by Margaret Way
She required an explanation.
Only she was by herself.
Quite, quite alone.
How could that be? A kind of dread started cold in her veins. She had a well-organised mind. She was certain she wasn’t losing it. Her eyes darted all around the room. This was alarming. He’d had no time to get anywhere within a framework of seconds. There had to be a logical explanation. Yet her view of life as she had known it started to waver. The parameters were suddenly blurred. She leaned against the canopied bed. Had he stepped out of a parallel universe? Was there any such thing? Many people believed there was, but she was far too rational to believe in—
Ghosts?
The word presented itself, only it was seriously weird. She’d had more than a glimpse of her visitor. It couldn’t have been a trick of the light. More than a touch of dizziness beset her. The air had definitely chilled around her. Indeed, the opulent room was filled with an impenetrable thick silence, as if she had cotton wool stuffed into her ears. Except she could distinctly hear the tinkling of the chandelier above her head. Something had set the lovely crystal lustres in motion.
There was no breeze.
Sometimes life can depart from the easily explained.
It had to be a trick of the light. Her imagination. The legendary mystique of Venice at work?
She made a big effort to get control of herself. None of those explanations would wash. What she saw, she saw. No way was she crazy or mildly intoxicated. The walk after dinner had cleared her head in any case. Already a strong suspicion was with her. There just could be a paper-thin wall between this world and that. The majority of the population managed to keep it at arm’s length. But many learned people, academics and the like—one had to discount the fanciful—had theorised that ghosts did exist. And they were notorious for hanging around castles and palaces.
She was fairly sure now what her visitor was.
An apparition.
One she had done nothing to summon up. Her mind’s eye retained a snapshot of that long, narrow face, the black beard, the shoulder-length dark hair, the strange dress like a priest’s cassock. His hands, as white as his face, had been quietly folded. A glinting medallion hung around his neck. He hadn’t appeared hazy. Quite the contrary. He’d been substantial. Someone strong enough to materialise if only for a moment. Energy, perhaps? Something of a person that lingered in the atmosphere? She was striving to rationalise what she had seen.
Only she was certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep here. Imagine if he came back again? Imagine if he sat down on the side of the bed?
If anyone had asked her that morning if she believed in ghosts she would have laughed and quoted some lines from Hamlet:
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
She wasn’t laughing now. She was a quaking bundle of nerves.
Corin answered the phone almost immediately. “Pronto!”
“It’s me,” she said at a rush, ashamed of the tremor in her voice. “Can you please come down to my suite? Now!”
His answer was sharp. “You’re okay? What’s happened?”
“I’ll tell you when you arrive.”
She needed his strong arms to enclose her. His powerful presence. At least whatever she had seen was long gone. How did ghosts come by their clothes anyway? she pondered weakly. Did they have access to communal wardrobes? She began to feel mildly hysterical. Jewellery pools? How did he manage to hold onto the medallion he wore around his neck?
What she had so briefly experienced had opened up a nest of snakes. She didn’t feel at all foolish. She had her wits about her. She had seen what she had seen for long enough to be sure.
Vast relief swept her as Corin strode in. His thick, lustrous hair was tousled into deep waves. He wore a white T-shirt and jeans, hurriedly pulled on.
“For God’s sake, Miranda, you’re as white as a sheet. What’s happened? Did something frighten you?” He looked at her, then beyond her, obviously searching the room, and then just as she had hoped he reached for her and drew her into his arms, clamping her close. “It’s okay. I’m here.” Solid warm flesh, strong arms, vibrantly male. She could feel the strength and power in him. The dizziness eased.
“And am I glad!” she muttered into his warm chest. “Listen, I don’t want to make an issue of it—wake up the manager, demand an exorcism—but I think I’ve had a visit from Signor Vivaldi.” She was capable now of attempting a joke.
He drew back a little so he could stare into her eyes. “What are you talking about? Did someone get in here?”
She shook her head. “Trust me. It was Signor Vivaldi. Only he wasn’t carrying his violin. Don’t let go!” she cried out as his grip slackened in his surprise.
