Chaste Kiss (31 page)

"God let it be true,” William murmured, as he made his way to stand behind them.

The moment the painting had been unveiled Isabel felt her world fall in on itself. There was no doubt it was a portrait of her ghostly love, identical in every detail right down to the red jerkin and upturned collar. He wore no tie in his hair, allowing the dark strands to brush his shoulders. That's how she remembered him.

How the portrait came to be at Derrington Manor was a mystery, but she didn't care. It was here and now it was hers. Three small things remained in her life that proved William had been real. A dagger, a letter, and now a portrait. Her treasures, the things that would keep her company for the rest of her life. She silently prayed that someday she would see him again, somewhere beyond Purgatory, beyond time.

She let her gaze stray to the small brass plate at the bottom.
Ashenhurst
was all it said. Tears threatened to spill out, and she quickly cleared her throat. Mick's strong arm felt good around her waist. It was nice having someone to talk to who understood.

"I have to say, Izz. You know how to pick'em,” Debi said, leaning down for a closer look at the painting. “Can I have one like him for Christmas?"

Mick grumbled something under his breath, Isabel couldn't quite make out.

Debi glared at him. “Too many donuts for breakfast, Columbo?"

Mick's arm slipped from Isabel's waist. “I asked you to stop calling me that."

"Well, until you stop looking the part, don't hold your breath."

The jealousy Isabel felt in the hospital turned to hope. The possibility of something developing between her two best friends helped soothe her aching heart, but it would never love again. Her heart was destined to remain in pieces until the day she died. The sharp edges would wear down over time and not cut as deeply as they did now, but it would never mend.

With a disgusted grunt, Mick turned away from Debi and looked back at the portrait. “That's really him, isn't it?"

Isabel nodded, gazing wistfully at the portrait. “Yes. That's him."

"You two act like you know the guy. Don't tell me you've been holding out on me, Izz.” Debi stepped around to the side and looked closer at the painting. As her head came up from reading the nameplate, her eyes went wide. “Izzy, um, he's a real doll and all, but don't you think that a living breathing version would be better?"

Isabel winced. If her friend only knew. She hadn't the nerve to tell her, although she knew Debi would try to understand. Maybe someday, she'd tell her the whole story, but not now. Not while it still hurt so much.

Putting on a playful smile so as not to worry her friend, she lifted her gaze from the painting. “You're right, Deb. A living, breathing version would be nice. But since there doesn't happen to be one available, no offense Mick,” she added teasingly. “I'll just stick with this one."

"Oh, I don't know. I think
he
fits the bill rather nicely.” Debi nodded at someone beyond Isabel's shoulder, a playful grin on her lips. “Ashenhurst, I presume?"

"You presume correctly, Miss Cummings,” a deep voice replied.

Isabel's breath lodged in her throat. That voice. It couldn't be. She gripped a nearby chair for support as her knees began to buckle beneath her. She had to turn around. She had to see.

Slowly, she twisted to face the man behind her, praying—hoping for what she knew couldn't be. As her gaze met his, her lips formed his name, but no sound came out.

William
.

"William Ashenhurst,” he said with a nod of his head, yet never took his gaze off of Isabel. “It's nice to finally meet you, Miss Cummings."

"Likewise. Just call me Debi.” She stepped up and shook his hand. “Although, I should smack Isabel upside the head for never introducing us."

"My fault, entirely. I assure you."

With a nod, she stepped back. “Izz honey, are you okay? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Isabel jerked at the words, knowing full well how she must look. All the blood had drained from her face and sat idly pooled in her feet, and her knuckles had to be white with the grip she had on the chair from the tingles she felt in the tips of her fingers. Her knees grew weaker with each passing second, and she had to consciously remind herself to breathe.

Was this real? Was he real? Was she dreaming? Debi had just shaken his hand. He had to be real. Her head spun faster and faster as she tried to make sense of it all.

"I-I think I need to—” Her legs went limp and the ground rushed up to meet her.

