Page 47 of A Ghost of a Chance

“You know, I used to be, but I lost my way for a time. Meeting you has brought me back to myself. You have helped me find my honor and decency again. After the war, I helped people out of duty or, as you observed, a desire to atone for any mistakes I made that caused suffering to others. Now, I help people because it’s the right thing to do. It makes me happy.” His soft smile felt very intimate. “You make me happy, and I like who I am becoming since meeting you.”

Outside the windows, the black of night faded to predawn gray. That familiar current tugged on her. “We’re almost out of time.”

He glanced at the window before turning to her. No one had ever looked at her so deeply, as if he saw all of her. “Osanne, I love you.”

Osanne’s entire being burst into light and song. “I love you, Rafe.”

They shared one more kiss. This time fervor and desperation replaced his earlier gentleness. He wrapped his arms around her and clung to her as if trying to tether her there. She pressed against him with the same desperation.

As she faded away, she held on to the sensation of Rafe’s touch, his kiss, his words.

His voice followed her as she drifted away. “I love you, and I will always be here when you return.”

Would one night a year be enough for a mortal?

Chapter Fourteen

As autumn deepened into winter Rafe strolled next to Peter Brown, his arms now empty of the baskets they had taken to the poor. Overhead the sky hung low, sullen, and gray, so near it might have touched the bare tree branches. A hush lay over the woods through which their path wound. Rafe turned up the collar of his coat against the chill.

Peter cast a sideways glance at him. “You’ve been very quiet the last few days.”

“I apologize if I’ve been poor company.”

“Not at all. But I feel you carry a burden. I would lighten your load, if I can.”

Rafe lifted a brow. “Are you inviting me to confession, Vicar?”

Earnestly, Peter said, “If that would ease your burden.”

Rafe smiled and shook his head. “I fear you would think me mad.”

“Ah, but as the owner of the Great House now, you are allowed your eccentricities, your lordship.”

Rafe chuckled. “I have no title, as you are well aware.”

“As both your friend and your clergyman, I vow to keep any confidence.”

“I’m sure you’re the keeper of many secrets.”

“As you are, I believe.” Peter looked at him expectantly.

Did he dare tell his friend about Osanne? With each passing year, his secret seemed to weigh more heavily on him. Would confiding in Peter help or only serve to alienate his closest friend?

Peter watched him with an even deeper level of kindness than usual. Rafe could trust Peter.

Rafe blew out his breath. “Very well, but only if you promise to assume that I’m not a bedlamite and consider that what I tell you might actually be true.”

Peter held up a hand. “You have my solemn vow.”

After another fortifying breath, Rafe told him the entire story—how he met Osanne, their first night together, how she faded away with the sunrise.

Peter’s mouth opened in surprise and his eyes widened.

“And now you do think me mad,” Rafe said.

Peter donned an expression that would have served him well in games that required bluffing. “Did you ever see her again?”

“I see her every year on All Hallows’ Eve.”