Chaste Kiss (13 page)

"For now I shall return the dagger to its hiding place.” He opened the compartment in the headboard of the chamber bed and withdrew the ancient linen. After carefully wrapping the dagger, he placed it in the cubby.

"William, before you go, I want to ask you something."

He climbed off the bed and stood before her.

"I was wondering. When you moved things around before, you said you used an energy to make it happen. Is that different than when you're solid and touch things?"

"'Tis similar, but not the same. When I am solid, as you call it, I have tactile senses. I felt the wind upon my face, as I have already told you. I can feel the grains of wood in the table beneath my fingers, the smooth glass of a wine bottle, the softness of a flower petal. But when I am invisible, I feel none of these things. I only know that I touch them."

"You don't feel anything? Not even enough to know what you're touching?"

"Nay. I can discern their shape, but not the texture. I feel a resistance, a solidity, but only if I concentrate on doing so."

Isabel's line of questioning caused him great concern. She was leading up to something, a topic of which he did not wish to discuss. Knowing he could never truly touch her, hold her, kiss her, tormented him enough. Speaking of such things was torture beyond definition.

She paced a moment back and forth across the room. “And you've been touched by a person by accident when you've been invisible before. That's how you know the curse doesn't work then."

"Aye. People have walked through me, as I walk through walls."

She stopped her pacing and sighed heavily. “And they didn't feel you, and you didn't feel them."

He merely shook his head, unable to bring himself to tell her he heard it said the living felt a chilling cold, and he experienced a moment of warmth.

She smiled softly as she walked to the bed. “Well, I guess I should turn in. I'm pretty worn out."

"I thank you again for a most enjoyable e'en. Pleasant dreams, sweeting.” He melted into the shadows, carrying her words with him.

William had never sought to concentrate his energies on touching a living being while invisible, but now that she had spoken of it, his thoughts were of nothing else. Could he touch his sweet Isabel and remain? And what would he feel? What would she feel?

Walking through the closed door, he made his way outside. A stroll through the garden ‘twas the only way he could find of late to soothe his weary spirit. He needed to cease thinking overmuch and eliminate the consuming need to pull her into his arms.

Meandering amid the azalea blossoms, beyond the rose garden, he found himself beneath the great oak tree at the edge of the lawn. He sank to the ground and propped up against its mighty trunk. The stars danced in the night sky as he watched the moon cast a silver glow over Derrington Manor, adding to its ambiance.

Isabel's uncle had used reclaimed brick to give it an aged feeling, but not as old as William by half. English Ivy threatened to take over the front wall as its leafy greenery reached for the roofline of the third floor, not unlike the manors of his day. The large arched portico protruding from the front of the house ‘twas already veiled with vines.

He glanced to the side at the shadowy gardens, wondering if his own home still stood, before bringing his gaze back to the house and Isabel's room. Situated on the southeast corner, the sunlight filtered through the windows for most of the day, and from there one could watch the sun rise over the copse of trees in the distance and set over the ancient mountains to the west.

Toying with a small stone, he watched Isabel's shadow move about the room performing her nightly ritual, preparing herself for bed. He could barely ascertain her alluring silhouette among the shifting shapes before she turned out the light.

When all was dark, he pictured her lying in the imposing bed, her hair spread out across the pillow, and the steady rise and fall of her breast as she drifted off to sleep. If only he could feel her next to him, touch her delicate skin and stroke the creamy expanse of her neck.

Her questions assaulted William's brain once again. Dare he risk touching her in his invisible form, testing the limits of the curse? Or would it only serve to tempt him into touching her in his solid state, casting him into Purgatory?

Nay, if he should try and touch her ‘twould only serve to make matters more grave. The look in her eyes when she peered up at him was one full of desire. If he touched her, and they felt nothing, ‘twould be a cruel blow to them both. And if they did feel something, would it be enough?

