Conquered by the Ghost

by Pippa Greathouse

  He lifted the tiny young woman upward into his arms, unsure if she was asleep or awake. He didn’t trust her, not at all. Odd that she had slept as long as she had. Continuing to hold her firmly, he half expected her to wiggle her way down out of his arms and attempt to run. The kitten in her arms opened one eye and glared at him. He glared back.

  The house was darkened, except for the lamps in the windows. Althea always kept the house a welcoming sight. He was thankful for her. Slowly, so as not to disturb Chloe, he moved past the butler and nodded, carrying her up the staircase around the corner into the room they’d prepared for her.

  But as he sat down on the bed with her, she whimpered, and he felt her stiffen suddenly. So, she was awake, after all.

  “All right, young lady. I’m going to explain a few things to you, because I want you to know what you will and will not be allowed to do while you’re here. Are you listening to me?”

  No answer.

  “You can pretend to sleep all you want, but I know better. And I hope you’re listening well, because I’ll hold you accountable if you disobey me. These are the rules, and I will enforce them because this is my house. If you’re smart, you’ll agree to abide by them.” He glowered down at the cat, who continued to study him, appearing quite disgusted. “And you, you ill-tempered feline, can keep your opinions to yourself. I don’t like you, either.”

  Chloe tried to suppress a smile, and he saw it. “All right. Here they are, Chloe. No going outside. Tonight, you’re to stay in this room. You can keep Purr—or whatever his name is, here with you.”

  “Purr isn’t a he. He’s a she,” a whispered retort answered.

  “Very well. There is a chamber pot in the room and a washstand, if you feel the urge to wash up. But there is to be no wandering about the house, tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll take you down and introduce you to the others. Until then, you’re to stay where you are. I’ll have my housekeeper prepare you some supper, and I’ll bring it up in a little while. After tomorrow, you’ll be allowed to be out of the room, but you must be with someone. If I catch you trying to escape, you’ll be in trouble. Do you understand?”

  When there was no answer, he shook her only slightly. “Chloe?”

  “No.”

  He paused, frowning at her. “Perhaps I should explain what happens if you maintain this recalcitrance. I’ll give you one more chance. Do you agree to abide by my rules for you?”

  “No.” Her mouth was set.

  He had no sooner lifted her by the waist than Purr jumped out of her arms and off the bed.

  “Purr! You’ve scared her!”

  “Good.”

  She was face down now, with her bottom raised across his knee. “No, let me go!”

  “When you agree. Not until then.” Raising her gown upward, he took hold of her wrist when she fought, trying to push it back down. He held her wrists fast at the small of her back and covered both of her legs with one of his to keep her from kicking. “Any time you decide to agree to my rules, you can stop this,” he said firmly.

  When she didn’t respond, he paused one more time. “All right. This is what you can expect, young lady.”

  Her breath was drawn in sharply as his hand landed the first time. The second, brought a shriek, and she began squirming and crying with each blow. He felt what he hoped was submission from her when he’d given her the fifteenth, but she was still determined not to answer. By the twentieth, however, she had collapsed over his lap. He stopped.

  “Do I have an answer?”

  She was weeping now,

  “Y-yes.” Her sobs covered her attempt to agree, but he recognized it.

  The kitten, loose in the room, was sitting on the settee and still glaring at him.

  Releasing her wrists, he studied her. She slowly moved her arm upward to cover her face with her hands. He began to speak to her in a gentle tone, hoping to soothe her. Smoothing her skirts down over her bottom, he turned her in his arms, cradling her for a few moments. When she finally became quiet, he set her down in the bed, and thinking she was asleep, moved to the door and closed it.

  Standing outside for a moment, he pulled the key from his pocket and locked the door. He’d be back soon enough with her supper.

