The Bedeviled Bride

By

Jerrica Knight-Catania

This book is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, locations and events are either a product of the

author’s imagination, fictitious or used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to any event, locale or person,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Bedeviled Bride

Copyright Ó 2011 by Jerrica Knight-Catania

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any format.

Cover design by Jerrica Knight-Catania

Prologue

Dearest Chloe,

How to start this letter eludes me, dear cousin. I am still in shock over the events of the past week and can hardly believe, after months of being betrothed to Andrew, that I am now yoked for life to his conniving brother. I must admit, the news of yours and Andrew’s association wounded me, but I want you to know that I am not angry with you. I cannot fault you for falling in love; however, it may take some time for me to come to terms with the end result. Most of my anger currently lies with Michael, though. He was the one with the most opportunity to tell me the truth, yet he did not.

We are on our way to his estate in Scotland for an indefinite period of time. I write you from a coaching inn somewhere in the north, though I cannot be sure where exactly. I suppose I could ask, but I am refusing Michael the pleasure of my conversation for the time being.

Well, it is late and we have been traveling since early this morning. We have several days ahead of us until we reach the highlands, but I promise to keep you abreast of everything once we are there, and you must promise to do the same.

Your Cousin,

Lizzie

My Dear Lizzie,

Oh, how my heart rejoiced at your letter! The worry has been more than I could bear, for I was sure you would never want to speak with me again. Please accept my sincerest apologies and know that I never set out to deceive you. I cannot speak for Andrew and Michael—it seems their machinations went far beyond my own. But I do know one thing: Michael cares for you deeply. I know you are angry with him now, but perhaps you will find it in your heart to forgive him one day.

I must go. The baby has started moving around in my belly, especially in the middle of the night. She is quiet now, so I must pounce on the opportunity to sleep!

With all my love,

Chloe

One

“Are you cold?”
Elizabeth looked up at her new husband and fixed him with her iciest glare. She was freezing but she wasn’t about to admit that to him. She would brave the highland chill without his help.

She gave a terse shake of her head and then turned her focus back to the rapidly moving landscape outside.

“Still not speaking to me?”

This time she did not even bother to turn her head, but instead simply rolled her eyes in response. She wished he would stop trying to converse with her, or trying to get her to smile. His previous attempts at humor had almost undone her, but she would not allow it. Whenever he tried to say something amusing, she simply remembered his deception and it riled her blood anew.

How could they have done this to me? No, the real question was how could she have let them? How could she have been so very blind not to realize what was happening right before her very eyes. She should have known when her typically reserved fiancé finally succumbed to her pleas for affection. Andrew had never even kissed her and all of a sudden he was fondling her in the garden.

No, Michael was fondling her.

A blush rose to her cheeks at the memory, but she quickly pushed it from her mind.

She’d always wondered if her husband and his identical twin would attempt a deception. But that was early in her courtship with Andrew. She was certain they must have done so as children, but as they grew closer to the wedding, that concern vanished. She assumed they had grown out of the need for such a childish hoax. Sure, they were known rakehells and it would not have been out of character for them to pull such a prank, but they never had. At least, she didn’t think they had. Not until the eve of their wedding. Not until it was too late for anyone to escape unscathed from such a deception.

Her heart twisted at the thought, and she bit her lip to keep the tears from spilling onto her cheeks. She wouldn’t give Michael the satisfaction of knowing she was hurt.

Anger was fine—let him think she was angry all he wanted. Hurt was another story. Hurt indicated that her defenses were lowered, that she was vulnerable, that she needed coddling and reassurances.

She did need those things now that she was married to the wrong man and being carted halfway across Britain. But she didn’t want them from him. That lying blackguard!

“It won’t be too much longer now.” Michael’s words pulled her out of her silent stew.

Reflexively, she almost turned to look at him, but then stopped herself. She had to appear as indifferent as possible.

“It’s been ages since I’ve been here,” he added. “But I do recognize this area.”

Why was he rambling so? She didn’t care where they were or what he recognized. She just wanted a bed and privacy...and maybe a bit of chocolate.

Lizzie wondered how the manor would look and if it was staffed at all. She’d grown up mostly in London, the daughter of an earl, and had never known much outside of her very comfortable existence.

Visits to her cousin’s cottage in Essex had given her a taste of how the rest of the world lived, but she’d always kept her visits short. Two days without a maid or a water closet was more than enough for her to understand what it would be like to be poor.

Not that Michael was poor. He too was used to the finer things in life, but he claimed it had been years since he’d been to this particular estate. Did that mean they’d truly be rusticating up here in the highlands?

The thought made Lizzie uneasy, but she squelched it quickly. She mustn’t show any sign of weakness to her new weasel of a husband.

“We won’t have to stay for long, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he continued. “I’m sure the scandal will blow over in a few months and then we’ll be safe to return. Until then, well...I hope you like your new home.”

Michael pointed to the opposite window, and Lizzie’s curiosity won out over her desire to appear indifferent. She shimmied slightly, keeping her face in a menacing scowl as she did so, and peered through the windowpane.

Her breath caught on a gasp as she beheld her new home. Situated beside a sparkling lake, and surrounded by hills and lush greenery, sat a picturesque manor of stone and brick.

Lizzie ignored the fact that it was probably the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen and sat back against the squabs with a shrug. Michael was staring at her, and she looked back defiantly.

“You don’t like it?”

Like it? She loved it. But she’d be damned if she was going to tell him that. For the first time in days she spoke to her husband. “It will do.”

***

It will do? Michael gaped at his wife, then gaped at the enchanting scene before turning once again to Elizabeth. It was bloody amazing and all she could say was “it will do?”

Spoiled wench.

Michael shook his head and chastised himself for thinking such things about his new wife. In truth, he deserved her ire, but it still made him angry. He’d tried for the last five days to talk to her, to make her laugh...anything to alleviate the heavy silence that hung between them.

But the worst had been their wedding night when she insisted on separate rooms and then locked him out. Locked him out! The man who paid for the room and the man who’d said “I will” to her that morning at St. George’s. She was his by right, damn it, and she’d locked him out.

Furthermore, she'd been given a choice. He and Andrew had given her two days to get used to the idea of marrying him—she had a chance to back out and she'd not taken it. And damn her, she was going to make him pay for her decision.

He took a breath, trying to calm his pulse. It wouldn’t do to get upset—she was already upset enough for the both of them. She would come around eventually and then they’d work things out.

For the time being, he just needed to be patient. To give her space and allow her time to heal. She’d been through quite an ordeal, after all, and he didn’t want to make it any worse for her. Or him.

“Well, good,” he finally responded. “At least you don’t hate the place.”

When she said nothing, he continued. “Mr. and Mrs. Kerr have kept watch over the manor in my family's absence. Once we assess our needs, we can hire more servants. I’m sure you’ll require a lady’s maid and such...”

He waited for Elizabeth to respond, but still nothing. She kept her face turned to the window and her jaw tight. Not even a glimmer of interest flashed in her ice blue eyes.

Michael decided to give up. No sense talking to someone who wouldn’t talk back. She could learn about the estate on her own for all he cared. Right now he just wanted to be alone with a stiff brandy. Maybe then the stiffness in his pants would abate.

Despite his anger towards her, the woman still roused his desires fiercely. She’d deliberately let her riding cloak fall open at the top so he would be forced to stare at her assets all day, every day, for the last week, knowing he wasn’t permitted to touch. That didn’t stop him imagining that he was touching, though.

He remembered well what they felt like from their garden encounter several months ago, and that was enough to make him painfully hard.

Michael bit the inside of his cheek to keep from swearing. The last seven days had tested him to his limit, and it wouldn’t be long before he claimed his wife and officially made her his. He just had to figure out how to make her want it.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the manor, and Michael leaned forward to open the door. He caught Elizabeth’s eye as he did so, and something flickered there. What was it? Remorse? Fear? He couldn’t tell. But it wasn’t the same hardened look she’d worn since their wedding, and somehow that gave him hope for their future.

***

Lizzie took Michael’s hand and begrudgingly allowed him to help her from the carriage. She hated to accept his assistance, but they’d been riding for hours and she didn’t trust her legs to keep her upright.

When their hands met, her mind flashed once again to the masquerade ball when he’d led her into the garden and kissed her. Though he wasn’t the man she was originally intended to marry, she had shared rather intimate moments with him. Her body seemed to remember his touch of its own accord. Heat traveled from her toes until a blush once more infused her cheeks. Even worse, she felt a tingling that reached to her core—it was almost as strong as when he’d actually touched his hand to her breast—

Dear Lord, what was she thinking? This man was a liar and blackguard and she couldn’t allow her memories to interfere with the present. She couldn’t forget—would not ever forget—his deception.

“You’re welcome,” he said flatly when she failed to thank him.

A tiny stab of guilt surfaced. She hated to appear ungrateful, even to him. But she just couldn’t bring herself to say anything that even bordered on pleasant. She didn’t want him getting the wrong idea.

Thankfully, she was saved from the uncomfortable silence by a portly couple that hurried from the door and down the front steps.

“Oh, Lord Michael, look at ye!” the old woman blathered as she bustled to them. “Why, I haven’t seen ye since ye were a wee thing! Oh, Angus, look! Can ye believe how much he’s grown? Handsome as ever, aren’t ye?”

Lizzie watched in fascination as the woman gathered him in her arms and pulled him close against her breast. She stifled a giggle at his astonished expression and schooled her features back to their impassive state. But it was difficult. His eyes were round as saucers and a hint of pink came to his cheeks. She wasn’t sure if he was a man of six and twenty or a twelve-year-old boy in that moment.

“A strapping man you’ve turned out to be,” Angus agreed with his wife. “’Tis good to have ye home, milaird.”

“Thank you.” Michael extracted himself from the still blubbering Mrs. Kerr. “May I present my wife, Lady Elizabeth Wetherby.”

He turned to look at her and she quickly looked away. She didn’t want him to know she’d been watching the scene with interest. Instead, she pasted on a bright smile and addressed Mr. and Mrs. Kerr.

“I have heard so much about you,” she lied as she stepped forward to shake their hands.

But Mrs. Kerr was having none of it. She ignored Lizzie’s hand and moved in for a tight squeeze. Not wanting to be rude, Lizzie squeezed back. As she did, she looked up over the woman’s shoulder to find Michael red with mirth. How rude. At least she’d had the decency to hide her amusement from him.

“Are ye hungry, my dear?”

Lizzie looked up and realized the woman had been speaking all the while, but what about, she didn’t know. She’d only caught that last bit, thanks to her husband.

“Ah, yes, I suppose I am,” she replied.

The portly housekeeper clapped her hands and gave a squeal that would have sounded more appropriate coming from a pig. “Come along then,” she urged, taking Lizzie by the hand and ushering her to the stairs. “We’ll get ye some warm biscuits and a nice cuppa chocolate...”
Lizzie looked back over her shoulder to see Michael standing dumbfounded on the drive with Angus, and for the first time in days, she allowed a smile to grace her lips.

Two

Lizzie followed the housekeeper through the front doors of the exquisite façade, anxious to see what splendor the inside held. She was sure it must be equal in glory to the outside.

“Well, here we are. Lemme take your cloak, dearie.”
Certain she must have stepped into some kind of nightmare, Lizzie came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the dust-coated foyer. Her disbelieving eyes adjusted to the gloom to take in the sight before her. Dust, inches thick, layered every surface, including the marble stairs straight ahead. Cobwebs hung from every corner and from the massive chandelier above them.

The heavy drapes that covered the windows on either side of the oak door were drawn tightly, leaving only the fanlight above to shed light into the space. Lizzie promptly marched to the windows, ignoring Mrs. Kerr’s gasp of alarm, and flung them open. Dust exploded into the air and Lizzie dissolved into a fit of coughing.

“Oh, dear,” she heard the older woman mutter as she bustled to her side. “Are ye all right, milady?”
Lizzie nodded as the woman patted her back with a tender hand. She wiped the tears away that had formed in reaction to the dust. Good heavens, what had the Kerr’s been doing, if not seeing to the cleanliness of the house?

“Come, move away from there,” Mrs. Kerr instructed, leading Lizzie to the other side of the foyer. “I’m so sorry, milady. We didn’t get much notice you were coming. We had time enough to prepare only the rooms in which you might spend a great deal of time. The mister and I live in the servant’s quarters, so the main house hasn’t seen much attention, I’m afraid.”

“So, then—” she paused to choke back the tickle in her throat “—what is it you and Mr. Kerr have been paid to do all this time?”

The woman seemed taken aback by Lizzie’s abrupt question, but she had to know if they’d been partaking of the Eastleigh coffers without doing their jobs. Supposedly, the family hadn’t been there in years, but surely the Kerrs were meant to keep the house in living order, just in case.

“I assure you our salary is just enough to see to a few personal items every month, but we agreed to it in order to keep a roof over our heads.” She looked around the room. “Lord knows we wouldn’t be able to fix this place up ourselves, anyway. I suppose that’s why we’ve left it alone.”

For the first time, Lizzie took a good look at the woman before her. Her hands were frail and brittle looking, and her back hunched with the weight of many years. Of course they wouldn’t be able to maintain this place alone. “I see,” Lizzie said, softening her tone. “Perhaps you can show me to my room then?”

A smile broke out on Mrs. Kerr’s lips, plumping her cheeks even more than they already were. She turned on her sensibly-booted foot and began the ascension to the first floor.

"The ballroom and the drawing room are on the main floor, though I admit they aren't fit for living. There's a great deal of restoration to be done before they'll be acceptable for parties and such."

Lizzie followed silently, trying not to slip on the dusty marble stairs. When they reached the first floor landing, Mrs. Kerr began to point out rooms of interest, which she claimed were livable—the parlor, the study, the library—before they climbed to the second floor to the bedchambers.

Lizzie continued to follow Mrs. Kerr down the darkened hallway, her skin prickling as a cool breeze washed over her. She looked about, trying to see if she could detect a draft coming from under one of the doors. She couldn’t tell, so she decided to alert the housekeeper to the matter.

“Mrs. Kerr, I do believe there must be a window open in one of those rooms back there. Did you not feel that breeze as we walked by?”

The woman stopped in front of the double oak doors at the end of the hallway. “’Tis not a window, milady,” she said. “But don’t worry. No drafts will get you in this room.”
Lizzie looked back down the hall and shivered. How could she be so sure a window had not come ajar? She was about to ask when the woman flung wide the doors, revealing a room that Lizzie would never have imagined in this dank house.

It was clean, for one thing. And light. Lizzie had to blink several times to adjust her eyes. When the black spots finally disappeared, she was able to take in the scene properly.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” she exclaimed as she crossed into the room. She ran her fingers along the pale blue velvet curtains that hung around the bed, which looked lush and inviting, piled high with pillows in shades of blue and cream.

Her sitting area was large and nestled around a crackling fireplace. But it was the cleanliness of the place that shocked and pleased her the most. She would never be able to sleep in a dusty room for her nose and throat simply would not be able to take it.

Enamored of her new quarters, she hardly noticed when Mrs. Kerr left the room. Instead, she continued to investigate.

“What’s in here?” she mumbled to herself as she pushed through a panel at the far end of the room. “Oh!”

Lizzie couldn’t move. She couldn’t even think, as Michael stood there, in his own chamber, naked to the waist. He turned to her, unalarmed by her presence, and raised his brow.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“Ah, no...that is, I was exploring and...I didn’t—”

Michael laughed—actually laughed—as she stood there, a stuttering ninny. Suddenly enraged, and reminded of the fact that she wasn’t speaking to him, she gave him her evilest eye, stuck her nose in the air and spun to leave the room.

“Wait,” she heard him say, but she was already through the door and slamming it behind her.

Lizzie leaned against the panel and put her head in her hand, trying to calm her racing heart. Good heavens, he was a fine specimen.

“Argh!”

In the blink of an eye, Lizzie found herself prostrate on the floor of her chamber, having been knocked down by her husband’s forceful hand on the door.

“Oh, God, Elizabeth,” Michael said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Amusement? He’d just knocked his fuming wife to the ground and he was laughing?

“Are you all right? I didn’t think you’d linger by the door.”

“Did it ever occur to you to knock?” she asked acerbically, turning herself over on the rug, which proved to be a huge mistake.

She came face to face with Michael’s...area. She craned her neck to look higher, but met with a tanned and muscular frame that proved just as disconcerting. Finally choosing to avert her gaze altogether, she gathered her skirts in her hands and attempted to stand.

“Here, let me help,” Michael offered, reaching down to take her arm.

Lizzie jerked and pulled away. “I’m fine by myself, thank you. Now, if you will kindly make your way back to your own room, I am going to take a nap.”

Michael’s lips twitched again. What was the matter with him? Was he trying to provoke her?

“Why are you laughing at me?” she demanded, all at once feeling a little hurt by his attitude, though she couldn’t really explain why.

“I’m not,” he smirked. “I’m sorry, it’s just that...never mind.”

Michael turned on his heel and strode back through the wooden panel adjoining their rooms. Lizzie stared after him as he closed the door, fighting the urge to rip one of the sconces off the wall to throw at him. But before she could get to her feet, Mrs. Kerr burst through the main door again.

“Here we are, milady. A cuppa chocolate will help ya get a nice rest.” Mrs. Kerr placed a tray on the table in the sitting area, complete with a steaming mug and a pile of biscuits.

Lizzie rushed to the sofa and plopped down as her stomach growled, reminding her how very hungry she was. “Thank you, Mrs. Kerr. That will be all.”

With a pleasant smile and a nod, the woman quit the room, leaving Lizzie alone to eat and rest. She reached forward, picked up a biscuit and nearly melted as she took a bite. Goodness, Mrs. Kerr certainly understood the art of biscuit making. The chocolate proved to be just as delicious and Lizzie snuggled further down on the sofa, grateful for the peace and quiet. She was just about to take another bite of her biscuit when a strained baritone voice wafted from the other side of her door.

“‘La ci darem la mano, la la la la la la la la.’”

Since when had Michael taken up singing? Annoyed, she stood to go bang on the door and tell him to be quiet, but the singing stopped by the time she reached the panel. Satisfied he was finished vocalizing, Lizzie flounced back to her sofa and nestled in again.

She raised her cup of chocolate to her lips and then jumped when another round of La ci darem resounded. The dark liquid sloshed onto her gown, leaving an ugly spot right at her navel.

That devil! She stood, clanking her cup in its saucer, and marched to the door. This time she did not hesitate to bang.

“La la la la la—”

Lizzie waited for him to call out and ask what was the matter. Nothing. She stared at the door, befuddled by his silence. She leaned in and placed her ear against the panel to see if she could detect any movement, when out of nowhere the door slammed into her cheek.

“Argh!” she screamed for the second time that afternoon.

“Why in hell do you keep standing so close to the door?” Michael asked, his expression one of great perplexity.

Clearly he thought she was the most foolish of all women.

“I was waiting for you to answer my knock...with a vocal response, not by barging into my room.”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Can you please not sing? I’m trying to rest and…What?”

“Where did you get those?”

Lizzie followed Michael’s gaze to the coffee table where the rest of her repast awaited her. She smiled slowly. “You mean the biscuits and the chocolate? Oh, Mrs. Kerr brought them to me. Why? She didn’t bring you any?”

Michael scowled at her. “No, she didn’t. Though I suppose she assumed we would share.” He started to walk towards the table, but Lizzie stood in his way.

“Oh, no you don’t!” she exclaimed, trying to protect her goodies like a lioness protecting her cubs. “Those are mine and you can’t have any.”
Another one of his blasted amused grins broke out on his lips and Lizzie fought the urge to smack him. How dare he make light of this?

“I think you may have forgotten, wife, that this is my house and those are my biscuits. Now, if you can’t play nicely, I’ll have to take them by force.”
She knew it was ridiculous to try and keep him from the biscuits. They were just biscuits, after all, and Mrs. Kerr would bring her more if she asked. But it was the principle of the matter: he had deceived her and deserved to be punished by any and all means possible. If that meant denying him a biscuit, then so be it, no matter how irrational it seemed, even to her own self.

“Then you will have to force me,” she shouted, as if she were Joan of Arc announcing she would rather die than surrender.

Michael’s lips twitched, and for a moment she thought he would give up and go back to his own room. But in a flash, he had her hands behind her back and was dragging her across the room toward the bed.

“What are you doing? Let me go!”
“I don’t think so,” he said casually. “Not before I get a biscuit.”

“Over my dead body!”

A choked sort of laughter came from her husband’s mouth. “Death in exchange for a biscuit? A little extreme for my taste, sweetheart. No, this will do just fine.”
“What will—” Lizzie tugged at her hands only to realize they’d been fastened to the bedpost with the ropes that held the curtains. “You bastard!”

“Now, that isn’t very nice, Elizabeth.” He sauntered to the coffee table and picked up a biscuit with a satisfied smirk. He took a bite and closed his eyes as he savored the flavor. “After all, it’s only a biscuit.”

Three

Michael watched his wife wiggle and squirm against the bedpost, wishing he didn’t find her so damned attractive. Even after her ridiculous display of childishness, he wished to throw her down on the pale blue comforter and claim her as his wife. But he was above tupping women who didn’t wish to be tupped. He would have to wait for her to come to him.

He just hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

“Stop eating my food and untie these ropes immediately!”

The look on Elizabeth’s face was murderous to say the least. He’d never seen her like this. In the ballrooms of London she’d been the perfect picture of a gently bred lady. Who knew this harridan lurked under the surface?

Michael took another slow bite of biscuit and chased it with a sip of chocolate. “Good God, this is delicious!”

“I know it is, you beast!” His wife strained against the ropes so fiercely, he wondered if she’d drag the four-poster across the floor.

Perhaps he should let her go. The ropes were sure to chafe her lovely wrists if she didn’t calm down. What had started as an amusing prank didn’t seem so amusing anymore.

But when she spat out, “I hate you,” Michael wasn’t sure he was ready to release her. This was the first time in days that she’d spoken to him. Regardless of the fact her words were less than desirable, they were at least communicating.

“Do you really, Beth?”

She stopped her squirming and leveled a contemptuous glare at him. “Beth?” she repeated.

“Yes,” Michael replied, leaning back against the chair to study her, very aware that her eyes kept shifting to admire his bare chest. “I’ll need a pet name for you, don’t you agree? Your family calls you Lizzie, so I thought I’d try out Beth. What do you think?”

Her eyes blinked several times in succession. “A pet name?”

“Well, yes.” He leaned forward in his chair and furrowed his brow. “You have several for me, why shouldn’t I have at least one for you?”

“I don’t have any such thing for you!” she cried indignantly.

“Of course you do. Let’s see, there’s bastard, blackguard, scoundrel, and my personal favorite, dungonmyshoe.” Michael had to stuff another biscuit in his mouth to keep from laughing.

Apparently Beth didn’t find him to be nearly as amusing as he found himself.

“I hate it.”
“What? Beth?”
“Yes. And besides, I don’t want you to call me anything other than Elizabeth.”

“But Elizabeth is so long.” Michael stretched his legs out and propped them on the coffee table. Putting his hands behind his head, he let out a contemplative breath. “Liz?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Liza?”

“Elizabeth.”

He was running out of options.

“Eli?”

His wife cast him an annoyed look and rolled her eyes. “You may call me Elizabeth and that is the end of it. Now, will you please untie me?”

“What is your middle name?” He knew he should untie her, but he didn’t want to. She was calmer now, and they were finally speaking. Was tying her up the only way to get her to be civil? Dammed, insufferable woman.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because, perhaps I can come up with a pet name from that.”

“Impossible. I hate my middle name.” She sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh.

Michael nearly lost his powers of speech. In her position, with her shoulders pulled taught around the post, her breasts pushed forward and nearly spilled over the edge of her gown. He’d been so close to releasing her, but now...

Dear God, if he went anywhere near her while she looked like that, he would not be responsible for his actions.

“Wh-what is it?” he stuttered, refocusing his attention on the biscuits and chocolate.

“Prudence,” she finally admitted. “After my mother.”

Michael grimaced. He certainly didn’t want to be reminded of Elizabeth’s overbearing mother when he finally took her to his bed.

“You’re right, that won’t do.”

Silence reigned over the room, and Michael wondered what his wife was thinking about. Her blue gaze was suddenly very far away. He would have asked her to share her thoughts, but he knew she wouldn’t, and he didn’t care to suffer any more of her rejection. After five days of silence, he was tired of trying to figure out what his wife was thinking.

Ready to end the game so they both could get some rest, he rose from his position by the fire and walked to the bed. Without a word, he untied the cords and pulled them free.

Elizabeth winced as she brought her hands around, and Michael realized that her wrists had indeed chafed in the short time she’d been bound.

“Oh, Lord, Lizzie,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.” He reached for her to inspect the damage, but she pulled away with a jerk.

“You may leave now,” she said tartly.

Michael nodded and turned to go. Just as he was about to shut the door, his wife shouted, “And be sure to knock next time!”

***

After a much-needed nap and a warm bath, Lizzie dressed in a comfortable day dress and pulled a book from her still unpacked trunk. Mrs. Kerr would bring her dinner soon and for that Lizzie was exceedingly grateful. Her blackguard husband had eaten most of her afternoon repast and she’d been starving ever since.

She scowled at her book. Why was she thinking of him? She was finally rid of him, rid of being cooped up in a carriage with him for days on end, rid of his taunting smile and sultry dark eyes.

Sultry? His eyes weren’t sultry! They were infuriating—always revealing his amusement at her discomfort or frustration.

Shaking her head, she pushed all thoughts of her husband from her mind and refocused on the book before her. After several pages, she stopped, realizing she had no idea what she’d just read. Rather, she’d been thinking about that afternoon and being tied to the blasted bedpost.

What must he have been thinking to do such a thing to her? She glanced at her wrists, still pink from the ropes. Lizzie’s ire grew to an alarming level at the sight. How dare he?

Well, one thing was for certain: he would never do it again. As a matter of fact, she hoped to remain out of his company completely. It shouldn’t be hard. The house was huge and the grounds expansive.

If only his bedroom wasn’t just on the other side of that blasted panel.

A soft knock sounded on the door, startling Lizzie from the errant thoughts of her husband.

“Enter,” she called out and the door swung open to reveal the plump housekeeper. “Oh, thank heavens! I’m famished.”

Lizzie stood as the woman stepped into the room and noticed the problem immediately. “Where is my meal?”

“Actually, milady, I’ve been forbidden from bringing you any dinner tonight.”

“Forbidden?” Lizzie crossed the room, her brow knitting together in frustration. So now he meant to starve her? “Why ever would you be forbidden to do such a thing?”

A sheepish look passed over the woman’s features. Clearly she didn’t care to be caught up in their marital problems, and Lizzie couldn’t blame her. She didn’t want to be caught up in them either.

“Mrs. Kerr, I order you to bring my dinner, regardless of what my husband has dictated.”

Mrs. Kerr nodded, worry evident in her pale, gray eyes. “You see, I can’t, milady. His lordship has declared that if I bring you anything, I’ll be dismissed from the household...my husband too. He says I’m to convince you to come down for dinner or to pack my things.”

Lizzie gasped, confounded that her husband could be so heartless. Though she despised him for what he had done to her, she’d never actually thought of him as a bad person. As a matter of fact, he’d always been kind and thoughtful with an even temperament. He wasn’t one to brood or scowl, and he certainly wasn’t one to threaten dismissal to a poor, old couple who were in no way responsible for their matrimonial woes.

Well, she would show him. If he wanted her for dinner, he was going to get her for dinner. She wasn’t about to be responsible for the dismissal of Mr. and Mrs. Kerr, but she was happy to be responsible for Michael’s discomfort.

“Although I do not agree with my husband’s tactics in getting me to join him for dinner, I do not wish to see you dismissed from the household. Tell him I will be down shortly.”

The woman released a relieved breath. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Of course.” Lizzie gave her a warm smile and then shut the door. “It is my pleasure entirely, Mrs. Kerr.”

Four

Michael turned abruptly when he heard the door to his study slide open. He looked up to see Mrs. Kerr standing before him, a wide smile on her face.

“It worked, milord,” she said in a hushed voice. “She’ll be meeting you for dinner in just a bit.”
Michael’s lips spread into a satisfied grin. She’d fallen for it. He had to laugh at his wife’s gullibility. Did she really think him so heartless as to threaten Mrs. Kerr with dismissal if she didn’t bring her down for dinner?

Well, let her think it. Maybe that way she’ll stop behaving like a bloody child.

“Thank you, Mrs. Kerr. You’ve done well.”
The woman bobbed a curtsy and then disappeared to go and tend to final dinner preparations. And thank God, too. Those biscuits and chocolate had done little to keep his stomach satisfied through the afternoon.