Before her face hit the grass, powerful arms wrapped around her and crushed her to a firm, warm body. She inhaled the scent of spice and man, a familiar citrus scent. Was it really William, or had she finally lost her mind with grief?

"It is you,” Mick muttered.

William and Mick exchanged knowing glances as he lifted Isabel up into his arms. “She needs to lie down."

"The pool house is closest,” Debi said.

William carried her out of the auction tent with Mick and Debi on his heels. Bursting into the pool house, he gently laid her down on the large cushioned couch, and brushed the curls from her face. It was so soft. He wanted to bury his face and hands in her glorious hair, but he had an audience. And as it happened, the woman who held his heart was out cold at the moment.

Debi hovered over Isabel, her face pinched with worry. “How is she?"

"She'll be fine,” William said, hoping it was the truth. Did he look enough like the old William to make her happy?

With a soft moan, Isabel slowly lifted her lashes and stared up at him. He watched a dozen emotions play across her face and in her eyes. Not only did she remember him, she loved him. He didn't need to hear the words to know it was true.

"I think she's going to be just fine. Come on, Debi,” Mick said as he pulled her out of the room.

"Who died and made you king?” She tried to wrench free of his grasp.

Mick growled lowly. “For once in your life, shut that beautiful, smart mouth of yours and do what you're told."

Debi gaped at him as he closed the door behind them.

Alone, finally. William looked back at Isabel's pale cheeks. “Are you all right?"

Lifting her shaking hand to his face, she paused before touching him. He grasped it firmly and pressed a kiss to her palm. With that simple touch, his heart lurched frantically. He wanted to press his lips against every inch of her soft skin.

"I-I don't understand. Is it really you, William?"

"Yes, love.” He laid tiny kisses against her wrist, her palm, her fingers.

"But you disappeared."

"I'll explain everything later. Right now, all I want is to touch you, feel you.” Closing his eyes against the burning need to weep, he pressed her hand to his face and offered up a silent prayer of thanks.

"Oh, William.” She flew off the couch and wrapped her arms around his neck.

They devoured one another in a heated frenzy of kisses. He could taste the saltiness of her joyful tears.

"I thought I'd never see you again,” she muttered against his neck.

He buried his face in her hair and took long deep breaths. “Neither did I, love. I never believed I'd be able to hold you like this. Feel your silky hair in my hands, taste your sweet lips. I prayed, but I never truly believed it was possible."

William shifted and took her face in his hands. “I never believed I would ever be able to make love to you,” he declared hoarsely, then reclaimed her lips with a searing kiss. One hand buried deep in her curls, the other exploring the soft contours of her back, her waist, and her hips.

Noise from outside brought him back to reason. With a tormented groan, he pulled his lips away and rested his forehead against hers. “And this is not the place or time."

She clutched him to her quivering body. “I won't let you go. I'm afraid to let you go."

"We don't have much choice. There's quite an event going on out there, and you're supposed to be a part of it."

He heard the sound of the door opening, and pulled from her grasp as Jerome rushed inside. William stood, but held fast to Isabel's hand.

Her uncle fell to his knees beside her. “Are you all right, Izzy?"

"I'm fine. I just got a little lightheaded."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm fine now.” She looked up at William and his heart nearly burst from the love in her eyes.

"Thank goodness.” Jerome straightened, reclaiming William's attention.

The man eyed their clasped hands. A tight grin spread beneath his bushy moustache. William looked down and realized what the old gentleman thought. He hadn't allowed anyone to touch him when he stayed at Derrington Manor, a specter in the man's home.

"I see you've decided to return, William,” Jerome said.

"Yes, I have. It's good to see you, Jerome.” For the first time in more than four hundred years, he extended his free hand in greeting.

Jerome glanced down at his offering then to his niece. William prayed he would accept it. He wanted his approval before marrying Isabel, even though nothing and no one would keep him from having her.

Her uncle clasped his hand firmly and slapped him on the back. “Good to see you, too,” he said grinning widely. “Well, then. Now that I know Isabel is all right, I'd best get back to our guests.” He made his way to the door and paused. “I'll see you both shortly."

