A Phantom Affair (2 page)

It seemed impossible to believe that three years ago, she had not imagined she would see any more of the world than the small village where she had been raised. Although her stepfather had served the king and then the Regent for many years in the English army, she and her mother had lived all her life in the same cottage near Coldstream.

A snowstorm had swept the Duke of Westhampton's granddaughter into the cottage to find shelter that winter. When Romayne had returned to England, she had invited Ellen to join her for the glorious Season in London. With such a sponsor and a generous dowry offered by the duke in gratitude for helping his granddaughter, Ellen was welcomed wholeheartedly among the
ton
.

That first Season and the ones that followed had been as wondrous as she had created in her fantasies. Yet in spite of the attentions of many gentlemen, she had not found a single one who touched her heart and set it dancing. Romayne had taught her never to compromise her dreams. It was a lesson she had learned well, and one she would not forget, for to settle for less than her heart's desire was certain to end up breaking it.

She had no time for memory, because the prattle of cheerful voices emerged from the shadows to draw them toward a crowd of the marquess's guests. Looking at the score of people gathered in the center of the front garden, she wondered which one was Lord Wulfric. Marian had been oddly reticent about their host, save for her comment that he was unmarried.

With a silent sigh, she knew that her friend had no intention of letting her die like Jenkin's hen. She almost chuckled. How long had it been since she had last thought in the Scottish phrases she once had considered commonplace? Mayhap it was time to go home.

Again Marian's words intruded, giving Ellen no time for introspection as she was kept busy greeting the other guests.

An older woman, whose silk gown was such a bright blue that the color was visible even in the deepening darkness, eyed Ellen up and down candidly. “So you are Marian's young friend who has spent the past three Seasons in London?”

“Yes, I am.” She refused to take insult.
She
was the one who had decided not to accept any of the marriage proposals which had come her way.

“I was telling my dear son Kenneth just the other day that it was time we had a gathering at our home,” the older woman said.

Ellen resisted rolling her eyes in dismay when she heard Marian answer with excitement. Would there be no end to her friend's matchmaking? Somehow she must persuade Marian to listen to good sense. Ellen would not settle for less than her heart's desire. If the man of her dreams did not exist, then so be it.

When the first round of fireworks exploded above the Abbey, Ellen was glad. Not only were they wondrously lovely, the blues, reds, and yellows brighter than the stars, but the gabble-grinding ceased. A crack of thunder followed the next rockets skyward.

“How beautiful!” she said.

“As beautiful as the company I would venture,” came an answer in a voice much deeper than Marian's.

Ellen looked over her shoulder and found herself staring at the shadowed front of a man's coat. As her gaze rose over a firm chin and a smile, she swallowed her gasp. If the darkness was not betraying her—and she suspected it was not—the man wore a patch over one eye. It looked out of place with his easy smile.

She was saved from having to reply as another burst scattered fireworks across the sky. Beside her, Marian was applauding in delight.

Marian crowed, “That is the best one yet.” Not even pausing to take a breath, she said, “There is Mrs. Richards. I must speak with her about—”

Another crash in the sky swallowed Marian's words as she scurried away. Ellen considered following, but she did not want to appear rude to the gentleman who still stood behind her.

“Are you enjoying the fireworks?” she asked as the glitter faded into pale smoke that disfigured the stars' glow.

“Unquestionably. And you, Miss—”

“Dunbar. Ellen Dunbar.” She smiled. “I, too, am enjoying them very much. I saw some in Hyde Park last month, but I believe these are even more glorious.”

“I thank you.” Her eyes widened when he gave a slight bow in her direction and said, “Allow me to present myself. Corey Wolfe, Miss Dunbar.”

“Lord Wulfric?”

“One and the same now.”

She thought she heard a tinge of sorrow and scoured her memory to remember when the previous Lord Wulfric had died. She could not recall, which suggested that the previous marquess had passed away before she had first come to London.

“Having fireworks like this was an inspired idea,” she said before the silence between them could grow as heavy as the dew on the grass. “The moonless night is perfect for them.”