After a few more minutes looking over some household papers, Michael made his way to the drawing room and poured himself a drink. He glanced around the room while he waited for his blushing bride. It looked much the same as it had when he’d been there as a boy—cavernous and cold. He swiped his finger across the top of the mantle and pulled back a cake of grime. Perhaps a bit dustier than I remembered.

He sighed, knowing he would have to start interviewing staff immediately to make the place livable for Beth and himself. Beth. Why did he continue to think of her by that name? He rather liked it, actually.

And a decorator, he thought, trying to shift his wife from his mind. I will definitely need to hire a decorator for this cave.

Bang!

Michael jumped at the sudden intrusion and whirled around, his scotch sloshing and falling to the ancient rug. His mouth fell open and he nearly dropped his glass altogether.

There in the doorway, with a purely mutinous look on her fair features, stood his wife in one of the most scandalous gowns he’d ever seen in his life. Dear God. The neckline scooped so low that he was sure if she moved another inch, her nipples would pop free. Not that it would have mattered. The material was so flimsy he could practically see the buds through the fabric, as well as every other perfectly designed part of her body.

He swallowed an oath as she sauntered into the room and perched herself on the edge of the sofa. “Good evening, darling. I thought to join you for dinner, if that’s all right.”

Her light blue eyes focused on him with a wicked twinkle. Damn her! How in hell was he supposed to get through dinner with his cock straining against his breeches in this way? Surely, this was her idea of retribution for this afternoon, and Lord knew he deserved it. But what she did to him was far more painful than a little rope burn across the wrist.

Mr. Kerr appeared in the doorway to the drawing room, and Michael could have sworn the man’s eyes were going to bug out of his head. He made a note to talk to Mr. Kerr about maintaining discretion, and then waited for him to make his announcement.

“D-dinner is s-served,” he stuttered.

“Thank you, Mr. Kerr,” Michael said and then, without looking at her, walked to his wife and offered his arm.

Silently, she turned her nose up and stood on her own to walk into the dining room, making sure to swing her hips as seductively as he was sure she knew how. Averting his gaze, Michael followed her down the hall and into the dining room, which had been set ablaze with candles. They flickered rather spastically and Michael noted the draft in the room.

His wife would surely catch cold since she was wearing next to nothing, so he turned to address Mr. Kerr. “There seems to be a draft, Mr. Kerr. Can you make sure all the windows are secured tightly? I wouldn’t want my wife taking ill.”

Elizabeth gave a little gasp at his clear reference to her attire, but by the time he turned to look at her, her face was once again impassive.

“‘Tis not a draft milord, but I’ll have a look anyhow.”

“Thank you,” Michael said. He was half wondering why the man was so sure it wasn’t a draft, but the other half of him was too aware of his wife’s alluring frame that was silhouetted so well through the gossamer silk. He could see every blasted inch of her perfect form.

Deciding it was best to have her seated where most of her would be hidden under the table, he rushed to her side and pulled out the chair by which she stood. Michael gripped the chair hard, forcing his hands to keep from reaching out to touch her. She took her time sitting down, drawing out every moment until her perfect little bottom finally landed on the tufted seat.

A puff of dust escaped from under her, and both of them gasped before erupting into coughing fits. Yes, he would have to start interviewing for staff immediately.

***

“It’s nice to see you decided to wear a shirt this evening, my lord,” Lizzie said as Michael took his seat in the chair opposite hers.

“It’s nice to see you didn’t,” he replied, causing a hot blush to rise to Lizzie’s cheeks.

But this was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For him to notice her, to lust after her, and know he couldn’t have her.

Oh, but he can have you, Lizzie. You’re his wife now.

Lizzie silently screamed at the little voice in her head that reminded her of things she’d rather not remember. He couldn’t have her and he wouldn’t have her. Michael was too honorable to force her into something she didn’t want to do.

Although, ever since he tied her to the bedpost that afternoon, she hadn’t been so sure.

“Ah, here we are!” Michael exclaimed as Mr. and Mrs. Kerr dropped two hefty plates of food before them.

A large slab of beef, accompanied by a tower of potatoes and a slightly shorter stack of carrots, adorned the plate, and Elizabeth’s mouth watered fiercely. She looked up to see Michael staring at his own beef in much the same way he’d stared at her when she entered the drawing room earlier.

Thankful there was something to occupy them, they both dug into their meals, allowing silence to reign over the dinner. By the time Mrs. Kerr brought out a gooey looking cake for dessert, neither of them had said a single word to the other. Though, Elizabeth had to admit, the silence hadn’t been entirely uncomfortable.

A coldness came over her just then, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. She shivered and drew her arms around her. Michael looked up and then looked about the room.

“Where on earth is that draft coming from?” he wondered aloud. “Mr. Kerr just finished inspecting all the windows.”

“It’s all right, Michael. I think I will go to my room now anyhow.”
Lizzie watched as a hint of disappointment flashed in Michael’s eyes. No doubt he thought the comfortable silence through dinner had meant something. That perhaps she was warming to him.

But, no, that was certainly not the case. She was simply too exhausted to fight anymore tonight. The trip had taken a great deal out of her, and it would take a day or two more before her body returned to normal.

“Could I convince you to share dessert with me in the drawing room?” he asked, a note of hopefulness in his tone. “Poor Mrs. Kerr worked so hard to bake us this lovely cake,” he continued. “I would hate to disappoint her by not eating it.”

Oh, he was good. Clever man. Of course she wouldn’t want to disappoint the old woman, and he knew that well. However, based on his prior behavior, she was sure that was not at all the reason he wanted to have dessert with her this evening. He was ready to toss the housekeeper out on her bum only a couple hours ago.

“Fine,” she finally agreed. “For Mrs. Kerr.”

A slow grin infiltrated his lips before he lifted the tiny bell and rang for the Kerrs.

“Milord?”

“Mr. Kerr, we wish to retire to the drawing room for dessert. There’s still a bit of a draft in here.”

“Of course, milord.” The old man nodded and set to moving the cake, plates, silverware and their wine onto the trolley. “Though you’re sure to feel a draft in that room too.”

“Why do you say that?” Lizzie asked, curious as to why the drafts seemed to follow wherever they went.

The old man smiled warmly without showing his teeth and said simply, “It’s just the way of things, milady.”

Michael and Lizzie stared after him as he strolled the cart from the room and then turned to look at one another.

“What do you think that means?” Michael wondered.

“I’m not at all sure. Perhaps he’s simply referring to the age of the house. How old is this place, anyhow?”

Michael joined her in her assessment of the dining room. With its recessed, rounded windows, massive fireplace and Elizabethan furniture, it was clear the house had not been built—or furnished—within the last two centuries. Just as Lizzie looked up to study the chandelier above the table, a spider the size of Hampshire descended from a strand of its web and landed perilously close to her napkin.

She jumped at the same moment her heart ceased its beating. Her heavy chair fell backwards to the floor, ramming in to the backs of her ankles as she stood.

“Elizabeth?” came Michael’s voice, and in her terror, she realized there was not a hint of amusement in his tone. “Are you all right?”

“Sp-spider,” she mumbled, backing further away.

“Yes, I know.” He stood and rounded the table to get a closer look at the offending insect.

“Not too close!” Lizzie shouted, not understanding why she was suddenly concerned for his welfare.

A smile tugged at Michael’s lips, but it wasn’t patronizing. She believed he was truly trying to put her at ease. Unfortunately, that would never happen with that thing in such close proximity.

She watched as he silently transferred the tiny bit of water left in her glass to his own and then clamped the empty one over top of the spider.

“Perfect,” Lizzie said, watching the bug as it scurried around its transparent prison. “Now I will forever wonder if my water glass was once home to that disgusting creature.”

Michael laughed in earnest now. “Lizzie, it’s only a spider.”
“Only a spider?” She gave a shiver and danced about a bit to shake the feeling that bugs now crawled up and down her entire body.

“Yes, look.” Michael picked up the glass, scooping the spider so it fell to the bottom, and then covered it with his hand. “Look how small he is.”
“Stop!” Lizzie backed up further until she could feel the coldness of the windows at her back. “Don’t come any closer!”

“Elizabeth,” he drawled, his tone now verging on patronizing.

“I mean it, you wretch.” Her words were acerbic, but she knew her tone was not. She was trembling too much to have control over her voice. “Please.”

A sobered expression replaced the previous one of amusement, and Michael gently put the glass back on the table, top down. He held up his hands in surrender as he walked towards her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had such a fear of spiders.”

He took her hand, and she resisted the urge to pull it away. Actually, if she were being honest, she didn’t really have the urge at all. Her heart continued to race, although whether it was due to the spider or the jolt of awareness that shot through her at his touch, she did not know. All she knew was that she wanted to get out of that room as quickly as possible.

Five

Michael led his wife down the hall to the drawing room, never once letting go of her hand. He didn’t want to think about how adorable she’d been in her panic over the tiny little spider that landed on the table. Or how soft and delicate her hand felt, encompassed as it was in his own. Or how much he liked her this way: sweet and vulnerable, the way she’d been before he and Andrew admitted they’d lied to her.

And he certainly was not willing to acknowledge the stab of guilt he felt over deceiving her. It wasn’t as if they’d tricked her out of twenty pounds, after all. They’d tricked her into a marriage she never agreed to. But he didn’t regret it. Not one bit. He had wanted Elizabeth Crawley for as long as he could remember, and he was determined to find a way to at least make this marriage tolerable for both of them. And, dare he hope, happy?

“This room isn’t much better,” he said as they crossed the threshold. “But perhaps, Mr. Kerr, if you would be so kind as to build up the fire, we can chase a bit of the chill from the room.”

“Of course, milord,” the old man said, throwing another log into the fireplace.

“Oh, and, Mr. Kerr,” Michael continued, “how might we go about hiring staff here? I daresay we’d like to begin as soon as possible.”
“I could have a line out the door by tomorrow afternoon, milord.”

Michael didn’t question how that could happen, he was simply grateful to know it could be done. “Wonderful! That will be all for tonight, Mr. Kerr.”

With a bow for the two of them, the man backed out of the room and shut the door behind him.

Michael turned to his wife and realized she still appeared to be in a state of shock. He almost laughed, but didn’t. Though her fear seemed entirely irrational to him, he was sure it was very real to her.

She’d already found a seat on the dusty settee near the fire. Before sitting down himself, he crossed the room to the scotch decanter and poured them both a glass. Not only would it warm them up, but it would hopefully calm her nerves.

“Here,” he said, holding the glass out to her.

Her eyes fixed on the tumbler, then shifted to him. “What is it?”
“Does it matter, if it helps?”

She wanted to argue, he was sure, but she didn’t. After a moment’s hesitation, she took the drink and raised it to her lips. Michael was about to tell her to drink slowly when she swallowed a too-big gulp and began sputtering like a fountain with a sporadic water supply.

Naturally, coughing and wheezing followed as she, no doubt, tried to relieve the burning in her throat. When she regained her faculties, she leveled Michael with a menacing glare.

“Are you trying to kill me?” she spat.

Michael rolled his eyes. Did she always have to be so melodramatic? “It’s scotch, not hemlock. And you’re supposed to sip it, not guzzle it down like a glutton.”
“A glutton!”

Oh, Lord.

“So, I’m a glutton now, am I?” Her blue eyes blinked with indignation.

Michael let out a long breath and counted to ten in his head. Would he always have to walk on eggshells with this woman? Did he care? His body certainly didn’t. His soldier was at full attention, despite the frigid temperature of the room or the contempt in his wife’s voice.

“No, Beth, you’re not a glutton,” he said quietly, hoping to bring the atmosphere back to one of contented silence, as they’d had over dinner.

“Are you going to insist on calling me by that name?” she asked, her eyes focused on the flames that now raged in the fireplace.

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Do you mind terribly? I rather think I like it.”
Her jaw tightened, clearly not wanting to give in to anything that would make him happy. “Elizabeth will do.”

With a defeated sigh, Michael finally sat down on the settee next to her, prompting Elizabeth to move further to its edge. “Something wrong?” he asked. “Do I smell badly?”

He almost gave a victorious shout when he saw his wife’s lips twitch at his suggestion. Good God, had he finally begun to chip away at the ice? Was self-deprecation the way to Beth’s heart?

“No,” she finally replied, schooling her features back to impassivity. “I simply...enjoy my space.”
“Ah. Are you warm enough now?”

Beth nodded her yes, and Michael turned his attention back to the fire. They sat in silence for a while, staring at the flames side by side, before Michael decided he’d try his hand at a real conversation.

“I’m going to be interviewing household staff tomorrow,” he announced, certain she’d not been paying attention to his discourse with Mr. Kerr a few minutes earlier. “You are welcome to join me since this is, after all, your house too.”

“Oh, well...thank you.” Her head nodded awkwardly in response. “I will need a maid eventually. Not all my dresses are as easy to put on as this one.”

Michael itched to make a comment that what she wore didn’t actually qualify as a dress, but she was finally being civil, and he didn’t want to ruin it.

“Of course,” he agreed.

“What else do we need, in terms of servants?”

As Michael ticked off the positions they’d need to fill, he took note of his wife’s fading hardness. She relaxed back against the settee, kicked off her satin slippers and shifted her feet to curl them under her. One tiny, bare toe peeked out from the hem of her dress, and Michael nearly lost all train of thought. It was perhaps the most adorable toe he’d ever seen in his life. What he wouldn’t give to—

“Michael?”
He snapped his gaze from her toe to her face, bypassing the rest of her on the way. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked, hating the befuddled sound of his own voice.

“You stopped mid-sentence.” She self-consciously pulled her dress over her feet, effectively covering the mesmerizing toe.

“Right, well, no sense talking about it all night. I’m sure there won’t be many to choose from anyhow. We’ll have to hire the ones who show up and assign them the best we can.”

***

Catching sight of the trolley cart, Lizzie stood to fetch a piece of the cake Mrs. Kerr had made. She considered offering to cut one for Michael as well. It would be the polite thing to do. But now that she’d been so beastly to him for so long, she wasn’t sure she knew how to be polite. How had she gotten herself in such a snit?

This wasn’t her. She’d been raised properly, had always striven for kindness and gentility. Then why did she only feel hatred and resentment whenever Michael Wetherby was around?

It wasn’t as if he were being beastly to her. Well, not really, anyhow. She had behaved abominably over the biscuits and chocolate that afternoon. And it wasn’t his fault she struggled so hard against the ropes. No, that she did on purpose, hoping to inflict even more guilt on his already heavy conscience.

She took a deep breath, as if she were preparing to face the gallows, and asked, “Would you like a piece?”

Michael turned startled amber eyes on her and blinked. Twice. Before a grin spread on his lips that rattled her against her will. No matter how astonishing his eyes were, she did not wish to be attracted to her husband.

“I would, thank you. More scotch?”

Lizzie snorted at his suggestion. “I think I’ll have wine, but...thank you.”

Another chill ran down her spine, but from what she didn’t know. The fire had warmed her sufficiently; she wasn’t at all cold any more. Though, she couldn’t shake the feeling of icy fingers snaking down her spine. She gave a hard shiver.

“We might as well be outside for all the drafts in this cave,” Michael said, obviously having seen her shiver.

“Yes, but I feel no real breeze, do you?” They both glanced about the room, clearly looking, listening for wind. “It’s just a sudden coldness.”

When she looked back at her husband, his dark brows were furrowed with concern. An uneasy feeling stole over her. If he was concerned—this seemingly brave, virile man—then certainly she should be too.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Hmm?” He turned abruptly to look at her. “Oh, nothing. Come, sit back down where you’re nearer the fire.”

She did as he suggested and they both nestled in with their cake to continue watching the flames.

“Chloe has written,” she offered between bites, attempting conversation. “There were several letters waiting when we arrived today. She and Andrew are well. He’s purchased a home from your brother-in-law. One of the few that weren’t entailed. In Essex.”
Lizzie bit the inside of her cheek. She should never have brought up the subject of Chloe and Andrew. She loved her cousin, but she certainly wasn’t ready to talk about the mess they’d all made of her life.

“Then you have forgiven your cousin, I take it?”

Michael’s question jarred her. “Of course I have. She is my cousin, after all. Blood. I can’t go on hating her forever.”

“And Andrew?”

“Well, not to his face,” she admitted with a shrug. “But yes, I suppose I have. It wasn’t as if I loved him, and now I realize I hardly knew him.”

There was a moment of silence before Michael asked, “And me? Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

All the normal functions of her body ceased to work in the moment. Her lungs would not take in air. Her heart would not beat. And her eyes clouded over until all she saw was darkness. She couldn’t say why the question rankled her so. Couldn’t say why she suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of despair. Only that she didn’t know how to answer his query.

Could she forgive him? Of course she could. It would be so easy. Just three little words. I forgive y—

Blast! She couldn’t even say it in her mind! Which led to her next question: did she want to forgive him.

No. She wanted for him to suffer as she had—as she still suffered. Her whole life, in the blink of an eye, had changed, and on the eve of her wedding, no less.

Right now she should have been exploring her beautiful home in Essex with her new husband, Andrew. She should have been hosting house parties and ladies luncheons and balls. Not freezing to death in a cave somewhere in the middle of nowhere! With a man she was never engaged to marry.

She wanted him to know how it felt to be dragged hundreds of miles from one’s family without having any say in the matter. An unwelcome sob rose to her throat at the thought of her family.

No doubt they were all gathered in the parlor by this time, enjoying an after-dinner game of charades. Or a sing-a-long of their favorite songs.

What was she going to miss being gone for these months? Would her brothers and sisters be all grown up by the time she returned?

She shook her head, knowing she was being melodramatic about the whole thing. A couple months. They’d be back in London by Christmas. It wasn’t such a long time. Of course, she’d miss having her birthday at home. Her parents always made such a grand thing of birthdays.

“Beth?”

The image of her decadent birthday cake and her family’s smiling faces vanished when Michael said her name. Well, the name he thought to call her, anyhow. She turned sharp eyes on him, at once angry that he’d interrupted her pleasant daydream, and annoyed that he continued to call her Beth.

“E-liz-a-beth.”

“Right.” He stood from his place beside her on the small sofa and turned to her with a weary sigh. “It’s late, and we’ve had a very long day. You can think about how much you hate me in your own room.”

Lizzie felt sudden tears fill her eyes, and she was loath to admit they were because of the hurt she heard in his normally self-assured voice.

Nevertheless, he was right. It was late. And only sleep would help her forget about how horrific her life had become.

Six

Michael fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning after listening to his wife’s muffled sobs for what seemed like hours on end. When he awoke the next morning to a misty, Scottish day, he thought he heard her crying again.

Good, Lord, she’ll dry herself up from the inside out!

He moved closer to the connecting door and pressed his ear to hear better. A wide smile spread his lips when he realized she wasn’t crying, but humming. And the song she hummed was the same one he’d been singing at the top of his lungs yesterday afternoon.

Soon, the humming turned to full-out singing, and Michael’s jaw became nearly unhinged. Where on earth had she learned to sing like that?

“‘...la mi dirai di si...’”

Like an angel, her voice wafted through the air, filling his chamber with glorious music. And she seemed to know every word, her Italian sung with an expertise that displayed years of training. How did he not know, after all this time, that she was such an accomplished singer? Not just the average, run-of-the-mill debutante who took singing lessons to perform in drawing rooms after dinner. No, this voice was comparable to the finest opera singers the continent had to offer.

He listened a while longer, his back leaning against the panel, before he finally decided to get a start on the day. Her voice accompanied his ablutions, much to his delight, but came to an abrupt stop while he stood before the mirror, trying to tie his neckcloth. Her door slammed moments later, informing Michael he was now alone in the suite.

Hating the feeling of emptiness that filled him in that moment, he gave up on the neckcloth, shrugged on his jacket and left the room. Perhaps they could have an amicable breakfast together before they began the interviews.

***

Lizzie had just sat down to her piping hot breakfast when the door to the dining room burst open.

“Good morning,” her husband said as he bounded into the room, a wide, boyish smile across his face. “Did you sleep well?”

She raised a brow at him, wondering if there was a hint of sarcasm in his tone? She’d cried half the night and thought she did a fine job of muffling her sobs, but perhaps she hadn’t.

“Fine,” she lied. “You?”
“I did,” he replied, sitting down to a heaping plate of eggs and sausage.

“Tea or coffee, milord?” Mrs. Kerr asked from the doorway.

“Coffee, thank you.” As the old woman bustled away, Michael fixed his eyes on Lizzie. “Even better,” he continued, picking up the conversation where they’d left off, “I awoke to the most angelic sounds I’ve ever heard.”

Lizzie felt the heat rise to her cheeks. She didn’t realize she’d been singing loudly enough for him to hear. “I hope I didn’t bother you.”

“Bother me? Heaven’s, no! It was delightful, Beth. I just wonder why you’ve been keeping your talents from us all this time.”
Choosing to ignore that he’d called her Beth, she said, “I don’t like to sing. Not publicly, anyhow. It scares me half to death.”

“As much as spiders scare you?”
“Almost.”

“Well,” Michael said as he meticulously cut into his plump sausage, “you shouldn’t be. You’re far better than almost anyone I’ve heard at the Royal Opera House. You certainly put that Madame Pizzarelli to shame.”

Lizzie blushed again at his compliment. Her family had always praised her for her ability to sing, but she thought it was simply because they were biased. Or didn’t want to hurt her feelings. And of course her singing instructor had said as much to that affect, but she’d assumed it was so she would continue to take lessons from him, thereby keeping his pockets full.

She never considered she was actually good.

Desperate to change the topic, she asked, “So, when do we begin the interviews? There are already several people lined up on the stoop outside.”

Michael’s brows rose in surprise. “Really? I hadn’t expected that. I suppose we can begin as soon as we finish breakfast then.”

Lizzie nodded and turned back to her meal. While she ate her eggs, she cast fleeting glances towards her husband. His dark hair was somewhat disheveled, as it always was, and his neckcloth was an absolute mess. She almost laughed, realizing he was just as spoiled as she was. Getting dressed that morning had been a challenge. She hadn’t cared about her appearance too much on the journey—simple chignons and serviceable traveling dresses had been fine thus far. But now they were here, lord and lady of a formidable estate, and it was important they present themselves as such.

“I daresay you need a valet as desperately as I need a ladies maid,” she commented.

Michael’s eyes met hers, his grin lopsided and playful, sending her pulse to a gallop. “Do I look that bad?”

The question caught her off guard, mainly because he didn’t look bad at all. As a matter of fact, he looked unbelievably handsome this morning, in spite of his haphazard cravat and hair. But she couldn’t tell him that, of course.

“Yes, you do.” Lizzie stood from her chair, her sights set on her husband’s neckcloth and not his curious, dark eyes.

As if she’d done this a million times, Michael turned in his chair and offered his neck to her. Lizzie’s heart fluttered spastically in her chest, but she ruthlessly ignored it and grabbed for the cloth. She silently yelled at her brain to tell her hands to stop their shaking, but no one was listening. Like a leaf, teetering from a feeble branch in October, she trembled uncontrollably as she tried to tie his cravat.

After a minute, she stood back to review her handiwork, thankful for the distance it afforded from her husband. Her spirits deflated. It looked even worse than it had in the first place.

“Did you want to give it another go?” Michael asked, clearly trying not to laugh.

With a determined nod, Lizzie stepped toward him and reached for the cloth again. As soon as she had her fingers around the two pieces, Michael’s hands clutched about her wrists. Their eyes met, locked. Her heart stopped beating for a mere second, and then took off at a full run.

She wanted to say something, to wrench her wrists free and tell him never to touch her. But her tongue didn’t work. At all.

A moment passed before Michael did the unthinkable and pulled her swiftly into his lap. His arms latched tightly around her, hot and strong at her back and waist. And then his lips were on hers. Familiar lips that, until that moment, she didn’t think she knew. But she did. He’d kissed her before, and regardless of the fact she thought it was Andrew, they were Michael’s lips. Michael’s tongue that had darted into her mouth and set waves of desire shooting through her body, right to her core.

Now her own tongue worked, only not in censure. She certainly didn’t have a mind to scold just then. But she gladly mimicked his movements, swirling her tongue, softening her lips to allow him in deeper.

He moaned and Lizzie’s eyes shot open, suddenly aware of what she was allowing him to do. Aware that she’d lost herself momentarily. Aware that she still hated him, no matter how desirable and delicious he made her feel.

She pushed hard against his chest. He stopped abruptly and pulled away, releasing her without a fight. Lizzie stood awkwardly and stepped away, wiping the moisture from her lips as she did.

Michael said nothing, but Lizzie couldn’t take the uncomfortable silence that hung between them. “Please. Don’t ever do that again,” she murmured, hoping her tone sounded harsher to him that it did to her. She hated that he unnerved her, and she didn’t want him to know that his kiss had caused her to unravel completely.

Finally deciding that the silence had stretched far enough, she turned on her heel and walked to the door. “I’ll meet you in the drawing room,” she said over her shoulder, right before she slammed the door behind her.

***

Damn, damn, damn!

Michael sat exactly where he was and watched the clock on the mantel tick the minutes away. After five whole minutes, he looked down and noted his cock was still hard and straining against his breeches. Not that he needed to look to note that, he just did.

Dear God, that had been one of the most blinding moments of his life. One of the most engaging, needy, desperate kisses he’d ever shared with a woman.

She was lonely, of that he was sure. And passionate. A damned passionate woman she was. His cock jumped at the thought. How had he, Michael Wetherby, ended up married to a desirable and passionate woman who wouldn’t let him have anything to do with her? Who wouldn’t let him touch her, let alone share her bed?

Michael cursed himself. He should have simply sent her to one of their estates near London and gone off to another on his own. Why in hell did they need to come here? All the way to Scotland, all alone. It was his own personal version of hell.

He shoved a few more bites of sausage into his mouth and rejoiced when his member returned to its normal, socially acceptable size. He rang the bell for Mrs. Kerr to clear away the table and then sought out Mr. Kerr in the foyer.

“My goodness,” he breathed, looking out the window at the line of people snaking from his front door, down the stairs and into the drive. “Where did they all come from?”

“Went to town early this morning and started spreading the word that Laird Michael was back. Not a lot of work in these parts, so naturally, they all flocked here.”
Michael contemplated the line of people at his door for a moment more, before striding down the hall to the drawing room.

“Send the first one in, Mr. Kerr.”

Lizzie sat on a settee near the fireplace, her hands folded primly in her lap, staring straight ahead at the wall. Michael looked at the wall to see if anything of great interest was there, and then turned back to his wife.

“Are you ready?” he asked, startling her.

“Oh, ah, yes. Ready.”

Michael smiled. He’d always taken great pride in robbing women of rational thought. He felt near triumphant having succeeded with his wife.

Taking the seat next to her, they waited until Mr. Kerr announced the first interviewee.

“Hamish Eliot.”

A burly man with long hair and a hard face walked into the room. He sat down in the chair that Michael pointed to and it creaked under his weight. Without further ado, they began their line of questioning.

One after another, they filtered in and out of the drawing room, men, women, and sometimes even children, looking to dust parlors, feed horses or fetch tea.

Just before noon, Michael heard a loud grumble next to him and turned to see his wife staring sheepishly down at her stomach. He smiled, sent the petite, older woman in front of them on her way, and then announced to Mr. Kerr that they would resume after luncheon. He couldn’t let his bride go hungry, after all. He’d seen full well what happened when she was deprived of food, and he never wished to be witness to that again.

Seven

Lizzie fell into bed that night, exhausted, but exhilarated. She’d never had the opportunity to interview her own staff and choose her own servants. Her parents had always made those decisions. But Lizzie found she loved it. Loved meeting new people. Loved determining where they’d best fit into the household. Loved seeing the huge smiles when she or Michael told them they were hired.

As she lay there, thinking of the day, her mind inadvertently wandered to breakfast and the kiss she and Michael shared. She hated that her body reacted to him so willingly. Hated that her breasts tightened until she was in pain, and that her drawers were moist without even the slightest touch.

But even now, something stirred within her. The simple thought of kissing him again, of feeling his lips and hands on her, made the moisture pool between her legs. She could practically feel it dripping from her. And despite the warmth of the fire and the piles of blankets on top of her, her nipples were hard and aching.

A wicked smile curved her lips at the same time an embarrassed blush infused her cheeks. Could she really touch herself like that? The way she wanted a man to touch her? She’d read somewhere that that sort of thing could be harmful to one’s health, but at the moment she didn’t really care. Sensations she’d never had, feelings she’d never known existed, raged through her and she had to touch herself.

Lizzie reached under the covers and pulled up her nightgown, then tentatively touched her fingers to her mound.

“Humph.” Nothing. She felt around some more and finally dipped her finger between her folds with a little gasp.

