The Ghost

by Monica McCarty

  Seeing her expression, he dragged his fingers back through his hair, loosening the imprint from the helm that he’d worn earlier. “Christ, I’m doing a piss-poor job of this. But I’ve never done this before.”

  He looked so boyishly discomfited. She smothered the impulse to comfort him with an equally awkward jest. “You do not propose to all the women you take to your bed?”

  He gave her a strange look and frowned. “I do not take women to my bed.”

  At first she thought he was returning the jest, but when her smile went unreturned, it turned to incredulity. “You are serious?”

  He didn’t say anything, but it was clear he was.

  “B-but surely that was not the first?” she sputtered. There’d been no indication . . . Her cheeks turned red at the memories. He seemed to know exactly what he’d been doing.

  Perhaps guessing her thoughts, his gaze heated for a moment before he answered. “Nay, but the first since my brother took me to a bordel when I was a youth. It was not an experience I wanted to repeat, and I made a vow.”

  Joan didn’t understand. “Like a Templar?”

  His mouth quirked. “The Templars were disbanded a couple of years ago. Nay, nothing so formal—and I haven’t been a monk. I just told myself that the next time I made love to a woman it would matter.”

  It took her a moment for the import of his words to hit. She stared at him in horror. Good God, what had she done? She’d wronged him even more than she’d realized. It seemed a man like him existed after all. And she’d made a mockery of what should be held dear. “I’m sorry, Alex.”

  He took her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “You misunderstand. I’m telling you this so that you understand the significance—so you see that it did matter. I want to marry you, and you would do me the greatest honor if you agree to be my wife.”

  Words she’d thought she’d never hear spoken by the only man in the world she’d ever wanted to say them. Though she knew what her answer must be, she let herself hold on to the moment for just a little bit, knowing it would have to last forever.

  Muteness was not the response Alex had hoped for. But he could see the indecision—he hoped it was indecision—warring in her eyes and told himself to be patient.

  It was not rewarded.

  “I’m sorry, Alex, I can’t.”

  She held his gaze, pleading for understanding. But he couldn’t give it to her. He didn’t understand at all. It was clear she wanted him, but something was holding her back.

  “Why can’t you?” An explanation occurred to him—one that made every muscle in his body flare. “Is there someone else?”

  Her brow furrowed as if she were momentarily confused, but then a coy smile lifted one side of her mouth. “Isn’t there always someone else?”

  But there wasn’t. He knew that, even if his jealousy had gotten the best of him for a minute. It was an act—he was certain of it—and he wasn’t going to let her push him away with it anymore.

  “Not anymore,” he said flatly, his tone causing her to lift her gaze to his in surprise. “Whatever happened before today is in the past, and that is where it shall stay. It cannot be changed, but the future . . .” He let his voice drop off and gave her a knowing smile. “The future is a different matter, and I can assure you, my lady, I intend to keep you so well satisfied in my bed that you will never have want or reason to seek another.”

  She gasped in shock—and perhaps in something else as the sensual promise of his words penetrated.

  They were standing so close he was tempted to prove it to her. But almost as if she guessed his intentions, she took a few steps back.

  She shook her head. “I can’t—it would never work. We would never work.”

  “I think we proved otherwise last Saturday. We work well together”—he gave her a heated look—“very well.”

  Her face turned so adorably red that he had to stop himself from laughing. She was the blushing maid again, and more and more he was certain that was not an act.

  “You are trying to embarrass me,” she chastised. “But that is not what I meant.” She was twisting her hands anxiously in her skirts again. “I can hardly be the type of woman you were hoping to marry.”

  Perhaps she’d been right initially, but it wasn’t true any longer. The idea of the sweet, innocent maid didn’t hold the same appeal for him that it once had. Actually, he wasn’t sure it had ever held appeal, it was just something he’d never thought about and just assumed. But now . . . a woman like that would be far too simple. He liked the edge that came from experience, and the challenge that came from wit and intelligence. He liked a little mystery and reserve. He wanted to be the one to learn her secrets and make her smile.

  He also rather liked boldness in the bedchamber. He couldn’t imagine a wide-eyed, blushing maid putting her hand on him. And Alex wanted Joan’s hands on him—all over him. Aye, she could seduce him for a lifetime. “I wouldn’t know,” he said. “Until you there has been no woman I wished to marry.”

  She groaned as if he were torturing her. “God, why do you have to say things like that?”

  He frowned. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Yes. No.” She looked as exasperated as she sounded. “It’s just sweet!”

  His frown turned perplexed. “And that is bad?”

  “It is when I must refuse you.”

  “Must?” It was a strange word to use.

  Her flush deepened; she hurried to explain. “There are things you don’t know. Things that might make a difference to you if you did.” She hesitated as if searching for the right words.

  But Alex, suspecting she was referring to other men, didn’t want to hear any more. His expression drew hard and intractable. “I know everything I need to know. My mind will not be changed. Besides, it is too late for that anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the matter has already been decided. The king has given his permission, and unless you can think of a good reason why you cannot marry me—one that you wish to share with him—we will wed as soon as I return from Scotland. The first of the banns will be read on Sunday morning.”

