The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (28 page)

"So there is something you can do?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he tried to pry
the box open with a blade.

"If she is to suffer, then she trades
like for like. If she is released into nothingness, it is better
than suffering," Anne continued.

"It is so easy to speak for other people.
Let's discuss the price, shall we, because there is a price. Are
you willing to pay it? Should your maid? Some passing stranger? A
rift is required, and a rift is not something I can make, it must
be natural."

"I don't understand."

"It is not a difficult concept. Almost
biblical. An eye for an eye."

Anne frowned trying to understand the
riddles he was pushing at her.

"We can do it right now. I did warn you of
the consequences of seeking me out. I don't mind; you can place
yourself in her stead. You would certainly be more entertaining,
irrespective of the trouble you cause."

The last statement was too distracting to
not draw her away from the more dangerous statement before. Maybe
because it was easier to address. "Trouble? What trouble do I
cause?"

"Are you not cognizant of what you do?
You've organized this whole house to your will. Do this, do that.
You must have your way."

"I have done nothing to this house." Except
Elizabeth had said something similar, that she had changed the
whole house. "All I did was point out that I wasn't your wife."

Turning his head, there was mischievousness
in his eyes. "But now we are discussing you joining me as my
bride."

Anne gasped. "No, we are not."

"A trade, you for her."

"That is ludicrous," Anne said as
cloying, cold fear flushing through her entire body. "You are
toying with me, Mr. Hawke, and I don't appreciate it."

"I did clearly mention that you place
yourself in my power if you came here. Yet you insist. What am I
supposed to take from your actions?"

"I simply need to discuss the affairs of
this house since I am the current custodian of it, including its
inhabitants. Now, please push me back into the real world."

He raised his eyebrow. "And if I choose not
to? I did warn you that I might choose to keep you here."

"You are simply trying to make me feel
disconcerted so I won't seek your company again. You want me here
as much as I want to be here."

"I was quite content in my rage, but you
have stripped me of that. How could I possibly say what I
want?"

She could see the amusement in his eyes.
There was no doubt he was toying with her. "You be careful, Mr.
Hawke, or I might just call your bluff."

This made him smile and he stepped closer.
Not entirely sure why, but she didn't want him closer. "Would you
dare? Now, wouldn't that be interesting?"

Had she made a strategic mistake? Panic
flashed through her mind. Her throat was dry as she tried to
swallow. "I suspect you are entirely too set in your ways to
coexist with company."

"We already coexist."

Something was behind her as she took a step
back.

"What exactly is it you fear? I suspect you
fear me more than you fear death."

"What? That's ridiculous." She tried to find
some way of moving back, but she couldn't. Looking down, she saw a
chair halting her progress. He saw it, too.

"That does make me wonder. For a
married woman, with a child, you are remarkably skittish. Did that
husband of yours not even take the most basic care of you? My
marriage might have been disastrous, but I might go so far as to
say I was a better husband than yours."

She was trapped, both physically and
verbally. She couldn't very well say yes. "You wish to kill your
wife."

"True. At least, I cared enough to
want her dead."

"Cared?"

"I am growing accustomed to the fact
that I will never face off with the traitorous harlot. As I said,
life is not fair." His dark eyes sparkled in the light. He was so
different now compared to the first time she'd met him, when there
was nothing but cold hatred in those eyes. The single determination
had given to a much more complex person. And yes, he was still
teasing her mercilessly. Even though he threatened her, he would
not keep her there, but would apparently take a moment to toy with
her. This was the price she paid for seeking him.

A perverse thought crawled through her
mind, unbidden and shocking—the question of what it would be like
to be taken care of by someone like him. He was so much more
imposing than her husband, in every way. His eyes seemed to
actually see her when he looked at her, and she found that
difficult to bear.

A part of her wanted to know, a part
strongly overruled by self-preservation. "Release me," she
said.

"Wouldn't it be more interesting to
stay?"

"I am not a mouse for you to toy with."

"Haven't you been since the moment you
stepped in this house?" He stepped forward and she was still
trapped. Much too close. She wasn't exactly sure what his
intentions were, but closeness was obviously involved. Her mind
screamed at her, but she couldn't comprehend what it was saying.
She felt him with every part of her. Goosebumps broke out painfully
along her arms as warm hands closed around her cheeks and neck.

Instinctively, she knew he was about to kiss
her. Every thought in her mind had shut down, aching for the touch
that was coming. It had been so very long since anyone had kissed
her, and never with such rawness. The scent of him enveloped her
mind, and her senses screamed at her, expecting the soft touch of
lips and the taste of a man. His lips were so close, and with
closed eyes, she could imagine the touch, a mere hair's breath
away.

But it wasn't lips she felt, instead
the change in the air, the change in atmosphere. The fingers along
her cheeks melted away, as did the breath caressing her aching
lips, and now she was back in her own room.

