“Aloud, please.”
Chloe took a deep breath and wiped her eyes once again. Slowly, she began to read with a small voice the words he had penned months before.
October 17, 1849
It was a rude awakening that had begun the day I witnessed my own funeral. I could not get her out of my mind. It wasn’t the beautiful red hair or the bright blue eyes that had stared down from me a few months before.
“Lily’s eyes are green,” she said, a sad tone to her voice.
“But yours aren’t.”
She paused, looking up into his eyes.
“Read,” he ordered softly.
Her voice trembling, she began again.
“It was the soul of a beautiful young lady, inside and out, who had touched my heart and healed me in a way that no one else could ever do. I found myself unable to forget her—”
The tears were streaming so hard now that she could no longer see to read, and he took the journal from her hands and began to read it himself, in his deep, melodious, but mournful voice.
“I found myself unable to forget her, for it was more than the just the breath she had knocked from my lungs. The second chance she gave me at life was now mine, mine to grasp, mine to hold. Gone was the man of lesser worth, the bitterness. She had shown me I could be a gentleman, with a heart. She knew it; she expected it.”
She leaned over onto his chest, and he moved his hand from her waist, resting it on her hair, pressing her to him. She could hear his heartbeat, now, as he continued.
“Seconds before I passed out, that fateful day, a little angel from heaven appeared above me in the light of the ship’s window. Her red hair haloed around her perfect, innocent face. She was frowning down at me, and I realized God was sending me an important message through her. I was given a second chance at life, and she had shown me what awaited me if I dared to accept it.
It continues, still. Each night, when my eyes close, she’s there before me with love and encouragement. I pray she never leaves me, for, if she did, I could not continue. I would be completely lost…”
Leaving the journal open, he set it down on top of the desk and turned her to face him. Cupping her face in his hands, he leaned forward to kiss her tears, first on one cheek, then the other.
“I am not your savior, Chloe. You are mine.”
Her arms were around him now.
“Oh, Ghost,” she whispered.
“And,” he continued, his voice growing slightly firmer. “If you shake that pretty little head at me one more time, I will upend you here and now and bust your darling little arse.”
Chapter 13
In the night…
Chloe snuggled under her comfortable blankets, sighing in her sleep. Dreams of a grand wedding filled her head, and happy, warm feelings washed over her as she looked over the church. This was the day she’d been waiting for.
Arabella and Lily sat in the front pew, patting Sarah’s back as the woman who had taken over the role of her mother cried joyful tears. Gregory and Lord Darby were in the back of the church, trying to stop the baby from disrupting the ceremony, and baby Jillian’s giggles were contagious. Each time someone in the congregation heard her laugh, chuckles broke out among them and immediately spread through the church.
At Chloe’s side stood Ghost, his protective arm around her waist, giving her one of his lopsided grins. His men were dressed smartly behind him, wearing the insignias on their uniforms and Woody’s horrible hat was nowhere in sight.
As she stood, things slowly began to change. The light changed into shadows, the joy into sorrow. The atmosphere became completely different as things changed.
She looked around the church to see that everyone had turned toward the back, still as stone. Sarah’s mouth was open as if to cry out, but she made no sound. Arabella clasped her hands to her chest in fear and dread, and Lily’s clutched the pendant at her throat, her green eyes wide.
Without warning, a low, terrible sound filled the church. She realized she’d heard that sound before—more than once. It was the same threatening sound she’d heard at night. Ghost brought her behind his back as he searched for the threat. Peeking around his shoulder, she gasped as the church doors parted, revealing a presence that had plagued her for years.
Hester Cates, her stepmother stood just outside. Chloe stared at her, holding on to Ghost’s arm, seeking comfort, as she heard a mewling sound in the otherwise silent room. Purr was in the hateful woman’s arms, looking toward Chloe with pleading eyes.
The evil woman opened her mouth to speak, but the voice sounded terrifying. “I will get to you, one way or another, girl. It’s only a matter of time.”
Chloe’s heart was pounding. Behind her, Arabella’s father waited in the shadows, his intent as evil as her stepmother’s. The stillness was broken as Ghost’s men rushed forward to do battle, but each was fallen by an unseen assailant just out of sight. The deathly sound rent the air seconds before each person she loved was harmed. Arabella, Lily, even Sarah was ripped away from Chloe.
“Run, Ghost. Save yourself. She will only destroy you, too,” her frenzied voice attempted a warning, but she couldn’t even hear it herself.
But instead of listening, her groom pushed her behind the altar and turned back to face the threat. Chloe opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. The shadow of her stepmother hovered over her love, a knife raised in her hand, and she dropped Purr to the floor.
In her horror, Chloe realized neither Ghost, nor Purr, moved a muscle.
She sat straight up in the bed, gasping, with sweat pouring from her forehead, tears from her eyes. She took several calming breaths, trying to convince herself there was no real threat about, but the feeling lingered. Her eyes continued to scan the shadows in the room. Finally, slight relief poured through her, and she allowed herself to fall back against the damp pillow. She took another breath.
It was then she heard it. The sound came once again, piercing the air. Cold fingers of terror traveled down her spine as she realized the reason for the dream. The sound! She had heard it!
