by Cheryl Bolen
There were plenty of beds nearby. How dare he say she needn’t worry? Again, a ghastly thought stirred her—had he paid her in advance not for educating his children, but for gracing his bed?
Very well, she would ask him. “Is that why you gave me fifty pounds? So I would feel obliged to—to give in to your advances?”
His face darkened, and his hand tightened on hers. “You deserve to be slapped, Edwina. Fortunately for you, I never use violence against a woman.”
“I shall take that as a no,” she said, refusing to quail under that scowl. “You’re hurting my hand.”
Immediately, he loosened his grasp. “I beg your pardon. As for your question, a decent employer does not tup the governess. Now that we have settled that small matter, may we please enjoy this dance?” He paused. “For Lizzie’s sake?”
His expression was suddenly so rueful that she gave in, whether for Lizzie’s sake, for his or for her own, she didn’t know. She let herself go, let herself feel the delightful rhythm of the waltz, which Lizzie played with great gusto.
“That’s better,” he said.
Yes, but it allowed the rhythm of the dance to thrum in her blood, which coursed through her veins and set every limb on fire with pleasure and desire. It’s not only better, it’s dangerous. She kept her gaze firmly on his waistcoat, for her eyes would all too clearly reveal the arousal that beat within her, just as it had back then. She dare not smile, she dare not enjoy herself too much, and yet her lips curled of their own accord, and her body’s demands refused to abate.
He was smiling slightly too, his lips parted, and longing and desire roared through her again at the memory of his kisses. She stifled a groan as they whirled up the room toward the pianoforte. She got hold of herself and sent a smile at Lizzie, who grinned back. Then they whirled away again for more pleasurable torment.
At last the waltz came to an end. Richard let her go and bowed. “Thank you for the delightful dance, Mrs. White.”
She curtsied, but no words came to her lips that wouldn’t reveal how shaken she was. She nodded and smiled again at Lizzie. “You play the waltz very well.”
“I adore waltzes,” she said. “Will you please play so Papa can dance with me?”
It was long before Edwina slept that night. How could she stay at the Grange, when her attraction to Richard had surfaced in such a powerful way? He’d said he wouldn’t tup the governess—such a rude way to put it, although she’d probably deserved it. She wanted to believe him, to trust him, but he had lied to her before.
More to the point, why had the desire resurfaced so strongly?
She thought she knew the answer—sheer loneliness. If she weren’t so bereft of loved ones, she would have more control over her emotions. But she didn’t have any loved ones and probably never would, so she would just have to control herself without them.
Doubtless the approach of Christmas, her favorite season, played a part in her lack of self-control…
Mortification washed over her. What was wrong with her, maundering on about her own troubles while poor John feared imminent death? Her loneliness was nothing compared to John’s predicament.
Heaven help them all, it was only two weeks to Christmas. Two weeks to find the necklace. To the devil with her own problems. All her concentration must be on solving John’s.
CHAPTER SIX
Someone was muttering to Edwina, urging her to do something, but she couldn’t quite make out what the voice was saying. What? she asked. What do you want? She strained her ears, but the voice, strangely disembodied, sounded muffled as if at a distance. Was that a hand shaking her? Last chance, she thought the voice said. Not much time. She struggled, pushing the hand away.
A shriek shattered the dream. Must I do everything myself? the voice cried, clearly now. Edwina sat up in bed, heart hammering as it had the night before. She shoved open the bed curtains and glanced about the dark room, then went to the casement and parted the curtains. Moonlight poured through the windows, giving enough light to show that she was alone. Just to be sure, she lit a taper and checked under her bed. Needless to say, there was no one.
She left the curtains open and got back into bed, furious with herself. She was letting her imagination rule her, which was probably what had happened to the other governesses, too. Well, she would not allow herself to be bullied by her own mind.
Somewhere below, the dog Felix howled.
Raaasp! Clank, rasp!
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. What was that dreadful noise? Into the ensuing silence came a terrified shout—from outdoors?
She got out of bed again. She would not act like a hysterical fool. That rasping was not made by a ghost—of that Edwina was one hundred per cent sure. The voice from outdoors was no apparition either. She crept to her window once more and peered out.
Seeing nothing, she eased the casement open. In the moonlight, the knot garden was utterly still. From below came the sound of bolts being shot back and the creak of the front doors opening.
“Samuel Teas, if you’re out there, show yourself,” Richard said. “I don’t want to shoot you by mistake.”
The innkeeper sidled out from the shadow of one of the holly hedges surrounding the knot garden and doffed his hat to Richard.
Joseph followed, pulling his forelock. “Oh, my God, sir, did you hear them chains?”
“There she is, the ghost of the Grange.” His voice hushed and awestricken, Mr. Teas gazed up at the windows of the picture gallery.
“It seems the ghost is as annoyed as I,” Richard said.
“I tried to tell them not to come here, Sir Richard, but they wouldn’t listen,” said Mr. Teas.
Richard raised his voice. “You others have thirty seconds to leave, or I shall unleash the dog on you. If you return, I shall shoot you, unless the ghost gets you first.”