“Save that the trees close to the Abbey obscure some of the lower ones. Would you like to watch them from where they look even lovelier?”

“Lady Herrold will be distressed if she discovers I am gone.”

He chuckled. “Think how much more distressed that fine lady shall be if she learns that I have failed to play the good host to you.” He swept his arm out. “I shall take you no farther than your voice can carry. Therefore, if I am the least indecorous to you, you need only give a cry for help.”

“That sounds as if you have had cause to check the distance, my lord.”

“Only when I was young enough to be certain that my governess was out of earshot.”

Ellen could not help laughing. Lord Wulfric was charming, and to own the truth, Marian would be pleased to see Ellen talking to their host. After all, Marian had been sure to tell her that the marquess was still without a marchioness.

As they walked along the gravel path back toward where the carriage had stopped, Lord Wulfric said, “I saw you speaking with Marian and Mrs. Pratt, and I thought you might appreciate a chance to escape.”

“That was very perceptive of you.”

“Not very. I have seen them scheming together for many years. Their hearts are well meaning, but I assume they have already arranged for you to welcome Mrs. Pratt's inimitable son at Herrold Hall.”

Again she laughed. “Not quite, but only because the fireworks began.”

“No wonder you looked so pleased.” He motioned toward the seawall. “If you stand here, Miss Dunbar, I think you shall see …”

Ellen pressed her hand to her breast as the next round of fireworks ignited. Their lights reflected in the water as the sea came alive with all the colors painting the sky.

“How magnificent!” she whispered, for speaking more loudly seemed somehow irreverent.

“You aren't scared to stand so close to the edge of the cliff?”

She shook her head. “Only if one is foolhardy does one need to worry.”

“And you are never foolhardy, Miss Dunbar?”

“Almost never.”

His laugh was low and rumbled deep within her as powerfully as the explosions overhead. “Honesty. That is always refreshing.”

“And much easier in the long run.”

Leaning one hand on the wall, he faced her. “You sound as if you are very much the pragmatic Scot, Miss Dunbar.”

“I can only be what I am, my lord.” She was not surprised that he had guessed her birthplace, for its accent filled every word she spoke. “Although I must own my mother has said more than once that I would misplace my head if it were not firmly connected to my shoulders.”

“You are—if I may be so bold—a delight. Are you visiting Herrold Hall for long?”

A trill of happiness burst within her as more fireworks sparkled above them and in the sea. “Marian has asked me to stay with her and Lord Herrold until the end of the summer.”

“As the summer is only half over, it seems you shall be here for a while.”

“Yes.”

He took her gloved hand between his broad ones. “Then may I be so presumptuous as to ask if I might give you and Marian a look-in before this week comes to a close?” He grinned. “That is, if you are not receiving Mrs. Pratt's dear son at the same time.”

Even through her kid gloves, she could sense the warmth of his touch. She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, which was even warmer. As a smile eased across his lips, heat drifted through her like a slow, lingering caress. She knew she should say something—anything—but all words had melted in this sweet fire sweeping over her.

In the back of her mind, a persistent, annoying voice reminded her that other men had held her hand and set her heart to beating too swiftly. Those men had seemed as charming as Lord Wulfric in the midst of a dance or while standing on a balcony, with a garden waking to the glory of summer's blossoms. Later, when they had called, she had discovered the magic had belonged to the night, not to them.

A faithless heart was what Marian called it. A sensible heart was her stepfather's opinion from Scotland. A lonely heart was her own belief.

“You hesitate, Miss Dunbar,” he said, releasing her hand. “I beg your forgiveness if I have overstepped myself.”

“No!” she gasped.

When he chuckled, Ellen asked herself how she could sound like a girl still in the schoolroom. Had three Seasons in London made no impression on her?

“Does that mean you will not forgive me?” His dark brows arched. “Or can it be you have decided to grant Kenneth Pratt the favor of being the first to call upon you here in grassville?”