“I won’t.” He sounded gentle, but perplexed. “Come and sit down.” He led her, still with his arms around her, to the sofa, upholstered in rich scarlet, amber and gold brocade to match the bedspread and the hangings around the canopied bed.
“Do you believe in ghosts, Corin?” she asked, staring into his eyes. “Serious question, here. And please don’t laugh.”
“Who’s laughing?” he answered soberly. Indeed, there was no trace of a laugh in his face or his voice. “Are you telling me you saw a ghost?”
“Right there in the mirror,” she said. “Go on. Take a look. You’re so tall and strong you’ll probably frighten him off.”
“More like he’d frighten me!” Corin rose to his feet, moving position so he could stare into the ornate antique pier glass.
“I confess I’m only getting a reflection of you,” he said. She looked profoundly shaken, but it was obvious to him she was trying hard to keep herself together. That impressed him. “The brain does funny things sometimes. Miranda,” he said very gently. “Both Zara and I saw our mother in all sorts of places for ages after she’d gone. On the landing. The stairs. The end of the hallway. The rose gardens especially. It’s grief. It’s trying to come to terms with it. The sense of loss drives you to conjure up the loved one’s presence.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Of course, Corin. I understand about you and Zara. I’ve had my own moments with my grandparents, but I knew them for what they were. I don’t know this guy. I’m pretty clear-headed. Strong-minded, if I say so myself. I wasn’t hallucinating. I’m not losing my marbles. I know what I know. I saw what I saw.”
Corin resisted any attempt to convince her she had to be mistaken. “Well, it wasn’t Vivaldi. He had red hair. He was called the Red Monk.”
“Then it was one of his cronies. The whole place is intrinsically spooky. It wasn’t my imagination. The whole experience was beyond eerie. He didn’t look particularly dangerous, but I don’t fancy seeing him again.”
“I bet you don’t!” Corin agreed on the instant. The weird thing was he believed her. Or believed her enough not to contradict her. “We’ll swap suites.”
Miranda reacted fast. “How do I know he won’t follow me to yours?”
“I wouldn’t blame him if he did.” His answer was wry.
“This isn’t a joke, Corin,” she told him sharply. “You have to stay with me.”
“What? Share the bed?” He had to try to inject some humour into a situation that was threatening to get out of hand.
“You can have the bed,” she said magnanimously. “I’ll sleep on this sofa. It’s big and it’s very comfortable. We might shift it closer to the bed, though.”
“So we can hold hands?”
“Do you believe me or not?” she challenged. “Or do you think this is some kind of idiotic ploy to entice you here?”
“Never occurred to me.” He kept his voice serious.
“If he’d been real I would have attacked him with my hairbrush. But there was no one. I suppose the fascination of Venice, apart from its beauty, mystery and exoticism, is that it’s tantalisingly spooky. Part of the mythology, isn’t it?”
He fetched up a sigh. “So my mother always said. As
for me, I keep an open mind about ghosts. I have to admit it would take a lot to convince me. I do believe, however, you are convinced. Now, I have a suggestion. Why don’t I take you down to my suite? Let you see what you think?”
“No way!” She rejected the offer. “You have to stay here with me. The air changed, you know. It was like I had wads of cotton wool stuffed in my ears, except I could hear the tinkling of the chandelier.”
“It isn’t tinkling now,” he said somewhat dryly.
“Of course it isn’t!” She struck his arm. “He’s gone. Buzzed off. Maybe he has a full roster tonight? Some people are into the paranormal big-time. The thing is he looked just like he would have looked in life. Not some ectoplasm I could walk through. Stay with me, Corin. This is the most beautiful place in the world, but it is scary.”
He released a long groan, feeling the onset of a raging torrent of emotions. “How can I possibly sleep in the bed and leave you on the sofa?”
“The bed’s big enough for both of us,” she said, trying to persuade him with the appeal in her turquoise eyes.
He groaned louder. “Miranda, there’s not a bed in the world big enough for both of us. What do you think’s going on here? You’re a beautiful girl, and I’m as frail as the next guy.”
