Authors: Kristen Ashley
He leaned into
the kiss and made what she intended to be a quick peck something
more. Not much but it was harder, longer and more meaningful. Her
head shot back when it was over but he didn’t drop his arms.
“That’s not
fair,” she whispered.
“Who said I
play fair?” he whispered back.
She became
aware that the joviality had left the room and she broke free of
Douglas’s arms to see Charlie watching her speculatively and Oliver
pretending he didn’t notice anything.
“Time for bed,
we girls have cooking to do tomorrow.” Charlie, thankfully, waded
into the silence. “Goodnight you two,” she said, the couple came
forward and hugs were exchanged.
However,
Oliver’s was strange and when Julia looked up into his hazel eyes
she realised Charlie wasn’t the only one who was speculating about
what she saw.
They walked
out together, Charlie and Oliver ahead of Douglas and Julia.
Julia stopped
in the hall behind the morning room. She would carry on down the
back hall while Douglas and the rest went through the morning room
and lounge to get to the stairwell.
The other
couple went on and she turned to Douglas. “Goodnight.”
He caught her
wrist when she started away and pulled her back.
“
Don’t I
get a goodnight kiss?” he asked and his tone, (dare she believe
it?) was almost
playful
.
“
No,”
she answered immediately, all of a sudden not in the mood to be
playful, all of a sudden sober as a nun and reminded she was
not
treading cautiously.
He chuckled
and pulled her closer anyway. Completely ignoring her change of
mood and her answer to his question, he dipped his head and swept
his lips against hers.
“You’re,” she
couldn’t think of what to say, “too much,” she finished on a
hiss.
“
Thank
you.” His tone was sarcastic and Julia realised that now
his
mood had changed. He inclined
his head, dropped her wrist and started to walk away.
She stopped
him by calling his name.
At her call,
without hesitation, he turned back.
She bit her
lip as she watched him, took in a breath through her nostrils and
let her lip go on an exhale.
“That comment,
earlier tonight, about Sean was uncalled for,” she admitted. “I’m
sorry, you’re nothing like him.”
He watched her
for a second then repeated, “Thank you,” but this time he meant
it.
Then, without
another word, he walked away.
Julia
was in her room, taking off her shoes and trying (with difficulty
and not a great deal of success) not to think of the events of the
night and just how much she enjoyed them (from start to finish,
except, of course, her catty comment) when she heard it. Or, more
to the point, since it was nearly always there,
didn’t
hear it.
The scratching
was gone.
She lifted her
head as she dropped the second shoe and looked at the window, the
draperies closed on it. She’d only lit the bedside lamp when she
entered, not having the energy to light more.
That was when
she felt it, the draught at her ankles, and she looked down,
pulling her feet up on the bed. She saw the misty fog swirling and
then it moved away, where the window scratching always took place
and Julia watched the mist in frozen, horrified fascination.
It rose off
the floor and she stared as it took form, swirling around as it
shaped itself slowly into the body of a beautiful, young woman
dressed in a flowing, empire waist gown, its misty, shredded ends
streaming round her like they were alive.
Julia stared
in open-mouthed terror when the ghost said something, her mouth
moving but nothing coming out. Julia found herself leaning forward
as if to hear and then without warning, the spectre shot forward,
right toward Julia.
Julia let out
a frightened, muted scream but she wasted no time. She leapt off
the bed and ran to the door. Yanking it open, she tore down the
hall and only when she was well into the dining room did she allow
herself to look back to see… nothing.
But it
was too late, she’d looked behind her so she wasn’t looking where
she was going and she slammed straight into a solid barrier.
A
human
barrier. A
human barrier that grunted in surprise. A human barrier whose arms
came around her like vices.
They both fell
to the (thankfully thickly carpeted) dining room floor. He on his
back with nothing to break his fall, Julia right on top of him.
She pulled
herself up, one hand on the floor, the other on his chest and saw
through the darkness it was Douglas.
“What the
hell… are you… doing?” he asked, his voice winded and irate.
“A ghost. I
saw the ghost of The Mistress. In my room!” She was lying fully on
top of him but she was looking back over her shoulder.
She felt hands
grab her waist tightly and she was flipped expertly on her back,
this time Douglas on top.
“What are you
doing?” she cried hysterically from her new, unexpected
position.
“
I need
to…
breathe,
” he
forced out and took a deep breath and then a second one. “You
knocked the wind out of me and your weight wasn’t
helping.”
“I saw the
ghost of The Mistress,” Julia repeated, looking up into his
shadowed face and ignoring his justified complaints because, well…
there a haunting was afoot!
“There is no
ghost of The Mistress, it’s just a myth,” Douglas replied calmly,
his breath returned to normal.
“I saw her,”
Julia snapped in the face of his calm, slapping his bicep with her
hand to express her annoyance (and also anxiety). “She formed from
a mist, right in my room!”
He looked over
his shoulder then back at her. “No ghost and no mist,” he
declared.
Tentatively,
Julia lifted her head to look over his shoulder, grabbing them both
with her hands for leverage. Like Douglas, she saw nothing.
“I swear I saw
her,” she whispered unsteadily, lowering her back to the
ground.
“You’re
drunk.”
“I am not
drunk!” she hissed (even though she kind of was) as she let go of
his shoulders and slapped his bicep again.
“The Mistress
doesn’t show herself anyway. She’s always just there.”
Her eyes
rounded at his words. “You know about this? The draughts, the
whispers… the screams?” she asked him, her tone accusatory, as it
bloody well should be.
“Of course,
I’ve lived here all my life,” Douglas answered. “I’ve never seen
it, felt it or heard it but I know about it.”
Julia gasped
then snapped, “That first night I was here, you made me think I was
a crazy person.”
“
If you
believe in ghosts, you
are
a
crazy person,” he replied.