Instinctively, she reached to pull her kitten close to her chest, but Purr was not there. The terrifying feelings remained, but she fought against them this time. Tossing off the blankets and lowering herself to the floor, she felt its coldness under her feet and reached for her slippers. Tugging them on, she crept quietly to the window, shivering. Her cotton nightgown, even with its long sleeves, did not afford much protection from the night air. The embers of the fire in the hearth were barely glowing now.
She parted the curtains only a bit and looked out into the darkness. Shadows danced about, taunting her. She couldn’t tell where they’d come from or where they were going.
A soft sound met her ears, so faint it might easily have been the wind. But it might have also been Purr’s meow. Was it possible Purr was out there in the night, afraid?
One thing she knew, she had to protect her kitten. A prudent woman would no doubt seek help from her future husband, but Ghost’s dislike of cats made such an option impossible. The crew would have helped, but since she had no idea where Chubs, Smiley or any of the men slept, it was up to her to face this alone.
With shivering fingers, she lit the lamp and crept slowly down the stairs, moving as quietly as possible and praying the sound she so often associated with terror did not return. Creeping softly about the house, she saw no signs of the animal. Even the kitchen was dark, and each time she moved the lamp, the shadows made her jump.
“Purr?” she whispered, as she looked through the drawing room and then down the hall.
There was no answering meow. The shadows cast by the lamp were almost as terrifying as the sound from outside. The hallways were long and felt treacherous to her. Even the kitchen, normally friendly and bright during the daylight, looked dark and forbidding now. Full of dread, she knew now. Purr was not in the house.
Her search brought her to the foyer, and she took a deep breath, staring at the front doo
r. If danger was outside, she dared not take the lamp; it would only draw attention to her.
She reached with violently trembling hands and turned the doorknob. The moment she stepped outside, a strong wind whipped her hair around, blinding her for a moment. One shaking hand reached to pull the red mass back as another cupped around her lips. “Purr. Come, kitty, kitty. Come to me.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. She called again. “Come, Purr. It’s too dangerous out here for you.”
After a few minutes, she gave up hovering by the door. She had no choice; she would have to brave the shadows to go and look for her pet. Her eyes darted nervously around, but it was impossible to see very far. She moved around the side of the house, slowly toward the stables.
Something reached up from the ground and grasped her nightgown, and she gave a great gasping breath and a scream before she realized she’d gotten too close to Woody’s rosebushes. The thorns had grabbed the hem of the garment, refusing to release it. She leaned down to pull it free and managed to prick her finger. A trickle of warm blood oozed down her hand, and she instinctively wiped it on her gown, ignoring the fact that it continued to bleed.
Her eyes began to adjust somewhat despite the darkness. She saw a large dark mass in the distance and began to move toward what she hoped was the stables, calling for the kitten in a weak voice.
“Purr?” The wind seemed to take her voice away. She called again and waited. There was no answer. Could the cat be nestled in the hay in the hayloft? Probably.
She heard it, suddenly—the sounds of rustling, followed by the sounds of the hounds in the darkness, growing nearer. Quickly taking refuge behind a large yew, she held her breath.
The damp wind parted the trees just ahead of her abruptly, and a blood-chilling scream escaped her. Large, menacing shadows were moving her way! Her body wanted to freeze, but terror forced her into movement. Turning around, she bolted from the shelter and started scrambling back toward the door as fast as she could, but the long nightgown Althea made for her clung to her skin, damp from the night air. Her legs might have as well have been bound; moving with haste was impossible.
Arms reached around from behind her and seized her, and black spots danced before her eyes in fear. She was going to faint; she knew it.
“Young lady!” A gruff but familiar voice sounded behind her. It was Ghost! She almost screamed with exhilaration at she realized who her pursuer was. “What the bloody hell are you doing outside, and at night? Haven’t I warned you never to come outside without an escort?”
There was no doubt about it; he was enraged. Facing an altogether different fear, she managed to pull free and started rushing toward the manor again. Ghost had her within a few feet of the entrance. He didn’t even pause as he lifted her into his arms and hauled her inside. Just before he closed the door, he turned to the hounds. “Back to the barn,” he ordered softly before closing the door with a loud noise. Instead of making his way back to her bedroom, he carried her past the drawing room and into the study, grabbing the lamp on the way.
“Don’t move, young woman,” he growled into her ear, putting her down into his desk chair and moving it toward the fire. He took off his jacket and wrapped her in it as he knelt before the hearth. Removing the poker from its holder, he began to stoke the fire back to life, demanding she sit close by to dry out. As she obeyed, he lectured sternly.
“—absolutely no excuse for putting yourself in danger, young lady, especially now that you realize others mean to harm you. I cannot believe you actually ran outside in the middle of the night.”
She raised her hand to dash away her tears, and he caught sight of her wound from the thorns.
“You’re hurt.”
She shook her head. “I-it was just a thorn on one of Woody’s roses….”
He held her hand up and brought his handkerchief to wrap around it. Locking his eyes with hers, he spoke softly. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He rose, looking down. “Don’t you dare to move an inch.”