  The flush drained from her face. She was pale as she stared at him with an expression that made him feel as if he’d just stabbed her in the back. “You have arranged this without my consent?”

  Alex winced—a tad guiltily—at the betrayal in her voice. But it wasn’t like that. “After what happened, I did not anticipate that I would be without it. I sought the king’s permission because I thought I might need his help in convincing de Beaumont—not because I thought I might need it to convince my bride.”

  “Convince? You mean force!”

  He tried to keep a rein on his temper at the scoff, but it wasn’t easy. His jaw hardened. “Call it what you will, but the king is looking forward to it, and I do not intend to disappoint him.”

  “Sir Henry will be furious. What did you have to promise the king to get him to agree?” Her anger turned into a sneer. “Or perhaps you offered him something else? The king has an eye for handsome knights, does he not?”

  Alex ignored the taunt—even if it was regrettably true. But he sure as hell hadn’t pandered to the king’s particular tastes. “Edward has a weakness for love-thwarted stories and enjoys being cast in the role of the facilitator.”

  “That is all?” she said disbelievingly. “He is willing to risk Sir Henry’s anger to write a pretty tale?”

  Alex shrugged, but not without a certain amount of discomfort. “I did agree not to pursue any claims on your inheritance until after the war.”

  The betrayal in her gaze cut him to the quick. “I see. How thoughtful of you to decide my future without consulting me.”

  He dragged his hand back through his hair. Bloody hell, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He knew she might need some persuading, but he sure in the hell hadn’t expected her to react like this. He wanted her to be happy, damn it. Like he was. Because despite everything th
at had happened, he was happy. “It wasn’t like that. Besides, the war will be over soon anyway.”

  “You sound so certain, but for all you know, it could go on for years.”

  Not if he had anything to say about it. “It won’t.”

  She stared at him, trying to find a crack where one didn’t exist. “Don’t do this, Alex. Please, I’m begging you to reconsider.”

  “Why are you fighting this so hard when I know it’s what you want?”

  “What I want?” she exploded angrily. “This has nothing to do with what I want. This is about you—about easing your conscience, assuaging your honor. I told you I didn’t want this.”

  “Is that right? And when you came to my room, what did you think then, Joan? What did you really think would happen?”

  She looked down, biting her bottom lip. “I didn’t mean for it . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  She sounded so forlorn—almost lost—and it ate at him. He wasn’t an ogre, damn it. Why was she trying to make him feel like one?

  They’d gotten off track; he needed to get them back on. Gently, he took her in his arms. She did not resist, but the indifference was almost worse. His chest tightened as he tipped her face to his. “It was never my intention to make you unhappy. I was only trying to do what I thought was right. I thought after what happened that you would not be wholly averse to a match. I went to Edward because I knew Sir Henry would not support the match and would do everything to prevent it. The king may have granted permission, but I would very much like to hear you say yes.” He took a deep breath. “Marry me, sweetheart. I swear to you I will do everything in my power to make sure you never regret it.”

  He quieted her objection—if she’d been about to make one—with a kiss. The moment their lips met, he felt something break apart inside him. All the worries, all the troubles, all the posturing and pleading he’d had to do with Edward were forgotten. It hadn’t been six days since he’d kissed her last, but it felt like an eternity.

  Christ, her lips were so soft and sweet. He wanted to devour them—devour her. But he forced himself to go slow. To ease her into the passion this time. To show her that it wouldn’t always be fast and furious between them, that it could also be slow and tender but every bit as intense.

  And hot. It was like a damned inferno. One touch of their lips and the air combusted between them, spreading heat in molten waves over them both. It threatened to pull him under, but he kept his mind focused on his task. This was a wooing, not another ravaging. He was going to make it impossible for her to refuse.

  Where words hadn’t worked, Alex used his mouth and tongue to persuade. He enticed. He entreated. He showed her with each sweep of his mouth over hers and each gentle caress of his lips why she should say yes. Why she must say yes. There was no other answer. What they had together was too powerful and right to deny.

  He took his time savoring and drawing out every taste and sensation of her lips before finally giving her his tongue.

  She moaned at the first stroke. And then he made her moan some more with each sweep, each circle, each long, slow pull. He made those pulls echo in her chest, until the yearning became palpable. Until it turned to moans of need.

  They were the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard, because he knew what they meant: surrender. She was surrendering to the passion, and he had no intention of letting her go.

  He took her for a long, slow ride of touch and discovery. He tasted the soft, silky skin below her ear and kissed the long curve of her neck. He used the back of his finger to sweep the taut tip of her nipple and then to circle the heavy curve of her breast.

  He tortured her with slow and gentle. He wanted her to feel every touch and every stroke; he wanted to eke out every bit of sensation and every ounce of pleasure; he wanted to drive her mad with desire.

  It was working. Her fingertips were digging into his shoulders. She was dissolving against him again, just the way he liked it, giving him free rein. Letting him lead and set the pace.

  But those fingertips . . . they were driving him mad. He could feel her desire and it set off the sparks of his own. His mouth found her lips and covered them, as his hand found her breast and did the same.

