These Haunted Hearts: A Regency Ghost Story Read online

  His darling Isabella who stared at him now as though she beheld a monster.

  Her frozen expression made him pause before he touched her. His belly dipped with foreboding. “Isabella?”

  She was trembling and pale as she’d never been in life. He couldn’t mistake the terror in her beautiful black eyes. She still wore the sumptuous dress of blue French silk she’d had made for the wedding. Delicate pearls and summer flowers twined in her intricate coils of shining black hair.

  In an unmistakable attempt to ward him off, she raised her hands. “Stay…stay away from me.”

  Of all the numerous shocks of the day, this was the worst. What the devil had happened on his wedding day? What the devil had he done?

  “I don’t understand,” he said dully, dropping his shaking hands to his sides.

  “Don’t come near me.”

  She sounded so frightened, his lovely girl who had never been frightened of anything in her whole life. This was the woman who had galloped hell for leather at the most dangerous fences. This was the woman who had faced down her ambitious father, Lord Fenburgh, and insisted she’d marry no man but the Earl of Stansfield.

  The Earl of Stansfield who apparently she now loathed.

  Outraged questions jammed in Josiah’s throat, but he could see she verged on fleeing if he pressed too hard for answers. Now he’d found her, he couldn’t risk losing her. And who knew whether he’d ever find her again? He still wasn’t sure of the laws that prevailed on this immortal plane.

  Very carefully he stepped back, giving Isabella space and hopefully demonstrating benign intentions. He had to find out what was going on, but first he had to banish the dread from her expression. Her quivering fear hit him with the force of a blow to the stomach.

  “I won’t touch you.” The words cut at him like razors. “Trust me, Isabella.”

  A disbelieving huff of laughter escaped her as she retreated onto the landing, preparing to run.

  “No…” He surged toward her again before remembering that she didn’t want him to touch her. Quickly he lowered his arms but not before he caught another flash of panic in her eyes.

  Whatever he’d done, it set his intrepid bride quaking with fear. Good God, what was going on here?

  He forced himself to remain still. After a few suspenseful seconds, she too came to an unsteady halt against the balustrade at the top of the stairs. She watched him unwaveringly as if expecting him to strike at her like a snake.

  She lifted her chin, a poignant echo of the vibrant woman who had led him such a dance before promising to be his. “You can’t hurt me anymore.”

  He frowned in incomprehension. “Hurt you? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She flinched at the hint of impatience in his voice. “Don’t lie to me, Josiah.”

  Sucking in a breath, he struggled for calm when everything inside him wanted to insist that whatever evil she thought he’d committed, it couldn’t be true. “I’d never lie to you.”

  Bitter cynicism unfamiliar to the woman he’d known tightened her expression, although at least she stopped edging away. “Of course you would.”

  With every moment, he understood less. Foolishly he’d imagined that he’d understand everything if he could just find Isabella. Well, he’d found her and the mysteries became more baffling than ever. “Won’t you tell me what I did, Isabella?”

  Something in his tone must have convinced her to take his question seriously. A series of emotions crossed her face, fugitive as summer lightning. Fear. Puzzlement. Anger. Then a profound sadness to match the stabbing grief he’d felt when he’d woken without her and realized that he and his beloved were both dead.

  Grim premonition gripped him. “Isabella?”

  Her black gaze settled upon him, somber and lightless as he’d never seen it. “You murdered me, Josiah.”

  Chapter Three

  GINGERLY CALISTA INCHED inside the Chinese bedroom, feeling her way ahead with fumbling hands. There was a full moon tonight so sneaking down from her eyrie in the east tower hadn’t posed a problem. Unless she counted her nagging conviction that this was a mistake and once Miles discovered how inadequate she truly was, he’d cry off from marrying her, never mind the promises he’d made.

  This room was pitch-black. The curtains remained drawn, blocking out the moonlight. With every step through Stygian darkness, the temptation to turn and run like a frightened rabbit grew.

  She leveled her shoulders and told herself that ghosts didn’t exist. Which did nothing at all to stifle her nervousness about giving herself to Miles. And very little to overcome her awareness of the oppressive, ancient spite infesting the air in this chamber.

  Miles would mock her, but perhaps she might change her mind about insisting this would be their bedroom. The views were lovely, but the walls seeped with the memory of old tragedy. The possibly mythical princess. The far too real Josiah Aston and his murdered bride Isabella.

  No, they’d choose one of the numerous pleasant chambers on the floor below. A girl could take her commitment to modern scientific thought too far.

  “Miles?” she whispered, although there was little chance of being heard outside the room. Everyone in the house was asleep and this entire floor had been left empty for the guests who arrived tomorrow.

  No answer.

  Dear Lord, had he decided even before he had her that he was no longer interested? Calista told herself that it was no more than she’d expected, but even so, her belly cramped with misery.

  “Miles?” she hissed more loudly, wishing to heaven she had a candle, even if it increased the chance of discovery. Then instead of staggering around like a blind woman, she could check the room, confirm he’d let her down and leave.

  To try and stitch her broken heart together up in her lonely room.