She started to
squirm out from under him but he pulled her back.
“Let me up,”
she demanded.
He hesitated
only a moment then knifed away from her, lithely got to his feet
and bent over, grabbed her hand and pulled her effortlessly to her
own.
“I take back
my apology,” she informed him angrily. “You’re a jerk.”
She couldn’t
see his smile but she heard it in his voice. “And you’re mad.”
“I know what I
saw,” she told him haughtily.
“Would you
like to show me?”
“I can’t go
back there!” Her voice was edgy with fear and she didn’t care one
whit. “Maybe she’s waiting.”
“You could
come with me to my room,” he suggested smoothly. “The inn’s full
tonight, but I have a big bed, plenty of room for the both of
us.”
“You’re
impossible,” she hissed in return.
“And you’re
adorable,” he replied instantly, his tone warm and teasing.
Julia
gaped because Douglas Ashton had just called her
adorable
.
Not to
mention Douglas playful
and
warm
and
teasing, all
in one night? It was too much to take. And, try as she might, she
couldn’t stop the warm tingles that his easy, sweet compliment gave
her.
“Fine, I’ll go
back,” she announced and walked by him, deciding her best bet was
to ignore the whole thing but when he didn’t move she turned back
and demanded, “Well? Are you coming?”
“Are you
inviting me to your room?” he returned.
“Of course,
you have to make sure it’s safe.”
“Protect you
from a ghost?” he asked incredulously and she was certain, even
though she couldn’t see it, he’d raised that damned brow.
“Yes!”
He regarded
her for a moment then chuckled but did not move.
She sighed
angrily.
“Well?” she
prompted.
He hesitated
only briefly.
“Lead on fair
damsel,” Douglas muttered, Julia saw his shadowed arm gesture for
her to move forward and she was too frightened to utter another
angry rejoinder. She walked on and, at her door, she stopped.
“You go
first,” she whispered.
He spared her
a glance then walked through and surveyed the room while she stayed
at the door.
“No ghosts,”
he called to her.
“Did you check
by the window?” she called back.
“Julia,” he
replied with patience that was strained but in an amused way,
“there are no ghosts in your room.”
She walked in
hesitantly and when she saw the room was clear of spooky spectres,
she moved around in order to turn on every light she could all the
while he watched her. She was trembling and edgy and expected to
see the apparition at any moment.
When she got
near Douglas, he caught her arm with his hand to stop her and he
dipped his head to look closely at her.
“You really
are frightened,” he stated softly.
“
I told
you!” she cried. “I saw it! She was standing… floating… forming,
whatever! Right over there!” Julia pointed at the corner. “And
what’s more, The Master scratches at the window every night. I hear
him and I saw
him
once
too.”
“Who told you
this story?” Douglas asked, his voice and face now beginning to
betray anger.
“No one, I saw
him and heard him and felt her. I asked Mrs. K…” She stopped when
his head tipped back and his eyes moved to the ceiling.
After a few
seconds, his gaze locked on hers. “Mrs. Kilpatrick told Tamsin
these stories too when she was a little girl. Tamsin believed them
all her life, just like you do now.”
“
Well,
Tamsin didn’t tell
me
. Neither did
you. But I saw or felt them both and I know Ruby does as well and
so does Veronika.”
“It’s an old
ghost story. Someone puts it in your mind and you see it.”
“So,” she
stood with hands on her hips, “there was no old baron who died
trying to get in this house while his wife was locked inside and
mysteriously strangled?”
“That story is
true,” he admitted.
“See!” Julia
threw up her arms, dislodging his hand.
When it
was clear she wasn’t going to listen to him or calm down, he
grabbed her and pulled her into the safety and warmth of his strong
arms and, Julia had to admit, she felt exactly that. Warmth and
safety.
Intense
warmth
and safety.
Oh dear.
“Julia, listen
to me,” Douglas ordered quietly when she automatically relaxed in
his arms. “You’re safe here. Nothing is going to happen to
you.”
She stared
into his eyes and they were so serious and so grave, she believed
him.
“
Promise?” she asked on a whisper, sounding childish but she
didn’t care because, bottom line,
she’d just seen a ghost!
Douglas nodded and then
something occurred to her. “What were you doing in the dining
room?”
He smiled and
his arms tightened. “Coming to see how sorry you were about your
comment earlier this evening,”
It was such an
audacious thing to say and do, and the night had been so pleasant,
she threw back her head and laughed, then tilted it forward and
rested her forehead against his chest. After she caught her breath,
she looked at him and noticed he was grinning down at her.
That grin
warmed her even more and made her stomach clench pleasantly.
Even so,
she informed him, “I’m not
that
sorry.”
“I figured
not.” He was still smiling.
She realised
belatedly that this had gone on long enough. She stiffened in his
arms, pulled away and said, “I’m okay now, Douglas, you can leave.
But… um, thank you.”
He didn’t try
to reach for her again and she fought against a strong sense of
disappointment she knew she shouldn’t have.
“Are you going
to send my electricity bill even higher by sleeping with all these
lights on?” he asked.
“Of course
not,” she lied without remorse.
He stared at
her a moment and nodded again.
Then he
carried on with his unusual sweet Douglas behaviour which meant his
hand came up and he cupped the back of her head. Bringing her
forward, he kissed her forehead. It was a strange and, she had to
admit, gorgeously intimate gesture that made her feel something
deeper than warmth. It was sweeter and it was also very, very
frightening.
Then he walked
away and she had to fight again to tamp down more disappointment as
she watched him go.
The door
closed behind him and she was forced to acknowledge, against her
better judgement, even if it was only in her own mind, that she had
a wonderful evening that night (apart from the ghost, of course)
and Douglas had contributed to that wonderful evening, more than a
little.