  It wasn’t enough. He wanted her naked. He wanted her warm, velvety soft skin sliding against his. He wanted her hands all over his body. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to feel all that dampness gripping him, all those tiny muscles spasming and contracting around him. He wanted to hear her scream his name as he made her shatter over and over.

  She wanted it, too. Her breath was coming in low, soft pants, and she started to press against him, increasing the friction with increasingly insistent circles of her hips. It was so tempting to give her what she wanted—Christ, what they both wanted. He was so hard and throbbing he could explode with one touch. All he had to do was lean her back on the table, lift her skirts, and sink into her inch by silky hot inch.

  But not yet, damn it. No matter how much his body was aching, the next time they made love, it would be with his ring on her finger.

  Very slowly and very deliberately he pulled away. His heart was banging like a drum and his skin was hot and tight with passion and unspent lust. It would take a long time for his body to cool.

  She mewled in frustration and tried to pull him back. He smiled and shook his head. “Not yet, sweetheart. Not until we are wed.”

  The frustration had not yet left her body, and her eyes fired a dark blue. “You are sure of yourself, aren’t you? You think that one kiss will change my mind?”

  “It isn’t your mind I want to change.”

  He wanted her heart.

  When she realized what he meant, the fight seemed to leave her. “Oh, Alex.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  She nodded, it seemed helplessly. “Aye. I will marry you. Though God knows, we both might come to regret it.”

  He was too happy to heed the words of doom. But they would come to him later.

  15

  THE NEWS OF Alex’s return and their engagement spread quickly, and the repercussions did not take long to be felt. Sir Henry was predictably furious, and Alice—although feeling vindicated—accused Joan of betrayal, treachery, and taking advantage of their “kindness and generosity” in taking her in. As it was true—albeit for different reasons—Joan’s guilt gave her more patience with her cousin’s dramatics than she might have had otherwise.

  Alice was still harping the next morning as they readied to join the other women to go hawking—the queen had wasted no time in organizing the hunt to show off her prized falcon. The fact that this wasn’t court and they were only weeks away from war didn’t seem to bother her.

  Joan put down the fur-lined plaid cloak she’d picked to go with her cousin’s riding habit on the bed to protest yet again. “I had no idea what he intended, Alice, truly. Alex did not tell me where he was going. I was just as surprised as you to see him riding in with the king.”

  “You expect me to believe this?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Leave her alone, Alice,” Margaret interjected. “You saw her face; you know Joan did not plan this. Besides, it is a good match. Surely you did not intend our cousin to remain unwed forever?”

  They all knew that was exactly what she intended. But even Alice realized it would sound churlish and selfish to admit as much. “Of course not.”

  “Then what objections do you have?” Margaret asked. “Sir Alex is from an old and respected family, and is a baron of considerable lands on both sides of the border.”

  “He is a Scot,” Alice said.

  “So are we,” Margaret reminded her.

  “Exactly,” Alice replied. She turned to Joan, adding with more astuteness than either Joan or Margaret gave her credit for, “It is your future I am concerned about. Your close connection to an infamous rebel makes your position here difficult enough, and now to marry a man who fought with the Scots two years ago and who is already u
nder suspicion? Your loyalty will be in question even more.”

  “I have no connection to the woman who abandoned me,” Joan said flatly. “Nor has my loyalty ever been in question.” She tried not to sound as curious as she was. “And what do you mean by suspicion?”

  “Didn’t you know? Sir Alex offered to find the rebel in our midst to prove himself innocent.”

  It took her a moment to process what she meant, the idea was so ludicrous. “Alex a spy?” Joan was so surprised she laughed—and not just at the irony. “That is ridiculous. Anyone who has spent five minutes with him would know that is impossible. He hates subterfuge of any kind. He is straightforward and direct—deception is not his way.”

  It was hers. Though for the first time since she’d agreed to help Bruce, she wished it were otherwise. She hated lying to Alex; deceiving him felt wrong in a way that it never had before.

  “For what it matters, I agree with you,” Alice said. “He is the shiny knight type—the kind who actually thinks the code of chivalry is not just for children’s tales.” She laughed as if the idea were ludicrous. Joan shouldn’t be surprised by Alice’s insight into Alex’s character; when it came to men, her cousin could be surprisingly clever. She, too, knew how to pick a target. “But I am merely passing on what was being said, and why you should be concerned.” She paused. “Henry and Pembroke are determined to uncover this spy before they march to Stirling; I do not wish you to be caught up in their net.”

  It sounded almost like a warning, and for a moment Joan wondered if her cousin suspected something. But even if she did, what could Joan do? She’d tried to refuse Alex, but there was no excuse she could give him without rousing his suspicions. No matter how angry she was—and she was furious at the high-handedness in arranging the marriage without her consent that smacked too much of her father’s controlling behavior and the kiss that had turned her mind to mush—she’d realized that it was best to go along with it. For now.

  “I won’t,” she said with more assurance than she felt. “I thank you for your concern, cousin, but do not worry. The next few weeks . . .” Her voice dropped off. “Anything could happen.”