Blast it all! It was true; he did not know how to resurrect
the dead. Nothing he could possibly do could help her now, nothing could
reverse her death, and even avenging her would not help. He doubted the witch
or even the faeries could do anything for her either. Christian dropped onto
his back, swallowing as a torrent of hopelessness clawed over him.
It wasn’t long before he noticed she was falling asleep,
because only then did the weeping stop. Her breathing had slowed, and deepened,
accentuating the rise and fall of her chest. The thick fringe of her lashes
looked almost black in the shadows of night, but her pale complexion glowed,
and somehow, her tresses of honey still managed to shimmer with what little
light there was available from the moon. Never before had she looked more
angelic, more innocent, more vulnerable than she did while slumbering. She even
hovered above the bed as though lifted with wings. There was something
celestial about her, not human….
Christian had no idea how long he watched her before he too
began to doze and consciousness slipped from his control.
Not at all used to feeling warmth next to him in bed, it
seemed Christian had gravitated toward it while he’d dreamed. But that puzzled
him and a crease formed between his brows. Who was in his bed? Then it came
back to him. The ghost…. No…Contessa. He must have rolled into her transparent
form. His eyes popped open.
Frowning again, he pushed up onto one elbow. He was not on
top of her as he’d feared, just close enough to feel her heat. And she looked
different to him. He peered closer and then cursed. He couldn’t see through
her! Moving to brace a hand on either side of her, Christian studied her sleeping
outline, unbelieving. Was she corporeal? His fingers lifted to her face, slid
along her pale skin, and then any hope in his heart sank with the weight of
reality. It must have been a trick of the light, because she felt just as
transparent as before. Warm, yes, but still a ghost.
He ran another gaze over her latent body. Her tresses of
gold spilled out around her head like a halo. Again, his hand lifted and his
fingers slid through the gilded hair. Drawing in a measured breath, and then
slowly releasing it, Christian yearned to let those strands sift through his
fingers, feeling the texture of silk.
Groaning, he dropped onto his back next to her. The mattress
bounced under his weight. With fingers raking through his hair, he remembered
his plans for the day. Fisting his hands, he tugged. Unwanted plans. Today was
the ball he’d promised to go to. Mentally, he cursed again and moved from the
bed carefully trying not to wake her.
Once upright, his gaze shifted to her another time. And then
guilt slammed into him like a sucker punch to the gut. Leaving her like this,
attending a ball without taking her felt like betrayal, and she’d already been
betrayed. And he feared how upset she was going to be after having such a
dream, and then finding him not here.
But he’d given his word. And he needed the money.
Another angry oath blew past his lips as he dressed and left
the room.
He’d arrived early enough to visit a number of secondhand
bookstores and libraries before the soirée began. Again searching for anything
that might tell him who Contessa was and where this prince was from.
And as before, he’d found nothing in his hunt, and this time
he’d even had names to look for. Surely there should have been record of this
prince somewhere, Christian thought angrily, as he moped about the edges of the
dance floor at the Wimple’s.
Irritation simmered to a roiling heat inside his
stomach—Muriel Spencer had her sights set on him. He could practically see the
cogs of her brain twisting as she followed his movement with those pretty yet
cold blue eyes of hers. Her lashes fluttered, and she offered that practiced
smile which many men had fallen for. But not him. Never! Christian could see
right through her lovely but false mask.
In attendance, he felt he’d done his duty as a gentleman.
He’d danced with a variety of ladies, including a couple of the known
wallflowers. Yes, he had avoided Lady Spencer specifically, and it was obvious
she was expecting a turn with him. He avoided her gaze, considering the other
women available, and hoped to continue dodging her, but it seemed he’d dallied
a moment too long…. A growl rumbled inside him, and he was grateful for the
music that covered the sound. How dare she use his mother! He mused angrily as
Muriel approached Lady Sparks now seated with Mrs. Wimple. Mother smiled at the
little snot, completely taken in by her acting, and then her eyes shifted in
his direction as she rose from her seat.