It took only a moment before he was back with a damp cloth in his hand, and he began wiping the blood gently away. He kissed her finger softly. “Now. Back to your disobedience in running out into the night…”
“I’m sorry.”
“You will be. What made you do it?”
She tried to explain, but it sounded weak, even to her own ears. “I had a bad dream. And when I woke up, I heard that sound again, and—”
“So, you ran outside to chase it down?” Already, he had brought the fire back to life and set the poker back down. Turning, he brought her to face him, leaning down inches from her face. “Answer me.”
“I-I was worried. Purr was nowhere to be found and I was so terrified, I wasn’t thinking straight—”
He stared at her blankly. “You mean the pest currently sound asleep on my desk?” He asked, turning her in the chair to face the desk.
Chloe turned and saw her kitten, curled up in a tight ball, smack on top of Ghost’s papers on the wooden desk. She rose and approached the cat, skirting her way around the angry man in front of her. Scooping Purr up in her arms, she attempted to inch her way toward the door. “I’ll sleep much better now with her. Thank you, sir.”
His arms were folded across his chest. “Chloe? Do you actually think I’ll let you walk out the door without addressing this? We’re going to discuss your behavior, so it will never happen again.”
Turning back around, she tried to steady her voice. “Don’t go outside at night, without an escort. Totally reasonable rule, sir. I’ll endeavor to remember it in the future.”
His eyes narrowed in the firelight. “If I must come and get you, the punishment you receive will be even more severe. Come. Here. Now.”
She complied without hesitation. Purr, alert to her mistress’ fear, prepared to do battle. The kitten started to hiss at Ghost, but he growled back, silencing her. Jumping from Chloe’s hands, the cat made it outside the study. “Traitor,” Chloe called as Ghost went to lock the door.
When he turned back to face her, her eyes were wide. “Now,” he said, his voice frightening. “You’ll lean over my desk and contemplate the danger you put yourself and others in this manor in, tonight. By my estimation, you were fifty feet from the manor when I found you. I’ll be merciful and give you only half that number of strokes with my ruler. I hope it will help you think better of such nonsense in the future.”
“You would take a ruler to your future wife?” she asked, trying to stall until he could calm down. But when she studied his face, she saw no anger at all, only determination.
“I would do that and more to keep you safe, Chloe Tucker, and I intend to prove it to you. Each moment you delay in positioning yourself will result in additional strokes.”
She glared at him before trooping toward the desk to do his bidding. “There is no need for this, Ghost. I realize my folly.” The desk felt cool and hard against her palms. She watched him from the corner of her eye as he walked around the desk to open a drawer and pull out a wooden ruler. She sucked in her breath when she saw it, fretting. It looked fierce in his capable hands, and she wondered what it would feel like when applied. Hopefully, the material of her gown would absorb some of the impact, at least.
He applied a bit of pressure to the small of her back, and she found herself flattened against the hard surface. “Grab the other side of the desk with your fingers, so you won’t be tempted to reach back.”
She made a disgruntled sound and tried to do as he ordered, but it was impossible to reach far enough. As she started to tell him so, however, she felt him put his hands on her waist and lift her higher onto the wooden surface. Her feet didn’t reach the floor now.
“Chloe? I hope you’re seriously contemplating the reason you’re being punished.”
“Yes, sir, but—oh! Please don’t, sir!” As Chloe started to complain, she felt cool air encounter her bottom and realized he was lifting the tail of her gown up and out of his way. Immediately, her hands reached b
ack of their own accord, but he moved them back where he wanted them.
“Hands out of the way.”
The swish of the ruler through the air made her tense, adding to the sting of the impact. Another three fell before she even found the ability to cry out. Her eyes narrowed as he continued placing stripes down her backside. After ten strokes, though, something in her weakened. Chloe began thinking of all the things that could have happened in the vast openness of the grounds. The sound, itself, was terrifying enough. She should have had the good sense to search the entire manor before going outside without anything or anyone to protect her.
He stopped for a moment, running his hand over her bottom gently. “Chloe, do you have any idea how much I care for you? Do you know how deeply it would wound me—and everyone else here—if something happened to you?”
It was the first time she’d heard him say that, and tears of frustration gave way to ones of regret. Not only had she put herself in danger, but those she had come to love, here in the manor, as well. After all they had done to protect her…
“All right, moppet,” he said gently, as the twentieth landed. “Five more to go, and we’ll be finished.”
Chloe remained silent, closing her eyes. The feel of the ruler had truly helped her feel cleansed of her wrongdoing. She embraced each stroke, hoping it would ease her guilt.
After the fifth, her punishment stopped. He reached under her and gathered her into his arms again. Chloe buried her face in his chest as he carried her over to the fireplace, using his foot to kick a nearby rug closer to the warmth of the flames.
He settled her on the material and lay down beside her, keeping her close. He rubbed his hand up and down her back and bottom, letting her rest her head on his arm. She turned toward him, accepting his love and forgiveness.
“Never, ever, do that again, moppet.” His voice was gentle.
Conquered by the Ghost (The Conquered Book 3) Page 13