  Too mortifying to contemplate. She straightened, although nobody was present to witness her revival of spirit, and reached in front of her.

  She’d sit on the bed and wait a few minutes—at least that proved her courage, the bed was said to guarantee a violent death to any bride who lay in it. Easy to scoff at ridiculous superstitions in the light of day. Less easy when she stood in a closed room, straining to hear another person breathing.

  A month ago, opening this beautiful, neglected house for her wedding had seemed a brave, positive act. Now, Calista reclassified the whim as rash and stupid. She counted herself the most rational of creatures, but something in this room wasn’t right. Even someone as insensitive to the occult as she sensed the deep sadness surrounding her. The atmosphere’s heaviness was more obvious now that she couldn’t see. Air that should be still moved on her bare arms, making the hairs stand up on her skin. Since Isabella Verney’s grisly death last century, there had been numerous accounts of specters at Marston Hall. That disciple of scientific method, Calista Aston, had always dismissed these reports as the victory of imagination over reason.

  At this moment, she wasn’t quite so sure.

  Calista ventured another step and slammed into something big and warm.

  Like a ninny, she screamed.

  ***

  “Calista, you goose, hush now. You’ll have a crowd in here. And if we’re going to face down a scandal, I damn well want the pleasure first.”

  It was Miles. Living, breathing, provoking Miles. Nothing unearthly visiting from the other side of the grave.

  “Why didn’t you answer me?” Temper sent her nonsensical fears scampering into the shadows.

  He laughed softly and put his arms around her. Until the first time Miles held her, she’d never felt she had a place in the world. He anchored her every time he touched her. She closed her eyes and relished his heat, even as her heart kicked into a gallop at the prospect of that strong, male body naked against hers.

  “I wanted to tease you.”

  “By scaring me silly and risking discovery,” she said crossly, although held so close, it was difficult to maintain her annoyance.

  As if by common con
sent, they stood a few seconds without speaking, waiting to hear if anyone climbed the stairs to investigate the cry in the night.

  The house around them remained silent.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Miles drew away and led her toward the bed. Or at least she assumed he led her toward the bed. The darkness disoriented her. The darkness and the dizzy pleasure of being alone with Miles.

  “I nearly didn’t,” she admitted in a low voice, following without resistance.

  “Let me open the curtains.”

  She shivered with the trepidation that his embrace had briefly vanquished. Any nervousness about ghosts receded under a more immediate fear of what was about to happen. “I’d rather do this in the dark.”

  He laughed again. “How do you know?”

  Miles seemed to take this encounter so lightly. One of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him was the way he responded to life with a smile. But something in her resented his failure to recognize her surrender as the huge concession it was.

  “I don’t.”

  “Then trust me. I’d prefer to do this in a blaze of light so I see every expression on your lovely face. In the absence of a hundred chandeliers, moonlight must suffice.”

  She stumbled to a halt. He frequently called her pretty and his darling and other such flummery. The problem was that just now he’d sounded so genuine, if she wasn’t careful, she might start to believe him, in spite of the damning evidence of her looking glass. His casual reference to her beauty cut straight to her yearning heart. She wanted to be beautiful for him. As he was beautiful for her.

  “Miles…” she said helplessly.

  He raised her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her palm. The caress tingled to the soles of her feet and she began to tremble, this time not with fear.

  “Stay there,” he murmured.

  Her skin tightening with wanton anticipation, she listened to him prowl around the room. He seemed to have an unerring instinct for where he went. With a swish of the curtains, moonlight flooded the chamber, turning black to molten silver.

  She poised uncertainly, trapped between the craven urge to flee and a powerful hunger for this ultimate closeness.

  She watched Miles at the window. The light limned him, turned him into a being from another world. The magnificent sight made the breath catch in her throat. He wore a loose white shirt and breeches. She’d never been so aware of his height or the lean strength of his body.

  He turned and at last she saw the smile that tilted his mouth. His eyes focused on her and the smile faded, replaced by an expression that looked like awe. He tautened into stillness as he surveyed her from her unbound hair to her bare toes peeping beneath the white hem of her simple night rail.

  The moonlight was so bright, she saw his Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed. She could almost imagine that he found her as breathtaking as she found him. His expression smoothed the sharpness from her uncertainty. The clamorous babble of thoughts in her head quietened to a low hum of need.

  “You’re undressed,” he said huskily.

  It seemed foolish to blush when they both knew she was in this room to offer herself to him, but heat flushed her cheeks. “I wasn’t sure what to wear.”

  His joyous smile made her toes curl against the Turkish rug at her feet. “Or not, as the case may be.”

  “Or not.”

  She waited in an agony of pleasurable suspense for him to seize her, ravish her into delight so that she had no chance to remember the dictates of propriety. But he approached slowly, as though afraid if he moved too abruptly, she might vanish. By the time he stopped in front of her, she trembled with apprehension and desire. Her body felt too small a vessel to contain the storm of emotions raging inside her.

  He reached out to smooth her hair away from her face. His touch always turned her knees to custard. Now, when the bed and all it portended filled the shadows behind him, the glance of his hand set her burning. If such a seemingly innocent touch had this effect, she’d most likely combust into ashes before they were done tonight.