  Suddenly, a swear of half irritation, half anguish came from the inside of the room, and he stopped, scowling. A thump just inside the door caused him to jump, then another. He realized, after five seconds, that she was throwing things. A lamp? Some of the figurines that had adorned the dresser and the highboy? He thought of the things that used to be in the room; it had once been his stepmother’s, and there were hosts of things in there to throw. The sounds of things breaking went on until he took the key and unlocked the door, deciding to go back inside and spank her again.

  But when he opened the door, she was lying on the bed, facing away from him. She’d removed the blindfold; it lay on the floor among the broken glass and the china. She was still weeping.

  He stood there a moment, watching her. When her weeping grew softer, he carefully closed the door again and went downstairs to find Althea, who was in the kitchen.

  “Shall I fix her a tray, sir?”

  He shook his head, frowning. “I believe I’d give her a little while,” he proclaimed. “She seems a little intent on throwing things, right now. And, no, Althea. You are not to try to clean it up. She will.”

  Chloe’s short burst of rebellion stole what little energy she had remaining. Even though she had slept most of the ride in the coach, she was still exhausted from her restless night before. Cuddling in the soft bed that dominated the room, she pulled Purr close to her chest and tried to stop the hiccups escaping her lips. Where was she? Why was she even here? Who had ordered this?

  For a moment, she considered Bella’s father might be behind this travesty but quickly dismissed the notion. Unless he had hired someone to kidnap her, this man certainly was not the baron. Her captor had a pleasant scent, unlike the tobacco-laden smell Baron St. John suggested. Nor was the man who lifted her into the coach a middle-aged man with a rounding belly. No, her kidnaper was young and vibrant, his legs hard with muscles, his hold unyielding but not unduly harsh.

  His voice had almost been gentle, earlier, when we she had fought him. “I have no plans to hurt you. I’m trying to save your life,” he’d said. She wasn’t sure how, but she found it oddly soothing, the tone rich and deep. Even now, she felt a strange tugging deep inside, just thinking about him. Odd, that. Possibly, she considered, she was just trying to grasp at any hope her situation was not as dire as it seemed.

  Yet his smell and voice…they held appeal. Purr nipped at Chloe’s hand then, as if reading her thoughts and objecting adamantly.

  “He was rather rude to you,” Chloe conceded. “But you did attack him, if you recall.” The cat lifted his head in what seemed great annoyance. “Yes, I know you were just trying to defend me, and I appreciate it greatly. Just try to stay out of his way, won’t you? I fear he might toss you out and I will be holed up in this…place…wherever it is until, someone finds me.”

  What if nobody came to find her? There were few who even knew about her since she assumed the role of Bella’s lady’s maid, a year before. Her friends would search for her, Chloe told herself, allowing her head to rest deeper into the soft pillows of the bed. Gregory and Darby wouldn’t give up, if only to stop Bella and Lily from nagging them to find her.

  Secure in that knowledge, Chloe allowed herself to drift off, her frustrated tears all but dry by now. Purr, the kitten, curled up next to her. She had no idea how long she slept, but she awakened when the door opened. The fragrance of glorious food reminded her it had been long hours since she had eaten. It took her eyes a while to adjust to the darkness of the room after she slowly sat up on the bed. A shadow by the door lurched forward as if stumbling on something and a man’s muttered swear followed.

  Her captor had returned. At least, he did not seem intent on starving her to death.

  A smart victim wo
uld be wise to tread wary when faced with a cursing giant. Yet Chloe found herself grousing at him, instead, “Swearing is a sin, you know.”

  “Oh, is that right, little miss full of sass?” he says. “Swearing is better than throwing things, don’t you think?”

  “Aye, but kidnapping certainly is even more sinful, indeed.”

  “Since I gave up trying to redeem my soul, years ago, I’ll take my chances.” He mocked her, yet she did not rise at the bait. Instead, she remained quiet this time.

  The light behind him blinded her to his features, but his shape was large and impressive. She guessed he was tall, maybe even taller than the captain. She wondered at her lack of alarm. Here she was, in some dark manor, a strange man standing between her and freedom, yet all she could think about now was what food he might have to offer. What would he do if she stood up and took the tray he carried out of his hands?