Muttering a curse on the old witch, he pitched the small stone across the lawn. Isabel needed a living man. Someone to give her children, to love and protect her, to lie with her and hold her close to his heart. If they touched and felt anything, ‘twould be bittersweet at best. He could not ask her to live out her life without the things she truly wanted. ‘Twould be most unfair to her and would break his heart to cause her grief.

He rose and strode across the lawn to the house, taking on his invisible state. ‘Twas folly to think of such things. She could ne'er love him in any event.

William silently climbed the stairs and walked through the door of her chamber. She slept peacefully, as he imagined, with a glimmer of moonlight kissing her cheek.

He moved closer to the side of the bed. If he were to try and touch her while she slept, then he would know and not risk disappointing her. The burden of torment would be his alone. And if he should disappear from her side because of his invisible touch, then so be it. She would be best served without him in her life. Either way, he had to know the truth of it or go mad with his speculating.

Slowly, he lowered his invisible hand to Isabel's face, putting forth his concentration. His mind wholly on the task, he gently stroked her cheek. He felt the warmth of her skin, but could only imagine its softness. His fingers slid along her jaw to her mouth. As he stroked the cherry bow, he hesitated on the spot she chewed frequently when deep in thought. If only he could taste her sweetness and feel the suppleness of her lips.

She shifted slightly.

William quickly pulled away and hid among the shadows. Did she feel him? Did she feel his icy touch?

He watched enraptured, as her dainty tongue glided across the very spot he had caressed. ‘Twas nearly his undoing. Then he realized he had touched her, and remained a part of the earthly plain.

She calmed once again, and he returned to her side. Giving into his desires, he leaned over her once more. With great concentration, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers ever so lightly. The heat of her mouth coursed through him, warming his very soul. A kiss he would never forget.

Lingering a moment longer, her lips quivered beneath his, and she moaned. He pulled but a breath away, bathing in the soothing warmth radiating from his sweet Isabel.

"Sleep, love,” he said softly.

Her eyes still closed, her mouth tilted up into a sleepy smile. “William."

His name, a mere whisper on her lips, sent his heart racing and his head swimming. If only he were a man, he thought, casting his gaze to the heavens. He would give her all she desired and love her with all his heart, but he knew he would receive no gifts from above.

William looked back to the sleeping angel before him and placed a chaste kiss upon her brow before silently slipping from her room. The centuries of torment did not compare to the anguish he faced in the years to come.

Chapter Eight

William roamed for more than an hour throughout the house, before finally settling himself behind Jerome's desk in his large leather chair. Studying the shadows shifting across the room with the passage of time, his thoughts wandered back to the days of his youth and the young maid he had so carelessly used. Had his family suffered from his transgressions? Had his mother wept for her son? Had his brother and father grieved?

Nay, they would have condemned him for his recklessness. The first-born son to the Earl of Kent, murdered for bedding a woman of position—a virgin. But why had the old witch not forced a marriage instead of killing him? A question to which he would never know the answer.

He prayed Mary had found a husband to love her regardless of their affair, but he feared ‘twas not the case. His death could have not been kept secret and would have exposed her sin brutally to the world. No nobleman would see her fit to wed after he took her maidenhead and created such a scandal.

The more William thought of his dishonorable past, the more he thought of his family, and wondered what had become of the Ashenhurst line and the fair maid he had seduced. He lifted his gaze to the many shelves surrounding the room. Did the answers to his questions lie buried in one of Jerome's books?

He rose and slowly scanned the titles of the many texts until his eyes fell upon a book entitled
The Elizabethan Era
. His Queen. Perhaps it mentioned the Earls of her reign. Becoming solid, he pulled the book from the shelf and settled himself behind Jerome's desk once more.

As the hours passed, the pile of books grew. He dug deeper into the tomes following every lead, every hint of his family line, but as the first rays of the morning sun streamed into the library, disappointment settled over his spirit.

For the first time in his ghostly existence, he actually felt drained from his all night vigil, but in all likelihood ‘twas from his failure to discover anything of import. His brother Alexander had been listed as the Earl of Kent, but there was no mention of his family or Mary.