Several seconds ticked by in silence, and then two men stood up slowly from behind the bench in the knot garden, each gripping a spade. “That’s no ghost,” muttered one of them, scowling up at the windows. “It’s a female parading in her nightdress, mark my words.”
The other one laughed uneasily. “Maybe, maybe not.” He put his spade over his shoulder and joined Joseph and Mr. Teas on the other side of the hedge.
“And what about them chains?” Samuel Teas said. “You heard them. What have you got to say to that, eh?”
“Anyone can make a noise at night,” said the first treasure seeker. He cursed and swung his shovel, hitting the bench with a clang.
A ghastly shriek, far louder than what had woken Edwina, echoed through the house. She leapt back from the window, heart thudding against her breast. Felix howled and Mr. Teas cried out, “That’s her!”
“I’m leaving, I’m leaving!” The first treasure seeker’s voice shook.
“Let that be a warning to you,” Richard said. “She won’t let you near her treasure.”
When Edwina peeked out the window again, the two intruders were running full-tilt toward the village, while Mr. Teas and Joseph took up the rear at a more decorous pace.
She heard Richard call the hound indoors and bolt the front doors. Good heavens, she had never imagined such lawlessness could exist in England. Softly, she shut the window again.
What had they seen in the windows—the same windows where Lizzie had walked the night before? Certainly not a ghost. Fuming now, she crossed the room to her door and opened it the tiniest crack. Soon Richard remounted the stairs, with John beside him—John who had gone to bed hours earlier. “Well done,” he said softly.
“I had help,” John said, grinning.
She didn’t hear Richard’s reply as they both tiptoed to the picture gallery, and a second later Lizzie appeared, also wide awake. “Back to bed with you both—and quietly so you don’t wake Mrs. White.”
The children disappeared into their respective bedchambers. Edwina clenched and unclenched her fists, more enraged by the second.
What a fool she was. She’d almo
st trusted Richard Ballister–again.
*
Richard put out the candles in all the sconces and went to his chilly bedchamber. He removed his boots. What a bloody nuisance, but he didn’t blame Teas for accommodating the treasure seekers. It brought custom to the inn, enabling him to hire a maid or two who would ordinarily have worked at the Grange.
At this time of year in particular, people wanted cheer and feasting and good will—a difficult feat in a village which all too often had been overshadowed with a threat of death. If he did find the damned necklace, he would make it a memorable Christmas for everyone on his estate.
He took off his stockings and shucked his shirt. Once the ghost was gone, he could hire servants. And with enough servants, he could hold a feast to surpass all feasts, celebrating the end of the curse.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, followed by a sharp rap on his bedchamber door. Before he could respond, Edwina White stormed in.
He should have known it was too good to hope that she’d slept through the disturbance. She shut the door behind herself. “How dare you?” she cried.
*
For a long moment, those were the only words she could get out. She hadn’t expected to find him half-undressed. She wasn’t used to being confronted by such a powerful, manly chest.
She’d seen no manly chest at all for years, as a matter of fact, and Howard’s hadn’t been much to look at in any event.
She closed her eyes to shut out the sight and gathered her rage about her. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Ghosts, indeed! It’s been a hoax all along, hasn’t it?”
“Er…”
“You needn’t bother. I already know the answer. As if it wasn’t despicable enough to cozen me with your stupid tales of ghosts and curses, you drag your poor children out of bed to participate in the charade. Lizzie doesn’t sleepwalk, and if John lacks his customary vigor, it’s because you wake him to drag chains all over the place.”
“No, Lizzie doesn’t sleepwalk,” he said, “but she enjoys playing ghost to scare off the treasure seekers. We can’t count on the real ghost to make an appearance. It’s an unexpected bonus when she does—as she did tonight.”
Edwina huffed. “You’ll keep lying until kingdom come, won’t you?”
“I’m not lying,” Richard said. “As for John, he would be most upset if I didn’t wake him to drag the chains—which I only do when the dog warns me we have intruders. I can’t let Felix roam the grounds anymore because of the attempt to poison him.”
She turned away, pacing across the room, possessed by agitation. How dare he be so attractive and sound so reasonable?
“I’ll do what I must to keep the intruders away,” Richard went on. “The house was empty for months, long enough for the news of its vulnerability to spread from village to village. The treasure seekers became so bold that my presence hasn’t entirely deterred them—hence the Yorkshire men who died in the collapse of the tower not long ago.”
She whirled, glad to have something else to rage about. “You don’t seriously believe the ghost caused that.”
He spread his hands in a lazy shrug which rippled the muscles of his chest. “It was very old, so perhaps they brought it upon themselves by undermining the foundation. How should I know? It frightened off most of the intruders, but braver ones show up from time to time.”
“Stop trying to sound logical,” she muttered, utterly unsure what to do, her fears crowding her again. She couldn’t stay; she couldn’t leave the children to this madman; John wasn’t really in any danger; all she wanted was a home, a haven, a safe place…
“What I’m saying is logical,” Richard said. “I don’t want anyone to come to harm because of the ghost, and if anyone finds the treasure, it had best be me.”