Opening her eyes, she saw he was gone. Her
breath was still caught, waiting for the kiss that never came. A
sense of being robbed stole through her. That kiss had taken over
every part of her and its absence left an empty ache.

"You're a wicked man, Mr. Hawke," she said,
feeling the bitterness in the words. He had toyed with her so
completely. And she'd known the entire time, but hadn't been able
to stop her own reaction, the powerful anticipation that unfurled
deep down inside her.

Left was the fact that she'd ached for the
kiss, while he had teased her with it. She'd shown all the strength
of wet paper, and she was mortified by her own behavior.

The fire lit deep inside her didn't
quite relent. It was cruel of him to toy with her, with this, the
thing she had always been denied—the softness, the touches, the
desire. Were men always cruel?

She was tired of cruelty, complexity
and questions she couldn't answer. All she wanted was a simple
life, but things never went as planned. Instead, she ran a boarding
house for earth-bound spirits, full of questions she had no answers
to.

The comment about her becoming his bride
would be utterly terrifying if she didn't firmly believe he was
toying with her. His subsequent action more than proved it.

The kiss that wasn't still lingered,
though, as much as she hated it. It sent tendrils of nervous
tension deep down into her belly, twisting sharply when she thought
of it.

That along with the whole situation
weighed heavily on her mind. She wanted to cry, but couldn't now
that she truly had no privacy in her room. There was no privacy
anywhere in the house, so she did the only thing she could: crawled
into bed and faced the wall. Her heart was too heavy to deal with,
so she just ignored the slurry of emotions inside her.

All she wanted was sleep, but none came. Why
did it elude her when she wanted it most? At least she could dream
of a simple life. What would her life be like if there were no
spirits in this house? It would only be her and Lisle, and endless
days of sparse loneliness. Unfortunately, that wasn't ideal either.
She could imagine going days without speaking to anyone. How long
would Lisle stay under those circumstances? And then she would be
alone with endless years stretching ahead of her.

Was that how he felt, eternity stretching
ahead of him? No wonder he held on so tightly to the ones he loved.
Would she do the same if she were able to? Although Harry would
hate being stuck in this house with her. And being stuck here with
Stanford—that could only be described as a fate worse than death. A
bitter chuckle escaped her.

As different as Richard Hawke was from
her, they are very similar as well. They had both been betrayed by
the person who was supposed to love and honor them, both stuck in
this house because they feared the alternative was worse. But
unlike him, she needed to keep on breathing, keep on
living—practicalities he no longer bothered with.

Sleep still eluded her, her mind
refused to settle. The bed felt uncomfortable and she tossed
around, trying to find some position which relaxed her, but it was
no good. After a while, she decided to rise. She needed something
to reset her mind, something to get her away from the thoughts
keeping her from rest.

Grabbing her shawl, she peered out the
door into the hall. Everything was quiet. As far as she could tell,
William wasn't standing out there, ready to assault her. Quietly,
she stepped out and walked down the stairs in the darkness of the
house. It wasn't entirely dark. The moonlight of a clear night
shone in through the windows. The floor was cold against her feet
as she wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of milk
from the jug. There wasn't much left, but enough for half a
glass.

Taking it, she wandered to the front
door and turned the heavy lock. The vastness of the moors was
soothing for once, as she sat down on the top step, folding her
nightgown under her bare feet. The moon bathed the landscape. The
rest of the world was so very far away, it almost felt as if they
were floating on a lake of emptiness. Maybe she and Lisle were as
part of this house as any of the other inhabitants.

The door stood open behind her and she ran a
risk in him locking it behind her, leaving her to tackle the cold.
He had the power to stop Lisle from hearing her; he'd done so
before. But she was prepared to take the risk, trusting he would no
longer act so callously against her. Did she trust him? she asked
herself. Maybe a small part of her wanted to see if she could. Some
perverse part of her wanted to know if he would act against
her.

"Thinking of escaping?" She heard him
from inside the darkness behind her.

"Thinking about locking me outside to
freeze?" she shot back.

"You forget that you wouldn't go anywhere,"
he said and stepped out. He wasn't quite solid and unlike her, his
breath didn't condensate. His skin was pale in the moonlight. He
was in her world and not the other way around. Sitting down, he
leaned back. "Can't sleep?"

"No," she said and hugged her legs tighter.
The cold air made her skin contract, but it was both calming and
refreshing. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance. "Why did you
choose to build here?"

"The land was granted to me."

"But this is not where you came from?"

"No, my family came from Somerset
originally. My father was a second son and served the king, as did
I. He was granted this land, but didn't live long enough to build
on it."

"And what happens to you if it's torn
down?"

"Are you thinking about tearing down my
house?"

"Legally, it's my house."