William turned out the light and stretched his weary soul out on the sofa. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but knew ‘twould never come. The only sleep for him would be an eternal one, and that the old woman had denied him. That and many other things.

Hours later, the sound of the latch turning caught his attention and he quickly became invisible. Overly absorbed in his mental meandering he had not sensed Jerome's approach. He watched as the man strode to the desk and lifted a book off the top of one of the many stacks William created.

"What the devil?” His perplexed expression as he scratched his head made William smile.

A poltergeist, perhaps, my friend?

"Uncle Jerome, breakfast—” Isabel paused as her gaze fixed on the couch. “Breakfast is ready.” She smiled brightly, melting away the weariness of William's soul.

His gaze roamed over her hungrily. Her suit of deep green set fire to her burgundy tresses pulled back into a neat chignon. Small wisps of hair delicately framed her face and brushed lightly against her swan-like neck. The skirt she wore stopped several inches above her knees, pleasingly displaying her shapely legs. How a woman of her small height possessed such long luscious limbs bewildered and aroused him.

In the mere seconds that passed as they gazed at one another, he imagined her coming to his side. How he would grasp her dainty wrist and pull her atop his body into a loving embrace. His lips would sear a path of kisses along the curve of her neck to the pulsating hollow at the base of her throat.

While his fingers skillfully unfastened the buttons of her double-breasted jacket, exposing her creamy skin for him to taste, he would whisper enticing words in her ear. Her moans of pleasure as his hands roamed freely over her body would set his senses on fire until only their joining could douse the flames.

Clenching his teeth, William forced himself to sit up. Such thoughts were dangerous and exceedingly painful. The heat building inside him was nigh to unbearable.

"Did you decide to do some reading last night?” Jerome asked.

Isabel tore her gaze away and looked at her uncle, but could not stop herself from looking back at the handsome ghost seated on the couch.

William nodded. Or at least she assumed that's what he did. His head appeared and disappeared as it moved through a beam of morning sunlight.

"Yes. I was, uh, looking for something interesting to read."

William looked tired. She wondered if keeping the dagger with him for so long last night had made him ill. And he hadn't changed his clothes. Did altering his appearance use up his valuable energies? She hoped not. He looked incredible in denim.

"Since when were you ever interested in Renaissance politics?” her uncle asked.

"Oh, well, I thought it was time for a change.” She cast a suspicious glance at William. What had he been searching for?

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd really appreciate it if you would put them back when you're done."

"Sorry. I'll do it right after breakfast. I promise. Speaking of breakfast, we'd better get to the kitchen before it gets cold."

Taking her uncle's arm, she escorted him out of the library. Obviously, William had spent the night rummaging through her uncle's old books, but why? And why wasn't he following them? She couldn't feel his presence anywhere near.

Maybe he was putting away the books. Or maybe he was sick. Could a ghost get sick? A small wave a panic washed over her. Could William actually get sick and die?

That's silly, he's already dead. But he could disappear forever.

"I hope your suit is all right?” her uncle asked as they sat down at the table.

"Huh? Oh, yes, it's fine.” She tried to hide her concern. Where in the world was William? If he'd just pop in or something, she wouldn't be so worried.

"I'm glad. Constance hauled more of your stuff home than I thought."

"Thanks, Constance, for picking out one of every kind of outfit I had. I'd hate to have to drive back to High Point just to pick up something to wear other than jeans.” She glanced covertly around the room.

"Well, I thought you might go out to dinner one night. You never know. Maybe that detective will ask you out,” she said.

For a moment Isabel thought William had joined them, then realized it was her uncle doing the grumbling.

"Dinner dates, I'm not so sure about,” Isabel said. “But business dates I'm certain. What time do we meet the realtor, Uncle Jerome?"

She was determined to change the subject, not wanting to let the topic of Mick Wise hang around. She just wasn't interested in the man. And anyway, she didn't have the time. She had an antique shop to get going and an interesting relationship that suited most of her needs at the moment. Even her nurturing ones, she thought with a soft huff.