How did I get so moist? She began to rub and touch and feel, all the while a silly smile on her face. Part of her was ashamed at what she was doing, but part of her delighted in the sheer wickedness of it.

She hit a sensitive spot and moaned, astonished she was able to make herself do such a thing. And then, as she continued her exploration, she closed her eyes and pictured Michael’s face in her head. She didn’t want to—she still harbored a great deal of resentment towards the man—but he was the one who had succeeded in stirring this beast within her. She thought it only right that his face was the one she saw as she traversed this unknown world.

***

Michael’s head shot up, his eyes abandoning the book in his lap. Was that a whimper he heard? Was Beth crying again?

He listened closely, his ears perked like a paranoid rabbit, but heard nothing more. Perhaps it had just been the wind.

He hoped so. He wasn’t sure he could take another night of listening to her cry without intervening. It wasn’t in his nature to ignore a crying woman. But Beth was crying because of him, because of a monumental lie that he’d told. So could he really comfort her? Or would he simply make her more upset?

“Mmm...”

There it was again. A moan? A whimper? Maybe she was dreaming. Yes, that had to be it. They’d gone to bed more than an hour ago. She was certainly asleep by now and probably already in the throes of a dream.

He turned back to his book, assuming she’d calm down eventually and return to a peaceful sleep. His eyes hadn’t taken in two words when a low guttural sound came from her room.

That was it. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. Slapping the book shut, he laid it on the side table and strode to the panel. He listened for a moment before pushing through into her chamber.

Surely enough, there lay his wife, in semi-darkness, writhing and moaning in her sleep. Michael whispered her name, hoping it would be enough to wake her. She didn’t respond.

Damn. He would have to get closer. Beth was probably a heavy sleeper, and based on the intensity of this particular dream, he suspected it might take a good bit of shaking to wake her. He waited until he was directly over her before saying her name again.

“Beth,” he said in quiet, but commanding tones.

Her eyes shot open suddenly and met with his. Michael couldn’t ignore the terrified and desperate look he saw there. He wanted to comfort her, though he knew she probably wouldn’t let him.

“Goodness, Beth, are you all right?”

She didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Perhaps she was still not awake. Perhaps she was still in the dream. His sister had walked and talked in her sleep when she was little, and oftentimes her eyes had been wide open, as if she were fully awake.

He reached out to touch her, with the intent of shaking her awake, but she fairly jumped before his hand made contact with her shoulder.

“Stop!” she shouted frantically as she shimmied to the other side of the bed. Away from him. “What are you doing?”

Confused, he scowled down at her. “Trying to wake you. You were having a bad dream.”

“A bad...oh, yes, a bad dream.”

Michael watched as she clearly began to remember the dream. It must have been awful, if her horrified expression was any indication. “Would you care to tell me about it?”

Her gaze snapped to his. “Oh, no, that’s all right. You must be tired. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t. I was reading.”

Beth looked down sheepishly and cleared her throat. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad of that.”

Michael was about to offer to hear about her dream again, but she cut him off with a chipper, “Well, goodnight!”

Slowly, he began to retreat to his room. Halfway to the door, he turned around. There his wife sat, a too-wide smile on her face, her entire body still submerged under the covers. Something wasn’t right, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. He considered her for a moment.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Beth?” He wasn’t trying to provoke her, but she wasn’t acting herself just now.  And that bothered him to no end. What was she up to?

“Mm-hmm,” she smiled back. “Fine!”

“Why are you smiling like that?”

The corners of her mouth immediately turned down. “Like what?”

That was it. Something was definitely going on here, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. “What are you hiding under there?” He pointed to the covers, under which her hands were still hidden.

“Under where?” she parroted, feigning innocence.

Innocence. Inn-o-cence. All the blood drained from his face in a sudden whoosh. She must have seen it in his features that he’d figured her out, because at the same moment, all her blood seemed to rush to her cheeks. Astonishment and disbelief set his feet pounding to her bedside. She tried to scoot back to the other side of the bed, but she was too late. Michael had already ripped off the covers, revealing her nightgown, which had been hiked up around her middle.

He tried to speak, but all that came out was a series of stuttered, incoherent words. And somewhere in the midst of his discovery, he’d become hard as a rock. It didn’t matter that she’d been toying with herself or even that she’d lied about it. How could he care about things like virtue and honesty at a time like this? His wife—his innocent little Elizabeth Crawley—had been in the middle of pleasuring herself.

A thousand thoughts flew threw his mind. Aside from the fact that the idea of her touching herself made him randier than a cock in spring, he couldn’t get past the fact that she shouldn’t need to touch herself. That they were married, and she should be entitled to real pleasure whenever she wanted. Whenever he wanted.

And damn it, she looked like an angel lying there in her white nightrail, with her golden hair sprawled upon the pillows in the firelight. A wanton little angel.

As if suddenly aware that she was still partially bared to him, Beth snatched the hem of her gown and pulled it down over her, before grabbing the covers back and tucking them under her chin.

No one said anything. They both stayed completely still, staring back at one another, clearly at a loss for what to do next. Should he follow his cock and climb into bed with her? Finish off what she’d started? Surely now was as good a time as any to consummate their marriage. She was primed by her own hand, and he was certainly ready.

Or should he act the gentleman and leave her in peace? God, but he wished he hadn’t been raised properly.

He gulped down self-hatred and backed away from the bed. Beth’s eyes held a hint of disappointment, or so he thought. He could have imagined it. He wasn’t exactly in his right mind just then.

“Ahem...well, I can see you’re...busy.” He backed away slowly, suddenly unable to make eye contact. “So, goodnight.”

***

The connecting panel slammed and Lizzie collapsed back onto her pillows, releasing all her breath is one giant whoosh. Her cheeks were still aflame and her heart raced as if it were the frontrunner at Ascot.

What were you thinking, Elizabeth Prudence Crawley—no, Wetherby! She was all mixed up, confused and completely mortified. She knew nothing good could come from doing that, and she should have listened to her conscience. She should have heeded all the sermons she’d heard on self-pleasure and indulging base desires. Should have remembered that silly book she’d read on the dangers of onanism.

Just as her pulse returned to normal, she saw Michael’s face in her mind and a fresh wave of humiliation came over her. What must he think of her now?

She humphed, realizing she didn’t really know what he’d thought of her before and therefore had no basis for analysis. Well, whatever he thought before, his opinion of her must have been vastly diminished by his discovery.

Perhaps she should explain. Tell him that she’d never done it before, that she was simply curious as to what it felt like. And what if he pries further?

Lizzie shook her head with great determination. No, she couldn’t say anything. If he ever found out that he had been the impetus for her exploration, she would be humiliated. Humbled. And she was sure he’d walk around like a cock in a hen house if he knew that about her. That she found him desirable. That he had been the one to set her body aflame while she lay in bed. And while she ate and slept and bathed.

Good heavens, she was becoming a wanton! She needed to think happy, wholesome thoughts. Thoughts that had nothing to do with her virile husband or the kiss he’d planted on her lips that morning or the way she imagined he would touch her, if she allowed him.

Happy, wholesome, happy, wholesome...

She chanted the words a few hundred more times before she finally fell asleep with thoughts of her husband’s fingers dipping into her and bringing her the greatest pleasure she’d ever known.

Eight

Lizzie opted to take breakfast in her room the next morning and thankfully, Michael didn’t force her to do otherwise. She needed time to regain her wits and set herself to rights before they set upon the second day of interviews. She could scarcely believe he’d caught her in the act. In the light of day, it seemed as if it had been a horrific dream. Oh, if only that were true. Then she might be able to face her husband with a shred of dignity. Just then, she wasn’t sure she would ever be able look him in the eye again.

Eggs and a thick piece of bread dripping with butter stared up at her from a pink, flowered plate. It smelled delicious and Lizzie’s stomach rumbled, but she had the feeling she wouldn’t be able to keep her breakfast down that morning. Instead, she drank her tea slowly, wanting to delay the moment when she’d have to meet with Michael. How in the world would she survive sitting next to him all day without dying of embarrassment?

Mrs. Kerr knocked lightly at her door and then entered without invitation. The woman eyed Lizzie’s still-full plate and clucked her tongue.

“You’ll be nothing but skin and bones soon,” she said.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kerr. I suppose I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”

A warm smile broke out on the woman’s lips, as if she knew something Lizzie didn’t. “Not to worry, dear. You’ll have your appetite back in a wink. This phase doesn’t last but a month or two at most.”

“A month or two?” Was the woman daft? What was she talking about?

“That’s right,” Mrs. Kerr went on as she bustled about, tidying up the room. “I was sick as a dog with Maggie, but it passed quickly enough.”

Maggie? Lizzie struggled to follow the vein of conversation, but she couldn’t. Her mind was still muddled from the night before, and this woman seemed to be speaking in a code that she clearly thought Lizzie would understand.

“And goodness, but it was worth it. Maggie was the best thing to ever happen to us.” A shadow passed over the woman’s features and a frown replaced her formerly bright smile.

Lizzie took the opportunity to ask for clarification. “Mrs. Kerr, who is Maggie?”

“Why, my daughter, of course! Weren’t ye paying attention?”
Realization practically slapped Lizzie in the face. “Oh, no! Mrs. Kerr, you thought...I mean, you think that me...and Michael...that we’re...”

The housekeeper stopped her bustling and turned to Lizzie. “Well, of course, dearie. And I’ve a second sight about these things. Now, you just relax and I’ll come for ye when the master is ready to begin the interviews.”

Mrs. Kerr ambled out of the room, and Lizzie stared after her in a state of utter shock. The woman thought she was pregnant. Pregnant! For heaven’s sake, she’d barely been kissed, let alone ravished! Unless her fingers held magical powers, she most certainly was not with child.

But how was she to tell Mrs. Kerr that? She and Michael were man and wife, after all. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that the woman assumed they’d consummated the marriage.

However, they’d only been there three days now, married for eight. Surely the symptoms of pregnancy didn’t show up so quickly. Was the woman insinuating she and Michael had engaged in such activities before they’d been wed?

Oh goodness, it was too much for her to think about now. She was groggy from too little sleep, and her hands shook with nerves as the minutes ticked away on the clock. Michael would be expecting her soon. Lizzie blew out a breath. Might as well get it over with.

With that, she abandoned her now cold breakfast and left the room.

***

Michael put down the letter he’d been reading from his brother and looked up to find Mrs. Kerr standing over the breakfast table.

“Everything all right, Mrs. Kerr?” he asked, his brows raised in question.

“Right as rain, milord,” she replied with a jaunty grin.

“Wonderful!” Michael threw his napkin on the table and started to stand from his chair, but Mrs. Kerr stayed him with a hand.

“Although—and I know this isn’t really any of my business—but I do think you ought to take extra special care with Lady Elizabeth.”

Michael’s stomach plummeted to his toes. “Is something wrong? What’s happened? Is she all right?”
“Fine, fine,” Mrs. Kerr chirped with a little laugh. “It’s nothing out of the ordinary, milord, but you won’t want to be taxing her with...well, you know.” She picked up his empty plate and moved to exit the room.
“No, I don’t know.” Michael shot up from his seat to stop her.

She turned to him with a sympathetic smile. “It’s not for me to say, Lord Michael. You’ll have to ask the missus if you want to know more. But don’t keep her too long today. The lady needs her rest.”

Michael’s head spun with possibilities. What was the woman talking about? Was Beth ill? Why else would she need so much rest?

“Ahem.”

Michael turned to see his wife, looking the picture of good health, standing in the doorway of the dining room. Her golden locks had been partially swept into a coif atop her head, but much of it fell around her shoulders. In an instant, his mind flashed to the night before, to her lying in her bed, bared to the waist, staring up at him with those crystalline blue eyes. His voice caught momentarily, but he finally managed to greet her.

“Good morning, Beth,” he said, studying her, trying to discern if she was well or not.

“I figured you would want to get started as soon as you finished breakfast, but if you’re not ready, I can—”

“No, no, I’m ready,” he assured her before striding towards the door.

She took a step back, casting her eyes to the floor. Perhaps he should say something about last night. That there was nothing to be ashamed of, or that lots of people did it. Something to ease her embarrassment. Otherwise, this was going to be a very long day.

“I wanted—”

“You should know—”

They both spoke at the same time and then sheepishly smiled at one another. Good God, what was wrong with him? He’d never been one to shy away from uncomfortable topics. She was his wife, after all, and he’d been the one to find her...indisposed. He needed to buck up and be the adult now.

Michael took his wife’s chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. Damn, but that was a bad idea. She looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment, and he hated that.

He was about to tell her there was nothing to be ashamed of, but decided to take another tactic. Instead, he lowered his head and kissed her. It was only a fleeting kiss, but when he pulled away, Beth had stopped breathing. Her lips were swollen and moist, her eyes wide.

“I’m sorry for barging in on you last night,” he said, his face barely an inch from hers, his heart beating rapidly. “Obviously, if I had known—”

“Please,” Beth breathed. “It’s all right. I would like to get on with the day, if you don’t mind.”

Michael nodded, understanding that she wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened. “Yes, of course. And I promise not to keep you too long today. You will have plenty of time to rest, I promise.”

He hoped his words might provoke her to tell him what was wrong, why Mrs. Kerr had insisted he not tax her, but she said nothing. They walked silently to the drawing room and took their respective places on the settee by the hearth. Mr. Kerr appeared moments later to announce the first of the day.

“Miss Bonnie Cameron.”
From behind him came a girl, not more than seventeen, Michael was sure, with dark red hair and startling green eyes. She was better dressed than anyone they’d interviewed thus far and carried herself in a manner beyond her years. She sat down in the seat across from them and gave a warm smile that revealed a row of perfect, white teeth.

Michael knew instantly that he liked her, and he was certain his wife would too. She seemed the ideal person to tend to Beth as her ladies maid.

***

Lizzie watched her husband as Bonnie sat down before them and primly folded her hands in her lap. A twinkle of adoration shown in Michael’s eyes, and Lizzie started at the sudden envy that came over her. He was taken with the girl. The girl. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen, though she seemed rather precocious to Lizzie.

Bonnie, indeed. Fitting, she supposed. She was rather pretty. Annoyingly so, if truth be known. But she was practically a child and it bothered Lizzie that Michael seemed so smitten with her. It made her wonder if he was the type to harass the hired help and go after girls who were considerably younger than he.

Lizzie practically harrumphed aloud. What did it matter? It wasn’t as if she’d ever let him in her bed. She didn’t care what he did in his own.

Turning her attention to the task at hand, she asked Bonnie to tell them about herself and her experience in servitude.

“Well,” she said with an innocuous bat of her lashes, “I’ve not done much in the way of cleaning and such. I’m afraid I’d be at a loss in the position of a chambermaid. However, my mother taught me everything she knew about sewing. And I’m rather gifted with hair and such. I don’t have experience, other than helping my mother, but I daresay, if you haven’t got a personal maid, milady, I’d make a fine one for you.”

Lizzie was about to protest that she needed an attendant with experience when her husband slapped his knee, a silly grin on his face, and said, “Capital idea, don’t you think, darling?”

Darling? “Ah, well...perhaps we should discuss this, in private.”

“But, why? You heard her. She’s gifted with hair.” Michael looked at her as if she’d completely lost her mind to protest taking the girl on as her maid.

Well, Lizzie would not be forced into taking Bonnie on just so he could have his way with her. “She is the first we’ve seen today, dearest, and you know I’m not one to make rash decisions.” Turning back to Bonnie, she said, “Please leave your information with Mr. Kerr on your way out and we will be in contact.”

A pained expression broke out on the girl’s face. She visibly gulped, but she didn’t move.

“Now, hold on a moment, Beth. Perhaps she could demonstrate her proficiency for you. Show you what she can do?”

The girl nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, please! I promise I won’t let you down, milady.”

Lizzie inhaled a sharp breath, knowing that if she said no now, she’d look like a shrew of the highest order. Both Michael and Bonnie waited for her response, their eyes wide and practically pleading. She hated both of them in that moment.

“Fine,” she said finally, ringing the bell to summon Mrs. Kerr. “Mrs. Kerr will show you to the library where you will wait until we are finished here. Then you may arrange my hair in an evening style for dinner.”

“Oh, thank you, milady! You won’t be disappointed.”

Lizzie nodded her head in acknowledgement, her lips pursed in annoyance. She couldn't wait to be alone with her husband so she could strangle him.

Mrs. Kerr arrived at the door moments later. "You rang, milady?"

"I did. Mrs. Kerr, will you please see Miss Cameron to the library? She is to wait there until we are finished."

The housekeeper's gaze shifted to the girl, and her eyes widened in an expression of disbelief. "My goodness," she breathed, but then said nothing more. She only stood there, staring.

"Mrs. Kerr, are you all right?" Michael asked.

Coming to her senses, the woman sputtered a bit and finally said, "Fine, milord, just fine. Forgive me. I seem to have forgotten myself for a moment."

Nine

Beth plopped back down onto the settee as Bonnie exited the room on the heels of Mrs. Kerr. Michael watched his wife with amusement. Her jaw was tight, her nostrils slightly flared as she breathed in and out, and her bright blue eyes focused straight ahead. Goodness, what happened? He looked more closely, and she must have felt his eyes boring into her for she suddenly turned and fixed him with an icy glare.

“Stop staring at me,” she demanded, her tone just as cold as her eyes.

“Why? I rather like staring at you.”

That seemed to get her delicately arched back up. She opened her mouth to say something—something acerbic, no doubt—and then shut it again. Michael tucked his lips in between his teeth to keep from smiling. Beth looked ready to cosh him over the head, and he was sure if she detected even a hint of amusement on his part, he’d be abed within minutes, his skull wrapped in gauze.

The door to the drawing room swung open.

“Shall I send the next one in, milord?”

Michael was about to say yes, but thought better of it. “I need a moment alone with my wife, Mr. Kerr. I will ring for you when we’re ready.”

Beth was gaping at him now, her brow furrowed with confusion. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

He situated himself on the settee so he was facing her and leaned back against the arm. “You tell me,” he replied.

Under his scrutiny, Beth blushed and looked away. She straightened her skirts and cleared her throat. “Tell you what?” she said at last.

“Tell me why you’re acting so strange. And why Mrs. Kerr was acting so strange as well. I had hoped you would tell me of your own free will, but clearly that’s not going to happen. Mrs. Kerr thinks you’re ill. Are you?”

“No!” Beth shouted and stood quickly, darting a few feet away from him to stand behind the wing-backed chair. “I’m fine.”

“Then why would Mrs. Kerr think you were ill?”
She cleared her throat again and closed her eyes before she said, “Mrs. Kerr may be under the impression...that is, she might think that I’m...with child.” The last part came out so quietly, it could have been a mouse who’d uttered the words.

“Come again,” Michael said, turning to sit straight on the sofa and leaning forward. “I didn’t quite catch that last part.”
“No, I’m not going to say it again. It’s far too embarrassing and I won’t discuss such things with you. I think I’ve suffered enough humiliation for an entire year now, don’t you agree?”

Michael sighed. They really were going to have to talk about this. “Beth, what happened last night—”

“Don’t you dare bring up last night!” she screamed, her face turning even redder than before. She was really one of the most lovely girls he’d ever known, but the crimson color of her skin right now did not suit her.

“You’re my wife, Beth, we should be able to talk about these things.”

“I’m your wife because you and your brother tricked me. I don’t have to talk to you about anything.”

“But you will.” He’d always been gentle with her, given her space and time, but he was growing weary of this conversation. Over and over, throwing his sins in his face. It wasn’t fair and he needed to put a stop to it now. “Need I remind you that you had an opportunity to back out?"

"And be completely ruined?"

"I daresay Lord Edgmond would have offered for you regardless."

She cast him a mutinous glare, but said nothing.

"We have a good many years ahead of us, Beth, and I think it’s about time you got used to the fact that we’re married now. I won’t apologize again for my deception. I know it was wrong—I knew it then, but I did it anyhow because I...because you deserved more than what Andrew could offer you.”

“Andrew could have offered me a great deal. Why, right now, he and Chloe are having a grand old time, living by her family, traipsing about the countryside, basking in one another’s lo—”

“And why do you think that is, Beth? Do you think things would have been the same had you married my brother? He doesn’t love you, he never did. He loves Chloe, and he would have married you, harboring that secret, knowing that she had born his child. He would have been miserable and by extension, so would you.”

Beth turned to him, wild fire in her eyes. “You are a cruel bastard,” she shouted, even as the tears began to stream down her cheeks.

Damn it, he hadn’t meant to make her cry, for God’s sake. Softening his tone, he stood and made a move towards her. She backed up and shot daggers at him, silently warning him to stay where he was. Considering she resembled a rabid dog, he stayed back and allowed her space.

“I’m not trying to be cruel, Beth, and you know it,” he said, keeping his voice quiet and gentle. “Now, I want to say something about last night.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t,” she said, but her tone lacked conviction. Clearly, she expected him to speak regardless of her pleas.

“It’s a shame you had to resort to such measures.”

Beth’s head snapped up and she stared at him, eyes wide, as if she had expected an entirely different statement to come out of his mouth altogether. She expected censure, degradation, he was certain.

“What do you mean?”

Finally, she was softening, her expression becoming more curious than furious. “What I mean is that you’re a married woman, and your husband was sleeping not fifty feet from you. It’s a bloody shame you chose to use your hand rather than come to me.”

She gulped and Michael smiled. He’d unnerved her, but the wheels in her head were spinning out of control, he could see. Would she take the bait? God, he hoped so. It was about damned time they consummated this blessed union. He imagined he’d never gone so long without a tup; he was nearly going out of his mind with waiting.

“Well, that’s hardly fair, Michael,” she finally said, her voice low and unsure. “I don’t know the first thing about seduction. I wouldn’t know what to do if I found myself standing at your bedside.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Beth looked as if she might get angry again, but he held up a hand to stop her. “No, don’t start yelling again. All I’m saying is that you’re a beautiful woman, and I’m certain you know how to use your charms to your advantage.”

“It’s not the same thing, and you know it. Flirting in a ballroom is not at all like taking a man to...”

“Bed? True, I’ll grant you that. However, getting there is much the same, and then I would be there to guide you further.”

“Why should I have to be the one to do the seducing? You’re my husband, and I’m simply your lowly wife. Surely men have done less honorable things than take their unwilling, virgin wives to bed against their will.”

Michael couldn’t stop his laughter. “Oh, Beth, you do surprise me. How could I possibly come to you now, after such an impassioned speech? That is precisely why you must do the seducing.”

“Fine!” Beth stuck her nose in the air and straightened her spine. “If you wish me to come to you...I will.”

“Do you wish to come to me?”

“Not necessarily, but you’re right. We are married and have many years ahead of us. Obviously, I’m curious—there’s no point in trying to hide that from you now. So, yes, I will come to you. Tomorrow evening.”

“Why not tonight?”

“Because,” she said, and stopped, as if that was all the explanation he should need.
“Because...?”

She fidgeted with the slightly puffed sleeve of her dress, avoiding eye contact with him. “Because I need more time, if you please. I’ve been a virgin for twenty years. It’s not something one gives up so easily after such a long period of time.”

Michael smiled and inwardly rejoiced. What was one more day? He’d been waiting for her for a very long time. One more day certainly wouldn’t kill him. And the thought of finally having her in his bed made him harden in an instant. Damn it to hell, they needed to get on with the interviews.

Desperate to change the subject, Michael slapped his knee and said, “Good, it’s settled then. Shall I tell Mr. Kerr we’re ready for the next candidate? Though I daresay we don’t need to interview anyone else for the position of your personal maid. Bonnie fits the bill quite nicely.”
Michael was halfway to the door when something hard and painful hit him on the back of the head. He turned to see Beth standing by the fire, glaring at him as if he were the very devil. At his feet was a small, silver candlestick. His eyes darted to the mantle where a much bigger and heavier looking candlestick sat, and he supposed it could have been worse. Still, why the hell was she throwing things at him?

“Care to explain?” he asked as he rubbed the back of his head to check for any bumps. None yet, but surely there would be by evening.

Beth’s lips were clamped tightly together. She wasn’t going to explain, that much was clear, and he didn’t care to argue anymore just then. They had things to do, and he wasn’t about to spend time quibbling with her when they should be repairing their crumbling domicile.

He pocketed the candlestick with a tight smile, and patted down the flap. “I’ll just hang on to this, if you don’t mind.” With determined steps, he walked the rest of the way to the door, yelled at Mr. Kerr to send the next person in, and then returned to his place on the settee by his wife.

The more he sat there next to her, the more enraged he became. What the hell was wrong with this woman? He hadn’t even said anything—at least nothing of real importance—nothing that should have gotten him clobbered with a candlestick. His mind replayed his last words...

Bonnie fits the bill quite nicely.

With a start, Michael realized his wife’s rage for exactly what it was. And then he was laughing, unable to stop himself. Good heavens, she was jealous of that little twit! Did she really think him the type to chase after children? After the help? Good God, they’d known each other for years. Why in hell would she think that of him? He’d never demonstrated such a propensity in the past. Perhaps there was something in the Scottish air that was making her lose her mind.

“Something amusing, my lord?”

He stopped laughing to the best of his ability and turned to his wife. Damn, but he wished she’d stop being so angry all the time. He missed the Elizabeth he’d known in London. The one he’d come to care for quite strongly. She allowed him glimpses here and there, but only glimpses, before she put back on her armor.

“Quite,” he said. “But we will discuss it later, for here comes our next candidate.”

Ten

At five o’clock that afternoon, Lizzie sat down in front of her vanity mirror in her bedchamber and stared at the reflection of the redheaded tart that was about to do her hair. Lizzie knew she was being unfair and unreasonable, but she didn't care. She hated the girl already. Every movement she made was calculated, every flick of her wrist as she removed the pins from Lizzie's hair executed with such eloquence that Lizzie wondered if she practiced the movements in her spare time.

Silly ninny! Not efficient at all. Lovely and eloquent but not efficient. Lizzie needed her to go no further to know she wasn't going to do as her maid. It would take forever, with those annoyingly perfect movements, to get the pins out, let alone back in.

“Done!”

Lizzie's head shot up. Blast her! She'd already finished? Lizzie's blond curls tumbled around her shoulders now, down her back, tapering off somewhere near her waist. The girl took a few moments to prepare the necessary accouterments and then set to work. Lizzie closed her eyes, unable to watch. She really couldn't stand this girl or her mannerisms. It wouldn't matter if she gave her the most stunning coiffure that had ever been done in all of English history, she would still refuse her as her maid.

There was no doubt in Lizzie's mind that her husband would dally with the girl were she to remain here, in their home, in their service. No! She couldn't allow him to take this girl's innocence! Yes, that was it. This poor, unsuspecting girl, with no more guile than a newborn puppy, could not be exposed to her husband's lascivious stares and crude advances. Lizzie had to protect her.

Several minutes later, Bonnie gave an awe-inspired sigh and bid Lizzie to open her eyes. Lizzie did, slowly, and mimicked her maid's sigh. Good heavens, it was astonishing. But how could that be? She hadn't really expected the girl to execute one of Britain's most elegant coiffures in history, but somehow, in such a short amount of time, she had.

Precocious chit!

“All right, clearly you are adept with hair, but now you must ready me for dinner. If you can dress me with proficiency, well then...” Lizzie bit the inside of her cheek. She really didn't want to take the girl on, but after another full day of interviews, there really was no one else to fill the position. They were practically in the middle of nowhere and most of the people they'd seen over the last two days were men.

She looked into the startling green eyes of her new maid. Perhaps she should give the girl a chance. After all, she'd been nothing but amiable to her and she did aim to please. Lizzie just hoped she wouldn't aim to please Michael.

“Which gown will you be wearing for dinner this evening, my lady? I'll make sure it's pressed and that all the appropriate jewels and what not are ready as well.”

***

An hour later Lizzie descended the stairs to the first floor and walked to the dining room. She had never been so annoyed in her entire life. The damned tart had done everything to perfection. Her hair, her dress, her jewelry, gloves, everything had been thought of, laid out and put on Lizzie with great efficacy. She now had no choice but to tell Michael they'd be keeping the girl as her personal maid, and that thought nearly made her nauseous. The last thing she wanted was to admit he'd been right.

Lizzie pushed open the door to the dining room and stopped short when she saw it was empty. No fire in the grate, no candles or place settings on the table. The only light came from the quickly fading sun. How odd.

She turned her gaze to the clock on the mantle. Six thirty. They'd eaten at this time every night. Where was everyone?

Before she could set off down the hall to check the drawing room, she caught sight of a large, black spider making its way across the white linen table runner. Her blood froze in her veins and her limbs turned to stone. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

And then there was another. And another. Oh, dear God, the place was infested! She wanted to run, but her feet wouldn't move. She stood there, trembling, for an indeterminate amount of time before she heard a panicked voice call out her name.

