lilly, the woman who was supposed to be his wife. A woman whom he thought dead. Dear God, what the hell was he supposed to do now?
The butler moved to insert the bricks, but Giles took them from him and placed them around her feet carefully. When his hand brushed over her toes, he found them ice cold.
“See if you can find some stockings or such,” Giles said as he rubbed her tiny feet, trying to stimulate some warmth.
Dithers rattled drawers open and closed, finally returning to thrust a pair of thick, white stockings at him. Giles was completely unfamilia
r with the style, but loathed them on sight.
The butler chuckled at his reaction. “Not many garments in those draws to choose between,” Dithers commented. “I would venture that she does not get about much. I did find this. It’s a fair likeness.”
Giles stared at the palm-sized portrait. To Giles’ mind, it didn’t look like him at all. With any luck Lilly wouldn’t have recognized him in London. “Put the painting away.”
Giles slipped the ugly stockings up to her knees under the nightgown, being careful not to peek, but the more he touched, the more he wanted to touch. Disgusted with himself, Giles pulled the covers up, picking up her hand, meaning to tuck it under, too. He noticed a scar and turned her arm. In the raw light of day, the bite marks his dog had inflicted were hideous.
“The scarring could have been worse, but they’ve healed over nicely and she didn’t develop an infection from them, I heard,” the butler remarked. “Without Atticus, she would have drowned. That was a deep hole he pulled her from.”
Dithers’ informality made it easier to forget the problems Giles would face when Lilly was conscious again. He tucked her arm under the blankets, pulled them up over her chest, and to her chin. Her face was cold too. His knuckles grazed her jaw and he fought the urge to caress her. What was wrong with him? And what on earth was it about Lillian Winter that aroused him?
Yes, he had devoted a substantial amount of time imagining a fantasy sex life around the ghost, but her eyes were closed. Usually his amorous inclinations tended to die without some form of reciprocation.
Giles stood back to study her. What should he do next?
“Shall I have Daisy sent up to sit with her?” Dithers asked, breaking the silence.
Since he had a sneaking suspicion that he shouldn’t trust himself where Lillian Winter was concerned, that was probably best. “Yes, do that. I will stay until she is warm again. Fetch me the folio from my study, as well. I may as well get some work done.”
“I am sure she will recover, milord.”
“You cannot know that,” Giles snapped, then took a deep breath, letting it escape slowly to calm himself.
“She isn’t as frail as Lady Daventry was, milord. Miss Winter has hung on this long hasn’t she?”
Giles didn’t answer. Lilly may not be as frail as his mother, yet the existence of laudanum in the house brought the pain of her loss rushing back, turning his thoughts to chaos. He took another deep breath. Calmer, he glanced at Dithers who was on the point of leaving the room. “Has the nurse been located?”
“In all the excitement, I did forget about her, milord. Do you want her pursued?”
His suggestion was ridiculous, given the number of staff they had here. Too few for an attempted recapture. “No, but inform me immediately if she returns to the manor. I will not know how to deal with her absence until Lilly wakes, in any case.”
Giles stared at the still form in the bed, but heard the unmistakable snort that passed his butler’s mouth. Was it because he’d slipped and used Lilly’s first name? Giles ignored him and Dithers left without another word, though he did not take Giles’ worries with him.
Lilly could still die. Giles didn’t want another death at Cottingstone to haunt him. Another failure to torment his restless moments.
Hours later, he turned his head to watch his sleeping ghost. Night had fallen and she still hadn’t moved. Somehow, he’d grown accustomed to the panicked beat of his heart. He stood, stretched out the kinks from sitting so long, and ran his fingers along the coverlet-covered arm. She twitched, but other than that small movement, she did nothing more encouraging.
After glancing over to check if the maid was still napping, he brushed a limp strand of hair from her lips and played, rubbing it between his fingers. Giles loved the color, the texture. He sighed. He should not be alone with Lillian Winter. Given his past, he would be extremely bad for her reputation. Lilly would soon go away for the rest of her life and never see the world again.
Giles finally understood his mother’s depression over his father’s sudden absence from her life. Seeing Lilly, knowing she was destined for a reclusive existence, unsettled his stomach. Incarceration was as bad as death.
Mrs. Osprey slipped into the room and sent the maid away. “Are you recovered from the shock, my lord?”
“As much as I will ever be. My apologies. My earlier outburst was unforgivable,” he muttered.
“I imagine she’s something of a surprise—so pretty and fine boned. An angel.”
“You’ve met her before, too?” It was clear from her tone that she was fond of Lilly.
“Yes. Before her accident, I was assigned to serve her at first.”
Giles’ head snapped up. “You were to watch over her? I can see you did a fine job of it.”