“No, you’re not,” she said. “Not once you make up your mind. And you have made it up, haven’t you?”
He gave a soundless laugh. “How do you know my best intentions won’t fall into ruins?”
“If they do, it’s our secret,” she said. “We have secrets, don’t we, Corin?”
“Boy, are you full of surprises!” he exclaimed. “You’re saying you’ll sleep with me?”
“I’m desperate.”
He laughed aloud. “Miranda, I can’t sleep on the sofa. I’m too big. You can. We can’t share the bed. You know as well as I do that’s pushing it too far. My job is to look after you.”
“Well, I didn’t say you have this terrible aching longing for me, did I? You’re not by any chance getting engaged when you go home?”
“Miranda, engagements are the last thing on my mind.” The expression on his handsome face turned severe.
“Me too. So take it easy. Can you sleep in your jeans?”
“You bet I can.”
“Thank you for coming, Corin,” she said. “I’m not making this up. I’m sure of what I saw.”
“Then you’re a very lucky girl!” he offered darkly. “You’ll be dining off the experience for years.” He rose to his six foot plus, giving vent to a disturbed sigh. “Okay, I take the bed.”
“I’ll just curl up here on the sofa,” she said, immensely grateful for his presence. The force in him overrode all sense of trepidation. The worst of the trembling had stopped. “You can throw me the silk throw, if you would.”
“Anything, my lady.” He picked it up and passed it to her.
“Can we keep a light on in the sitting room?” she asked, settling herself with the luxurious silk throw over her.
“I don’t see why not.” He moved into the other room, switching on a single lamp, with its golden pool of illumination. “I just knew in my bones this was going to be a memorable stay. Shut your eyes and go to sleep now, Miranda. Your ghost will know better than to return.”
CHAPTER FOUR
SOMETHING drew him out of a tormented sleep. His body was still vibrating, unable to shut down. It had taken him ages to settle into a doze, but at least Miranda had lapsed into sleep almost immediately. Shock, of course. She was a highly intelligent, level-headed young woman. He had to believe she had seen something. Whatever it was, it wasn’t about to bother him. Or he sure as hell wasn’t worried. What worried him was that sex was very much on his mind. Sex with Miranda. God knew it was normal enough to want to make love to a young woman who held him in thrall. But not now—not like this. It seemed to him too much like taking advantage. That he could not do. But try telling that to his powerfully aroused body.
Decency must override desire, Corin.
He was getting a bit tired of his conscience blasting him.
Only the unthinkable had happened. Miranda had crept into bed beside him and now rolled lightly against his back, her petite body with its soft curves and light bones nestled up against his flesh. Tension tore through him. His heart set up a loud tattoo, beating in his ears with the volume turned full on. He turned very carefully, fighting not to give a strangled moan. He was lying beneath the coverlet. She was lying on top of it.
My God, what do I do next?
His whole body was throbbing, stirred into flaming life. He could barely stay in his skin. Desire was a burning fever. He would have coped with half a dozen Venetian ghosts far better than this intensely desirable young woman curled up against him. The lightness of her! The fragrance! A man could drown in it. The only course open to him was to retreat, slide out of the other side of the bed. He could prop himself up on the sofa for the rest of the night. Get comfortable somehow. See it out until morning. Ghosts didn’t hang around in the light of day. They were too tired out from their nocturnal excursions. Or was that vampires? Either way, he didn’t care. Miranda was the real problem.
“Corin?” Just to make the problem near unsolvable, she suddenly sat up, twisting her shining head towards him. Her voice was hushed, but filled with urgency. “Don’t go away. Please don’t. I didn’t like the sofa much. I wanted to be closer.”
“Miranda, stop it,” he begged.
You’re losing it, Corin!
“I can’t stay here in this bed with you,” he said tautly. “You’re nobody’s fool. My whole body is hurting. I’ll make love to you. Nothing surer!”