  “Turn around,” he ordered.

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “You are the most contrary creature I have ever encountered; do you know that?”

  “Am I to take that to mean you make it habit to snatch unsuspecting women from the docks often? Am I the first to object to the insult?” Her mind silently protested her cheeky manner, yet her mouth did not seem to heed good sense and taunted him all the same. “Why must I turn around?”

  “Because I mean to light the lamp. However, if you prefer, I can simply blindfold you again and be done with it.”

  “Anything but that dreadful blindfold,” she protested.

  “You’ve to the count of five to turn your pretty little head away, or so help me…”

  Her neck snapped away so quickly, it almost hurt. The lamp filled the room with blissful light, but she dared not turn around until given leave.

  More foul words spilled from his lips. “You little brat, you have smashed every last breakable object in this room. Even my stepmother’s prized porcelain horse is in pieces.”

  Shame filled Chloe and she found herself apologizing to the wall, afraid to look back at the mess she’d made.

  But he continued. “Luckily for you, the only thing I despised more than my stepmother is that bloody horse. But be warned, you little beast, if your temper forces me to take my hand to your delicate little arse for throwing things, you’ll feel it far worse than last time. And if you think Althea is going to waste her time picking up your mess, you are quite mistaken,” he continued. “Trust me.”

  Chloe dared not ask who Althea was or imply the other woman might be another kidnapped woman he had locked up in his home.

  When he spoke again, his voice was less harsh. “I understand you are probably frightened, but I expect you to act the lady. Is that understood?”

  Even Purr responded to the stern thread in his tone. Chloe nodded silently before he continued. “I’ll bring you up a broom. You may eat, first, but then I expect you to tidy up. The room is to look as it did when I put you in here.”

  The tray was placed beside her, but her captor stayed just out of sight. “You’ll find I don’t put up with childish nonsense, Miss Tucker. If you act like a brat, be prepared to be treated as one.”

  She did not realize he had left until the door slammed behind him. Turning around, her eyes grew wide at the mess she’d made earlier. Had she truly done so much damage? Glass was spread about everywhere, and the room was in complete disarray. The head of a white horse sat on the tray beside a bowl of fruit and fresh bread. No doubt, her captor left it there to keep an eye on her.

  As she began to eat, she heard the door open again and turned her head just far enough to see what was happening. He had not allowed her to see him, this time, but set a broom just inside the door and closed it again. He had not even spoken.

  One thing was certain, Chloe promised herself. Whoever Althea was, she did not deserve the unpleasant task of cleaning up after someone else. Chloe knew she had to eat to keep up her strength if she ever hoped to escape her kidnapper. Before she found a way back to freedom, she would at least do as he demanded. It was the only ladylike thing to do.

  He looked upward, toward the ceiling, hearing her movements upstairs. Light footfalls were moving about the room, pausing every few seconds, as if she was busy attempting to clean the mess she’d made. He smiled to himself, deciding to give her a few more moments to finish.

  He could almost see the rueful expression she likely was wearing. She was such a dainty little thing. But he couldn’t force himself to put into words the feelings he had when he was around her—her sweet scent, the feel of her hair, soft as it cascaded down her back, her wiggling bottom as he’d spanked her that afternoon for her refusal to cooperate.

  But it was more than physical beauty that attracted him to her. Her tenacity, her love for the little kitten she’d rescued. She was smart; she was full of heart and doggedly loyal to those she loved. This was the kind of young woman he’d always wished for as a bride.

  But, no. He scowled even as he had the thought. Chloe was too young. Eighteen, the ad in the paper had said. He was twenty-six; she was far too young for him. Perhaps not in years. But he’d seen things… His shoulders sagged. He’d seen far too much of the world to consider someone as young and innocent as she was.