With a sharp curse, he moved to escape the room, but it was
too late, they’d managed to block his only exit. He wanted to bite out another
profanity, but choked it down. Christian didn’t really want his mother to
notice what a foulmouthed boy he was becoming as of late. He knew he should
stop, but was unable to find enough motivation to do so when Muriel smiled like
the cat that swallowed the canary.
Her thin fingers smoothed the ruffles of the yellow, chiffon
dress she wore, feigning innocence with her cheeky grin. How could his mother
not see it?
“Christian,” Mother said. “I’ve added your name to Lady Spencer’s
dance card.”
He gaped at the both of them. It was his place to do that,
not theirs.
Mother?
he said with his glare.
Glancing toward his father first, his mother then twisted
back around and answered with a glare of her own, which he fully understood.
Do
it, Christian, or I will not speak with your father.
The threat hung
heavily between them, and it forced Christian to swallow.
One more foul word slid through his thoughts. He felt like a
caged beast, but didn’t want his peers to see the monster which paced within
him so he bowed. “Shall we then?” He presented his arm and angled a crooked
grin the debutante’s way.
Yes, he could concede he’d lost the first round of this game
of cat and mouse. It wasn’t something he could escape without causing a scene,
so he decided to play along, careful not to let her trap him as that blasted
prince had trapped Tessa. He was here to gain his allowance, not find a bride.
Silently they—correction,
he
was silent as he led the
babbling Lady Spencer onto the dance floor.
After she went on and on about her dress, and her jewelry,
and her last tea party, Christian decided it would probably be best if he
muttered some acknowledgement when she said, “Lord Sparks?”
“Mmm,” was all he offered in reply. Reflexively he leaned
away. She was trying to dance too closely, and he knew that wouldn’t look good.
The last thing he wanted was to be captured in wedlock with this girl. His ears
would fall off.
“Your dear mother said I should visit you to see your new
castle,” Muriel purred into his ear as he turned her in the waltz.
A smile stretched his lips, but not for the reason she would
think. He was imagining Tessa scaring the snob senseless with her telekinetic
tricks. Then he scowled—No, he didn’t want Muriel Spencer anywhere near his
sweet-spirited ghost.
“I’m not ready for visitors. It is in sore need of repair,
I’m afraid,” he said, hoping to dissuade her.
“Oh, Christian, you downplay its beauty, I am certain. I’ll
bet it is lovely in the spring, is it not?”
He hadn’t been there long enough to know, and how dare she
call him by his first name! He much preferred the Lord address from her.
Searching his mind for anything that might distress her
enough to keep her away, he recalled what he knew about her. This girl was
pampered and spoiled and selfish. Then it came to him. Smirking at his own
brilliance, Christian said, “It’s haunted, I’m distressed to report. Daily I’ve
been visited by a ghost.”
Then cursed mentally when she smirked right back at him.
“How intriguing,” she cooed seductively, leaning close to him again.
Spinning her away in a turn he fought for distance another
time. Never had he been forced to struggle for propriety so hard while dancing,
and wondered how a girl so new to the
ton
could be so cunning. He wanted
to beat his mother for getting him into this spot, and vowed that if this did
not gain him an advance of funds, he just might do it.
Finally, it seemed something had distracted her from talking
about herself, and the story about how she’d been invited to five soirées in
one night died in her throat. “Oh, my,” she spat softly, but with malice, “Who
is that girl in the golden gown?”
Christian turned, following the line of her narrowed stare,
and froze with shock. It was her, it was Contessa, looking about herself with
huge green eyes. She appeared lost and frightened as she struggled to avoid
having the many waltzing couples glide through her ghostly body. He moved to
assist her, but Muriel wouldn’t have it. Her nails bit into his bicep. “Do you
know her?” she ground out, her voice thick with jealousy.
He opened his mouth to respond, then heard Tessa say his
name. “Christian?”
Obviously, the casual address didn’t go over well with his
dance partner. The snobbish debutant dug her heels in and tightened her grip.
“You cad! Do you think to court us both?”