“Beth!” Michael was at her side in an instant, wedging himself between her and the doorway and slamming the doors shut at his back. “You’re early.”

Coming to her senses, she blinked her eyes and met with Michael’s concerned gaze. “What do you mean, early?” she asked, irritation infusing her tone. “It’s six thirty, is it not?”

“Yes, but I meant to intercept you before you left your room. I went to retrieve you and Bonnie informed me you’d gone already.”

Humph! Bonnie. Lizzie scowled at her husband. “What is going on?” she demanded.

“We’ve a slight problem in the dining room. It seems a spider...or two...have laid and um, hatched their eggs.”

A pit the size of England formed in Lizzie’s belly. Her skin went cold and clammy, her eyes blurred and she wasn’t sure if she was going to swoon or throw up. Or both.

Anticipating her imminent dilemma, Michael reached down and scooped her up in his arms. He silently carried her down the hall to the drawing room and deposited her on the sofa before the fire. Lizzie stared blankly ahead and gladly accepted the glass of liquor that was handed to her moments later.

“When did it start?”

Lizzie turned to see Michael sitting next to her. His fingers played with one of the curls that hung loosely from her coiffure, but he stopped abruptly when she turned to look at him.

“When did what start?”

“This fear of yours. Something must have happened to make you be so frightened of them.”

Lizzie blinked, feeling daft all of a sudden. Why was she so afraid of them? She’d never really thought about it before—just accepted the fact that she was terrified and did her very best to avoid them at all costs.

“I-I don’t know,” she admitted sheepishly.

Michael’s brows rose. “You don’t know?” he repeated. “But you must. You nearly swooned back there. Think, Beth. Can’t you remember anything? A childhood incident? Were you bitten when you were little, perhaps?”

She shook her head back and forth. “No. Not that I know of. The first incident I remember was in Chloe’s treehouse. I was ten or eleven perhaps, and a small spider crawled up the wall. I was instantly afraid and nearly broke my neck trying to climb down the ladder.”

They sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes. Lizzie looked at Michael, her husband, and wondered what he was thinking. Not that she wanted to ask him. What if he was thinking about Bonnie? Or about torturing her by putting spiders in her bed?

“Well,” he finally said, turning to her, “we can’t risk you breaking that pretty little neck of yours over some silly spiders, can we?”

“No?” she replied, taken off guard by his beguiling smile.

“Of course not! It’s far too lovely a neck.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Lizzie managed. “But I’ve been afraid of spiders my whole life. I doubt the fear is simply going to go away.”

“True, true.” Michael tapped his chin with his finger as he regarded her through narrowed eyes.

Lizzie’s stomach turned queasy. “What are you thinking, Michael?” she asked slowly, unsure of whether or not she really wanted an answer.

In an instant, Michael was on his feet, crossing the room and tugging the bell pull.

Panic raced through Lizzie. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Don’t you dare do anything without consulting me first. I am not opposed to trying to get over this fear, but you will not surprise me, Michael! I will not have you putting spiders in my bed or—or wherever you might think to put them. Now you will tell me what you’re planning...or else!”

Michael’s lips twitched spastically as he tried to keep from laughing. Blast him, but this was serious! She was sure he didn’t understand the extent of her fear. Irrational or not, it was paralyzing. Now he planned to surprise her—trick her into not being afraid of them anymore. And he had the audacity to stand there and laugh at her!

Fury mounted into rage until Lizzie thought she might burst. “Tell me what you’re doing!” she screamed, knowing the sound must be piercing to his ears. It was piercing to her own.

Eleven

Much to Lizzie’s surprise, Michael remained calm and was still trying to suppress his laughter when he announced, “I’m ringing for our dinner.”

“Oh.” Beth looked rather embarrassed. As she should. His wife certainly had trouble controlling her temper. “Are we eating in here, then?”

“No,” he began, and then seeing her eyes widen in terror, added, “I thought we would eat in the garden. It's a lovely night and we should take advantage of the fair weather before it turns cold. Winters in the Highlands are bitter, you know.”

“Well, then, I should fetch my shawl.”

Michael put up a staying hand. “We can ring for Bonnie. You just stay here and calm yourself.”

Beth's sharp intake of breath reached his ears, and he knew he'd made a mistake. The woman didn't take kindly to being ordered about.

“I am calm, you blackguard! And there is no reason to disturb Bonnie right now when I can just as easily climb those stairs myself.”

“She did a rather fine job, by the way,” Michael said, changing the subject. “I daresay, you've never looked so well turned out.”

Just when Beth's nostrils began to flare, Mr. Kerr arrived at the door to take Michael's orders for dinner.

“We'll have it ready in a jiffy, milaird,” he promised and retreated back to the kitchen.

Michael sauntered across the room and poured himself a drink before joining his wife on the sofa. He stared at her, wishing he could read her thoughts. Maybe then he'd be able to say the right thing once in a while, rather than stoking her outrageous temper.  She did look beautiful tonight, though. Bonnie truly had done an outstanding job and it had been ages since he'd seen Beth in an unwrinkled gown.

Guilt began to niggle at the back of his mind. Had he done the right thing? Was it fair to have brought her all the way here, away from London's fineries and her family? Goodness, but she was unhappy. Her mouth was in a constant frown, and when she did smile, it never quite reached her pale blue eyes.

And now the infestation. Good Lord, this place needed work, and lots of it. Now that they'd completed their staff, the work could begin, but who knew how long it would be before they'd be able to eat in their dining room again?

This cold, massive cavern was not at all fit for a lady like Elizabeth, but what other choice was there? They would simply have to make the most of it.

“I'm sorry about the spiders, Beth,” he ventured, keeping his voice calm for her sake. “I'll set the staff to that room first, before they get out of hand.”

“It's not your fault,” she replied, thankfully matching his tone. “Thank you for, um, rescuing me before.”

“What are husbands for, if not to protect their wives from the less savory characters in this world?”

As he said the words, he realized they held more meaning than he'd originally intended. This was not the first time he'd rescued Beth from an unfavorable situation. In London, while still engaged to his brother, she'd fallen prey to a flatterer. A no-good dandy out to conquer her, merely to refill his family's coffers. Michael had caught on to his game, heard enough rumors about his determination to win her over, and began following his every move, which oftentimes led him right to Elizabeth. In no uncertain terms, he informed her that he knew what was going on, and if she wanted to maintain her extremely advantageous betrothal to Andrew, she would cease her relations with Edgmond.

He did it more for her own good than Andrew's, though. Andrew hadn't cared much for his fiancée. He was too busy following his heart to Beth's cousin's door. Though in the end, Michael had to admit that his motives had been rather selfish. He had lost Elizabeth to his brother, but that didn't mean he'd stopped caring for her. What happened to her mattered to him, and it always would.

Even now, in spite of her surliness since their marriage, and her volatile temper, he cared. It mattered greatly to him that she was unhappy. It ate away at his insides that he was the cause of her unhappiness.

“Goodness, I've hardly been outside since we arrived,” Elizabeth mused, bringing Michael from his thoughts.

“Neither have I, other than to feed the horses. The fresh air should do us some good.”

“Milaird, dinner is served on the terrace.”

Michael turned toward the sound of their butler's voice and nodded before offering his arm to Beth.

“I never did fetch my shawl,” she pointed out.

Wanting to avoid the topic of Bonnie, Michael gave her a nod and gestured toward the door. “I will wait here.”

***

Lizzie ran through the house to her chamber, her steps quickened by her sudden hunger. It was almost seven now and she hadn't eaten since luncheon. She wrapped her arms around herself, anticipating the cold spots in the corridor before she reached them. She'd stopped trying to guess at their origins and simply accepted that they would probably always be there. It was an old house, after all. There was no telling how many cracks were in the walls and windows.

She took another look at herself in the mirror when she reached her room. Blast it, but Bonnie truly had done well. It pained her to admit Michael had been right.

She quickly retrieved her shawl and retraced her steps back to the drawing room, but Michael was already waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. She silently took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the terrace. Once they reached the terrace doors at the back of the house, Lizzie could clearly see the unkempt gardens. They looked as if they hadn't been touched in decades.

Everything that should have been green was brown, and what she assumed had once been colorful flowerbeds were now overgrown with weeds. But on the lower terrace sat a table with candles and roses and two dome-covered plates of food. Daylight was almost gone, but torches had been lit at either end of the terrace, cutting through the ever-thickening darkness. The air was crisp and refreshing, but still, Lizzie pulled her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders.

“It's so lovely,” she remarked before she could stop herself.

Michael turned to her, his expression surprised, but still guarded somehow. “You think so? I rather think the gardens are in desperate need of a green thumb.”

Lizzie shook her head, keeping her eyes on the romantic setting before them. “Not the gardens, our table. Mr. and Mrs. Kerr are gifted in creating atmosphere, it would seem.”

“Well, they've had years to plot, haven't they?”

Michael gave her a lopsided grin and Lizzie's heart skipped a beat. Her pulse raced, much as it had in the presence of the spiders. She felt just as endangered with Michael as she did with the vile insects. And just as paralyzed. If he hadn't prodded her forward, she was sure her feet would not have moved on their own.

They sat and ate, neither of them eager to ruin the beautiful evening by attempting conversation. It seemed difficult to keep an even temper with her husband, and she loathed herself for that. In London, when she'd thought he was Andrew, things had been so easy. Conversation had always flowed freely; silence had always been comfortable, companionable. But now...

Oh, it was foolish of her to hold on to this grudge, wasn't it? Why couldn't she just accept her fate, as she accepted the cold spots in the corridor, and move on? It wasn't serving her to act this way, she knew that. She had set out to hurt Michael, to make him pay for his transgressions, but the more she held on to her anger, the more she realized that he was not the only one she was hurting. Long gone was the happy, carefree girl she'd been in London. In her place was a bitter, angry woman, whose heart ached for...

For what? She'd been raised to be a wife to a member of society and nothing else. Her dreams had never truly been her own, and certainly her decisions hadn't been either. She never really had a choice in the subject of marriage, and she'd never wanted one. What else would she have done if not marry? And did it really matter that she'd married Michael instead of Andrew? Looks-wise, they were one in the same, and in the personality department, she had to admit, begrudgingly, that she'd probably ended up with the better half. Michael was open and honest and good-natured, while Andrew had a tendency to brood, to sometimes close himself off, except to those he really trusted, like her cousin, Chloe.

She sighed loudly, and Michael turned to look at her. “What is it?” he asked, seeming to be genuinely interested in what she was thinking.

Lizzie blushed. “Oh, nothing, really. It's just nice to be outside, don't you think?”

“Very nice, indeed.”

Lizzie looked away then to study the back of the house. At the far east end, candles flickered in windows. The servants’ quarters. More than likely, they were all getting settled into their new rooms, preparing for days—or even years—of hard work ahead of them.

Her gaze trailed to the middle of the house, three stories up, to their own suite of windows. Candles burned there as well. And then she shifted lastly to the west wing. Moss grew rampantly up the walls, encasing the blackened windows. Not a single light shone. It was eerie, and Lizzie shivered as a cold breeze whistled through the trees.

She was about to turn back to her almost-finished meal, when something caught her eye. It wasn't a candle, but it was light of some sort. A white glow, rather than orange, far too white to be candlelight. It wavered slightly in the window and then disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

“Did you see that?” she asked, realizing her voice was near a whisper. She couldn't take her eyes from the window.

Michael followed her gaze. “See what?”

“I-I don't know, I just saw...something.”

“Something?” Michael sounded skeptical. “As in an object?”

“I said I don't know. But it's not there anymore.”

“Then perhaps it was a someone?”

“But it wasn't—Oh, I don't know.” She shook her head back and forth, tearing her eyes from the window, and stabbed the roasted beef with the prongs of her fork. “It was probably just my imagination at work.”

“Probably,” Michael agreed, much to her chagrin. Of course he wouldn't believe her. “Still, I'll have a walk through the west wing after dinner just to be certain.”

Lizzie looked up, shocked by his words. He was going to walk through the west wing? Alone? Something about that made her uneasy. She looked back and forth between him and the mysterious window several times before speaking.

“Perhaps you should wait until tomorrow, when it's light out.”

“But by then the someone or something might be gone. If someone is trespassing, I wish to catch them in the act.”

“But that's foolish!” Lizzie's heart was racing now. She really didn't want him to walk through that wing alone. “What if they're dangerous?”

“Then I certainly don't want them traipsing about my house in the middle of the night. Why on earth are you getting so upset about this? You said yourself it was probably just your imagination.”

“It was,” she said definitively, hoping to change his mind. “Nothing more, I promise. I never should have said anything. It was silly of me. Really, you don't have to waste your time going to the west wing tonight alone.”

“Fine.” Michael threw down his napkin and pushed back from the table. He stood and held out his hand, waiting for Lizzie to take it. She looked at his face, then his hand, then his face again.

“What?” she asked warily.

“I won't go to the west wing tonight.”

Lizzie let out her breath on a relieved sigh. “Excellent. Shall we retire to the drawing room?”

“I don't think so,” Michael said, a resigned grin falling into place. “I'm tired all of a sudden. I think I shall retire to my bedchamber.”

“Your bedchamber?” Lizzie eyed him carefully, trying to read his expression. Blast, but he'd perfected the gambler's mask quite well. Still, she didn't believe for one second that he was telling the truth. He was going to go to the west wing tonight. Alone.

Lizzie tried to swallow over the lump in her throat as she held on to the tiny ray of hope that perhaps he wasn't lying. Were those dark circles under his eyes? Maybe he really was tired. When she said nothing, he flicked his wrist, urging her to take his hand.

“Come, my dear, and I shall escort you to your own chamber.”

Twelve

Michael grinned secretly to himself as he escorted his wife back to their chambers. He couldn't believe she'd fallen for his lie. Of course he wasn't going to retire! What did she take him for? A dullard? An old man? Hah!

Not that he believed there was truly anyone lurking in the west wing, but he was bored out of his mind. He wasn't used to quiet country life and it was slowly eating away at him. He rather hoped there actually was someone lurking about tonight. It would at least provide a tiny bit of excitement.

“Well, here we are, my dear,” Michael said as they approached the door to Beth's side of the suite. “Rest well, Beth. Tomorrow will be a long day...and I daresay we'll have a long night as well.”

Beth shot daggers at him and he winked back good-naturedly. Truly, he couldn't wait for tomorrow evening when his wife would finally come to him and attempt a seduction. He tried to keep his features schooled in impassivity, but it was not easily done. His lips twitched slightly and Beth seemed to notice, though she said nothing about it.

“I did enjoy dinner, Michael,” she said, her voice calm. “Thank you.”

Michael reared back slightly. Thank you? When had his harridan turned back into such a polite lady?

“My pleasure,” he finally managed. “See you in the morning.”

Beth disappeared inside her room and Michael moved to his own door. He needed to keep up the pretense of going to bed himself for a few minutes at least, before embarking on his adventure.

He entered his chamber and smiled. A warm fire burned in the grate, and his bedclothes and brandy awaited him. It was good to have a staff again.

Michael made some noise, banging cabinet drawers, sighing loudly here and there and making an exaggerated show of yawning. He heard Beth doing much the same, until, after only a few minutes, her bed squeaked with her weight and she seemed to sigh into her pillows. Michael ignored what the thought of her in bed did to him, and crept to the panel that separated their rooms. He listened carefully for a moment before deciding that she was indeed in her bed, on her way to slumber.

Perfect!

With great care to avoid the squeakiest of floorboards, Michael went to the main door to his room and silently slipped into the hall. Avoiding the squeaky floorboards in the hallway was a little trickier. Damn, but this place was ancient!

When he was convinced he was out of hearing range, Michael picked up his pace and didn't stop until he reached the west wing.

***

Lizzie poked her head through the panel that connected hers and Michael's rooms.

Empty. Ha! She'd known it all along, the liar. The fool!

It wasn't her imagination playing tricks on her earlier, of that she was sure. Someone most certainly was lurking where they shouldn't be. Though Lizzie didn't relish the idea of seeking out that someone, she couldn't let Michael go alone. If something happened to him...

Well, she wouldn't think about that right now.

Since her husband was already gone, she didn't have to tiptoe from her room or down the hall, so she caught up to him rather quickly. She watched as he climbed the double-sided staircase to the long-abandoned wing of the manor. His steps were careful, measured, but not tentative. He clearly believed there was no danger in his search, or perhaps he was eager for it.

Once he was out of her sight, Lizzie followed behind, keeping to the shadows as she climbed the stairs behind her husband. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as the temperature dropped even further and the darkness swallowed her. She hadn't brought a candle for obvious reasons, but neither had Michael. Goodness, they would kill themselves wandering around this place without any light to guide them. What was he thinking?

Michael continued on, his steps careful and quiet, like a jungle cat on the prowl, until he reached the first door on the long corridor. Lizzie held her breath as he turned the handle and pushed it open. She didn't dare breathe until he'd gone inside the room, and then she ran to the open doorway and stood just outside the threshold, peeking her head around to see inside.

Not that it mattered. It was black as pitch in this room. She listened as Michael moved around and then all of a sudden, there was a scraping sound as he drew back the curtains, allowing moonlight to flood the room. Lizzie jumped back, afraid of discovery in the light, and waited. A short time passed before Michael's footsteps began in the direction of the door, and Lizzie stepped back a few paces to make sure she remained hidden.

Michael continued to search each room, one by one, repeating the same pattern over and over. Lizzie maintained her routine as well until, while Michael searched one of the rooms at the end of the hall, she heard something in a room he'd already searched. The sound wasn't that out of the ordinary—it was something of a swishing sound, like gusts of air through a crack, or perhaps sloshing water. She couldn't be sure unless she went to have a look for herself.

With one last peek around the door to make sure Michael was sufficiently occupied, Lizzie darted down the hall toward the noise. She turned back to make certain she was still alone and then hesitated just outside the door before slipping into the room. She went first to her left, noting she was in some kind of antechamber. Only a few chairs and side tables made up the furnishings in the space. They were all old, practically crumbling. Clearly it had been years since anyone had visited this part of the house.

Lizzie walked the outer edge of the room and grazed her fingers over the worn furniture as she explored the space. There was nothing out of the ordinary, and the swishing sound seemed to be coming from a crack in the window. Perhaps it really had been her imagination before. Either that or the perpetrator had made his way out before they'd arrived.

Her breathing slowed as she finished her promenade and approached the other side of the door. The last bit of furniture on her journey was a banquet table shoved against the wall with a mirror hanging over it. Lizzie shuddered impulsively as her fingers grazed the table, and she looked up into the mirror.

Her mouth opened to scream, but all that came out was a whimper as she stared at not one, but two reflections in the glass. She wanted to move, but couldn't. Her eyes were fixed on the woman who, according to the reflection, stood just behind her, at her right shoulder.

The woman was perhaps her own age, with flowing red hair and eyes so light they couldn't have been real. Lizzie blinked, praying it was only her imagination playing tricks on her.

“Who-who—” She tried to speak, but the woman raised a finger to her lips and smiled serenely back at Lizzie.

Lizzie whirled around, wanting to see the woman in the flesh, to ask her who she was and why she was here, but when she turned, there was no one there. Only the empty room, with the moonlight pooling on the floor through the windows. Panicked, Lizzie turned back to the mirror to see that only one reflection remained. The woman was gone, and Lizzie was going out of her mind.

***

Michael emerged from the last room on his search, part of him sad that he'd found nothing unusual, and another part of him glad for that same fact. There were always pros and cons to danger and adventure.

As he turned into the hall, he caught sight of a dark figure moving through the shadows, toward the staircase. Ah, ha! So, there had been someone here all along. His blood sped in his veins and his heartbeat quickened with the excitement of it all. Yes, there were definitely more pros than cons to danger, and this was one of them. The rush of excitement as his body reacted to the threat of a perpetrator was exhilarating, and without a second thought, he quickened his pace.

The figure didn't pause at the sound of his heavy footsteps. Clearly, they'd known he was there already and wished simply to escape before he caught them. Michael wasn't about to let that happen, though. Besides, this particular trespasser wasn't much of a runner, and within moments he was at his heels.

Just before they gained the staircase, Michael threw his body into the air and landed on top of the man. Both of them tumbled to the ground. Somewhere in the back of Michael's mind, he heard a scream. A female scream. But he ignored it, intent only on detaining the thief.

They rolled and struggled against each other, perilously close to the edge of the stairs, until finally Michael gained the upper hand and pinned his adversary to the worn carpet of the corridor.

All the doors to the rooms were still open, the moonlight pouring from the exposed windows. A shaft of light pooled directly on the perpetrator's face.

“God damn it, Beth!” he shouted between his labored breaths. “What in God's name are you doing here?”

“Don't you dare curse at me, you blackguard! I came after you once I realized you'd lied to me. You could have been killed!”

“Killed?” Michael fought to control his temper. “Me? And what about you? You're a woman, for God's sake. What the hell would you have done to protect me from a thief or a murderer?”

“Plenty!” came his wife's acid reply. “I could have hit them over the head with a vase or stabbed them with a letter opener.”

Michael felt his lips twitching in spite of himself. A dammed letter opener. Women. Still, it didn't change the fact that his mission could have been dangerous and she'd deliberately put herself in harm's way.

“Elizabeth Prudence Wetherby, don't you ever do something this foolish again. Do you understand me?”

“Why is it foolish when I do it, but not when you do it?”

Damn her defiance! “Because I'm a man! Because I know how to fight, I know how to shoot, I know how to fence, I know how to outmaneuver and even more importantly, I know how to defend myself.”

“How do you know that I don't know those things too?” she practically screamed in his face.

“You will keep your voice down before you wake the entire bloody house!” Michael growled, his frustration growing with every second he spent here with his obstinate wife.

It occurred to him then the intimate position he had her in. She lay on her back, her legs slightly spread, her arms pinned above her head by his own hands. Their faces were mere inches away from one another; he could smell the wine from their dinner on her breath. Suddenly, all his anger, all the fear he'd realized upon discovering her, dissolved into something far fiercer. Far more compelling.

His cock jumped and pressed against her belly. Beth sucked in a surprised breath and her eyes widened in shock. But before she had a chance to say anything, Michael pressed his lips to hers. She was still for a moment and Michael was sure that at any moment she would start squirming and protesting his advance. But she didn't. As a matter of fact, she began to kiss him back.

Her lips seemed to melt beneath his, soft and warm, inviting him to deepen the kiss. Michael accepted the invitation and used his lips to push hers further apart before he delved into her mouth. His tongue sought out hers and they both moaned when they found each other. She was so warm, her mouth, her body. They fit together perfectly in every way, her luscious curves molding to his hard planes. Dear God, he was hard as a rock!

Beth moved against him and he freed her arms so he could wrap her in his embrace. She clutched him tight around his neck, deepening the kiss even further, as he rolled onto his back. He pulled her on top of him and reveled in feeling the suppliant weight of her pressing him into the floor. Beth didn't let up for a second. She kissed him and held to him with a strength he didn't know she had, and it occurred to Michael that there was something different. Something wrong. This wasn't just a moment of passion they'd found themselves in. There was an urgency in the way she kissed him. A desperation for...for what?

Michael broke the kiss and pushed Beth away from him so he could look in her eyes. Her hair was wild and so was her expression. Frenzied and frightened.

“Beth?” he asked cautiously. “What is the matter?”

Her eyes widened, clearly surprised at his question. Had she not expected him to notice? “What do you mean? Was I not doing it right?”

Michael almost laughed, but didn't. She was trying to avoid his question. He rolled back over and pinned her to the floor again. He laid on his side next to her, his head propped on his hand so he towered above her. “That's a foolish question, and you know it. Now, tell me what's wrong.”

“I-I don't know,” she admitted, the fear more than clear in her eyes now. “I saw something...in that room.” She pointed towards the right side of the hallway. “Third one on the right.”

“Damn you, Beth,” Michael said, pulling away from her. “Why the hell didn't you say so before I began mauling you in the middle of the corridor?”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him back to her frantically. “No, don't go!” she cried. “Whatever it was is gone.”

“Gone?” Michael stared back at her with an incredulous expression. “But I thought you were adept at handling perpetrators.”

He thought his comment might make her laugh, but she didn't. She winced and her eyes clouded in fear. “I get the feeling that...we are the perpetrators, Michael.”

“What are you—?” Michael stared at her for a moment, certain he must be misinterpreting her words. How on earth could they be the perpetrators? It didn't make any sense and he wondered if indeed the Highland air was wreaking havoc on his city-bride's brain. “You don't mean to imply that there are other-worldly beings in this house, do you?”

Beth shook her head and Michael was temporarily relieved that he'd taken the wrong meaning from her words. “No, I'm not implying. I'm telling you outright. This place is haunted.”

Thirteen

Michael stared back at his wife, fighting the urge to burst into laughter. Dear God, she was serious. Now he knew the woman had truly gone mad. Society be damned, he needed to get her back to London before she went completely out of her mind.

With a deep breath, he asked, “May I inquire as to why you believe the house is haunted? Have you seen a ghost or is this just a hunch?”

Beth rolled her eyes and tried to squirm away, but Michael held her firmly. “Let me go,” she said, irritation clear in her voice. “You wouldn't believe me either way, so what does it matter?”

“Beth, this is an old house and we're in the middle of the Highlands. Of course you think the place is haunted. But all those stories, those legends, they're nothing more than that: stories and legends.”

“Fine.” She successfully dislodged herself and stood until she towered over him. “Whatever you say, my lord. I'm going to bed.”

Michael watched her for a moment as she turned to the stairs and sought out the banister to guide her in the darkness. She tripped over something on the floor and teetered slightly. Fearing she was too close to the staircase, Michael jumped to his feet and caught her around the waist.

Beth sucked in a sharp breath, and yelled, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to keep you from falling down the bloody stairs,” Michael retorted, annoyed that she was angry with him when she should be grateful. “You were about to plummet to your death.”

“I was fine.”

“You're even more delusional than I thought. Look.”

Beth's eyes followed the line of Michael's finger to see that her toes were but an inch from the edge of the stairs. “Oh,” came her sheepish reply. “I didn't realize...thank you.”

That was more like it. “You're welcome. Now, come. It's time for both of us to be in bed. We're going into town tomorrow and I want to get an early start.”

“Town?” The hopefulness in his wife's voice made Michael smile.

“Don't get too excited, my dear. It's not a very big town. But we are in desperate need of...well, just about everything. I hadn't realized the disrepair this wing was in. I can't imagine what it looks like in the daylight.”

They walked in silence back through the house to their bedchambers. Michael held on to Beth's elbow, in case she lost her balance again in the darkness. She was rigid as a lamppost but didn't try to shrug him off. When they reached the doors, Michael turned to his wife and met her gaze. It was hard to make out her features in the gloom, but her pale eyes glowed brightly. He wanted to kiss her again. He wondered why he'd stopped in the first place.

“Well,” she said, her voice a mere whisper. “I will see you in the morning, Michael.”

Beth turned toward her door, but halted when Michael asked, “Will you be all right?”

She looked back at him, a tiny grin in place, nodded and then disappeared inside her room.

***

Lizzie paced her room, not caring that she was wearing a path into the intricate rug beneath her feet. Blast him! And blast this God-forsaken place! She knew what she'd seen and there was no other explanation. The house was haunted. There was a ghost in the west wing. Those two things were as certain as the sun rising in—she looked at the clock on her mantel—three hours.

She really should get in bed and at least try to get some sleep, but she couldn't. She was too incensed over her husband's reaction to her very honest admission. It was fine if Michael didn't want to believe her. She would just have to find a way to prove to him the existence of their redheaded ghost.

The image of the young woman flashed again in her mind and sent a shiver up Beth's spine. Suddenly paranoid, she looked around her room, half expecting to see the apparition again. But she didn't. She was alone. Very alone, she thought with sudden sadness.

With a sigh she sank down onto the edge of her bed and stared at the wall before her. Her body ached with the memory of Michael's kiss and she closed her eyes, reliving the moment. All the fear she'd felt at the sight of her ghost, the fear that had sent her running mad from the antechamber, vanished as soon as Michael's arms were around her. He was warm and his strength was reassuring, despite the fact that his strength probably wouldn't do much good against a ghost. Lizzie realized, with great surprise, that she could have stayed there all night with him. Blast, but her resolve was melting faster than one of Gunter's ices in the hot sun.

She licked her lips at the thought of a chocolate cream ice. Perhaps there would be a teashop in the town they visited tomorrow that sold sweet confections.

