The Haunting at Hawke's Moor (34 page)

Anne looked down. "How do I recover from
this?"

"I'm not sure you can. Give it a few hundred
years."

She laughed for the first time since
leaving. "I am going to fight," she said quietly.

"Good. You need to. You won't forgive
yourself if you don't."

"I have a poor chance of winning,
though."

"Fight till the end. Fight till there's
nothing left."

"And then what?"

"Well, I have just gotten to that part
myself. I rather agree with finding someone quite lovely to spend
your time with. Soothes so many pains and aches." His hand ran up
her ankle and chin.

"Does it?" she said teasingly. She loved how
he could distract her. It was such a beckoning idea to just forget
and turn her attention to the urgent need and softness between
them. But then she sobered. "I will lose the house." Which also
meant she would lose him.

"Then we will haunt them with such
fury, they will flee in terror. You might have exorcised the ire in
me, but I can still wreak havoc if I chose to."

Anne smiled but knew it was not the
solution. "They will sell the house. That is their aim. They want
the money. I doubt they will ever set foot here." The idea of
fighting them in court was appealing, along with the procedures
being reported in the papers, but there was merely a slight chance
she would win.

"We can't have you leaving," he said, his
fingers tracing figures along her skin.

There was always a chance she could
stay. Perhaps the new owners would be amenable, even if only in one
of the outbuildings. Richard would assure they were amenable. She
chuckled at the thought, almost pitying the new owners. The living
did not necessarily make the rules in this house, and the new
owners may run before long, most had, leaving the house
deserted.

His words returned to her mind: fight with
everything in her, fight on principle. Would she ever forgive
herself if she let them walk all over her, even if she could
salvage something of her life and existence afterward? No, she had
to fight, but she wanted to win.

Rising out of bed, she walked to the desk.
Richard's eyes followed her as she sat down. "Time to plan my
offensive," she said.

"Uh, I love an offensive," he sighed
and lay there, watching as she drew a sheet of paper out of the
drawer. "I knew you would never give in."

Anne wrote and wrote, taking long breaks to
pace around the bedroom to think, going over every single one of
Mr. Charterham's words. Tiredness skirted around her mind, but she
refused to let it claim her. It was time to fight and she felt
exhilarated by it.

She had no idea what time it was when
she laid down the pen, but she leaned back against the chair and
surveyed her work. Richard was still lying on the bed watching her.
"Sometimes the pen is mightier than the sword."

"I don't know. Swords can be very effective.
There is a certain satisfaction cutting your enemy down."

"I am quite happy with the satisfaction I
feel right now."

"Is that so?" he said. "Well, as long
as you stay in the house, then we must celebrate." He held out his
hand to her. She sighed as she watched him. How had she been so
lucky to find him? It seemed so utterly improbable, but here they
were.

"You want me to stay, then?" What exactly
they meant to each other wasn't something they had talked
about.

"Enough that I would be quite happy to run
both your son and husband through with my sword."

"Except having Stanford in this house would
be something I would absolutely avoid. And for all he does, I
cannot harm Harry. But I might deny him."

"Really? And what do you have planned?"

"Exactly that," she said, rising. She walked
over to the bed, feeling calm and relaxed. A plan was in place and
she was going to enact it. Placing her hand in Richard's, she let
him pull her into the bed, draw her beneath him.

"And would you deny me?"

"Would you ever give me cause to?"

He stroked along her temple. "No. I will
never give you cause to."

Inhaling softly, she studied his face.
Utterly beautiful, even the scar that marred his handsome face.
"Then I will not deny you."

Leaning down, he kissed her and Anne
finally felt as if she was home. It wasn't this house she craved;
it was him. He had become her home, and she was going to fight for
it. The kiss deepened and Anne surrendered to it.

After a busy day, Anne and Lisle
walked over to the Turner farm in the afternoon to witness the
documents Anne had prepared. He'd promised to have one of the
copies delivered to the mail coach in the morning. They'd all had
tea in the Turner's well-worn kitchen, but his wife wasn't much
chattier than her husband.

Anne retired shortly after arriving home. It
had been a hard day, but there were more important issues weighing
on her mind. She sat in her room and waited, watched out the window
as the sun set. Anticipation spilled through her. She'd waited all
day to see him and the sun was frustratingly slow.

As it grew dark, she stood and was
quickly whipped around into a kiss. He was still invisible, but the
kiss was more important than seeing him. She luxuriated in the
touch of his lips. The room changed as the kiss broke, the change
slowly incorporating around the room.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Fine. We got a bit more done on the
field."

Bundling her skirts up, he carried her
to the bed, where he lifted them up and teased down her bare thighs
until she couldn't bear it anymore. They made love languidly, with
slow kisses that drove her to utter distraction, and in heated,
spent exhaustion, he lay with his head on her now bare chest. "I
don't think I could tolerate you leaving," he said, tracing his
fingers along her side. "The brightness you have brought into my
existence; I'm not sure I could bear losing you."

