“I am not suggesting that we ignore it. But we needn’t make a mountain out of a molehill.”
“A ghost is not a molehill.”
“A scrap of fabric is not evidence of a ghost.”
“You heard Daisy. She said she saw a fluttering white robe?—”
“According to Brunswick, Daisy has a penchant for telling tales. Her various claims include being related to a viscount, surviving being struck by lightning not once but twice, and seeing Herne the Hunter riding near Windsor Forest.” Ethan cocked his head. “Come to think of it, lightning strikes would explain some things about her.”
Xenia rolled her eyes. “While Daisy may not be the most reliable source, how do you explain the bloodstained cloth?”
“A previous gardener cut himself and lost the bandage. An animal found an old handkerchief and carried it into the garden. A passerby was wiping his bleeding nose, and the wind blew it out of his hands?—”
“All right, all right.” Xenia wrinkled her nose. “You win.”
Ethan quirked a brow. “Are you certain? I could list other rational explanations.”
“You are an artist. Shouldn’t you be more creative than rational?”
“That is a general misunderstanding about artists.” He sounded exasperated. “Creativity matters, yes. But one’s creativity only gets a chance to soar through discipline and hard work. A piece might sound spontaneously expressive when one is performing it, but that effortlessness took untold hours of practice. The more seamless the playing, the more the musician rehearsed.”
That made sense, of course, and suddenly reminded her of Tony’s struggles. While he’d been fervent about discussing his ideas, he’d been less committed to sitting at a desk and writing them down. He’d waited for inspiration to flood him; instead, it had come in drips and dribbles. This had led to his frustration and sulking; when she’d tried to console him, he’d retorted that she didn’t understand the struggles of a true artist.
That had hurt, especially since she worked hard at her craft. While many wouldn’t consider storytelling an art, she did…and she took it seriously. She’d spent hours practicing and preparing for her performances, wanting to create the most compelling fantasy possible. Yet she’d allowed Tony’s jibe because she’d been desperate for affection…even if it had been an illusion.
“Is my discussion of art boring you, Jane?”
At Ethan’s polite inquiry, she shook free of the past and felt a burst of gratitude for where she was now. With a man who desired and appreciated her.
“You are being rather sensible,” she teased. “I thought musicians were more passionate?—”
She broke off with a gasp when he hooked her by the waist and maneuvered her onto the chesterfield. The next instant, his mouth clamped over hers, his hard length pushing her against firm, tufted leather. She arched her neck as his kiss claimed her breath and her thoughts.
“I am not passionate enough for you, hmm?” His breath coasted against her ear, making her shiver. “Do you need more proof of my impetuous nature, pet?”
The way he was touching her made herfeellike a prized pet. He stroked her cheek and neck with his long fingers, and she nearly purred. His heavy erection pressed through the layers of her skirts. Yet there were things they needed to discuss. The affair with Tony had been disastrous in part because she’d been afraid to ask for clarity about his intentions. She’d allowed him to string her along, and it was a mistake she would not make again.
“Yes,” she said. “After we talk about our, um, arrangement.”
“Now who is being sensible?”
Ethan gave an exaggerated sigh, but he helped her to sit up. He slung his arm around her shoulders, and she settled into the solid harbor of his body, marveling at how natural it felt to do so. Tony had not been the sort of fellow to cuddle.
“Shall we start where we left off?” Ethan said. “You were about to tell me why you were averse to relationships of a permanent nature.”
She was not fooled by his casual tone. “Was I?”
“You said it wasn’t because of your prior marriage,” he prompted.
His intent look and the fact that he’d listened gave her courage.
“That is true.” She drew in a breath. “Because, you see, I was never married.”
ChapterSixteen
Ethan angled himself to face her.
“You said you were a widow,” he stated.
