He rubbed his knuckles over her other nipple, chuckling when she gasped and squirmed from the erotic attention. “While it is true that I am Christian Delamare, I am also the Duke of Chalmert. I came here to escape London and the matchmaking mamas or desperate widows, all of who wish to land a duke.” All humor faded from his expression. “I want to be wanted for myself, not the title. I want a romance such as what my parents had, a true love that will last years and survive every challenge thrown at it.”
“Oh!” Her heart fluttered, for those words were akin to poetry. Then the shock set in, and the irony of the situation took hold. “My sisters always joked I would find a random duke whowould magically show up and rescue me, even though I don’t leave the house.”
“Until now, hmm? Until you found an abandoned cottage you brought back to life, where you realized yours?”
“I suppose.”
“Do you think that life might include finding room for a duke?”
That would change every plan she’d ever had. On the other hand, it might elevate those plans and give her greater reach. And hewasquite handsome. Perhaps he could help catch up the taxes on Papa’s manor, so at least Mama and her sisters remaining at home would always have a place to live.
“If I didn’t know better, I would think you only said those things to lure me into your bed, Your Grace.”
He snorted. “None of that formality now. I am Christian, or perhaps darling if you feel the urge, but I—”
A large thud and then a thump sounded from upstairs once more, followed by the unmistakable breaking of glass. Whatever he would have said was lost to the sudden acceleration of her heartbeat as he lifted off her.
“If there is a ghost, I intend to find it and evict it immediately, for I will not have the remainder of this night and the start of the rest of my life interrupted.” With a hand extended in invitation, he grinned, and she tumbled further down that slippery slope. “Let us tell our resident apparition that he or she needs to move on.”
Emmaline couldn’t help her own smile. This night had been a marvel in so many ways that she could hardly dare think of what would happen next.
Chapter Six
Dear God, I’mnearly three sheets to the wind over this woman, and I have only just met her a couple of hours ago.
From atop the mantel, a slightly battered carriage-style clock chimed the eleven o’clock hour. Christian both reveled in celebration and silently berated himself as he led the way to the second floor of Ivy Cottage. What sort of a nodcock told a woman he didn’t know that he was a duke and that he believed in true love? Perhaps it didn’t matter, for she’d looked at him with wonder and a matching desire.
Beyond that, he couldn’t explain it, but he knew, deep down in his soul, that this woman was the one for him. From what he’d remembered of how his parents’ romance started, there had been a spark from that first meeting, and then by the end of the ball, his father had asked for his mother’s hand. The rest was quite the storybook romance, only ending when his father had died a few years back. As for his mother, well, she lived at one of his country estates, content to live out the last of her life in simplicity and ease, doing whatever struck her fancy until she could rejoin Christian’s father in eternal joy.
There were worse things to believe in.
“Do you think this means thereistruly a ghost?” Trepidation rang in Emmaline’s voice as she clung to his hand up the stairs. “Who else would make all that noise? I have lived here for a fortnight and have never heard such things before.”
The thought of her in that bed alone, perhaps dreaming of her fictional duke, had interest surging into his shaft. He shoved that image from his mind, but before they could begin a search of the three rooms again, another thud sounded, and this time from above their heads.
“The attic,” he whispered. “How do we access it?”
“Here.” She led him to a slim door at the end of the narrow corridor. “There is another set of stairs, but it is a tight fit and quite dark.” When her hand shook, those trembles transferred to him. “Do you wish for a lighted candle?”
“Yes, and quickly.” As quietly as he could, he opened the door while Emmaline dashed into her bedchamber. Seconds later, she returned bearing a candle in a brass holder. Shadows danced on the wall from the guttering flame, and she looked like a wraith herself in her ivory-hued shift and petticoat. “Thank you,” he said as he took the candleholder from her. The mystery of the unknown sent prickles along his bare chest, but he refused to give into a shiver.
Then, for better or for worse, he mounted the stairs.
“Be careful, Christian,” she whispered, and the sound of his given name in her voice tightened his chest, for it was the sweetest music. “If thereisa ghost up here and it touches me, I shall faint.”
That tugged a grin from him. “I shall keep any otherworldly beings from bedeviling you.” And it would be his honor if she granted him that privilege for the rest of his life. Once in the attic, the candle flame cast weird shadows on the walls and the sloped ceiling. A jumble of items filled the space—trunks, packing crates, shapeless lumps of bags, an ornate birdcage, and far more things he couldn’t quite see. “It seems straightforward. Perhaps something merely fell due to the wind outside sneaking in through faulty thatching or crumbling plaster between the brickwork.”
“Dear God.” Shock reverberated in her voice, and she tapped on his back. “Look!”
When he followed her pointing finger, a child went through his person. “What the devil is that?” Holding the candle aloft, he peered into the darkness just at the edge of the circle of light.
If he wasn’t seeing the image with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it. Hovering in the air in a corner of the attic space was a loose, shapeless, filmy mass. As he stared, the shape shifted slightly and took on the ragged form of a woman in trailing skirts and flowing hair. There was no face to speak of and the apparition didn’t say anything, but the fact she was there, floating in the air, stuck in the attic had gooseflesh rising on his skin and fascinated horror playing up and down his spine.
Not knowing what else to do, he forced a swallow into his suddenly dry throat. “What do you want?” he asked of the ghost, for that could only be what this being was.
There was no answer.
The heat from Emmaline’s fingers as she wrapped a hand about his arm kept him grounded and oddly calm. “Do you want us to leave this cottage?”