She relaxed as she heard amusement in his voice. There was nothing cruel in Lord Wulfric's sense of humor, for he was laughing as much at the silliness of this conversation as at her. “You have mistaken my hesitation to consider Marian's hectic schedule as something else.” She soothed the pulse of guilt by reminding herself that those words were not totally false. Marian was her hostess, and her plans must take precedence.

Another volley of fireworks splashed across the sky, but she barely took note as Lord Wulfric folded her fingers between his again. He
was
bold as brass!

“So, may I call upon you at Herrold Hall, Miss Dunbar?”

She was delighted her voice remained much more serene than she felt as she said, “I believe Marian holds an at home on Wednesdays.”

“Thursdays here in the country,” he corrected with a grin, “if Marian has not changed her ways, which seems most unlikely.”

“She is a creature of habit.”

“Since I have known her.” Not releasing her hand, he leaned back on the low wall. “I have no doubts that she shall soon regale you—if she has not already—with the pranks I played upon her during our younger days.”

Ellen shook her head. “She has said nothing of that.”

Again he chuckled. “Come then, Miss Dunbar. Let us find your good friend Marian, so she does not fret about your absence. If I have won her forgiveness for those long past crimes, I must endeavor to do nothing to forsake it again.”

When he held out his arm, she put her fingers on it. He drew her hand within his arm as they strolled back toward the garden. Although he said nothing, the silence was not uncomfortable. She did not need to strain to find words which had little use save to fill the quiet.

A figure burst out of the darkness. Corey tightened his hold on Miss Dunbar's hand as the shadow ran toward them. He relaxed with a silent curse when he realized it was Fenton. The old fool must be all about in his head to race through the dark like this.

“Lord Wulfric!” he shouted like a sentry calling an alarm. When fireworks flashed in front of the stars once more, he crouched. “My lord, I asked ye to put a halt to this.”

Corey took a deep breath and released it slowly. To Miss Dunbar, who was unfamiliar with Fenton's eccentricities, the old man must appear even more bizarre. “As you can see, nothing is amiss. I appreciate your concern, but—”

“Ain't done yet.”

“We're within ambs ace of being done. If I calculate correctly, there should be only one or two more rounds waiting to be sent skyward.” He patted the bent man on the shoulder.

Fenton shuffled away, muttering.

“I apologize, Miss Dunbar,” Corey said.

“No need. It speaks well of this household that he is comfortable enough to come to you.”

“That is, I believe, a kind way of telling me that you think he is as queer in the attic as Lorenzo deems him to be.” When she glanced at him, confusion on her heart-shaped face, he smiled. He wondered if she was as pretty in the daylight as she was when the fireworks glittered in her eyes. The curls slipping along her shoulders must be red, and he could not help pondering if she had a temper as fiery. “I speak of my cousin, Lorenzo Wolfe.”

“I have not had the chance to meet Mr. Wolfe.”

“I speculate you shall within moments, for, if I am not mistaken, I can see him speaking with Marian at the moment. He—Watch out!”

Something sparked. Something eye-searingly bright. Ellen held up her hands as she heard Lord Wulfric shout. He grabbed her, twisting her back toward the road. The whole world erupted into chaos. Noise struck her like a blow, propelling her away from Lord Wulfric. She was thrown from her feet. Pain scored her arm. Her head struck the ground. The world ebbed into darkness, but she would not be swallowed by it.

Sitting, she moaned as she leaned on her right arm. Fire, as fierce as the flames consuming the bushes at the edge of the garden, seared her when she fell back to the earth. Shouts came from every direction, but no words made sense. She put her left hand to her forehead and resisted the temptation to fade into the senselessness. Anguish surrounded her in a cold aura, making every motion impossible. She struggled to breathe, to hold on to consciousness.

She thought she had lost the battle, then a groan came from her right. Turning cautiously, for her head threatened to disobey even the simplest order, she scanned the scorched grass.

“Lord Wulfric!” she cried.

He was lying on the ground, his arms flung out as if he had taken a facer. Blood flowed down his waistcoat. She put her fingers close to his lips. The uneven pulse of his breath brushed her palm.