Shaking her head, she tried to refocus on the topic at hand. The topic of her husband. The topic of his intoxicating kiss. It occurred to Lizzie, in that moment, that perhaps it was time to let go of her anger. To at least try to find happiness in her marriage. Did it really matter anymore what had happened? What they'd done to her? It was in the past, and it couldn't be changed. Did she want to live the rest of her life being angry?

No, of course she didn't.

Lizzie made a decision in that moment that she would cease and desist of being angry. She would find Elizabeth Prudence, the happy, carefree girl, beneath the layers of hurt and resentment, and tomorrow...

She glanced up at the clock again.

Today, she would turn over a brand new leaf.

***

Bright sun filtered through a slit in the curtains and Lizzie held her hand up to her eyes. Why did her head hurt so much? And what time was it?

Slowly, she pulled herself up to a sitting position and looked about the room, her eyes squinted in pain. Good Lord! She had fallen asleep at the edge of her bed, in her dinner gown from the night before. The clock told her it was earlier than she'd anticipated. With the sun so bright, she was certain it was almost noon. But it was just past eight and Michael would be expecting her for breakfast.

“Oh!” Lizzie bounded off the bed, remembering their mission for the day. A shopping trip in town was all she needed to shake off the dregs of sleep and get moving.

She rang for Bonnie and began removing the pins from last night's coiffure from her hair while she waited. Her mind wandered again to the night before, and just as she was getting to the part where Michael kissed her, an image appeared in her mirror beside her. She gasped, catching sight of the red hair and pale skin.

“Good mornin', milady—oh!”

Lizzie whirled to see Bonnie standing behind her, a look of terror in her eyes. Somehow, they'd frightened each other.

“Are you all right, milady?”

“I'm fine,” Lizzie said, clutching her middle while she sought to catch her breath.

“If you don't mind my sayin' so, you don't look fine. But not to worry! I'll have you lookin' presentable in no time.”

Lizzie fought the urge to be annoyed with Bonnie this morning. New leaf, Beth!

Beth? Oh, blast! Now she was starting to think of herself by that wretched name. She took a deep breath. It wouldn't do to get upset over nothing on the first morning of her new, improved self. New leaf, new leaf, new leaf...

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Bonnie said in her syrupy tone. “His lordship told me to tell you that breakfast would be on the terrace this morning, seein' as there's all those spiders in the dining room. Goodness, but there's a lot of them, all scurryin' about. Fascinating creatures, they are, if ya ever stop to observe. Why, once I saw a lady spider snatch a fly right out of the air and wrap it up for dinner!”

“Bonnie!” The maid stopped what she was doing and snapped her head up at Lizzie's fierce tone. Lizzie felt awful at once for speaking so harshly, but her skin was crawling now, as if a thousand spiders skittered over her body. “I'm sorry, but could you please not talk about them? I have a slight...fear.”

A hand shot to Bonnie's mouth. “Oh, milady, I'm so sorry. Do forgive me, I didn't realize.”

Silence reigned, blessedly, over the remaining minutes while Lizzie prepared for the day. She continued to repeat her mantra all the way to the terrace, where she found Michael waiting for her, his hand hovered over a stack of toast.

New leaf...

“Good morning, husband,” Lizzie said as she moved into the sunshine. “I trust you slept well.”

Michael's right eyebrow rose so high Lizzie thought it might pop right off the top of his face. “I did, thank you. And you?”

“Not all that well, I'll admit,” she said as she took her seat beside Michael. “Too much...excitement, I suppose.”

“Indeed. Coffee?” he asked, changing the subject.

Lizzie nodded; Michael poured the coffee and slid it across the table to her. They went about breakfast in companionable silence, speaking only to ask for something that was out of reach.

It was rather funny, Lizzie thought. The exchange reminded her of her parents.         They could go days without talking, but one still knew they were in complete synchronization. They were forever finishing one another's movements or sentences, one picking up exactly where the other left off. She smiled as the butter knife passed absently from Michael's hand to hers, while she slid the sugar cubes in front of him.

Michael smiled too, but said nothing. It was just as well. Why ruin such a lovely moment with words?

Fourteen

“What is that there?”

Michael followed Beth's gaze out the window of the carriage. His eyes landed on a magnificent castle along the River Ness. “Inverness Castle. Lovely, isn't it?”

“Indeed,” Beth replied.

Her spirits seemed high as they trundled along, getting closer to the city. They'd been in the carriage for almost two hours and somehow succeeded in avoiding an argument. Beth was different today, her smile serene and sincere, and Michael was amazed that she'd managed to keep her claws retracted for this long.

What's changed? Was it the kiss? Had he finally broken down her resistance? Did it matter? Tonight was the night she promised to come to him. Tonight was the night he would wear down any remnants of resistance. Michael's blood sped at the thought and rushed right to his groin. Damn it, but this was going to be a long day.

The carriage rolled to a stop and Michael glanced out. They'd reached the far end of the main street, which boasted an array of shops. He glanced at his wife, whose face was lit with excitement, and he smiled. Despite her general attitude towards him of late, he found that it pleased him greatly when she was happy.

“Are you hungry, or do you wish to shop for a bit before we eat?”

She turned to him, her blue eyes sparkling. “Oh, let's shop first. I'm not so hungry yet. Where shall we start?”

It turned out his wife had quite a tolerance for shopping on an empty stomach and several hours after their arrival, Michael was finally forced to put his foot down. They'd chosen new draperies and wallpaper for all of the most important rooms in the house, as well as furniture and about a hundred shiny, new knick-knacks, which Michael now passed into the arms of their accompanying servant. Beth was about to suggest they visit a milliner—she hadn't said it aloud yet, but he could see the longing in her eyes.

“Absolutely not,” Michael said, causing Beth to stop and turn to him.

“Absolutely not, what?” she repeated, perplexed.

“We're eating and then going home. We've done plenty for today.”

“Oh.” Disappointment flashed across Beth's face, but Michael was far too hungry to feel any remorse. Besides, they'd have to come back in a week or so, once they'd assessed the rest of the house.

“I'm famished, Elizabeth, and it's getting late.” He turned to address the servant. “Deliver those to the carriage, Albert, and then meet us at the inn across the road. I'll make sure there's a hot meal waiting for you.”

Albert bowed and then disappeared into the crowded streets.

“Shall we?” Michael took Beth by the arm and led her across the road to the inn. There, he asked the innkeeper for a private room, two meals for themselves, and another for Albert. The innkeeper was only too happy to oblige, probably because of the incredibly beautiful woman Michael had at his side.

Once they were settled, their food in front of them, Michael dared to glance at his wife. With a trembling hand, she lifted her soupspoon to her mouth and slurped quietly of the hot broth. Michael smiled.

“How is your soup?” he asked, trying to keep the smile out of his tone.

It didn't work.

“What?” Beth stared back, her eyes wide and questioning.

Michael's lips twitched with the urge to tease her about the coming evening. “I was inquiring after your soup. Is it not good?”

“No, it's fine.” Her head cocked sideways and her brows furrowed slightly. “What are you laughing about?”

“Laughing? I'm certainly not laughing, my dear, I...”

“You are too! What are you laughing about?”

He gained control over his mirth and then leaned over the table to whisper, “You needn't be nervous, Beth.”

Beth's cheeks turned the brightest red he'd ever seen them. Even redder than the night he'd caught her pleasuring herself. Poor girl. But how odd, the way she melted in his arms one moment, offering her lips to him, letting him touch her, and in the next, she turned into a coquettish miss. Well, a coquettish miss with sharp fangs. It didn't make sense, but Michael had to admit there was something rather appealing about her dichotomous ways.

“I'm not nervous,” she finally said.

“You're not having second thoughts, are you?” Michael wondered. Dear God, he hoped she wasn't. He really couldn't stand it much longer, watching her flit about, parading her endowments under his nose, knowing she was rightfully his and not being able to do a damned thing about it.

A spoon clattered to the table, bringing Michael from his wayward thoughts. Beth looked positively murderous, staring back at him with her ice blue eyes. Perhaps he shouldn't have brought it up.

“Must we have this discussion? I told you that I would...that we would...we have an agreement, all right? I'm not going to renege. Now may I please eat my dinner in peace?”

Michael smiled to himself as they both turned back to their meals and thanked God that his wife was a woman of her word.

***

As soon as Michael propped his feet up on the ottoman before the fire, a tentative knock came at the adjoining door to his and Beth’s room. He grinned. This was it. His cock jumped beneath his silk brocade dressing gown, despite his exhaustion from the day of shopping, and he groaned. Good Lord, she wasn’t even in the room yet and he was already ready for her. What the hell would he do once she was actually trying to seduce him?

The knock sounded again and he finally called out for her to come in. The door creaked and he turned to see her poking around the panel. He could only see the top of her blond head and her dazzling blue eyes, fraught with worry and fear. He wanted to laugh, but he knew she’d run right back to her room if he did, so he bit down on his cheek and gave her a slight smile.

Sensing that she wasn’t going to come any further without a bit of prodding, he stood and walked to the decanter that sat on his dresser.

“Come in, Beth,” he encouraged. “Have a drink with me.”

“A drink?” Her voice came out in a croak and he turned back to the wall to hide his smile. He’d never seen her so unnerved.

Well, no, that wasn’t exactly true. She’d been rather unnerved the night he caught her with her hand down her drawers, hadn’t she? The thought made his cock jump again and he took a deep breath to calm himself. Damn, but he’d gone so long without a good tupping! However, he knew that whatever they did tonight, it wouldn’t be tupping. She was his wife and no matter how reluctant she was to come to his bed, he would make love to her. He would show her pleasure like she’d never known, and he wouldn’t allow his own release until he’d seen to hers. That was the plan, at least. God only knew what would happen once he dove between her legs.

He turned from his dresser, two glasses of scotch in hand, to find her draped across the settee, seductively. Entirely naked.

His mouth went dry. Instinctively, he raised the glass to his lips and downed the scotch in one swift gulp.

“Good Lord,” he whispered as he took in the sight of her. His wife. She was glorious.

Every white inch of her was perfection, from her daintily pointed toes to the top of her shiny, golden head. She lay sideways, propping herself on one elbow, her top leg carefully draped over the bottom one to guard her most private place. But she did not try to hide her breasts from him, her perfectly rounded breasts, whose weight hung slightly downward in her position.

He looked his fill, swallowed, and finally took his eyes away to focus on her face. He choked back a laugh when he caught sight of her expression. She was blushing to her roots, and her lashes batted, not seductively, but more with a nervous twitch. Michael decided to take pity on her. The last thing he wanted was to bring a mortified woman to his bed. He wanted Beth relaxed and willing, ready to receive his gentle ministrations.

He set down his empty glass and walked to where she’d deposited her robe in the middle of the floor. She watched him as he moved about, clearly perplexed that he hadn’t jumped on top of her and taken her right then. Her fathomless blue eyes widened when he held out the robe to her. He watched as her countenance fell and hurt infused her eyes.

Leave it to a woman to take the entirely wrong impression from a chivalrous act.      “Beth,” he began as he draped the robe around her shoulders, “we have plenty of time. Put this back on and have a drink. It will calm your nerves.”

“No,” she said.

“Ah, she speaks!”

“I’m supposed to be seducing you. That was the agreement. I can’t seduce you if I’m clothed and drunk.”

Michael chuckled and set the tumbler on the coffee table. “You have so much to learn, my dear,” he said as he gently put her right arm into the sleeve of the robe and pulled it through. “Seduction has nothing to do with nakedness, and very little to do with being sober.”

Her eyes followed his hands as he pulled her other arm through the sleeve and tied the front of the robe closed. “Then what is it?”

“Are you asking for a lesson in seduction, Beth?”

She bristled slightly and for the briefest of moments, she looked as if she wanted to cry, but then she said, “Yes, I suppose I am.”

Fifteen

Lizzie had no idea what was in store for her. Michael looked positively ravenous, if truth be told, and it frightened her out of her wits. Somehow it frightened her even more than the ghost in the west wing. But at the same time, she couldn’t stop the jolt that shot through her at the thought of...well, she wasn’t sure, really. Her body seemed to want things without her knowing what they were. Surely that was odd. Shouldn’t she know what it was she was feeling?

She thought about the other night, when she’d touched herself. It had been interesting, feeling that part of her. She’d garnered some enjoyment out of it, but it left her wanting. Of course, she’d been interrupted in the middle of it, much to her humiliation, so she didn’t really know what it would have led to.

“Do you remember that night in the garden at the Blackman Ball?”

Remember? She hadn’t thought of anything else for weeks after that encounter. However, it was hard to think that it had been Michael and not Andrew that kissed and stroked her then.

Meeting his dark eyes, she nodded. He was so close, just a hairsbreadth away. He had bathed recently, judging by the clean scent of lye. His dressing gown smelled like his cologne, clearly something expensive, probably concocted just for him, made of citrus and balsam. She wanted to touch him, to feel the hard planes of his chest beneath the robe, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She could only hold still as he brought his mouth closer and closer to hers.

“Why don’t we start where we left off that night?” he whispered, just before he set his lips to hers.

Lizzie melted like a tallow candle left in the hot sun. She let out an involuntary whimper as sensations, some new, and some forgotten from that night in the garden, flooded her. Good heavens, he undid her.

“Do you remember how I touched you that night, Beth?” he asked as his lips trailed her jaw line. “How I caressed you beneath the bodice of your gown?”

A shiver wracked her body and she nodded, then shook her head. Michael stopped his feathered kisses and pulled away to look at her.

“Well, do you or don’t you?”

“I-I do...only it wasn’t you,” she said, knowing at once she should have kept her mouth shut. She didn’t mean to bring the lesson to an end, but something in her was confused. Something in her just wouldn’t let go of what had happened. She tried to repeat her mantra in her head, but it wasn't helping.

Michael’s hands came to her shoulders and gripped the fleshy part of her upper arms. He was angry, that much was obvious. Clearly, he didn’t want to be reminded of his brother or of their mistakes. And certainly, he didn’t want to think his wife still pined for his twin, especially in their current position.

“It was me, damn it, Beth!” Michael growled, digging into her arms with his fingers. “And it would be good of you to remember that in the future.”

Before she could apologize, Michael careened into her, knocking her off balance, pressing her down onto the sofa cushion. His weight was heavy and warm. Clearly he meant to intimidate her with his size, but Lizzie found she wasn’t intimidated at all. She was quite the opposite really. A heat started at her toes and seemed to infuse every part of her until she could hardly breathe for her own arousal.

Michael’s lips landed on hers, hard and angry. She opened to him willingly and he softened his approach when he realized she would not put up a fight. He nipped and tasted her, and moaned into her mouth, a low, guttural sound that stirred something deep in her belly.

His hand reached down to find the hem of her robe and Lizzie tensed. Michael didn’t pause, he continued to kiss her as he dragged the fabric further up her legs.

“Please don’t deny me anymore, Beth. I can’t take it. I’ve wanted you for—for so long, I can hardly remember when it started. Let me make love to you.”

He phrased it in a way that indicated she had a choice in the matter. That despite his longing, he would stop if she asked. But his tone told her otherwise. He wouldn’t stop were Wellington to march his entire army through the room.

And so she held silent, closed her eyes, and gave in to the play of his fingers as they trailed her inner thigh. She quivered and he held her closer, kissed her more deeply, as his hands moved even further. He paused just before the springy curls began and twirled circles with one finger on the flesh of her thigh. It drove her mad.

“Oh, God, what are you doing to me?” she whimpered, desperate for him to touch her, to move just another inch further until he found where she ached.

She felt a heat, a dampness there, and it was building into a fire so out of control, she could hardly catch her breath.

“What do you want, darling?” Michael whispered against her temple. “Tell me what you want.”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Just say it. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

She would have told him, but he captured her lips once more and plundered her mouth with his tongue. He removed his hand from between her legs and brought it up to untie the robe. It fell open, revealing her breasts to the cold air and her nipples hardened painfully.

“How would you like me to do this to you?” he asked as he bent his head to take the dusky tip of her breast in his mouth.

Lizzie moaned, long and low, unable to believe the height of the sensations that coursed through her. His mouth was hot on her breast. It covered the entire pink ring while his tongue flicked over the nipple. She bucked and writhed, her body reaching for something unknown.

Michael moved from her breast to leave open-mouthed kisses all the way down her stomach. He stopped at her belly button and circled it with his tongue, which normally would have made Lizzie giggle. But all she could do was gasp and moan again. And then he moved lower still, until his face was buried in the blond thatch of curls below her stomach.

Lizzie panicked. An embarrassed heat flushed her face and her hands began to tingle with numbness.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to sit up.

“Shhh, it’s all right. Lie back down,” he commanded, but she would do no such thing.

She pushed at his forehead, trying to make him move away. When that didn’t work, she tried pulling, hoping he would return to her face, her breasts, her belly—anywhere but there.

He chuckled at her attempts and she was tempted to smack him. How dare he laugh at her.

“Beth,” he whispered, “relax...please.”

“I can’t,” she whined, hating the sound of her own voice all of a sudden.

Michael stared up at her, his obsidian eyes smoldering, his mouth dangerously close to a part of her that she never imagined a mouth would ever want to go. She held her breath, waiting, silently begging him to not...kiss her there.

“Elizabeth, darling,” he whispered, as he, by some sort of miracle, rose up away from her. “I want your first time to be pleasurable.” He lowered himself over her and pressed a kiss to her lips. “If we do this the traditional way, there's not much chance of pleasure for you. Not tonight anyway.” Another kiss to her temple. A caress of her cheek. “Let me pleasure you. Please.”

His lips met hers and his fingers found the aching spot between her legs, and then Beth didn't care what he did, so long as he never stopped. She felt herself nodding her head, giving him permission to do as he pleased, and she felt his smile against her lips. Before she could protest again, his face was between her legs, his tongue searing as he parted her folds.

She gasped, unable to keep her hips from rising off the sofa. Michael delved even deeper then, and Beth thought she might expire from the blinding pleasure. She quivered and whimpered as the sensations rocked her, as the ecstasy swept her in white-hot torrents. He pulled her closer to him as he continued to lave at her, slowly, methodically, drawing out the process almost painfully. Her legs spread wider and in that moment, she could think of nothing but the spasmodic heat and joy that flooded her body, that made her cry out with no regard to propriety, no concern for who could be listening. A guttural scream ripped from her mouth, tore at her throat, but she didn't care. All she cared about was that it never end.

She held her breath for a moment as Michael kissed her tenderly and withdrew, and then moaned in satiated bliss as he moved over her and pressed his weight down on top of her. Her eyes were closed, but she sought out his face with her hands, his mouth with her lips, and she kissed him. It was bizarre, tasting him, tasting herself, but she couldn't get enough. She would never get enough of this. Of him. Her husband.

Good Lord, what had she been thinking to deny him this all this time? To deny herself the pleasures she'd had no idea awaited her. One thing was for certain: she would not make that mistake twice.

***

If Michael had thought he could stand it one minute longer, he would have given Beth a little more time to enjoy her blissful state. But as it was, he was mere seconds away from spontaneous combustion. He pulled away from their kiss and looked into her dreamy blue eyes.

He wanted to ask permission, but he was afraid she might say no. Instead, he removed himself from the sofa and scooped her into his arms. In two long strides, he had her on the bed, and in one leap he was on top of her.

Thankfully, his wife was far too befuddled from what he'd just done to her to utter even one word, and Michael took advantage. Without giving her a chance to think, he pressed his lips to hers and pressed his cock to the entrance of her sweet honeypot. It was so hot it nearly singed him with pleasure. And then he surged in one swift movement.

Beth inhaled sharply and went still. Michael held just as still, waiting for the pain to pass. Her breathing was labored, as if she were trying not to cry. He put a hand to her cheek. No tears. But her eyes were wide and scared.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered, hating that she had to endure this kind of pain in order for him to feel pleasure. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. He was her husband, it was his duty to keep her from harm, to keep her safe. Yet there was no way around this. He only hoped he'd be able to convince her that it wouldn't be like this every time.

She shook her head. “It's all right,” she replied in a whisper. “I was prepared...well, as prepared as one can be for this sort of thing.”

A wide smile broke on Michael's lips. “Well, I'm glad for that...Does it still hurt?”

“Not very much.” She returned the smile and said, “You may proceed.”

“Oh, thank God,” he moaned in response.

And then all was forgotten as he pressed into her. He tried to take his time, tried to be as gentle as possible, but dear God, it had been too long. And she was perfect. Like nothing he'd ever known. And before another rational thought could form in his brain, he was there, at the precipice, spilling inside of her. Her legs wrapped around his back, her arms around his neck, as he bellowed in pure ecstasy.

He bucked against her and in the back of his mind, he wondered if she was all right. If the pain was too much for her. But when the fire finally began to die, he opened his eyes and met her gaze.

Her perfect, smiling gaze.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, concern causing his brow to furrow as he held himself over her.

She shook her head and he knew she was lying. He should have been angry that she wasn't being completely honest with him, but in that moment, he loved her for it. The fact that she was sacrificing her comfort to make him happy warmed his heart.

Michael withdrew slowly and settled himself at her side. He pulled her into his embrace and held her, knowing that no matter what had happened before—no matter the anger and the resentment over their marriage—they were going to have a very happy life together.

Sixteen

Michael opened his eyes to the vision of his wife's lovely backside. He enjoyed the view for a moment before he realized she was trying to escape without him noticing. She crept about, looking for her robe probably, growing frustrated at not being able to find it.

“Looking for something?”

Beth whirled around and a wide smile lifted Michael's lips. Dear God, she was glorious. Her milky white skin gleamed in the streaks of sunlight that flooded his room. Her breasts hung perfectly above a whittled waist and perfectly curved stomach and hips.

Embarrassed, her hands shot to cover her breasts and her skin turned from milky to a flushed pink.

“Come back to bed,” Michael said, hoping there was more authority than awe in his voice.

Beth's blonde curls bounced as she shook her head. “There is much to do today, Michael. Please, where is my robe. I need to begin getting ready.”

For the first time, Michael noticed the pained look in his wife's eyes. Oh, Lord. He flipped the covers back, looking for what he was sure would be there. He winced when he saw it. They'd both fallen fast asleep before he'd had the chance the clean her up.

He glanced back up at Beth. Her eyes were closed, her face scrunched up in mortification. Clearly, she didn't want to be here when he discovered the bloodied sheets.

Without another thought, he rose from the bed and went to her. She didn't open her eyes, but when he took her in his arms, her body relaxed, practically melted into his. But then she was tense again, convulsing slightly, as sobs wracked her body.

“Shhh, shhh...it's all right,” Michael soothed. “It's nothing to be embarrassed about, darling. It's normal, I assure you. Are you sore?”

Her head nodded up and down against his bare chest.

“All right then. Come lie back down so I can clean you.”

Beth's body stiffened and she tried to pull away, clearly mortified at the thought of having him clean her there.

“No, don't,” he pleaded, holding her tighter. “You'll feel better when I'm done, I promise.”

It didn't appear that she was going to go back to the bed with him willingly, so he scooped her up in his arms and carried her there. She'd yet to open her eyes and her face was still scrunched up. Michael wanted to laugh, she was so adorable, but he knew that wouldn't make matters any better.

“Don't move,” he gently advised, then seeing the big tear that eked from her tightly closed eyes, sat down beside her on the edge of the bed. He brushed the tear away with his thumb. “I'm only going to the other side of the room. I'll be right back.”

“That's what I was afraid of,” Beth whimpered and Michael couldn't help but laugh this time.

“I dare say we'll encounter far more embarrassing situations in our life together, Beth.”

Her eyes snapped open at that. “Like what?” she asked, alarmed.

“Well, I'm not sure.” Michael chuckled. “I assume rather gruesome things happen when a woman is with child. Benjamin said that Phoebe's flatulence was something to rival any man.”

Beth gasped and flung the covers over her head. Only her dainty fingernails showed over the edge of the coverlet. With an amused grin, Michael pulled the covers down and tucked them under her chin, then put a hand to her cheek.

“Are you so worried about farting in front of me, Elizabeth?”

Her cheeks turned bright pink. “Stop that! And yes, I am. But...”

“But what?”

Beth's face twisted up again and she bit down on her bottom lip so hard Michael worried she might draw blood.

“But...what we did last night. I could be...”

Michael nodded, his mood turning serious as he considered the possibility. He wasn't sure how he felt about it just then. His wife was only starting to warm to him and he thought perhaps they could use more time, just the two of them. On the other hand, the idea of her being ripe with his child made him exceedingly happy. “Would that please you, if you were?”

She gulped visibly and Michael wished he hadn't asked. The answer was clear in her cold, blue eyes.

Not waiting to hear her negative reply, he stood abruptly and stalked to the washbasin.

***

Beth watched as Michael strode angrily to the other side of the room, wondering what she'd done to change his mood so quickly. He hadn't even given her the opportunity to answer. Or to defend the answer she was going to give.

The truth was that yes, part of her wanted to have a baby. But the other part of her was terrified to death of giving birth. Women died all the time in childbirth—why would she be any exception? The idea made her breath come in short spurts, made her heart race and her hands tingle. She inhaled deeply through her nose, desperately trying to fill her mind with happier thoughts, thoughts of her family, of Daisy, her beloved pet...

Amidst her pleasant memories came the vision of the red-haired ghost she'd seen in the west wing. Good heavens, that would haunt her always, she realized. The vision somehow mingled with the memory of Bonnie standing behind her in her mirror the day before and suddenly all thoughts she'd had of child birth faded away.

There was something wrong, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, but it bothered her nonetheless. She was beginning to question if what she'd seen that night had been real. Had her dislike for Bonnie manifested itself in her wild imagination? Had her mind, roiling as it was with contempt for Bonnie and confusion over her husband, simply played a trick on her?

She looked at Michael, who stood over the washbasin, wringing out a white cloth. His face was hard, his brow furrowed into a scowl, and he muttered quietly to himself. Too quietly for Beth to hear, and she wasn't sure she would have wanted to hear anyway.

Should she say something? Had she upset him by not answering his question before? Should she answer it now in the affirmative? She hated that look in his eyes—hurt and angry at once—and she thought she might do anything, say anything, to make it go away. She wasn't sure what had changed—why or when she'd started caring so much about his happiness—but she did.

“Michael, I—”

“Don't,” he said as he approached the bed again. “I know.”

“You do?” She blinked her eyes, wondering if he could possibly know what she was thinking.

He nodded once and sighed heavily. “I'm sorry, Beth. I'm sorry I'm not him. I'm sorry that I'm not your ideal for a husband or a father to your children. And I'm sorry that I forced you into a marriage, into a situation—” he looked around the room with a harried expression “—that you never asked for, never planned on. And I'm sorry that I hurt you last night,” he finished, his voice weary.

Beth stared at her husband, trying to understand. A few days ago she would have said his apology was her due. That he owed it to her for what he'd put her through. But not now. She didn't believe that anymore. He was right, of course. She hadn't asked or planned for any of it, but she was coming to wonder if the things she had asked and planned for might have left her miserable. What if she had married Andrew? What if now she was waking up in Andrew's bed? Would he be as conflicted if she'd not been ecstatic at the possibility of carrying his child? Not in any likelihood. For the woman he loved—truly loved—already carried his child.

She wanted to tell Michael that he was wrong, that he didn't know what he was saying. Surely it would be wrong to let him go on thinking the things he thought about her. But would he believe her now? No. This wasn't the time.

And proof of one's feelings was always better than words.

“Are you going to clean me up?” she finally asked, her voice as even and impassive as possible.

Michael started as if he'd been in a dream and blew out a long breath. “Yes, of course.

Tentatively, Beth drew back the covers and allowed him to clean her. She wasn't so embarrassed anymore. There was something strangely sweet and intimate in the action that she hadn't anticipated. It made her want to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. Maybe even make love to him again. She wondered if it would hurt this time or if the pain would ebb now that he'd broken through her maidenhead.

There was only one way to find out.

Once Michael finished and had returned the washcloth to the basin, Beth beckoned him to the bed. With a confused expression, he complied, though he didn't crawl between the sheets as she'd hoped.

“What is it?” he asked as he stood there, still naked as the day he was born.

Beth swallowed. Seduction. She was still rather new to the concept. Though he'd given her a lesson the night before, she had to admit she'd lost the ability to truly absorb information at a certain point.

“Um, will you...” She patted the empty space next to her.

Michael's eyes flickered to her hand and then back to her face, his features hardened like stone. Then he shook his head. “We have much to do today.” Out of nowhere, he procured her robe and handed it to her. “I'll see you at breakfast.

Seventeen

Michael ate his breakfast quickly. He decided he didn’t actually want to see his wife over breakfast. He really wished he didn’t have to see her at all today, but that was an unlikely scenario. They would have to meet with the new staff and assign them to their duties. The new furniture would be arriving in just a few days, so the dust and grime needed to be eradicated before then.