  Calista bit her lip and stood in shaking stillness as he trailed his hand across her neck and shoulders. His touch felt like a discovery rather than a seduction. Although of course she was seduced. Her heart thundered and her breasts tightened against the thin lawn of her nightdress. He glanced down and her blush heightened as she realized he saw her beaded nipples pressing against the fine white material.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered, running his hand down her side then up again.

  A tremulous sigh escaped her. This tender wooing lured her deeper and deeper into the turbulent waters of desire. She should move, speak, do something to encourage him. But his touch was so delicious, she found herself unable to do anything beyond accept this worship. His scent was spicy, clean. Familiar, yet with a musky tinge that awakened her senses.

  Through the haze of pleasure enveloping her, she managed to send up a silent prayer. That the reverence she read in his face would last. That he’d still love her after he’d taken her to bed. That he’d look at her like this in the morning when she stepped inside the Marston parish church to pledge herself to him for the rest of her life.

  Finally after what felt like an eon of teasing touches, Miles cupped her breast in his large, capable palm. His thumb brushed her nipple and she sagged as sensation roared through her. At last, at last he bent his head and kissed her with a ravenous ardour that outstripped anything she’d experienced before. She sighed and gave herself up to pleasure. The doubts that harried her drowned in a torrent of passion.

  Clumsily, trying not to break the kiss, he tugged off his shirt. They both laughed breathlessly. Then laughter died and heat shuddered through her as she flattened her hand on the bare skin of his chest. They’d snatched occasional moments of privacy, but never before had she been free to learn the mysteries of his body at her leisure.

  She moved closer, pressing her hips into his. He was hard and ready. He’d wanted her this afternoon. Now even the most innocent woman would know that he wanted her to the point of madness. She had the evidence of his erection against the softness of her belly. There was his jagged, rasping breath and the shaking need he betrayed as he fondled her through the nightgown. Soon even that frail barrier became unbearable. Roughly he wrenched it over her head and flung it away.

  The daze of sensual pleasure receded. For the first time, Calista was naked with a man. Self-consciousness rose like a tide of icy water. The night wasn’t cold, but the air chilled her skin.

  Awkwardly she broke away, but Miles caught her hand and stopped her retreat. Gently but inexorably, he turned her toward the moonlight flooding through the window.

  “Exquisite,” he breathed.

  She wanted to argue. To insist that she was too tall, too thin, that her breasts were too small. But the veneration in his face held her quiet and, for once, she poised on the verge of believing that a man could find her lovely.

  He reached out to trace the outline of her body. The subtle curves and planes. This time there was nothing between her skin and his seeking, gliding fingers. This time when he kissed her, she sensed a new wildness. As though now she’d revealed her nakedness, the last wall between them crumbled.

  Calista became lost in a dark forest of sensation. Of soft sighs and stroking hands and pleasure she’d never imagined in all her twenty-five years. When he touched her between the legs, she jerked on a strangled moan of shocked delight. Desire became a molten weight in the pit of her belly. She clung to his shoulders and instinct made her lean forward and bite him on the chest. His gasp conveyed astonished appreciation, then the world whirled as he swung her up in his arms and carried her the few steps to the Chinese bed.

  For the first time in her life, she listened to a man undressing. The whispering slide of fabric on skin was almost unbearably erotic. She snatched at another breath. Henwit she was, she kept forgetting to breathe.

  This new universe of physical pleasure left her floundering. How
she wanted to be brave, spirited, reckless, but shyness overcame her and she closed her eyes.

  When she found the courage to look at him again, Miles came down over her, blocking the moonlight. He supported himself on his arms and he seemed large and powerful and resonating with an alien masculinity. For the space of a second, arousal faded and old fears stirred.

  “You make me feel too much,” she whispered.

  The fierceness faded from his eyes and his smile made her feel cherished. “I love you,” he murmured.

  Calista wanted to tell him that she loved him too, but the declaration jammed unspoken in her throat. She was too conscious of his nakedness, of his barely leashed passion. While she reveled in his passion, it daunted her, too.

  A low keening sound escaped her and she ran an unsteady hand through the soft hair that flopped forward over his high forehead. The overflowing tenderness in her heart made it impossible to hide her quaking vulnerability.

  The shadows and his position braced over her meant she could no longer see his expression. But as her hand drifted down his face, she felt him smile. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath and bent to kiss her, with a return of reverence.

  “You drive me mad, Calista.”

  Her nervousness leached away, leaving only love and need. She arched toward him in unmistakable invitation. Fear found no place in this incandescent moment. Her voice was firmer than it had been since she’d entered the room. “Make me yours, Miles.”

  “My darling.”

  Carefully he parted her legs and slid between them until she cradled him against her body. His hand found once again that place that set her quivering with pleasure. By the time he angled his hips forward, her breath emerged in ragged gasps and her body tightened, striving to reach an unimagined destination.

  “I’m afraid,” she admitted. Not just because of what he was about to do, but because this joining would make her forever his, whatever anguish lay ahead.