Mrs. Osprey fussed with her tray of food. “Lady Winter dismissed me from my duties the day before the accident.” Regret clouded Mrs. Osprey’s features, draining Giles’ anger as swiftly as it had come.
“Why did she do that?”
“She said I was a bad influence on her daughter. She urged your mama to dismiss me.” Mrs. Osprey’s chin snapped up. “It was a plate of sweets I took to her. I didn’t know the baroness had issued an order that she be denied.”
“Denied what?”
“Denied food, my lord, as punishment.”
“What reason could there be for that?”
“I never did hear, but I did learn that this particular form of punishment was often used by Lady Winter. The poor thing was starving.” Mrs. Osprey’s voice broke to a wail on the last word.
Giles ran his fingers through his hair. “You gave her more than just sweets, didn’t you?”
Mrs. Osprey fidgeted. “Yes.”
Giles thought about the risk Mrs. Osprey had taken to feed Lilly as a child. She could have been dismissed for disobeying. “Well done, Mrs. Osprey.”
Mrs. Osprey gave a half smile, but tears threatened to fall. “You should eat before your dinner becomes cold, my lord.”
Giles ate quickly while Mrs. Osprey fussed about the room. She should be a Dithers, he thought, wondering why she had never married. She had always been a pretty woman to his way of thinking. Surely the men of her class were not as blind as all that. There was that small problem of her mind slipping, but it should only be a small consideration. Only he and Dithers had noticed it.
“I have some soup for Miss Winter. Will you assist me, my lord?”
Giles pressed the napkin to his mouth and stood. “Of course. I can finish my dessert later.”
He approached the bed, tugged back the covers, and reached for Lilly’s shoulders to raise her upper body. She did not resist him. She was as soft as a rag doll. Giles sat behind her, letting her body rest against his chest while one of his hands cradled her face. Mrs. Osprey leaned in close with the spoon and pressed it to Lilly’s lips.
At first, nothing appeared to happen, but then Lilly moved, lashing out with her arms, knocking the spoon from his housekeeper’s hands. Mrs. Osprey’s reaction was comical. Her hands flew into the air and she rocked like ninepins. They were fortunate Lilly had not hit the bowl of soup.
“Now, now, miss, none of that nonsense. Just got a nice bit of chicken broth to strengthen you. Here now, try again.”
Mrs. Osprey once again pushed the spoon at Lilly’s mouth and again she avoided it. While Mrs. Osprey dithered, Giles stroked the side of Lilly’s face. “You must eat, Lilly. Your father will be vexed with me if you do not. If he returns and finds you ailing again, he will no doubt take me to task over the matter. Do not fight poor Mrs. Osprey. She is a good, kind woman who wants to see you well again. Eat her chicken broth and save me from dining on it for breakfast tomorrow.”
The bundle resting against his chest struggled, but he held her firm, splaying his fingers across her ribs. Lilly stilled.
Mrs. Osprey held out the spoon again. The housekeeper beamed when the spoon was received and drained to her satisfaction. Lilly managed five more m
outhfuls before she turned her head away, snuggling further into Giles’ chest.
She had not consumed enough to feed a sparrow, let alone a grown woman, but at least she had taken something. Mrs. Osprey gathered up her things and departed the room, leaving Giles sitting on the bed with Lilly still cradled in his arms.
Giles’ experiences with women in his arms were limited to the times he had held them during sex. He liked the tactile contact of a partially clothed or naked body against his, but he was unsure of what he was doing still holding Lillian Winter. He found he liked it very much, and he grew aroused just by this limited embrace.
God help him if he ever had her naked. That thought had him imagining her hair lying across his bare chest in a long, heavy blanket. He swallowed an oath.
He traced the curve of her face, trailed along her jaw and upper neck, unable to resist touching her translucent skin. She was so soft and delicate.
“Giles?”
His cock throbbed from hearing her speak his name. When he didn’t answer immediately, she wriggled as if preparing to move.
“I have you safe, Lilly.”
His words stilled her. Lilly slumped and fell silent. In a short time, Giles realized she had fallen asleep again. He eased out from behind her back and laid her gently against the pillows. She didn’t stir. Her eyes were closed and her breath sounded even and deep. He covered her again, wishing he might have seen Mrs. Osprey’s view. He wished he had caught a glimpse of her eyes.
Chapter Six
THE FIRST THINGS Lilly noticed were the brightness of her room and the fact that there was no nurse snoring by the hearth. That last was unusual. She had never been truly alone since her accident. There was always an efficient and upright woman in drab muslin waiting to spoon a hefty dose of laudanum into her often-unwilling mouth.
Sometimes the pain was bad enough that she was glad to drink it. But not always.
Because of the laudanum, time passed in a blur. She could not always tell one day from another. If she were honest—one year from the next. The world was moving faster than Lilly could comprehend, and the seemingly sudden changes frightened her.