Silence. Michael threw down his napkin, his appetite suddenly gone. Of course she wasn’t going to answer that question. Of course she bloody well didn’t want to carry his child. He was the wrong man!

Images from the night before swam in his head until he was hard and aching again, despite his anger with himself. With her. With Chloe, and his brother. Damn them all for ruining his life!

“Lord Michael!”

Michael started at the sound of his housekeeper’s voice and turned startled eyes on her. He paused a moment out of shock and then said, “Yes?”

“Look at the mess you’re making,” she scolded in the same tone she’d used when he was a lad of eight. “It’s not as if we don’t have enough to do around here, but there you are, crumbling biscuits onto the rug!”

He looked down to see that the floor beneath him was littered with crumbs. His hands held the remainder of the evidence and he immediately brushed them off over the service tray.

“Sorry, Mrs. Kerr,” he apologized, jumping up from his seat and moving away as she set to cleaning the area. “I’m a bit...distracted this morning.”

“Not to worry,” the portly woman replied from under the chair. “Men tend to get that way when they’ve a babe on the way.”

The air seemed to constrict in Michael’s passageways all of a sudden, and he choked and sputtered on absolutely nothing. When he finally came to, Mrs. Kerr was staring at him with mild concern.

“I beg your pardon,” he said.

“Well, surely you know by now, milord. Well, she told me just the other day. I even tried to hint as much to you. I was certain you would have gotten it out of her by now.” She paused and gave him a curious look. “You really didn’t know?”

Michael felt his head shake back and forth, barely aware he was making the motion. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the moment, especially since he’d taken her virginity only a few hours before. So, that was what she was trying to hide from him. Mrs. Kerr thought she was pregnant, but Beth was too embarrassed to tell him.

But why hadn’t she set Mrs. Kerr straight? Why was she allowing the woman to believe she was with child? And what was he supposed to say to the woman now? That Beth had lied to her?

Damn it, they would have to work together on this one.

“Mrs. Kerr, please assemble the staff in the front hall in a half hour. I’m going to see my wife.”

***

Beth tip-toed her way across the central landing to the staircase at the opposite side. The staircase that led to the west wing. With her husband angry at her and preoccupied with breakfast, this was her chance to do a little exploration on her own.

Not that she hoped to see her ghost in the daylight, but perhaps she could find something else. A clue?

She chuckled. What was she thinking? She wasn’t going to find anything, and she knew it, but still...

The thought of facing her husband right now was not something she relished. He’d left angry and hurt and clearly he wanted to be alone. She would set him straight soon, but perhaps he needed some time to let his anger abate. And she needed time to think through what she wanted to say to him.

She climbed the stairs, glancing behind her every few steps to make sure no one was watching. All was quiet in the foyer, so she continued her journey. When she reached the landing, she stood motionless, staring down the long, dark corridor.

It was colder here, and much gloomier than the rest of the house. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and when they did, she began her slow walk down the hall.

In her head, she counted the doors. Third from the last on the right. That was where she’d seen her. With a trembling hand, Beth turned the handle and pushed the door so it swung open into the room.

Light flooded the hallway. Beth squinted her eyes and gave them another moment to readjust to the bright sun.

How different the room looked in the daytime. Though it was covered in a solid three inches of dust, it was a lovely room. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling and there were ten of them that spanned the entire wall. This place wasn't nearly as frightening in the light of day.

With her heartbeat back to a normal rhythm, Beth made her way to the windows and looked out onto the gardens. Was this the window she’d seen the light in? She couldn’t be sure. Certainly this wasn’t the only room that had windows like this. And truth be known, she hadn’t really been paying attention to the windows themselves.

She made slow work of examining the contents of the room. Damask-covered chairs were placed at intervals throughout the space, console tables in between every pair.

And then her eyes landed on the mirror above the console closest to the door. Beth was tempted to look in it—to see if the woman would appear to her in broad daylight. She looked around. It was so quiet and still, no signs of any other-worldly presence, but she shivered just the same.

“Silly girl.” She laughed aloud at her foolishness, and then, just to prove to herself how very foolish she was, she marched right to the mirror. With her hands propping her up on the table, she very slowly raised her head and then let out a scream that was piercing even to her own ears.

***

“Ahhhhhhh!” Michael jumped several feet in the air, he was sure, at the sound of his wife’s blood-curdling scream. “Dear God, Beth, what is it?”

With labored breaths, Beth put her hand to her heart and collapsed against the console table.

“Oh, Lord, did I do that?” he asked, watching her as she tried to catch her breath.

She only nodded her response, still too overset to speak. He was rather overset himself, but then he noticed there were tears in her eyes, so he decided not to say anything. Good God, he’d scared her half to death. With soothing words, he stepped closer to her and gathered her against him. She came willingly and then released her tears with soul-wracking sobs.

“You scared me,” she cried, her body trembling.

“I know, I know. Good heavens, I’m sorry.” He caressed her hair and kissed her temple, trying to ignore the delicious smell of lavender that set his pulse to racing. “I thought you heard me. I promise I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you, darling.”

He pulled back, keeping his hands on her shoulders, so he could see her face. It was scrunched like a baby bunny as she tried to hold in her tears. Good Lord, this was the second time he’d made her cry in one morning. What the hell was wrong with him?

“I-I know you weren’t,” she conceded. “But it didn’t frighten me any less.”

Michael quirked a smile at her. “Well, at least you have a firm handle on your double negatives this morning.”

Beth’s lips twitched up into a half smile as he handed her his handkerchief. She accepted it and used it to dry her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, her voice still slightly shaky. “I was just, um...examining what work needed to be done in here. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Clearly.” Michael followed her gaze and glanced about the room. Nothing very special about it. It was just as dusty and the furniture just as worn as in any other room.

“How did you know where to find me, anyhow?”

He turned his attention back to Beth, who had admirably gotten herself back under control, and shrugged. “You weren’t in your room. Bonnie said you left without a word—” He watched her bristle at Bonnie’s name, “—and since you hadn’t made an appearance in the drawing room, well...I just assumed you would want to come back here.”

It was surprising. She didn’t blush or blanche, she merely looked at him with those startling azure eyes and nodded. He should have stopped, but he continued on.

“Ghosts don’t exist, Beth. You know that, don’t you? And even if they did, I’m fairly certain you wouldn’t be able to see them in broad daylight. Sun shines right through them, you know?”

And there it was. The reason he should have stopped, changed the subject, and let her believe what she wanted. She bristled again, only in a more permanent fashion than when he’d spoken the dreaded name of Bonnie. This time she was prepared to argue.

“I don’t care if you believe me. I came here to see for myself if what I saw was real...or not.”

She turned on her heel and made for the door, but Michael was too quick. They still had something to discuss.

“Hold on, Beth,” he said as he grabbed her by the elbow and swung her around. “I came here to find you for a reason.”

She blinked up at him, clearly surprised. “Oh,” she said and then her expression turned rather cynical. “You mean you didn’t come all the way to the west wing just to tell me I was a silly ninny?”

“I never said you were a silly ninny, you...ninny.” He waited for her to smile at his jest. Instead, she raised her brows and waited for him to continue, clearly not amused. “But I did want to ask you about a certain conversation you had with Mrs. Kerr of late.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more specific, Michael. I’ve had many conversations with our housekeeper since we arrived.”

“Yes, but I’m certain if you think hard enough, you’ll figure out which one I’m referring to.”

He could hear her gulp in the quietness of the room. “She told you?” she asked, her voice small.

Michael nodded, slowly. “Why, in God’s name, didn’t you tell her she was mistaken?”

“I don’t know,” Beth admitted. “She just seemed so sure and I didn’t want to make her feel...foolish.”

“So you let her think you were pregnant? She blindsided me this morning, Beth. Now what are we going to tell her when she realizes you’re not getting any bigger?”

Beth grew very quiet and shifted her gaze to the floor. “Well, I could be now, couldn’t I?”

Michael bent at the waist and tilted his head to the side, trying to catch her eye. It worked. She looked up as he straightened, never breaking their gaze.

“Yes,” he finally said, softly. “You could. And I’m sorry for how I acted this morning.”

“No, I’m sorry!” she interrupted. “I want you to know I don’t think those things. At least not anymore.”

“What things?” he asked, just for clarification purposes.

“Well, I don’t think you’re the wrong man, for one. And I don’t think that you’re not ideal to be my…my husband.”

Michael couldn’t help but smile. “So, let me get this straight. You don’t think that I am not ideal to be your husband? My, you are quite the orator.”

She blushed to her roots then. “You know what I mean,” she bit out. “And I don’t want you to be sorry anymore. You’ve done enough penance, I think.”

“Really?” he drawled, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible despite the fact he wanted to jump and cheer for joy. Was she truly offering forgiveness?

“Really,” she confirmed.

“What has happened in the last hour to make you change your mind?”

“I haven’t changed my mind. You just didn’t stop to listen to me before. Didn’t I invite you back into the bed? Weren’t you the one who denied me and stormed from the room?”

Yes, he was. And there was a reason for that. “Will you answer my question, then?”

“Question?” Beth’s blond brows shot up.

Michael moved closer until they were but an inch apart. Her delectable smell was wreaking havoc on his senses, but he couldn’t move away. “Do you want to carry my children?”

Eighteen

Beth swallowed hard and stared back at her husband, knowing that she could not allow silence to be her answer to his question again. She had to be truthful, but how? If she voiced her fear of childbirth aloud, it would give the fear even more power over her. She was already gripped by terror whenever the idea crossed her mind. But she couldn't do this to Michael. He didn't deserve it. So she nodded.

“Truthfully, Beth? Don't lie to me,” he begged. “It would be better to know where I stand. I know I was upset earlier, when you didn't answer, but I would rather know the truth.”

“That is the truth,” she said, and it wasn't a lie entirely. If she was going to have children, of course she wanted them to be Michael's. He was her husband, for heaven's sake. If not with him, then who? Certainly not Andrew. And if she were honest with herself, she would willingly admit that she'd come to care quite a bit for Michael. He took a great deal of care with her, even when she was being difficult. He was patient and kind, and what she'd seen of him last night...

Heat rose to her cheeks and Michael smiled as if he knew what she was thinking, which made her blush even more. And then he stepped closer and took her hands in his. They were big and warm and comforting and for a moment, Beth contemplated telling him the whole truth. Would he understand? Maybe, but it wouldn't matter. He wouldn't take kindly to being denied an issue. No man would.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Beth wanted to lean into him, to have his arms around her again. But he pulled back and she was forced to smother her longing.

“Mr. and Mrs. Kerr will have assembled the staff by now,” he said, taking her hand and leading her from the room.

Beth turned back on impulse, part of her wishing that the ghost would appear so that Michael would see her. But there was nothing there. Only the near-empty room with bright sun sending shafts of light onto the dusty rug.

The rest of the day went rather quickly once they'd assigned duties to the staff. There were a lot of them—thirty-three in all—and by dinner that evening, the house was practically sparkling. A fresh lemon scent permeated every room in the main part of the house. The hardwood surfaces that had, only that morning, been covered in inches of dust, shone as if they were brand new. Cobwebs no longer dominated every corner, and they had once again gained back control of the dining room from the spiders. Or so Beth hoped.

She shivered at the memory of walking into the dining room and seeing the infestation. Good Lord, it was positively disgusting.

Dinner with Michael was quiet and amicable, but both were far too tired to do much more than eat. They'd done their fair share in the trenches that day as well. Beth had never so much as lifted a finger toward household duties, but today she donned a serviceable gown and secured a scarf around her head and worked alongside the servants. There was just too much to do, and every extra pair of hands counted.

For the first time in her life, Beth picked up a rag and swabbed down hard surfaces. She helped to beat out the dusty rugs and scrubbed at their stains before hanging them to dry in the sun. At one point she found herself alone with Bonnie, polishing the ancient silverware in a small parlor at the back of the house.

“Lovely, isn't it?” Bonnie had asked in her chipper tone. “My mother had lovely things like this.”

Beth looked up at her and noted the light that was typically evident in the girl's eyes had vanished. “Had?” she asked, wondering where Bonnie's mother was now.

Bonnie nodded her head. “My mother passed away several years ago, in childbirth.”

I had to ask, didn't I?

“I'm so sorry,” Beth choked out. “And the baby?”

“Died with her, I'm afraid.”

“What about your father?”

Bonnie gave a cynical snort and then caught herself. “Sorry, milady, I don't mean to be rude. But my father was...well, I don't know who he was, actually. My mother's profession put her in contact with a great many gentlemen, you see.”

Beth blinked several times, wondering if she was drawing the correct conclusion. “Your mother was a...?”

“Mistress. Yes, she was.” Bonnie sighed heavily as she placed a polished spoon back into its velvety compartment. “Not to say that she wasn't a wonderful mother. Never shirked her duties there. And she loved me, I know that. We were really all that the other had. She's the reason I know so much about attending to a lady.”

“You mean you...”

“Yes. When I was old enough, of course. I helped her prepare for callers and then she would tuck me into my bed—at the far end of the house, where I couldn't hear anything—and go to work.”

“You had a large home?”

Bonnie smiled nostalgically. “We called it a cottage, but it was more of a manor. Mother and I were well taken care of by her benefactors.”

“You miss her.”

Bonnie nodded.

“I miss my mother too,” Beth admitted. “Of course she's still alive, but somehow it doesn't feel that way. She's so far away and she's a horrible letter-writer, so I don't expect to hear from her often. I suspect my sister will write on her behalf.”

“You have a lot of siblings?” Bonnie asked, interested in Beth's life all of a sudden.

“Four.”

Bonnie's eyes widened. “No wonder your mother isn't a very good letter-writer. I doubt she's had time to so much as dip the quill in the ink. Tell me more about your family.”

“You really want to know?”

Bonnie nodded. “My only sibling died before she was even born. I like to live through those who know what it's like to have a family.”

“Well,” Beth began with a smile, “I am the eldest, and then there is John. I dare say the two of you are of an age. He'll be nineteen in December.”

“We are, then,” Bonnie confirmed, beaming. “I will be nineteen next summer.”

“Then there is Percival—Percy. He's just turned fifteen and has quite an obsession with horses. Peter is twelve, and then there is Julia. She is about to turn ten, but the things that come out of her mouth make one more apt to believe she's turning forty.”

“And she enjoys writing letters?”

“She does.” Beth smiled, thinking of her precocious little sister.

“I should like to meet your family someday. Do you think they will come to visit Dunbocan?”

“Dunbocan?” Beth repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“The name of your home, milady. Dunbocan.”

Beth wondered why Bonnie knew the name of her home, but she didn't. How odd.

“No one told ya that?”

“No, they didn't, but it's no matter. I'm glad to know it now.”

The afternoon had passed quickly in Bonnie's company, and as much as Beth was loathe to admit it, she was actually starting to like the girl. She was pleasant and polite, but candid and open. Beth had never known anyone quite like her.

Now, as she nestled into her bed, having kissed Michael goodnight a few minutes earlier, she reflected on the day. It had been a lovely day, full of new things and interesting conversations. She thought about her home, Dunbocan, and wondered what the name meant. It was probably just a family name, nothing to truly ponder, but still...

***

Michael sat in his room, trying very hard to focus on the text in front of him. It was a letter from his elder brother, Benjamin, updating him on the most recent news from Ravenscroft Castle. Nothing terribly exciting, except that their sister Katherine was expecting again. As was one of the mares in the castle stables.
But it was hard to concentrate when his body was in such horrific pain. Oddly enough, the pain had nothing to do with the hours he'd spent in manual labor that day, repairing the roof, tearing down rotted walls and carrying buckets of water in so everyone could bathe after such a trying day. All of them smelled something akin to horse manure by the time they were done.
No, the pain came from something far more base, and it was concentrated in one particular area that, despite his exhaustion, refused to stand down.
He shot a glance at the door that connected his room to Beth's. Should he go to her? Was she sleeping? Did he care? He was sure it wouldn't be too difficult to get her to open for him, even if she was asleep.

Or perhaps he should simply pleasure himself and let her rest. Lord knew they both needed sleep after their day. But Lord also knew he'd never be able to sleep unless he found his release.

With a new determination, he tossed the letter on the side table and stalked across the room to the panel. He knocked lightly—enough so that if she were awake she would hear him, but not enough to rouse her from sleep. Silence. Slowly, he opened the door and peered inside. It was almost dark; the fire had burned down to embers and a chill was beginning to permeate the room. Still, it did nothing to soothe his hardened state.

Beth moved slightly in her sleep and mumbled something incomprehensible that sounded more like a moan. A moan that reminded him of the night before, of being inside of her, hearing her scream with pleasure. He quickened his pace until he stood next to the bed. She lay on her stomach, the covers up around her shoulders, her face nestled into the downy pillow.

Michael watched her for a moment, marveling at how she'd come to be his. How he'd finally wooed her to his bed. How she had warmed to him and actually wanted to be the mother of his children. And his heart rejoiced, along with the rest of his body.

Without further ado, he tossed his robe aside and climbed into the large four-poster. He turned her onto her side, so he could cradle her in his arms. She mumbled again, but didn't wake, only nestled into his shoulder and smacked her lips a couple of times. Her perfect, plump lips.

He leaned down to kiss them, wrapping his arms tight around her body, getting to know the planes and curves that made up his wife. She was soft, supple, perfectly made. She molded her warm body to his and pressed into him, and Michael worried that he might lose all self-control in that moment.

Dear God, I really should wake her!

She mewed as he kissed her again, deeper this time, forcing her lips to open to him. In her unconscious state, she opened willingly at the same time she threw her leg over him and began pressing her womanhood against his leg.

God help me!

She wore no bloomers, and in the motion of throwing her leg over him, her nightrail had shifted until it was up around her thighs. Which put her in direct contact with his leg. Dear God, she was wet, soaking wet, and so very warm. He could think of nothing but diving inside of her.

“Beth,” he whispered in between kisses. “Darling, are you awake?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she mumbled and that was all Michael needed to hear.

Deep down, he had a feeling she wasn’t completely coherent, but she’d replied just the same. And he couldn’t wait anymore.

He was so hard, so very painfully hard that it hurt. And here was his wife, writhing against him like a wanton goddess, moaning with need. And who was he to deny her needs?

Pulling away slightly, Michael rose above her and nestled himself between her legs. She spread and then wound her legs around his calves. Michael pressed his manhood to her opening and waited to see if she would wake. Nothing. Her eyes remained closed. But before Michael could make another move, Beth reared her hips off the bed and took him inside her.

He fought to keep from exploding within her right then, but good God, it was difficult! She was so wet and warm, so accommodating, and then she began to move. Her sleepy moans made him even harder—a magical occurrence, to be sure—and he finally gained enough control to move in rhythm with her.

Never did she come fully awake, never once did her eyes even hint at fluttering open, but when Michael took her nipple into his mouth and pressed deep into her womb, she cried out, she shuddered, then she held perfectly still, tensed against him, before collapsing back to the bed with a heavy breath.

A sleepy little smile played at the corners of her lips and she mewed contentedly when Michael began to move once again, in search of his own release. It wasn’t far off. Within seconds, he was there, climaxing, emptying himself so deep in her, he feared he might cry with the pleasure of it. It wracked his body, he tensed and shook and grunted in ecstasy. And then it was over, and all that was left was the warm glow of being in her arms. Of having her in his. Of holding her close in the dark room, while the fire burned low in the grate.

Nineteen

Beth woke suddenly from a very strange and highly erotic dream to find she was not alone in her bed. Nestled comfortably alongside her was her husband, sleeping contentedly with his arms wrapped tightly around her. He stirred when she wriggled to look at him and placed a chaste, unconscious kiss to her forehead. She blinked in surprise. Perhaps I am still dreaming?

Though she had to admit if it was a dream, she really didn't care to wake from it. Her room was normally freezing in the morning, but not today. Not with Michael pressed against her. His masculine form chased the chill away.

Light was seeping through the curtains, foretelling a lovely, sunny day. However, there was still a great deal of work to be done on the house. They hadn't even started on the gardens yesterday, and the west wing had gone untouched. That was one place Beth wanted to be, even if it meant another entire day of labor. If her ghost was going to show herself, she wanted to be present.

“Ahem.” She cleared her throat softly in an attempt to wake Michael.

Silence.

“Ahem.” A little louder this time.

Nothing.

Perhaps...

She pressed her lips to his, recalling the tale of Sleeping Beauty and noting the role reversal. An immediate response came in the form of a pleased grunt, and then Michael was awake. At least she thought he was. He was practically devouring her, rubbing his hands everywhere, kissing her as if he would never have another opportunity. And then he was touching her...there.

Oh, heavens!

“Michael, no,” she said trying to wrench her lips from his. “Michael, please, wake up...Oh, good heavens!”

God help her, it felt so good to have him touching her. To have his fingers delving into her. But she had to stop it. Though she knew she could already be pregnant from their consummation the other night, if she wasn't, she didn't want to rush things. She needed time to adjust to the idea, to calm her nerves and reservations on the matter. She certainly couldn't allow him access whenever he pleased, for then she would never leave the bed, of that she was certain.

With a strength she didn't know she possessed, Beth pushed Michael off of                                                                    her...and directly onto the floor. He landed with a hard thud, which was closely followed by a loud “Owwwww!” Beth scrambled to the edge of the bed and peeked over to find her husband sprawled—completely naked—on the floor, clutching his elbow.

“Oh, goodness, are you all right?” Beth asked, climbing to the floor beside him. And then she gasped, loudly. “Michael, I'm...I'm...”

“Nude?”

She looked at his face finally and noted, with great annoyance, that he was smirking at her. “Yes! And I'm quite certain I went to bed fully clothed.”

“Not fully,” he said, his smirk growing more irritating by the second.

She gasped again as her dream began to seep into her consciousness. “Oh, no...did you? Did we?”

Michael's answer was a broad smile, and Beth thought she might like to bludgeon him. With the big candlestick this time. But she wouldn't have the opportunity. Before she could chastise him for taking advantage of the fact that she was an extremely heavy sleeper, he grabbed her and pulled her on top of him.

“Stop that!” she cried as she wiggled to pull free.

“I guarantee that wiggling around like that is not going to help your cause.”

Beth fell completely still, her eyes wide.

“Now, just so we're clear,” Michael said, “I asked you if you were awake and you answered in the affirmative. I am not typically in the habit of bedding unconscious women, but, well...”

His eyes glazed over as they scanned her breasts, which hung between them while she held herself above him. A blush rose to her...everywhere, and the dampness began to pool between her legs again. But her mind was shouting at her to stop whatever it was her husband was wishing she would start.

“May I at least have some breakfast before you ravage me again?” she asked, deciding to change her tactic. Perhaps if she seemed too weak to engage in such vigorous activity, he would acquiesce.

However, she would never know what he was about to say, because a hastily opening door gave way to an embarrassed scream.

Bonnie!

Michael and Beth both turned to see the maid standing in the doorway, her hand over her eyes, spewing a long line of apologies to the pair of them. Oddly enough, Beth wasn't nearly as embarrassed as she should have been. However, when she turned to Michael, his face was redder than a ripe tomato. She wanted to laugh, the scene was quite hilarious, really, but she held her mirth and said to Bonnie, “Might you give us a few moments, Bonnie?”

“Of course, milady, so sorry, milady, I promise I shall knock next time, milady...”

Once Bonnie had backed out of the room, Beth removed herself from her husband's grasp and found her nightrail. Michael collected his robe without a word and hastily made for the connecting door.

“Michael?”

He turned but would not meet her eyes. She struggled against a laugh. “Is everything all right?”

“Ahem...perfectly. I'll see you downstairs.” And then he disappeared to the other side of the suite.

***

By the time Beth made it to the dining room for breakfast, Michael was already there, waiting for her. Thankfully, his blush had vanished and he looked like the cool and composed man she knew.

Once she filled her plate, she sat down across from him and silently began to eat.

“Aren't you going to ask me about last night?” Michael finally ventured.

Beth looked up without raising her head. “I think I've deduced already what happened.” She turned back to her eggs.

“And?”

“And what?”

“And aren't you upset?”

“Do you want me to be?”

“Of course not!” Michael scoffed.

“Well, then count your blessings and stop asking provoking questions.” She raised her brow to challenge him further, but he only smiled that devastating, boyish smile before spearing a slice of bacon.

“I would, however, like to ask about something else?”

There was a slight pause, and then, “Well? Go on.”

Beth cleared her throat, trying to think of how to ask such a delicate question. “Well, I just found it interesting this morning, when Bonnie came upon us...you blushed for heaven's sake.”

“And?”

“Oh, please don't start that again! I want to know why you blushed. I would have expected that you, of all people, wouldn't be bashful about your nakedness, let alone in front of the hired help.”

“Well, perhaps you shouldn't set so many expectations of me.”

“Michael.” She leveled him with her most impatient glare.

Michael let out a beleaguered sigh and gave her a half smile. “If you must know, my reputation for being a rakehell was gained mainly by association.”

“With your brother?” she wondered, curious where this story was leading.

“Partially. Andrew was far more liberal, if you will. But while I flirted and played the games, I didn't keep mistresses and I didn't frequent the bawdy houses Andrew enjoyed. And when I did, well, I mostly stayed to the common room, chatting with the girls.”

Beth listened to his story very carefully. What was he trying to tell her? It dawned on her suddenly and she felt her eyes widen in shock.

“Do you mean you're a...”

Michael waited for her to finish her sentence, but she didn't, and it only took a moment longer for him to understand what she was asking.

“Oh, good God! Of course I'm not a virgin! Beth, how could you ever have drawn such a conclusion?”

“I don't know,” she replied with a fair amount of indignity. “You just said you went to the bawdy house to chat, for heaven's sake. What was I supposed to think?”

“That I'm an honorable man, with a few scruples to his name. Not that I'm a bloody saint.”

“As if that would be such an awful thing.”

“You're damned right, it would be. No saint could ever do to you what I did the other night.”

Their voices had risen in their misunderstanding, but at this, Beth had no rebuttal. They both fell silent. What was she supposed to say to that?

“Well, then...it's a good thing you're not a saint.”

A sort of snort came from Michael's side of the table and Beth knew that he was trying to stifle laughter. Her lips twitched spastically as she tried to muffle her own, but it didn't work. For either of them. The moment she dared to look up at her husband, they both burst out into unmitigated laughter. And they laughed until tears streamed down their cheeks. When they finally calmed down enough to speak, Michael looked at her, a smile still in place, but his eyes somehow serious.

“Come here,” he said with a small twitch of his head.

Beth blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Come. Here.” His voice was quiet, kind, but the tone was firm, and Beth was compelled to do his bidding.

She stood and walked the short distance around the end of the table until she was at his side. Gently, and without taking his eyes from hers, he put his hands on her waist and pulled her down onto his lap. She fell into him and allowed him to engulf her in his embrace. It was heaven. He was her heaven.

“Beth,” he whispered, “I was waiting for you.”

She felt her eyes widen in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“I wanted you, from the start. Andrew and I were in constant competition for your affection. The only difference was that I really loved you, and to Andrew it was simply a game. Not that he didn't care for you, as a friend and as a person, but I loved you. And I waited.”

“But you're not a virgin,” Beth stated, her voice barely audible.

“No, but I've only known you a few years. I reached manhood long before I met you.”

“But I was engaged to your brother.” Beth couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.

“That made no difference to me. Of course, had you gone through with the marriage, I would have eventually found a way to move on. But I'm happy I didn't have to.” He traced his fingers along her cheekbone and then pushed a piece of hair behind her ear with such gentleness Beth thought she might cry. “I love you, Beth.

“I...I love you too.”

Twenty

“Well, now that we've got that established,” Michael whispered dazedly as he pulled himself from his wife's lips. “What shall we do today?”

Beth blinked at him with wide, loving eyes. “Do?” she repeated. “I thought we'd be working on the west wing today.”

Michael smiled. The west wing. Of course she would want to be a part of the renovations in the west wing. But he had better things in mind.

“Darling, we haven't spent more than a half day away from this house since we arrived here. That's well over a week, and soon, both of us are going to go mad.”

“Oh,” she said, clearly thrown off by his tactic. “But...do you not think we should be here? To supervise, at least?”

“I don't think so.” He gave her an innocent look as if he didn't know what her concerns really were. “The staff have their assignments, and I trust Mr. and Mrs. Kerr to keep things under control. That's what we pay them for, after all.”

“Yes, but what if...what about...?” Michael almost laughed at the look of panic in her eyes. Goodness, she really was concerned about this silly ghost. No. Not ghost. Figment of her imagination.

“She won't show herself during the day,” he said, hoping to placate her.

“And she told you this herself?”