  Slowly, he rose and went upstairs to retrieve the tray, hoping she was asleep. He stopped outside the door, peeking in through the crack at her before entering. She was lying on her right side, facing the door. The lamplight illuminated her face, her cheek resting on her small hand. He remembered her well. She was no longer the teen she’d been a year ago. She’d grown into a beautiful young woman. He stood watching her as she stirred slightly. A woman she might be, but she had not lost her innocence.

  His gaze moved down toward the floor. She’d done a good job of sweeping, but there were three or four pieces of glass she’d missed. Quietly, he picked up the remaining pieces, lest she get up during the night and step on them in the dark.

  She sighed in her sleep and whimpered, rolling away from him until she faced the windows. He stood there a moment longer before silently picking up the tray. She hadn’t eaten much. He’d have Althea bring up something else for her in a while.

  Moving back toward the hallway, he closed the door behind him. This time, he didn’t lock it. He knew well what it was like to be confined. He wouldn’t do that to her.

  It was later that night, in his study, that he took the key from the top right-hand drawer and opened the bottom—the one he always kept locked. There was really no need; no one else in the house was able to read except Althea, and she would never disturb his personal belongings.

  Taking out the journal he’d kept for the past year, he ran his hands along the soft leather. What a privilege it was to know how to read and write. The journals he’d kept as a boy were full of dreams. He supposed every young boy had those—dreams of going to sea, dreams of adventure.

  Those journals were tucked away among all the bookshelves; he’d been surprised when he came back to Hartwycke and found they were still there. But his stepmother would never have troubled herself to come into the study and read, even though she could. He was sure no other hands had touched them since he’d left them as a young man.

  This journal, however, was different. The writing penned into this leather-bound volume didn’t speak of dreams but of regrets, of decisions made that would have been better off made differently.

  Dipping the ink into the well, his hand hovered over the blank page, determined to write about the previous day. But the ink dried on the quill before he had written a single word. Setting it down, he flipped through the pages of the volume. Another entry caught his eye, the very first one he’d made in this journal.

  Ironic, the news about the final service came from the dailies, the same source leading to my present situation. Several years before, I had come across a post offering able-bodied young men a chance of adventure and riches. Having just fought with my father over a perceived slight, I stormed off to make my own way in life. Y
et, the ink on my missive to him was not dry, before I found I regretted my decision.”

  He raised his head, staring, yet not seeing, in the lamplight. What a poor decision he’d made that day. Finally, he read on.

  Sadly, it was not from some inspired revelation on my part but from the consequences of my own rash decision, I found myself waylaid by pirates. Pirates? I had always thought of pirates as men of some nobility. These men were abhorrent. When I was whisked away from all that was familiar to me and treated worse than death, I knew my rash decision had been a terrible one.

  I was not the only one treated abominably, however. Others were likewise captured. They seemed to assimilate quickly. I, remaining full of arrogance, found I was earning scars from countless floggings. But still, I held hope. I wanted to think I was better than those around me. I knew I wasn’t noble, but I held the opinion that I was above those poor fellows. Surely, my family would search for me. I promised myself they would.

  But a year into my confinement, I gained acceptance. No one was coming to save me. As far as they knew and according to my own words, I had left of my own free will.

  In the lamplight, he leaned back, staring across at the rows of books. Was anyone searching for Chloe? Would she trust that they wouldn’t stop until they found her? Would she—could she believe that? Or was she lying alone in the room, thinking no one cared?

  Silently, he closed the journal and locked it away again. He rose and left the study, moving upstairs to her room.

  He found her, lying on the bed with her eyes closed, asleep. She was still dressed.

  He moved toward her and removed the slippers that adorned her tiny feet. Lifting her with one arm, he brought down the coverlet and gently placed her in the bed.

  She had not stirred. He smiled as he brought the coverlet up to her chin and tucked her in.

  “Rest well, little Miss Chloe,” he whispered. He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until she whimpered.