She clenched her fists. She squeezed her eyes shut, because as long as she couldn’t see his beloved, face, his powerful chest, she could fight her longings and figure out what she should do. But she couldn’t cut out his firm voice without childishly putting her hands over her ears.
“Doesn’t that make sense?” he asked.
“You can make anything sound rational and believable,” she cried. “You were a liar back then and you’re still a liar now.” She headed for the door.
*
The longing which had built up in him since her arrival burst into cold fury. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” she said. “You lied to me twelve years ago and you’re still lying. It makes me sick.” She wrenched open the door.
“Come back here,” he said and yanked her roughly into the bedchamber. He shut the door again and hemmed her in against it. She smelled of sleep and woman, and his cock responded in spite of his rage—or maybe because of it. “I’ve had enough of your accusations, Edwina. You may have some justification for thinking the ghost story is untrue, but none—none at all—for saying I lied to you in the past.”
She pushed at him, but he didn’t budge. “You said you loved me,” she snarled. “You said that you didn’t need my inheritance. That you could support a wife in comfort. Lies, every single one of them.” She pushed again, and when he didn’t move, she tried to duck under his arm, but he blocked her easily. “Let me go, damn you!”
“Not until we’ve had this out.” He swallowed; this proximity was torture. He didn’t want to talk, not with her lips so close to his and her bosom heaving and her nakedness under the nightdress firing his imagination and sending the blood surging to his cock. “Every word of that was true. No, I wasn’t rich—I’m definitely better off now—but I was well able to support you without your damned money.” He forced the anger from his voice, the passion from his heart. Yes, he wanted to rip off that nightdress, throw her onto the bed, and plow into her, but it had nothing to do with love, not anymore. He just needed a woman and needed one now.
He wasn’t going to get one. He must make himself sound light-hearted, uncaring, when he spoke of his feelings for her. “And I was madly in love with you–at the time.”
For a long moment she was silent. Perhaps those words of love affected her, too. “And yet, you didn’t meet me at our rendezvous–because you’d been thrown into the Fleet.”
“For a debt that wasn’t mine,” he said. “It was a mistake. A clerk’s error.”
“Oh, what nonsense!” she cried, trying to escape again, and again he prevented her.
“It’s not nonsense. It’s the truth. It took a few months to sort it out, but I did so.”
“I don’t believe it. You needed the expectation of my inheritance to keep you out of prison. That’s why you were eager to elope.”
According to his recollection, she’d been the one to suggest a runaway marriage. He opened his mouth to say so, but she put her fingers in her ears. “You can prevent me from leaving this room, but you can’t make me listen to your lies.”
How childish could she get? The patter of footsteps reached him but not her, because she’d covered her ears. He stood away, and she opened the door and plunged into the hall, almost colliding with Lizzie.
Lizzie squeaked and came to a halt. With difficulty, Edwina got hold of herself. He hadn’t the slightest doubt that she was red as a raspberry. He would be embarrassed too, if he weren’t so furious. He could put up with being thrown over for a richer man, but being called a liar—no.
“Still awake, love?” he asked his gaping daughter. “Mrs. White realized we were playing ghosts and came to berate me for deceiving her.”
Lizzie’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Mrs. White.”
“Nonsense,” Edwina said with impressive composure. “I was scolding your father, not you. Your acting skills are excellent.” As are Edwina’s, Richard thought irritably.
Now Lizzie grinned. “I’m glad you found out. I didn’t like deceiving you, but we can’t count on the ghost to frighten the treasure hunters away.”
“I suppose not,” Edwina said stiffly.
“But isn’t it frightfully exciting when she does, like t
onight?” Lizzie said. “You weren’t afraid, were you?”
“Definitely not,” Edwina said.
“You’re not like the other governesses,” Lizzie said. “Papa says you have spirit.”
“He does?” Edwina sounded surprised, and he wished he hadn’t said any such thing to Lizzie, for Edwina might conclude that he still cared for her.
“If you’d like, you can play the ghost one night,” Lizzie said.
Edwina merely stood there with her mouth agape, so Richard answered for her. “What a good idea, Lizzie. Mrs. White believes wakeful nights are bad for children, so perhaps she can take over sometimes.”
“I’ll have to show her how first,” Lizzie said. “The pupil teaching the governess—what fun!”
*
Edwina retired to her bedchamber, whilst Richard dealt with whatever reason his daughter had come to his room. She crawled into her now-cold bed and huddled under the covers, shivering.
What if what he’d just told her about that miserable time twelve years ago was true?
She’d acted like a big baby at the end, putting her fingers in her ears as if she were unable to deal with the unpleasant truths of life.
Except that this particular unpleasant truth might not be true at all, and the lies of years ago–not lies.
A clerk’s error… It was hard to believe but certainly possible, and Papa might have been wrong in thinking Richard a fortune hunter. He’d never mentioned anything about debt, merely that Richard would doubtless like to double his fortune by marrying her, and therefore she should be cautious and bide her time.
She leapt out of bed, lit a candle, and hurried into the cold, dark passageway. She tapped on Richard’s door.
“What is it, Lizzie?” He sounded crotchety, but at least he was still awake.