Michael smiled wide. She was teasing him, and for some strange reason it warmed his heart.

“Perhaps. Why? Did she tell you otherwise.”

“I can't say,” Beth chirped, sticking her nose in the air.

“Come now, darling, let us explore today. We can ride to Loch Ness, we can picnic on the banks. Don't you want to enjoy the sunshine before it turns cold?”

“Well...” She looked longingly toward the windows, her brow furrowed into a conflicted frown. “I suppose you're right. And I hear Loch Ness is a lovely place.”

“Wonderful! It's all set, then.” Michael gently moved Beth from his lap to a standing position and then ushered her to the door. “Go put on your riding habit while I gather up some picnic foods, and I'll meet you in the front hall.”

With a kiss to her forehead, he sent her off to her chamber. Michael turned in the direction of the kitchens, whistling contentedly to himself as he did.

She loved him. His heart nearly leaped from his chest at the thought. How long had he waited to hear those words? Not just a couple of weeks, since they'd said, “I do”, but much longer. Years. And how sweet it was to hear them, finally!

He practically skipped down the stairs and burst through the kitchen doors to find Mrs. Kerr and several other servants gathered around the long table there. They were still eating their own breakfasts, so when they tried to leap from their seats he motioned for them to stay where they were.

“Please, pretend I'm not here,” he told them, pasting on a charming smile. “I'm only here to gather rations for a picnic.”

Mrs. Kerr stood anyway, and rushed to his side. “Milord, let me help you,” she insisted. “You'll never find all you need. Now, run along and I'll bring ya a basket in a few minutes.”

“There's really no need, Mrs. Kerr.” How hard could it be to find some bread, cheese and wine and put them into a basket?

The housekeeper, seemingly exasperated at Michael's attempt to be independent, punched her hands to her wide hips, and said, “I'll not have ya rummaging through my kitchen, all haphazard and what not. If you're anything like Mr. Kerr, this place will be a disaster in no time and ya still won't have found everything you're looking for.”

Having been sufficiently berated, Michael acquiesced. “Well, if you insist,” he said, grinning widely. “I'll be in the front hall.”

As he left the kitchen he could hear Mrs. Kerr mumbling, “Glory be, can you imagine? Lord Michael preparing his own picnic, heaven help me...”

***

Beth scampered down the stairs twenty minutes later in her favorite riding habit, humming quietly to herself. When she saw Michael at the bottom, leaning against the banister, she gave him her widest smile. And he smiled back, making her heart skip. She was glad she'd decided to give in to his plans. A trip to Loch Ness would be far more enjoyable than beating out dusty rugs, of that she was certain.

And perhaps her ghost would show herself. Then Beth would have other witnesses and Michael couldn't poke fun at her anymore.

“Ready?” he asked as she reached the last step.

“Ready,” she confirmed, and Michael put his hands on her waist and lifted her off the last step, right into his arms.

Beth tried to squeal, but her voice caught in her throat as he spun her around and then pressed his lips to hers.

When he pulled away, he said, “This is going to be a magnificent day.”

She nodded in agreement, her lips tingling, her skin flushed.

“Here we are, milord!” Mrs. Kerr said, bustling into the foyer. “Oh, sorry to interrupt. I'll just leave this here for ya.”

Michael didn't let go of Beth; he didn't even glance at the housekeeper as she bowed out of the room. He only smiled at her, his wife.

“What?” she asked, curious what he was thinking about.

“Say it again,” he prodded, his voice low and husky.

Beth smiled. “You say it first,” she teased.

There was a slight pause and then Michael whispered, “I love you, Elizabeth Prudence Crawley Wetherby.”

“And I love you, Michael—” she stopped abruptly and looked up at him. “Good heavens, I don't even know your middle name!”

Michael's cheeks flushed slightly, but he kept his tone authoritative. “Michael Wetherby will do just fine.”

Beth's brows shot up. “I don't think so. What is your middle name?”

“I don't have one.” He let go of her and stooped to pick up the basket. “Shall we?”

“We shall, but you will have to contend with my curiosity all day, now. Are you sure you wouldn't rather stay here and work in the west wing with everyone else?”

He gave her a challenging look, but Beth found it difficult to take him seriously. What on earth could be so bad about his middle name? Surely he was being silly about all of this.

“I'll still love you, you know, no matter what your middle name is.”

Once he had given her fair warning with his glare, he turned and strode to the door. Beth followed, trying to keep the smirk off her face. Clearly, she'd hit a sore spot.   However, if he thought for one minute that she was going to give up this particular battle, he was sorely mistaken. She would know his middle name by the end of the day, if it was the last thing she did.

***

Damn it, he didn't want to tell her his middle name. No one knew his middle name, or his twin bother's for that matter. They'd made a solemn vow when they were young—once they were old enough to understand the cruel trick their parents had played on them—never to reveal their middle names to anyone.

He wondered for a moment if perhaps Andrew had confessed the name to his own wife. And if he was willing to share his own, would he have shared Michael's? And would Chloe, in her correspondence, decide that it was just too amusing to keep a secret from Beth?

These were the questions he pondered as he walked to the stables, Beth sauntering along behind him with a smirk on her face. Oh, he couldn't actually see her face, but he had no doubt, if he turned around, there would be a smirk there.

Well, she could smirk all she wanted, he was never going to reveal his middle name, so help him.

“You there!” he called amiably to a stable lad. “Her ladyship and I wish to go for a ride. My stallion and her mare, please.”

“Right away, sir!”

The lad ran off and disappeared through the stable doors just as the sound of booted feet came up beside Michael. He didn't need to turn to know it was Beth. Who else would it be? And he didn't need to look at her to know she was watching him, smirk still in place.

“Stop it,” he said, trying to keep a good-natured tone to his voice. “I'll never tell.”

“Never is a long time.”

Hah! “You underestimate my endurance.”

“And you underestimate my persistence.”

Hah again! “I don't think any fool would ever underestimate that particular quality in you, my lady. But your persistence is no match for my endurance.”

“Hm...we shall see, won't we?”

Oh, good God, she was issuing a challenge. Michael had a love-hate relationship with challenges. They turned him into an obsessed boor, which he hated. But God, how he loved a challenge. Thus, his pursuit of the fair Elizabeth Crawley.

***

“May I begin guessing now?” Beth asked after about a half mile on the trail.

Michael had been silent so far. Almost brooding, if he were capable of such a thing.

“No,” he said. “It would be pointless. You will never guess and I will never tell.”

“Fine.” Beth waited a few moments and then said, “Francis?”

“Now why would I be embarrassed about a name like Francis? It's a perfectly acceptable and highly common middle name.”

“Yes, but I've always found it to be rather feminine. Do you not agree?” When he didn't respond, she tried again. “Hildebard.”

Michael gave her a cock-eyed glance. “Is that even a real name?”

“How should I know?” She shrugged. “Yancy?”

He almost laughed at this one, she could tell. His lips twitched and he turned his face away on the pretense of looking at something in the distance. Unfortunately for him, one couldn't see a blessed thing beyond the dense forest on either side of them.

“No,” he finally said. “Not Yancy.”

“Oh!” Beth exclaimed, remembering her conversation with Bonnie from the day before. “I almost forgot to ask. Did you know our home has a name?”

“Well, of course it has a name. Don't all estates?”

“Then why didn't I know about it?”

Michael seemed to grow a bit uncomfortable. He tugged on his collar and cleared his throat before finally answering. “The topic simply never arose. Is it that important?”

“No, I suppose not,” she replied thoughtfully. “I was just taken aback when Bonnie mentioned it yesterday. Odd name, Dunbocan. Don't you think?”

“Yes, I suppose so. But it is Gaelic. I think it might all sound odd to our ears.”

Beth thought about that and agreed. Gaelic was an odd sounding language after all. “Do you know what it means?”

There was a pause. Too much of a pause before he answered, “No, I don't.”

Liar! she wanted to scream at him. Why was he keeping it from her? What was so terrible about the name of their home that he couldn't share it with her?

“Oh, well...I'm sure Mrs. Kerr will tell me.” She shrugged again and went back to her quest of finding out Michael's middle name.

***

After Beth's hundredth suggestion for his middle name, Michael was ready to strangle his wife. He did have to admit she was rather inventive. Many of her names had made him laugh out loud. It was quite funny when she started naming animals and every day items, sometimes even combining them to come up with names like Houndhat or Stovebear. They were both laughing hard by the time they reached Loch Ness, but quickly fell silent at the sight.

It was breathtaking, as much of Scotland was. The loch was far bigger than Michael ever could have imagined, and it was surrounded on three sides by lush greenery. Trees of every color broke up the green and reflected in the crystal pool, which rippled with the cool breeze. The surrounding hills stood against a backdrop of a blue-gray sky, dappled with fluffy white clouds. Magical. There was simply no other way to describe it.

They brought their horses slowly to a stop as they took in the scene. It was a few minutes before he heard Beth release a long breath of awe.

“This was an excellent idea, my lord.”

Michael smiled and turned to her. “I'm glad you think so.” And then breaking free of the enchanting spells that both his wife and the loch seemed to cast over him, he said, “Shall we find a spot to picnic?”

Twenty-One

“Have you heard the stories?” Michael asked as he handed one side of the plaid blanket to Beth.

She grabbed it at the corners and together they flounced it, guiding it gently to the ground. “What stories?” she wondered.

“Of the Loch Ness Monster, of course.”

Beth stopped what she was doing to look out over the massive body of water. She studied it for a moment before turning back to Michael, her brow furrowed. “You mean, you believe in monsters, but not in ghosts?”

Michael gave her a lopsided grin. “I don't believe in either, but the stories are fascinating.”

Intrigued, Beth plopped down on the blanket beside her husband and, after biting off the end of a baguette, she said, “Tell me.”

“Well,” Michael began, “the first sighting was supposedly in the sixth century by Saint Columba.”

There was a muted thump as the cork popped free of the wine bottle. Beth watched while Michael filled two glasses, waiting for him to continue the story.

“There are several versions of the story...here you are.”

She took the glass he offered, and ignored the tingle down her spine when their hands brushed. Good heavens, they had made love twice now. It didn't make sense that a simple brush of his hand could make her shiver with excitement. But it did.

“As you can imagine, after thirteen hundred years, the lore gets a bit misconstrued from its original version. Cheese?”

“Please,” Beth replied with a smile and Michael gave a little chuckle.

“A poet. I had no idea.”

“There is much to learn about me. Now, go on.”

Michael raised his right brow at her, but made no comment. “Well,” he continued with the tale, “one story says that Saint Columba summoned the giant monster, after it had killed a man, and banished it with the Word of God. Supposedly, the monster fled, but many report having seen it since, swimming in the loch.”

“What does it look like?” Beth asked, turning her attention to the lake again.

“I don't know. Some say it looks like a giant water horse.”

“A water horse? I've never heard of such a thing.”

“A kelpie, then?”

Beth gave him a blank look, having never heard of any of these creatures.

“We shall have to give you an education in Celtic lore, my dear. I've no doubt, with your fascination for non-existent creatures, you will take a great interest.”

“You're wrong. I have an interest in other worldly creatures that do exist.” She challenged him to dispute her with a tilt of her own brow.

“Tell me about your ghost, will you?”

Beth blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I want to know what she looks like. Did she say anything to you?”

“No,” Beth replied, remembering her encounter in the west wing. “She didn't say anything. She put her finger to her lips though, to hush me. She must have sensed I was going to scream.”

“Ah. An intuitive ghost.”

“Do you want to hear about her, or do you want to poke fun at me?”

“I'm sorry,” Michael said, not seeming sincere at all. “Do go on.”

Beth looked away to study the loch again. Goodness it was breathtaking. “She has red hair, long and flowing—kind of wild, as if she's floating under water. And her skin is white—”

“Of course.”

“Translucent. I could see right through her, yet she was still clearly defined in the darkness. She was beautiful.”

“Well, perhaps I will get to meet her one of these days.”

Beth looked back to her husband with a disbelieving expression. “I certainly hope so. I'm getting rather annoyed with your nay-saying.”

They dropped the subject then and nibbled for a few minutes in silence.

“What do the other stories say about the monster?”

“Scottish folklore says that the monster is known for luring small children to him, with promises of rides on his back—”

“How do you know it's a he?”

Michael stared at her, clearly trying to determine if the question had been asked in all seriousness. “You're right. I don't know. Shall we call the monster an it?”

Beth shrugged. “If you want. I was just curious.”

“And once the children are on its back, they can't let go and are dragged to a watery death. However, the most fascinating part of the story says that their livers wash ashore the next day.”

“Livers? Do you mean to say they believe the monster eats the entire child, save its liver? That doesn't make much sense, Michael.”

“Well, it's not as if I made it up,” he said, his tone incredulous, but his smile indicated he was enjoying her commentary on the subject. “Would you like to take a boat ride?” he asked as he began to gather up the plates and wine glasses.

“Oh, yes,” Beth exclaimed. “That would be wonderful. Perhaps we'll even get a glimpse of the...what did you call it?”

“Kelpie?”

“Yes, the kelpie.” She laughed at the notion and Michael joined her.

There was a levity to the day. The air was clear and crisp, the sun was bright, and when Michael took her hand in his to walk to their horses, Beth's heart soared. If ever there was heaven on earth, she was convinced this was it.

They rode their mounts to a local dock and found a man who was renting out boats for the day. Michael dropped the man a few coins, tied the horses to a post and then led Beth down the bank to their assigned rowboat.

Having been raised in the city, she eyed the tiny boat askance. Though the end of it sat on land, the land looked awfully wet and muddy. She raised her skirts and looked at her fine kid boots, then back at the boat. They would never survive.

“Don't worry, my dear.”

Beth gave a surprised squeal when her husband snuck up behind her and scooped her into his arms, rather unceremoniously. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don't get your pretty feet wet.” He marched to the boat, carrying her as if she were a feather.

“What about your own feet,” she asked, hoping that he would never put her down. Good heavens, he was strong. And warm. And he smelled delicious.

“My boots are made of much sturdier stuff, so that I may perform chivalrous acts, such as this, for my beautiful bride.”

Michael stopped just beside the boat and met her eyes. Beth's heart skipped as he stared at her. Unable to stop herself, she grabbed the back of his head and pulled his lips to hers. The kiss was soft and sweet, but laden with need and longing. Blast it, she wasn't sure she could last the rest of the day without having him inside of her. Now that she'd tasted what it was like, she couldn't stop thinking about it. If only there were a way to prevent a baby. At least for a little while...

“Darling,” Michael murmured against her lips.

She ignored him and pressed her lips harder to his, still holding the back of his head with unrelenting force.

“Darling...really,” he said again.

Reluctantly, she pulled away. “What is it?”

“As much as I hate to break this up, my feet are sinking fast into the mud.”

“Oh!” Beth tried to look down at the ground, but couldn't twist enough to see over her skirts. “I'm so sorry!”

“No, no,” Michael said as he placed her safely in the boat. “Don't be sorry. Please.”

With a satisfied smile, Beth carefully maneuvered herself to the far end of the boat so Michael could climb in without getting wetter than he already was. His boots squished as he plunked them down on the wooden planks. Beth shifted slightly to avoid mud on her skirts and then looked up at Michael. There was a smile wider than the loch itself spread across his face.

“Why are you grinning like that?” she wondered.

“Do you really need to ask?”

She didn't. Of course she didn't. And it pleased her beyond all belief that one of her kisses could elicit such a reaction from him. She nearly giggled with satisfaction.

They rowed out in contented silence. Beth alternated her gaze from one breathtaking view to another, back and forth between the loch and her husband. Every time she looked at Michael, he was staring at her with that boyish grin, and she would turn quickly away, feeling bashful all of a sudden.

“You're going to miss all this beautiful scenery,” she warned.

“I'm not missing anything.”

“I won't deny that that's a horribly romantic thing to say, but you can look at me anytime. However, this...” She sighed. “This kind of a day only comes along once in a while.”

“Beth.”

Her hand was suddenly engulfed by Michael's, and she turned slowly to meet his gaze.

“If I lived for a thousand years, I could never look my fill of you.”

Beth's tongue went limp. Her whole body went limp, actually. She'd never quite realized what he thought about her. She smiled and then threw herself into his arms. Michael was forced backwards and together they fell to the bottom of the boat. Because of the awkward placement of the benches, Michael's legs stuck straight up in the air, and Beth was forced to twist herself into a most bizarre position atop him. They giggled and kissed, but made no real move to right themselves.

It felt too good. This joy, this closeness. Beth never wanted for this moment to end.

She pressed her lips to Michael's, and then pulled away with a teasing grin. It was then, when he was trying to pull her head back down to his, that she saw it.

Fear seized her. Her heart beat wildly against her rib cage, and she tried frantically to remove herself from Michael's grip.

“Darling?” he asked, his arms holding her tighter. “What are you doing? What is it?”

“M-m-m...”

There it was again!

She whimpered as she finally broke free and tried to pull Michael up to see the horrifying thing she'd just seen.

“Beth, what is it?” he asked again, struggling to right himself.

Somehow she found just enough voice to say, “The Loch Ness Monster.”

Twenty-Two

“The what?” Michael stared at his wife, unable to believe what he'd heard.

“Michael, I'm serious,” she cried, never taking her eyes from the water. “It was right there!”

He turned to look where she pointed. After a quick examination of the area around them, he looked back at Beth. “There's nothing there, darling. It was probably a large fish. That's all.”

Fury ignited in her blue eyes when she finally shifted her gaze to him. “I know what fish look like, so I will thank you to stop patronizing me.”

“Beth, your imagination is running wild because of the stories. You don't really believe there's a fifteen hundred year old monster living in this lake, do you?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and harrumphed. Clearly, he'd bested her. What could she possibly say to dispute that?

“I believe I've married a self-righteous pig, who thinks he knows everything.”

Michael reared back slightly and blinked in shock. “Rather harsh, don't you think?”

“Why don't you ever believe anything I say?” she asked, ignoring his question.

He sighed. Five minutes ago, he'd thought nothing could ruin this day. That they'd finally found common ground, admitted their love for one another and could have a pleasant life from here on out.

Clearly he'd been laboring under a misapprehension.

He cast a glance at her. Even angry she was the most stunning woman he'd ever seen. With the sunlight beaming down on her golden hair she looked positively ethereal.

Damn the monster! He'd been about to make love to his wife right there in the boat. If it weren't for the supposed, blasted kelpie, he'd be buried deep inside of her right now.

Perhaps it was time to try a new tactic.

“You're right,” he admitted. “I'm sorry. I should give more credence to your words than I do. I still have a bit of trouble believing in...well, ghosts and monsters and such, but if you say you saw them...”

Beth lifted her eyes. “You believe me?” she asked, a small smile coming to her lips.

Michael would do anything to keep that smile in place. Even lie. “Yes, I believe you.”

She took a deep breath and uncrossed her arms. “Well, thank you,” she said. “In that case, may we row back to shore?”

“Shore? We just got out here.”

“Yes, but...” She cast a wary glance to the water. “Please?”

Dammed Kelpie! “Of course.”

***

They rode home in silence. Michael brooded the whole way, obviously upset that their day had been cut short. But Beth didn't care. She knew what she'd seen and she knew it had to be the monster. Fish didn't grow that big. Fish didn't have humps, either.

Stories, indeed! That blasted thing was alive and well and she would be damned before she spent an afternoon in its company.

Beth did have to admit, however, that she was somewhat disappointed in the outcome of the day herself. Their picnic, their moment in the boat just before the kelpie showed himself, had been magical.

She glanced warily at her brooding husband. He stared straight ahead, not bothering to spare a glance in her direction. It hurt a little. He must have known she was staring at him and he deliberately ignored her. With a sigh, Beth turned away again and focused on the road ahead.

This would pass and things would go back to the way they were. There would be more moments like the ones they'd shared that afternoon. Michael just had to get over the disappointment of this particular day.

As soon as they reached the drive of Dunbocan, it became apparent that something was awry. In the distance, on the drive just in front of the house, stood Mr. and Mrs. Kerr with someone—a man that Beth couldn't quite make out from this distance.

“What do you think is going on there?” she asked of Michael.

His eyes squinted. “I'm not sure. But we're about to find out.” He gave his horse a nudge and sprung into a canter.

Beth followed suit, cantering along behind until she was able to get a good look at the man—or rather, the boy—who stood arguing with Mr. and Mrs. Kerr. What the devil was John doing there?

Ignited by fury and worry and all other sorts of wretched thoughts, she sprang into a gallop and sprinted right past her husband.

“Beth!” he called, but she didn't stop.

Not until she pulled up to the circular did she slow her horse. They came to an abrupt stop mere feet from her brother and she hurtled herself from the saddle. John caught her and she squeezed him hard, thankful, no matter what the circumstance, to see him. Then and only then did she realize how much she missed her family. Tears sprang to her eyes as he hugged her back. Finally, she was able to find her voice.

“John, what in the world are you doing here?” She pulled back to look at him, holding him by his upper arms. She noted the strength in them. Goodness, it seemed he'd grown considerably in the last few weeks since the wedding.

“I...um...” He swallowed and then looked about as Michael came trotting into the circular.

“John?” he asked as he dismounted. “Is everything all right? We weren't expecting you.”

“No, no, everything is fine,” he assured them, shifting his gaze back and forth from Beth to Michael. “That is, well...”

A silent moment passed between John and Michael, and Beth suddenly felt very left out. Clearly, Michael understood the meaning in John's look, for he abandoned his questioning.

“Come stable the horses with me,” he said to John. “Mrs. Kerr, perhaps you could see to refreshments for all of us?”

“Oh, of course!” the woman shouted and then bustled into the house.

Beth watched the scene, feeling like an outsider. What the devil was going on here? Michael and John were walking away, whispering as they went, and Beth's blood began to boil.

“Michael!”

Her husband turned to regard her with a perplexed look. “Yes, darling?”

Now what was she supposed to say? What about me? What am I supposed to do? Please don't forget about me! Goodness, that sounded childish. She was a grown woman, and she knew what was expected of her. She would be a dutiful wife and sister and wait for them in the drawing room.

As they stared back at her, she realized that patience was not her best virtue, and it never would be. Blast them both; they would not shut her out of this conversation.

“I'm coming with you.”

They exchanged another glance, leaden with meaning, as she stalked across the drive to them.

“Perhaps it would be better if I spoke with Michael alone, Lizzie,” John said sheepishly.

“Perhaps it would be best if you just told us what this is all about right now!”

“Beth, calm down—”

“Beth?”

“It's my pet name for her. Do you like it?”

“It's different, but I suppose it suits her.”

“Stop!”

Both men turned to look at her. Clearly, they'd momentarily forgotten that she was standing there. She growled low in her throat and clenched her fists. Why did men insist on being so high handed? And when did Michael and her brother become those kind of men?

“Darling, why don't you go wait in the drawing room? We'll only be a few minutes.”

Ha! And in those few minutes, John would tell Michael whatever the hell was going on and then she would get the watered-down version, no doubt. She was not about to let that happen.

“Mr. Kerr!” she called across the drive.

The old man had just made it up the front stairs and had his hand on the doorknob. “My lady?”

“Beth, no, we will stable the horses-—”

“Would you mind terribly walking the horses to the stable?”

“You're crossing a line here, Beth,” Michael growled in her ear.

She ignored him.

“Lizzie, please, this is a rather...sensitive subject.”

Beth whirled on her brother and fixed him with a stony glare. “I am your sister!” she hissed. “Sensitive subjects should be discussed with me first. You hardly even know Michael!”

By this time, Mr. Kerr had arrived to take the horses and both men looked as if they were going to have her for lunch. If she weren't so furious, she might have been frightened of the fury in their eyes.

“Now,” she said, trying to add a bit of levity to her voice. “Let us all adjourn to the drawing room and talk about this like grown adults.”

Another threatening growl came from her husband, and yet another silent look passed between him and her brother. Then, before she could say a word, they flanked her and grabbed her by the elbows. Unfortunately, she was facing the opposite direction, so she ended up being dragged, rather unceremoniously, across the drive, up the stairs, past several servants and into the drawing room where they deposited her onto a sofa.

They both stood over her, Michael fuming, John looking more put out than angry. She was about to open her mouth to say any number of things that were running through her head: How dare you manhandle me like that! or Now that you've proved yourselves complete barbarians, let us sit down and talk this through. But Michael interrupted her.

“You,” he said through heavy breaths, “will sit right here until we return.”

Beth wanted to shout at him, to tell him that he couldn't tell her what to do, but his expression was enough to make her keep her mouth shut. Perhaps she had gone a step too far, gainsaying him in front of a servant and John. Even in her lowly, wifely position, she expected to be treated with more respect than she'd shown him in the last few minutes.

Blast, but she hated when he was right!

Even more, she hated being left out of a matter that involved her brother. He was her family, not Michael's!

Accepting defeat, she crossed her arms over her chest, flopped back against the sofa, and watched as the two men stalked from the room.

Twenty-Three

“What is this all about?” Michael asked as he ushered John through the door and shut it securely behind him. “And keep your voice down if you don't want your sister to hear. No doubt she'll be listening at the door.”

“Right, well...you see, the thing is...”

Michael let out a hefty sigh. This was going to be a torturous afternoon if John didn't get on with it. “Look, whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm an impartial party. We'll come up with a solution together, all right?”

John nodded, still looking a bit skeptical, but he finally launched into his story. “I've been dismissed...from Oxford.”

Michael's jaw dropped. “Dear God...I mean, go on.” He waved his hand at the boy, trying to remain calm. What in God's name was he supposed to do with him now? He'd been expelled and then fled, surely without a word to anyone, to Scotland. Bloody hell.

“I did something rather...unsavory, some might say. But the truth of the matter is things like this happen every day and I just happened to get caught. And by that horrific excuse for a man, James Froggenhall, no less. He's hated me since we first started Eton, though I can't imagine why. And he, of course, told his sisters—silly Julia and her even sillier sister, Jane—who, in turn, told the rest of the bloody town. It's ridiculous when you think about it.”

“I'm sorry, John, I'm not quite following. What the hell are you talking about?”

A sheepish expression passed over John's features and he dropped his eyes to the floor. “I was carrying on an affair with an older woman—”

“How much older?”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Twenty years,” he mumbled into his hand, though Michael heard him loud and clear.

“Good God.” Michael took a moment to process the information. That was quite an age difference, but he still failed to see how such a thing could get one expelled from college. Unless...”Who was this woman, John?”

Silence. Clearly, though he'd traveled over a week to seek help from Michael and Beth, he was not going to give up the information without a great deal of prodding.

“Forgive me, John, but it's been a long day and my patience is running a bit thin. You either tell me now, or I will shove you back in your carriage and—”

“All right, I'll tell you!” He ran tense fingers through his golden hair and rolled his shoulders, like a pugilist warming up for a fight. “Her name is Mrs. Caruthers. Evangeline Caruthers, as in—”

“Professor Caruthers, teacher of Greek philosophy.” That was it. Michael knew he promised to be impartial, but for God's sake! “You had an affair with a professor's wife?” Michael shouted into the room.

John tried to shush him. “Please, I really don't want Lizzie to know what happened.”

Michael was sure it was too late for that. He marched to the sliding door of his study and pulled it open. There on the other side, trying to make a quick escape, was his wife. Of course, she wasn't nearly quick enough, and Michael had her by the scruff in a matter of seconds. She turned wide eyes and a bright red face on him.

“I'm sorry, Michael. Please don't be angry with me.”

“Hah! It's not you I'm angry with, my dear. You were right where I expected you to be. It's your reprobate brother who deserves all my wrath right now. I'm sure you heard.”

Beth nodded. “You may let go of my dress now.”

“Oh, sorry,” he said, relinquishing his hold. “Did I hurt you?”

“I'm fine,” she assured him as she righted herself. “I don't blame you for your reaction. I'd like to throttle him myself.”

Michael stepped to the side and swept his arm in an arc. “Be my guest,” he said, and then watched as his wife swept past him through the door.

***

Beth could hardly contain her anger as she stormed into her husband's study. An affair. With a married woman. With a woman married to one of his professors. Twenty years his senior!

Perhaps she should ask Michael to restrain her. And to remove all sharp objects from her sight.

John's head snapped up as she entered the room, a look of pure terror marring his baby face. Good heavens, he was a baby! What was he doing dallying with an older woman like that?

“Lizzie, please, I can explain,” he pleaded as she marched to him.

“You can explain having an affair with a woman twenty years your senior, who is married to your professor? You can explain getting kicked out of university? You can explain fleeing the country without a word to mother and father and showing up on my doorstep?”

By the time she ended her short line of questioning, she had her brother pinned against the window. Despite the fact he was at least a foot taller than she was, he cowered like a frightened puppy.