William felt a wave of relief wash over him. He and Jerome had been friends, and he didn't want to lose that, but more importantly, he didn't want to come between Isabel and her uncle. His gaze shifted back to the woman he loved. Her slightly mussed hair, her kiss swollen lips, and the blush in her cheeks told Jerome all he needed to know about how they felt about one another. And William yearned to show her more.

The moment the door clicked shut, he pulled her back into his arms. He couldn't bear the emptiness he felt without her in them.

Delicately pressing his lips to hers, he whispered between each kiss. “So sweet, so soft, so beautiful."

"I don't want this to end,” she said.

He pulled his head back and let his gaze drink in her features. “We have the rest of our lives together, but I'm afraid I heard a definite command in your uncle's voice."

"So did I."

He skimmed the edge of her jaw with the pad of his thumb, slowly moving forward to brush her lips. Her eyes slid closed with a moan. William had never heard a sweeter sound, but if he didn't stop and get them both back outside, he was going to explode.

"We need to go, love."

She opened her eyes and kissed him lightly. “I know."

There was a knock on the door. “Hey, are you okay in there?” Debi called.

William stood, pulling Isabel to her feet.

"Promise not to let go of me?” she asked.

"I promise. I doubt I'll be able to stay sane without touching you.” He pressed a quick kiss to her temple and led her to the door.

Debi's hand was in mid-knock when William pulled it open.

"Geez, it's about time,” she said, splaying her hand across her hip.

"There you are,” Mick said, appearing from around the corner. “Sorry, Isabel. She got away from me."

Debi smirked. “Like that was difficult. Where'd you get your training, old cop shows?"

Mick opened his mouth then snapped it shut and turned to Isabel. “Feeling better?"

"I've never felt better in my entire life.” A brilliant smile lit her face.

Debi stepped closer, elbowing Mick out of the way. “I want some of what you're having. Do you think they bottle it?” She smiled widely and winked at William.

He felt the intense heat covering his face. Caught red-handed making out in the pool house.

William cleared his throat and looked at Isabel. “Ready to go back to the auction?"

Gripping his hand tighter, she stepped closer, brushing her breast against his arm. Did she know she was killing him?

"Absolutely,” she said smiling impishly at him.

Oh, yes. She knew, and she was enjoying every minute of it. But then again, so was he. He wanted her more than anything in the world, and now that he could finally have her, he was forced to wait. And he thought being dead was difficult. How was he going to make it through the rest of the afternoon without dragging her off into the bushes?

Isabel smiled at the heated look William gave her. After wanting him for so long and now having him beside her, touching her, she couldn't resist brushing up against him. Every inch of her skin begged to touch his. The slightest contact had her bursting with need. It was going to be a very long afternoon, but one she would relish. The hardest part would be resisting the urge to drag him off into the bushes.

They all made their way back to the auction tent, but didn't bother to sit. Standing in the back, a friend on each side and William behind her, they watched the remainder of the auction without much conversation.

At first, William's hands rested on Isabel's shoulders, leaving a good bit of space between them. But slowly, thankfully, his hands slipped around her waist and locked in front of her. The gesture filled her heart and soul with the greatest sense of security and love she'd ever known.

Leaning back, resting against his broad chest, she could feel every beat of his heart, the heat radiating from his skin, and the tangy scent of him. Perhaps she had indeed smelled the unusual enticing aroma when he was a ghost. They were connected in so many ways, she didn't doubt it.

One hand covering the other, he secretly rubbed his thumb up and down against her stomach. Every swipe against her skin pulled the tenuous cord inside her tighter. As if that wasn't enough to drive her crazy, his warm breath tickled the hair at the side of her neck. So many things she thought she'd never experience. She wondered now if she'd be able to live through them.

Debi and Isabel glanced at one another then down at the powerful arms wrapped around her. They both smiled. Debi stifled a giggle while Isabel simply wanted to cry. Her friend had no idea what she and William had gone through. Although deeply in love, theirs was born out of a bittersweet friendship that couldn't compare to anything anyone had ever or would ever experience again.