Odd how Muriel could see and hear the spirit, then as he
watched Tessa a moment longer, he realized the only ones to not dance into her,
had seen her first.
Shifting his eyes from Tessa to the ruffle-clad chit
clenching his arm, possibly drawing blood by now, he said, “Of course not. I
only plan to court one Lady.”
And that is not you, Lady Spencer,
he
thought, knowing she read the unsaid words in his eyes as he stabbed her with a
glare.
Clearly vicious to the core, Muriel simply smiled and ran a
hand along his chest in a show of improper behavior he knew was meant to cause
trouble for him. He stepped back and shot his look toward Tessa again. His
delight at seeing her then shattered and crumbled at his feet. She’d seen Lady
Spencer’s actions and it was obvious by the devastated look on her face that
she’d interpreted them just as Muriel had planned.
She fled…right through people and right through a wall.
The guests she’d passed through shrieked and then quieted.
He suspected it all had happened so fast no one understood they’d just seen a
ghost. Even Muriel was too fixated with him to notice. He shoved her hands
away, and made for the door.
And even over the music, Christian could hear Muriel
clucking angrily behind him as he waded his way through the guests in the
direction his ghost had gone. He knew he’d abandoned her on the dance floor,
which he also knew was a huge faux pas, but he didn’t care.
“Lady Gh—Contessa?” he called as soon as he ran into the
foyer. She wasn’t there. He began searching room to room until he found her.
Well, her muffled sobs could be heard through the door and he knew the sound of
her sorrow well enough to recognize it. As his fingers closed over the
doorknob, his heart squeezed—such sadness. And he perceived her distress had
most likely begun when she’d awoken alone in his bedchamber. What a
louse
he was.
Chapter
11
The
Lonely Spirit of Krestly Castle
Somehow she knew she’d slept longer than usual. Her eyes
focused on an unfamiliar ceiling, and she looked around. Where was the canopy?
The butterflies?
Then she remembered. Oh,
his
chamber.
Tessa rolled to the left, but he was not there. Her gaze
traveled the room. He was not here at all. She sat up. He’d left her?
“Certainly, he has left a note.” But if he had, it was not
here, she realized as she looked about the covers.
Tessa spent a long time moving around the castle and the
grounds looking for Christian, hoping to speak with him again. She knew her
name now, and also knew with that information, he would be better able to
discover where she was from.
But neither he nor his butler were anywhere to be found.
“Has he really left without telling me where he was going?”
Of course he had, he did not owe anything to her, a lost
spirit such as she was.
That reality hurt. She knew it was only the truth, but still
it ached. A ghost would not matter to him. Could not matter to him. She was a
fool to think otherwise.
Loneliness crept in around her like an evil predator.
Again this demesne was deserted except for the cook and a
couple of maids, all of whom she did not want to show herself to. As well as
the fact that Christian had asked her not to. She would not defy him in that,
even if it meant that she remain solitary.
Not realizing she was going to the study until she’d
arrived, Tessa emitted a weighty sigh. Her eyes landed on the gramophone, and
then she moved to it. With her mind, she set it to play.
The same melody as he’d played when he’d danced with her
rose into the room. Unable to stop herself, Tessa lifted her arms as if holding
Christian, and moved through the steps of the waltz. She was also unable to
prevent her thoughts from drifting his direction. She thought of dancing with
him, of sitting with him in the garden amongst the red roses, of their games
and their intimate talks. Of his hair, his eyes, that charming dimple in his
cheek.
The tears returned. “Oh, Christian, where are you?”
Then, quite suddenly, the music changed and she twisted to
look at the gramophone only to see many finely dressed couples, twirling about
her, and some through her. She moved to escape them.
“What? Where am I?” And then she saw him dancing mere feet
way from her with a maiden swallowed in canary ruffles, and lace, and ribbons.
Then he too saw her. “Christian?”
Distracted by another couple waltzing through her body, she
shifted out of their path and then sought out his face again. But this time, he
was looking at that lady with dark chestnut hair piled beautifully atop her
head, and watched in horror as she caressed him in a most familiar manner with
one gloved hand.