Chapter One
Northampton
September, 1817
His warm handscovered her shoulders from behind as he nuzzled her neck. Letting her head fall back against his shoulder, Lady Juliet Hastings of Abercorn shivered with anticipation. She knew his hands, his lips, his body, and soon he would take her to the stars. Her light shift was too much for her heated body and she itched to have it off, to feel him touch her, kiss her in places that made her feel alive.
Even at the thought, her shift was gone and she faced him, his hard nakedness touching hers. He pulled her tight against him as his mouth took hers in a kiss that made her bare toes curl. She felt loved, beautiful, and worthy all at once. His kiss moved from her lips to her neck and lower still. She held her breath to what she knew came next. His mouth—
A sharp bump to her temple woke her as her head banged against the side of the coach. Blinking, it took her a moment to recognize her surroundings as the usual wave of cold after the dream flowed over her, making her pull her cloak tightly about her. With no one in the coach, there was no need to blush, but she did. He had followed her!
Pushing aside the curtain over the window, she looked out at a tree-lined road lit by the coach lanterns in the night. Whenshe’d left Thorndale Manor, she’d assured herself the dreams would stop, but if anything they seemed more real, as if she were in a waking dream. It was far too unsettling, and too intimate to confide to anyone.
She let the curtain fall. The dreams had been her only solace after her husband died. It had been barely half a day before his brother had descended upon Thorndale Manor and made it clear she must leave. He cared not that she had no family left and nowhere to go, or rather almost nowhere. With only her clothes, a few books, some private items, and her horse, she was to take up residence in her only inheritance, a haunted cottage.
She shivered at the thought of her dire straits. The home had been passed down from her great-aunt, to her grandmother, then to her mother, neither of the past two generations having ever dared venture to it. She’d been told tales of the haunting since a young child. And now, with no servants and but a basket of food, she was about to be the first to spend a night at Brambling Cottage in generations.
She’d sent a letter to the caretaker, not knowing exactly when she’d be arriving, having postponed her departure as long as possible. She hoped Mr. Kingman had at least thought to set wood for a fire and maybe a lantern.
The coach slowed. Moving aside the curtain again, she found the trees barely discernable. Were they being robbed? She held her breath as the coach came to a halt. She jumped when the door opened, but it was only her coachman, or rather the man whousedto be her coachman.
“Why are we stopping?” Her voice barely made a dent in the silence of the night.
“We have arrived, my lady.” The coachman held out his hand to help her to descend.
Beyond his figure was nothing but darkness. No owl hooted nor horse neighed, as if they knew better than to disturb the airwith their sound. She swallowed hard, gathering her courage. Finally, she took his hand and stepped to the ground.
Before her were only thick woods, and she frowned.
“This way, my lady.” Holding a lantern with one hand, he held the other out toward the front of the coach.
Picking up the skirts of her black traveling dress, she moved forward on stiff limbs, the chill of the air making her thankful she wore her wool cloak. Once past the horses, she looked up to find a large cottage, the lower floor’s windows and two above lit with cheery light. Her eyes itched with tears at the welcome sight.
“There looks to be a small stable around the side. If you’d like, I can settle your mare into her new home?”
She nodded, grateful for the man’s thoughtfulness and whoever had prepared her home. Feeling a little better, she moved forward and opened the gate, which was also whisper quiet, reminding her that despite the look, she was about to enter her ancestor’s domain.
No sooner had she closed the little gate and taken a step upon the narrow flagstone walkway, then the front door opened.
She froze, her hand to her chest as her breath stopped.
A large, tall figure moved into the doorway, backlit by the deceptively warm environs behind him. “Welcome to the nest.”
At the sound of his deep bass voice, her heart skittered, and the little hairs on her arms rose. She knew that voice! It was the man in her dreams. The one who kept her company at night and distracted her from her ogre-in-law for four long months. How could she have dreamed of a real person? Avid curiosity at what he looked like fought with her fear. Forcing courage into her stance that she didn’t truly have, she lifted her chin slightly. “The nest?”
A low chuckle issued from him, causing tiny ripples of pleasure to flow through her body. “That’s what your great-aunt called it.”
That he knew how her ancestor had referred to the cottage had her fear overriding every other emotion, and she took an instinctive step back. Was he a ghost?
“I apologize. I should perhaps introduce myself. I’m Noah Kingman, the latest in my line to take care of Brambling Cottage, and the only one honored to have a Finch come home.”
Home? Honored? Though she couldn’t see his face, it was as if he smiled as he spoke. Relieved he was not a ghost, she forced her legs to move forward. “I’m Lady Juliet Hastings of Abercorn.” Despite her intent to draw close enough to see his face, she slowed to a stop after three steps.
“No need to introduce yourself, my lady. I would recognize you as a Finch if I were to notice you across the Burlington Arcade in London.”
Her heart raced at his words. Surely, he could not have actually been in her dreams! She felt her cheeks heat. “You…you could?”
This time he laughed. “Oh, yes.” He stepped to the side and opened his arm toward the beckoning warmth inside. “Come see why.”