Anne stroked his dark hair, feeling
the same way. The idea of having to leave, to live a dull and gray
life sat like a threatening sorrow. Going back to being under
someone's thumb every moment, beholden to someone for every
shilling she needed made her stomach turn. That would be her
life—told to be grateful for the existence she was afforded by her
dismissing patrons. The sacrifice of her house would soon be
forgotten and she would be a burden they would try to bear with
grace. And she would lose him, the man who made her feel wanted and
loved.

"Have you not grown tired of me, then?"

Shifting his head, he looked at her. "You do
recall what I was? A spirit of sheer darkness. I fear losing you
and returning to that miserable unhappiness."

Anne's stomach clenched in nervousness. "And
what would you say if I stayed?"

"You believe you have found a way of
defeating them?"

"Yes, but I would have to stay," she said
meaningfully. "As in past morning."

He shifted off her sharply. "That is a great
sacrifice for the sake of spite."

Anne sat up so she could be level with him.
"It's to ensure I don't have to make a sacrifice. I don't want to
compromise anymore. I have found what I want. It is just a matter
of what you want."

His dark eyes stared at her as if he didn't
know what to say.

She continued, "I want to be with you, go
where you go when the sun is up. I want more; I want it all, and I
refuse to let anyone take this away from me. Ever."

"Well, ever is what you speak of." He went
to say something then he stopped, then tried again, but couldn't
manage to say what was on his mind.

"Say it. Say exactly what you mean," she
urged.

He sighed. "I am trying to find something to
say that won't change your mind."

Anne softened. "You would be stuck with
me."

"I shall endeavor to bear it," he smiled,
then pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. "I guess you will have
to be my bride after all."

Anne wrapped her arms around his shoulder,
drawing in the scent of him. He was hers and this was real. It felt
more real than her entire marriage to Stanford. This was exactly
where she wanted to be and she felt lucky she had found it. Yes,
there was some sacrifice, but whenever she looked into his eyes,
she felt no fear of it. No one would ever be able to hurt them
again.

Taking Richard's arm, Anne walked into the
dining hall, which looked different from how she had ever seen it.
Candles burned along the walls and the table, lighting the room
brighter than she'd ever known. The table was older and darker, as
were the chairs.

They were all gathered, all except the
grieving lady. Anne looked around the faces of the people there.
Some she knew, others she'd only felt.

A boy, perhaps thirteen, considered
her—a younger version of his father. Curiosity was the only
expression on his face, and he looked to Elizabeth for guidance.
Elizabeth smiled, looking beautiful in her gown. There was an
elegance about her that was inspiring.

Then there was a young man with
wheat-colored hair and a handsome face. Obviously William, whose
attention often darted guardedly to Elizabeth more often than not.
A man with dark clothes and a gray wig nodded to her, standing next
to a pretty girl with a heart-shaped face and a curvy body. It had
to be Beatrice, who considered her with sly curiosity.

Alfie stood next to Lisle, looking more
arrogant than curious.

"We have an announcement to make," Richard
said to the assembled party. This was their house, Anne thought,
their haphazard family. "Anne has decided to join us."

Lisle's hand shot to her mouth, but she
didn't say anything.

"Congratulations," Elizabeth said as if
they'd just announced an engagement. She came forward and stroked
down Anne's arms. "I am so happy. I think this is the start of a
golden age for this house."

"I hope so," Anne said.

"I'm sure of it."

Her brother looked too shy to speak, but
Anne hoped they would get past that in time.

Beatrice bobbed a quick curtsy. And
Thompson, the manservant, wished her welcome in a formal manner. He
was an older man who held himself straight as if refusing to relent
the old ways.

Smiling as she continued, Anne arrived where
Lisle was standing.

"Are you sure?" Lisle asked.

"I'm sure," Anne said. "I have found
happiness, and I'm not letting it go."

Alfie shifted awkwardly as Lisle obviously
wasn't placing the same trust in him. He just had to prove himself
more, Anne thought.

Lisle embraced her and it was the first time
they had acknowledged the friends they had become.

"I think we must hire another field hand,"
Anne said.

"Best make him an ugly one so neither
Beatrice nor William will bother him," Lisle whispered.

Anne smiled. "I'm not quite sure how to
prepare the advert for that."

"And old," Lisle said. "Ideally with a lazy
eye and a maybe even slow."

Lisle took Anne's hand and turned her
attention to the room. "As it is an evening of announcements, I
have one to make as well." All turned to her. "I believe I am with
child."

Anne gasped. It must be from when
Alfie was alive as there had been no one else. While it seemed such
a long time ago, in reality, it wasn't. Alfie looked a bit
flustered. "How long have you known?"

"Not known as such, suspected, but enough
now to perhaps be certain." Lisle turned and sternly pointed to the
assembled party. "And if any of you lot do anything to harm me or
my baby, I swear I will scour this earth to find some way of making
your eternal life a hell beyond compare."