“Then do it!” she burst out, sounding as though she knew far better than he did. “Ease the pain. This is life! I’ve decided I want to live it. None of us knows how much time we have, do we? Why waste what we’ve got? You’re alive. I’m alive. If you like, when we wake up we can pretend it was all a dream.”
“And you think there’s going to be a lot of comfort in that?” he demanded, aghast. He reached for her, took hold of a bare delicate shoulder where her robe had fallen off. He could see the silver shimmer of her hair, like radiant moonlight. “Are you or are you not a virgin?”
“Will that improve or detract from my status?” she challenged. “Technically I’m not, but I can say in all truth the earth has never moved for me. I’ve had two lovers. Really nice guys. Fellow students. Smart, good-looking. Not untried either. But I couldn’t for the life of me see what all the fuss was about. Perhaps you can tell me? I’m sure you’ve had plenty of experience.”
“And you’d like me to share it with you?” he asked acidly. “Does this give me the go-ahead?”
A golden glow was spilling out of the sitting room. She could easily make out the hard tension in his face. “Oh, God, that’s up to you!” she moaned, embarrassment welling, but not enough to drown the yearning. “I’ve had more thrills from your touching my cheek than ever I got from my previous experiences. You can multiply that by one thousand. Such are your erotic skills. Once I thought I couldn’t give myself to anyone. Not after my mother. Not after her falling pregnant as a schoolgirl. Abandoning me. It altered my life. Maybe altered me in a radical way. Do you understand?”
“No, I damned well do not.” He was merciless. He had to be.
“You’re weighing up the consequences?” she asked.
“Miranda, this is madness,” he groaned. But then, hadn’t it been madness from the moment she had literally catapulted into his life?
“There are always consequences, I suppose. One or both of us could be hurt. But you’re not married. I’m not married. Neither of us is in any great rush.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Either you go back to the sofa or I do.”
“No, stay. Please. I’m not asking you to love me. I’m asking you to make love to me. There’s a big difference. You said you wanted to, so just do it.”
“And perhaps make you pay for it?” He showed the full h
eat of his anger and arousal. “I don’t walk around with condoms in my pocket. Oh, my God, Miranda, what are we talking about?” he asked in an agonised voice. Never in his life had he faced such temptation.
“Making love. You may not care to hear it, but I’m on the pill. I believe in being prepared. I’m not saying with you. I never dreamt we’d be here together like this. But I could have met someone. You never know. I’m a modern girl. This is right. For tonight, Corin. I know it in my soul. I didn’t set out to seduce you. You had no intention of seducing me, such are your stringent scruples and code of morality. The ghost actually did us a favour.”
“Oh, be quiet! Truly, be quiet!” He pulled her across him, wrapping his arms around her. She had to know what she was doing to him, but she didn’t seem to care. “This is madness!”
“But splendid madness!” She let her head fall against his chest. She would remember this extraordinary night in the last dying seconds of her life.
“To put yourself in my hands?” His vibrant voice turned steely.
“Yes, yes, and yes! Put it down to shock. Shock has made me shameless. ‘My heart, by many snares beguiled, Has grown timorous and wild!’ Some poet said that. Can’t think who.”
She allowed her body to spread out over his: fantastic feeling, utter abandon. Then she locked her bare, slender arms around his neck. She wasn’t herself at all. She was a Miranda she had never known. Had her otherworldly visitor put a sensual spell on her? Maybe that was what he’d come for?
The agony of it! Corin felt every muscle shift in his lean body. His head was nearly bursting with conflicting emotions. Should he? Shouldn’t he? The truth was he was already lost. He let his crow-black head fall back against the piled-up pillows like a man defeated. Such extreme sexual agony demanded release. There could be no ease without action. He wanted her. God, how he wanted her! Yet for a split second he faltered. Was it possible this perfect creature with her beautiful turquoise eyes was after revenge? Did she count this the right time? Had she really seen anything? Or was she winding him up? It could all be an elaborate scam. Some kind of weird payback? She was extremely intelligent. Highly rational. Very possibly an accomplished actress. Was she indeed playing him for a fool? If so, it was working!
