Page 23 of A Ghost of a Chance

Rafe turned those incredibly bright, beautiful eyes toward Osanne. “Does it trouble you that the new family has adopted your custom of holding an All Hallows’ Eve Masquerade?”

“It did, at first, but it is rather an obligation of those who live in the Great House to entertain, and in a way, I am glad they continue the tradition. Although, it does make it a bit more challenging to play the pianoforte without alarming anyone.”

Rafe grinned. “It does. But it provides a bit of a thrill, as well, does it not?”

She shared a smile with him.

“I took precautions this year and wore attire appropriate for a ball in the event we are discovered again.” Out of a pocket from his overcoat, he retrieved a decorated mask. “I even brought a mask.”

He removed his greatcoat to reveal a finely tailored evening suit, far simpler in design than any she had before seen. No lace adorned his throat, merely a cravat tied in an intricate knot. Nor did lace peep out underneath the sleeves of his tailcoat, which also had an unusual design, cut square at the waist, with long tails, and solid black rather than brocade. Elegant in its simplicity. And how superbly it accentuated Rafe’s very fine form.

Under her stare, he raised a brow and smiled smugly. He knew of her admiration, the scoundrel.

She admitted, “You look very well, indeed, although I have never seen clothing of that style.”

He adopted a lofty pose. “’Tis the very latest fashion from London.”

“Indeed? Fashion has certainly changed since I attended balls and soirees.”

“Styles do tend to change quickly.”

In the music room, she paused to admire the pianoforte before lowering herself to the padded bench. Rafe took a seat on the bench beside her. If she had a body, he would be touching her intimately, at every point on her left side.

His nearness brought clarity to the new section. She played her piece, including the stanza from last year, and added the new variation. How sweet to finally hear more of the composition she started long ago. The last notes faded away, the composition still incomplete. Still, she had made much progress this eve.

Rafe whispered. “Magnificent.”

She ran her fingers along the edge of the keyboard, suddenly shy about speaking the thoughts of her heart. “I thought my inspiration for composing ended with my death. But somehow, with you near, I hear it again.”

Softly, he said, “I inspire you?”

“You do.” She dared a look at him.

A soft light entered his eyes. “I never imagined I’d be anyone’s muse.”

They shared a smile that created a hopeful sort of longing somewhere in her disembodied soul. “It is yet unfinished. I know there is more, but this is all I hear at present.”

“Would you play it again?”

“Gladly.”

She immersed herself in the beauty of music and the beauty of the man next to her who brought it back to life for her. As the last notes dissipated, the room fell silent.

The door burst open. “Oh!” The same housekeeper from last time stood gaping at Rafe. “It’s you again, sir.”

Rafe stood. “It is I, again. But this time, I’m better dressed for the occasion.” He gestured to himself and brandished his mask. “Do you not agree?” He gave her a winning smile.

She blushed. “Indeed, sir, you look most...presentable.”

In a wounded tone, Rafe said, “Only presentable?” He sighed dramatically. “And here I’d hoped to be all that is dashing and fashionable.”

Osanne laughed. “Flirt,” she accused.

Rafe darted a glance at her, his lips twisting in suppressed amusement, before returning his attention to the housekeeper.

After giving Rafe a thorough perusal, the woman practically swooned. “You certainly are dashing and fashionable—and handsome.” She jerked back and blinked as if she had remembered herself. “Forgive me. I have intruded on you enough. Er, do you require anything, sir?”

“No, thank you. I’ll amuse myself a bit longer before joining the festivities. On second thought, there is one thing.”