“Where else was I to go?”

“Home, John!” she shouted, her voice strained with exasperation. “You should have gone home. Mother and Father must be horribly worried about you. I’m sure the school has informed them of your dismissal by now.”

“And then what?” John pushed his way around her, his puppy-like fear giving way to frustration and indignity. “Father would never have allowed me back home after what I’ve done. The disgrace to the family would be…will be…substantial. I thought if I came here first…”

Beth bit down on her tongue, trying to calm her frayed nerves. It wasn’t worth getting so worked up over. He was here now, and they had to come up with a solution. He’d come to her, seeking refuge. That was something. He trusted her enough to travel over a week’s journey to seek her council.

Well, not hers really. He’d been hell-bent on not telling her in the first place. This thought threatened to boil her blood again, so she decided it was best not to dwell on it.

With a deep breath, she turned to see her husband standing in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the threshold. Their eyes met and she suddenly had the overwhelming urge to curl up in his arms and cry.

Goodness, what would she do without him? She drew her strength from him, she now realized. And just then it was his quiet encouragement that calmed her nerves.

She drew in her breath and turned back to her brother. “Fine,” she said, her voice quiet. “You may stay here—”

“Oh, thank you, Lizzie,” John interrupted with a sigh.

“But not as a guest,” she finished.

Her brother’s expression quickly dropped from relieved to panicked. And she couldn’t blame him. He should be terrified of what she had planned.

“If you think,” she began, keeping her voice low and calm, “that you will be lounging about all day, living in the lap of our luxury, you are sadly mistaken.”

“Lizzie, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about what you’ll be doing while you’re here. Where you’ll be living.”

She could feel the warmth of her husband at her back all of a sudden. He put a hand on her shoulder and patted gently.

“You will serve while you are here—”

“Serve?” John repeated, his tone scoffing at the mere thought of a service position.

“Yes, serve,” Beth repeated, with more force this time. “And you will live in the servants' quarters—”

“What?” His pale eyes turned a stormy shade of blue. “Damn it, Liz, I’m next in line for an earldom! I can’t serve!”

“You’ll watch your language or I’ll put you out on the street without another thought,” Michael interjected. “I can’t imagine the gutter is a place for a future earl to be seen either. At least here you will have a warm bed and provisions.”

Beth turned to her husband, warmed by his sudden defense of her. He didn’t smile at her, but she felt the admiration in his gaze.

“Your sister’s offer is generous and will buy you time while things simmer down in London. If you don’t wish to accept her offer, then I wish you luck on your journey back to Town.” He took her gently by the elbow. “We will give you time to think it over.”

Twenty-Four

“This isn't fair at all, you know?” John complained as they climbed the stairs to the servants' quarters.

“Well, I'm sure your professor didn't think it was all that fair that his wife was canoodling with one of his students. I'm sure Mother and Father won't think it's fair that they must bear the brunt of your disgrace. And I certainly don't think it's fair that I'm now charged with looking after you when I'm practically still on my honeymoon.”

“You don't have to look after me, Liz,” John countered with a scoff. “I'm a grown man. I just need a place to stay until the scandal blows over.”

“And here you are,” she replied, turning to face him. “John, I know what you're accustomed to, and I know this will be...different, to say the least. But I can't, in good conscience, let you get off scot free in this situation. You've inconvenienced a great number of people, and I think a dose of your own medicine is in order.”

“But—”

“No!” Beth held up her hand to stop him from continuing. “Not another word, John. If you don't like the arrangement, then you may leave.”

Her brother's nostrils flared as his anger mounted. Obviously he'd thought to change her mind once the initial shock had worn off, but Beth would not be swayed.

“Fine,” he said at last. “I will leave in the morning.”

Beth couldn't deny that his declaration hurt a little. Though the circumstances were awful, she liked having him there. She had hoped they would be able to spend a little time together before he left. But she knew she couldn't keep him there.

“If that is what you want—”

“Lady Wetherby?”

Beth swung around to find Bonnie standing on the landing at the end of the corridor. Only Bonnie wasn't looking back at her. The girl’s eyes were focused intently on John, and she tucked her chin coyly to her chest as she gave him a bashful smile. Beth turned to her brother, who stared back at Bonnie with just about the silliest grin she had ever seen.

Oh, good heavens! Now I will be forced to act as a chaperone!

“May I help you, Bonnie?”

Bonnie blinked and then snapped to attention. “Mrs. Kerr wishes to see you, milady. She would like to discuss the evening meal, seeing as your brother is here and all.”

“My brother will not be dining with us,” Beth blurted out, though she didn't know why that was important in the moment.

Both Bonnie and John stared at her, their expressions curious.

Finally, John said, “Perhaps Bonnie could show me to my room, since you're required downstairs? As long as it's no trouble.”

“Ah, I don't think—”

“It's no trouble at all, milord.”

“Well, perhaps I should—”

“You go on, sis.”

And just like that, the two of them linked arms and turned their backs to her. Beth stood speechless as she watched them saunter slowly down the hall, their heads bent close as they whispered to one another. This was not good. Not good at all.

***

“What on earth am I going to do with him?” Beth muttered as she lifted her teacup to her lips.

“Do?” Michael asked as he stepped into his wife's bedchamber. She blinked up at him as he continued. “I thought you came up with a quite a plan already. Living in service for a spell should do him some good. Then he can figure out his own bloody course.”

“Michael!” Beth turned wide eyes on him. “How could you say such a thing? He is my brother.”

“Yes, well, brother or not, he's not a child. He's a man now and he needs to act like one.”

“Says one of the two most depraved lords the ton has ever seen.”

Michael leveled his wife with an incredulous stare. “You don't fight fair, you know?” He poured himself a cup of tea and took a chair opposite her. “But let's not quarrel over this anymore. We have more important things to discuss.”

“Oh?” she asked, her brows tilting up in question.

Michael stared back at Beth. His beautiful, strong Beth, and realized he didn't want to discuss a damned thing with her. He set down his teacup before taking a single sip and moved to sit beside her on the settee. She was flushed from her close proximity to the fire and her hair was slightly askew from their afternoon at the loch. She'd never looked more beautiful.

He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand and Beth gave a little shudder before he lowered his lips to hers. Her lips were warm and soft, and Michael felt his groin tighten in response.

“Perhaps we could finish what we began on the boat this afternoon,” he ventured in between nibbles of her bottom lip.

“But shouldn't we wait...dinner is soon, and...”

“No,” Michael said, unwilling to hear any excuses. She'd denied him in the boat thanks to the damned monster. There was nothing to stop them in their own bedchamber.

“But, Michael, really—”

“Really nothing. I need you now, Elizabeth Wetherby, and I intend to have you.” He pulled her sleeves down and planted tender kisses to her shoulders.

“Yes, well, I think my brother intends to have Bonnie,” she blurted out, causing Michael to stop mid-kiss.

“What?” He pulled back to look at her. “How would you know this?”

“Because neither one of them could take their eyes off the other this afternoon. Bonnie came to fetch me for Mrs. Kerr, and then...Oh, Michael, I left them alone!”

Michael wanted to laugh at the pained expression his wife wore. But he did realize it was no laughing matter.

“I will go check on them—”

“Oh, thank you, Michael!”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I wasn't finished with my sentence, darling. I will go check on them just as soon as I'm finished here.”

Her eyes grew round as he began to toy with her nipple through the fabric of her gown. “B-but...they could already...”

“What's that, darling?” he teased as he unclasped the back of her dress and released her breasts from their bindings.

“I just...maybe...”

Michael reached into the front of her chemise and ever so gently caressed a plump breast. Her nipple was hard and her breathing became shallow. “Mmm-hmm, go on.”

She didn't go on, of course, because by this time Michael had her chemise over her head and was feasting on the taut bud. Within ten minutes, he'd cleared her mind of all her worries and left her to nap while he went to check on the status of the apparent lovebirds.

***

Michael arrived on the landing to the servants' corridor to a great deal of giggling. Beth had left the pair of them well over an hour ago, so it stood to reason Bonnie should not still be with John. Especially not in his bedchamber.

He stalked down the hall and stopped when he reached the open door. At least they had a little sense between the two of them.

He knocked and they both turned, startled, to look at him.

Bonnie's cheeks turned to scarlet as she dipped a curtsey and mumbled, “Milord.”

“Bonnie,” Michael acknowledged. “John?” He raised questioning brows to the younger man.

“I was just showing her this,” John explained, procuring a small round cylinder that Michael recognized immediately.

“A kaleidoscope,” he observed, taking the toy from John. “Quite the invention, don't you think, Bonnie?”

Bonnie looked up with a bashful grin and nodded.

“Perhaps you should start preparing my wife's dinner apparel now, Bonnie.”

The girl nodded again and beat a hasty retreat, not daring to glance back at John before she left the room. Michael turned to his brother-in-law, his expression stern and hopefully threatening.

“I'm aware she is a mere servant and you, a future peer of the realm,” Michael began, letting his tone drip with censure and sarcasm, “but you will behave like a gentleman. Do you understand me?”

A muscle twitched in John's jaw. Clearly he hated being told what to do or how to act—that was a trait that seemed to run in the family. But after a moment, he gave a sharp nod of his head.

“If I hear of your entertaining her in your room again, I will toss you out on your ear without a second thought...no matter what your sister may have to say about it.”

“I'm leaving tomorrow anyhow.”

“So I hear,” Michael said as he walked through the door. “Until then, I caution you to behave like a gentleman. I'll have Mr. Kerr bring you a uniform. You will be serving at dinner.”

***

The sight of her brother in livery, ladling soup into her bowl, was a bit unnerving for Beth. Part of her felt guilty for punishing her brother in such a manner. But another part of her knew it was completely necessary. She hadn't expected to have him serving her dinner, though. That was entirely Michael's doing.

She'd imagined John tearing down cobwebs or scrubbing windows, not acting as a footman.

“Thank you,” she said as he finished ladling and moved, with a foul expression on his face, back to his post at the edge of the room. “He may never forgive me for this, you know?” she said to Michael in a hushed tone.

“He will, darling,” Michael assured her. “And in the meantime you can bask in the glow of my admiration for you.”

Beth tried not to smile at his flattery, but it was impossible. What he said made her insides warm, and her lips curved automatically into a bright smile.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Michael pulled something from his breast pocket and handed it to Beth.

It was a letter from home. “Oh, dear. Do you think it's possible they could have heard already?”

“It's been well over a week, Beth. I'm certain all of London knows by now. Those Froggenhall sisters are ruthless.”

Beth glanced over her shoulder to see if her brother was paying attention. His eyes stared straight ahead, but his nostrils flared in and out with obvious annoyance. She turned back to the letter and broke the seal. The letter was from her mother, which was rare, and her handwriting was barely legible. Clearly she was outraged.

As Beth read the letter, it became apparent that more had happened than her brother wanted to admit. It was possible the ton had blown things out of proportion, but Beth had a feeling that this once, they may have been spot on. The woman, Mrs. Caruthers, had apparently been pregnant. However, word of a miscarriage had begun to spread. This wasn't all that surprising since the woman was near forty. But it of course raised speculation as to the paternity of the child.

Her parents had not seen or heard from John in weeks, they said, and worried for his well being, despite the fact they planned to kill him next time he crossed their threshold.

Beth sat back and let out a long breath before handing the letter to Michael. Her nerves were on end, and clearly he sensed it, for he dropped his fork and picked up her hand while he read the letter. When he was done, he folded it up, put it back in his pocket and turned to Beth.

“It will all blow over soon, my dear,” he assured her. “Until then...enjoy your soup.”

Twenty-Five

Beth tossed and turned, unable to find rest after the day she’d had. Between the Loch Ness Monster and her brother, her mind was racing. Even the tousle she’d had with her husband earlier hadn’t helped to ease her worries.

She looked over at him now; the moon cast him in a blue glow. He looked like a little boy when he slept, with his mouth hanging slightly open and head burrowed into his pillow. Beth smiled and then stretched up to plant a kiss on his cheek before climbing from the bed. She tucked her feet into her slippers and rushed to grab her robe, which lay over the back of the settee. The fire had died some time ago and a bitter chill pervaded her thin nightrail.

She glanced at the clock on the mantle. Not yet four in the morning. None of the servants would be up yet, but Beth’s stomach was demanding food. She lit a candle, and with a gentle hand, turned the knob on the door and tiptoed into the hall, being careful not to wake Michael. It was even colder in the hallway, so Beth quickened her pace in an effort to warm her blood.

The house was quiet and the kitchen was empty, as expected. Beth had spent very little time in kitchens in her lifetime, so she wasn’t exactly sure how to go about preparing food for herself. She held up her candle and moved slowly around the room, opening cabinets and drawers, until she finally came upon a loaf of bread.

“Now to find the butter,” she murmured to herself.

Across the room, her eyes fell onto an icebox. She hurried to it and found exactly what she was looking for. Butter, milk, even cheese, stared back at her and her mouth watered as she removed them from the box. Ten minutes later, Beth proudly sat before a plate of buttered bread and cheese and a glass of cold milk. She might have preferred it warm, but since she’d hardly even seen a stove until now, she thought it best to avoid it altogether. She could tolerate cold milk if it meant her home remained standing.

When she was finished with her repast, Beth considered taking a walk to the west wing. It probably wasn’t the best idea to go traipsing about haunted rooms in the middle of the night, but her curiosity won out, yet again, over logic. So, she left the remains of her meal on the kitchen table and scurried through the house to the west wing.

The temperature dropped considerably when she reached the top of the landing. The dark shadows of the abandoned hall sent shivers up her spine and told her to turn back, but she couldn’t. She wanted to find out more about her ghost and why she haunted that wing of the house.

Besides, she told herself, a ghost can’t harm you. It’s not as if they can grab on to a candlestick and knock you over the head.

This thought made her remember the night she’d thrown the candlestick at Michael. It wasn’t very well done of her, and she grimaced at the memory. Yes, she had been far too hard on him in the beginning. But things were better now. So much better.

A smile came to Beth’s lips. They had certainly found common ground in the bedroom.

As she approached the door to the antechamber where her ghost apparently spent most of her time, she realized she was trembling. It was cold, but even worse were her nerves. She really should have turned back to seek the safety of her husband’s arms, but she didn’t. Instead, she pushed open the door and stepped cautiously inside. The curtains were drawn, so the space was black as pitch, except for the tiny bit of light her candle put off.

Empty. The space was completely empty. No sign of a ghost tonight. Beth let out a sigh of both relief and disappointment, before turning on her spot to leave the room. She hadn’t taken two steps before a gust of cold air came from behind her, extinguishing her candle.

Beth stopped in her tracks and tried to calm her heart as the hairs on the back of her neck tingled and stood on end. She attempted to drag in a deep breath, but the air refused to go lower than her chest. She silently commanded her feet to move, but they remained frozen to their spot on the worn Oriental rug.

“Elizabeth,” a feminine voice called to her. Though it sounded so far away and so close at the same time, she wasn’t sure if it was real or not.

“Wh-who are you?” Beth asked, startling herself with how loud and present she sounded in comparison with the other voice.

“Who I am is not important.”

If the ghost would not answer one question, Beth would try another. “Then why are you here?”

“Why do you not look at me, Elizabeth? I need you to look at me.”

Beth began to shake almost convulsively with fear. She could do this. She could look at her, and she would be brave. With jerky movements out of her control, Beth turned slowly around. Before her floated the apparition of a woman—the woman she recognized from before. Her flame-red hair fanned into a glorious halo around her head and her white gown rippled about her transparent body. Beth stared at her, unable to take her eyes from the woman’s face, but then she spoke again.

“Look at me, Elizabeth. Tell me what has happened.” The woman gestured to the lower part of her body and Beth had no choice but to look. But she wished immediately that she had not.

The white gown that looked so ethereal on the upper half of her body, turned to a dark red below. It wasn’t difficult to see that it was blood that not only stained the gown, but that continued to gush forth, soiling the carpet of the antechamber.

Beth could hear her own whimpering as she stared at the woman, horrified. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. She could only stand there, staring, wanting to run, wanting to scream, but unable to accomplish either task. She felt as though the wind had been knocked clean out of her, and in the next moment, she was gasping for air, struggling to maintain consciousness.

“Elizabeth…Elizabeth…”

The ghost held her arms out to her, beckoning her to come closer. Asking for her help.

“Elizabeth…Elizabeth…”

“No!”

***

“Elizabeth, darling, what is it?” Michael asked as he gently tried to shake his wife awake.

Concern had settled in his belly as she cried and thrashed about against the kitchen table, refusing to wake from her apparent nightmare. But now her eyes were open and she was staring at him with a wild look that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Michael?” she asked, as if they’d not seen each other in years.

“Yes, darling, it’s me.” He shushed her and pulled her into his arms. “Mrs. Kerr came to find me after she saw you were sleeping on the table. What the devil happened?”

“I...I don’t really know.” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder, but he refused to let her go. Her body still trembled with fright and cold. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came here to get something to eat.”

“You must have fallen asleep, then,” Michael said, stroking her hair.

“No.”

Michael pulled back, astonished at the sudden change in her tone. She looked completely composed, as if she’d finally woken up. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no. I didn’t fall asleep, Michael. I went to the west wing and...I saw her.”

Her. “You mean the ghost,” he confirmed with a skeptical tilt to his question.

“Yes, of course! Who else would I have seen at four in the morning in the west wing?”

“Darling,” Michael said, softening his tone and leaning down so he could look her in the eye. “I’m not saying that I don’t believe she exists...I promise I’m not. But, perhaps this time, it was only a dream.”

“But it felt so real,” she whispered, a terrified look in her eyes.

Michael stared back at his wife, wondering how he could make her feel better. How he might take her mind from the horrific nightmare she’d just suffered. He didn’t have many options at his disposal. As they sat there in the kitchen, John was preparing to leave again for London, and Bonnie was moping about the house, looking like a corpse. How the devil had she formed such an attachment already?

He had to tell her. She’d never forgive him if her brother left without her knowing, without saying goodbye.

“I came to find you,” he said tentatively, “because John is leaving soon.”

“Leaving?”

“Yes. Remember? We gave him the choice to serve in our household or go back home. He’s apparently chosen home.”

Beth put her hand to her cheek, the wheels in her head obviously in motion. “Home,” she repeated. “Yes, home. Of course!”

She jumped from the chair and moved past him, her nightrail billowing behind her. He followed her out the door and up the stairs until they reached their suite of rooms, wondering what the devil she was about all of a sudden.

“Beth?” He said her name several times, but she paid him no heed. She merely set about her chamber, pulling things at random from her drawers.

“Please call for Bonnie,” she said.

“Beth, what the hell are you doing?”

“Leaving.”

Michael’s heart stopped at that one simple word. Leaving. Leaving what? Him? And where was she going?
He stalked across the room and grabbed her by the shoulders. For the first time all morning, she looked at him. Really looked at him. Not through him, which he assumed must be a good sign.

“Please talk to me,” he begged. “Where are you going? And why?”

“I want to go home.” Her lower lip trembled suddenly, and her eyes filled with tears. “I just want to go home.”

Twenty-Six

Michael stared at his wife, unsure of what to do. She wanted to go home? But this was her home. Their home! He hated to deny her, especially in her current state, but he couldn't acquiesce to this request. They hadn't even been in Scotland for two weeks. They'd just hired a staff of thirty. And Lord knew what horrors would await them in London between their odd marriage and her brother's latest exploits.

“I'm sorry, Beth,” he said quietly as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “We're not going anywhere.”

“You may do whatever you like, Michael, but I'm leaving with my brother this morning. I can't stay here another night.”

She tried to pull away from him, but he refused to let go. “Beth, listen to me. You had a dream. We are not going to flee the country—flee our home—because you had a bad dream.”

Her lower lip began to tremble again and Michael felt like the biggest bastard to ever walk the earth. He tried to pull her to him, but she resisted and pushed away. She cried as Michael stood lamely by, wishing this horrible feeling of helplessness would go away. Wishing he knew just what to do or say to make her stop crying.

“It wasn't a dream,” she finally said. “And if it was, then I'm never going to sleep again as long as I'm in this house.”

My, but she had a way of piling on the guilt with completely irrational notions.

“Beth, I think we need to talk about this. You can't just up and leave me. I thought...I...”

She turned to him, blinking back more tears and wiping at the ones on her cheek with her hand. “You wouldn't come with me?”

“No,” he said, moving to be closer to her, drawn by an innate desire to comfort her. “We have worked too hard to make this place feel like a home. I'm not ready to go yet.”

“But—”

“I love you, Beth, and I will do everything in my power to get you through the night, but I will not flee this house. And I will not allow you too, either.”

“You can't stop me,” she blurt out defiantly.

“Good Lord, Beth, stop this nonsense! You're a grown woman, yet the things you say sometimes make me think otherwise.”

“How dare you!” Her face turned a bright shade of red and her eyes burned with animosity.

Damn. If he wasn't careful, he'd get another candlestick thrown at him.

“I will leave this morning with my brother, whether you like it or not. Now please remove yourself from my chamber.” She crossed to the door and flung it open with an angry flourish.

Michael stared at her for a moment before accepting defeat and leaving the room.

***

Michael wandered the house, at a complete loss for what to do with himself. He'd clearly lost control of the situation and he didn't like the feeling one bit. How could she make such a rash decision to leave him? And why did he not have any say in the matter?     Damn it, but this whole thing was ridiculous! A ghost! A ghost in a dream, for Christ’s sake, was about to send his wife fleeing the country without him. What kind of message would that send to the ton for his wife to return to London alone after mere weeks?

He continued through the halls, wandering wherever his feet decided to take him, but he halted when he heard muffled voices coming from the library. Curious, he pressed his ear to the thick door.

“I promise to make it worth your while,” said a female voice. “Just please don't leave yet.”

An exasperated sigh came from the other party. “You don't understand, Bonnie. I'm going to be an earl! I can't spend my days serving other people. I'm supposed to be served to.”

Michael listened intently, trying not to laugh at John's diatribe. Such a prideful young man, with little to have pride in. So far he'd proved to be nothing but a wastrel and a rake.

“I know that,” Bonnie went on. “But who will know of your time here? Besides, you might find it to be quite an adventure...maybe even freeing from the shackles of society!”

John laughed at Bonnie's impassioned speech, but Michael rather thought the girl had it right. Being in society's spotlight was exhausting and oftentimes stifling. How many times had Michael wished he could disappear? Or at least blend into the background, unnoticed by debutants and their mothers or the society gossips or even his own family. Now he thought about it, his time in Scotland so far had been rather enjoyable.

“There is nothing binding about being in line for a title,” John told her. “However, you do make a point. I could look at this as an adventure. A chance to prove I'm more than just my future title.”

“Yes!” cried Bonnie enthusiastically.

Michael chuckled quietly behind the door. Beth would have his head if she knew he had an opportunity to stop this particular conversation. Last night, he might have been willing. This morning, there wasn't a chance in Hell he was going to attempt to make John leave Scotland. If he and Bonnie wanted to dally with one another, he wasn't going to stop them. Because keeping John there meant keeping his wife there.

***

“You rang, milady?”

Bonnie stood at the door to Beth's bedchamber, her eyes scanning over the contents of the armoire strewn about the furniture.

“I did. I need your help packing.”

“Are we going somewhere?” the girl asked.

“As a matter of fact, I am going somewhere. Back to London with John. I'm afraid this life just isn't for me.” Beth ignored the fact that she'd actually been growing accustomed to her life there, despite the fact it had only been a couple of weeks. She chose to focus on the fact that she was being haunted, and would continue to be haunted, if she stayed in this house.

“But, milady—”

“Bonnie, will you give me a moment alone with my wife, please?”

Bonnie turned abruptly as Beth looked up from her trunk. Michael stood in the doorway, his face expressionless.

As the maid ducked out of the room, Beth pursed her lips and leveled her husband with an annoyed glare. “If you've come to try and change my mind, you're wasting your time.”

“It's not a matter of changing your mind, my dear,” he said as he sauntered into the room. “It's a simple matter of you're not going.”

“You will not bully me, Michael Wetherby! I told you that as long as I stay here, she will haunt me! I want to go home!” Beth's hands shook by this point, the memory of her ghostly encounter replaying in her mind. How dare he tell her she must stay here?

“Beth, this is no longer up for discussion,” he said, quieting his tone and moving in closer to her. “Your brother has decided to stay here after all. There is no one to take you back to London, and I'm certainly not going to send you there alone.”

Her mouth dropped in disbelief. “He...what?”

“He's changed his mind. I suppose he realizes the fate that awaits him in London is far worse than playing a servant in a small household.”

“But...” Beth's lip started to tremble of its own volition and she willed it to stop. She would not cry again! She was made of stronger stuff than that. That blasted ghost had her feeling all out of sorts.

“Shhh,” Michael warned, putting a finger to her lip to keep it from trembling. “I do have another idea, Beth. You just have to trust me.”

Beth looked up at her husband and met his warm brown eyes. How could she not trust him? Clearly he was concerned about her. Perhaps it was best she give in and let him figure out what to do with the blasted ghost.

***

“All right,” she said at last. “I trust you.”

Michael let out a long breath. He'd been terrified that she would say no and force him to take her back to London. Of course, he wasn't about to do that, and Lord knew what further turmoil that would bring.

“I've heard there are people who can...shall we say, remove ghosts.”

“Remove them?”

“Yes. You know, make them go away. Send them to the other world, their final resting place...I don't know, just get them out of our home!”

Beth stared up at him, a smile tilting her lips up, her eyes shining with sudden adoration. He couldn't help but smile back. Clearly, he'd done something right for a change.

“You would do that for me?” she asked. “I thought you didn't even believe the ghost was real.”

He nodded at her, knowing he wore a silly grin. “I would do anything for you, Beth. Haven't you figured that out yet?”

“You wouldn't take me back to London,” she reminded him with a tilt to her head and a lift of her eyebrows.

“All right, almost anything,” he amended. “Can I help it if I like having you all to myself up here, away from Society and family and civilization of any kind.”

Beth giggled as he pulled her into his arms. “I suppose not.”

They stayed that way for a moment until Beth pulled away. “Well, I'd better get these things cleaned up then.” She yawned loudly. “And perhaps go back to bed for a bit.”

“Of course, darling.” Michael kissed her on the forehead. “I love you, my darling girl.”

She smiled wide at him and said, “I love you, too.”

And then he left the room to allow his wife to get some much-needed rest.

Twenty-Seven

Following Beth’s nap, which was blessedly without dreams, she made her way downstairs, hoping she wasn’t too late for lunch. She found Michael in the dining room, almost finished with his meal. He smiled up at her as she entered the room and then stood to pull out her chair.

“Are you hungry?” he asked as she took her seat.

“Famished. Do you think there’s any left?”

“I made sure of it,” Michael told her as he picked up the little bell and rang for Mrs. Kerr.

Once they’d asked for her lunch, Beth leaned over and placed her forearms on the table. Michael gave her a questioning lift of one eyebrow and she opened her mouth to pose her important question. However, before she could say a word, Mrs. Kerr came bustling back through the door, a steaming plate of something Beth couldn’t quite identify in her hand.

“Here ya are, milady. Will ya be needin’ anything else?”

Beth wanted to ask what it was she was about to eat, but the woman looked rather harried, so she held her tongue. “That will be all, Mrs. Kerr. Thank you.”

With that, the woman escaped through the servant’s entrance and disappeared.

Beth looked down at her plate and studied the odd concoction piled there. It looked more like it belonged in a chamberpot than on a dinner table.

“You had a question for me?” Michael asked.

She poked at the supposed food as she asked, “Yes. What the devil is this?” Michael burst into laughter, and Beth finally looked up from the plate. “What is so funny? This looks absolutely dreadful, and I can’t say I enjoy the smell much, either.”

“It’s haggis, darling, a traditional Scottish delicacy. Try it,” he urged.

Beth crinkled her nose as she scooped a bit of the food onto her fork and brought it to her mouth. But before she could take a bite, the smell accosted her nose and triggered a gag in her throat.  She put her hand to her mouth as she put the fork back to the plate and pushed it away.

“I can’t,” she said, her voice muffled with her hand. “It smells awful!”

“All right, then. We’ll ask Mrs. Kerr to bring you something else.” Michael rang the bell again, and within moments a frantic Mrs. Kerr stood in the doorway.

“You rang, milord?”

“The haggis is turning her stomach, Mrs. Kerr. She’s not used to your hearty cuisine. Perhaps you have something else for my bride.”

A wide smile broke out on the woman’s face and she nodded knowingly as she retrieved the plate. “Completely natural, milady. I’ll fetch you something more conducive to your state.”

Michael and Beth stared dumbfounded at the spot where Mrs. Kerr had stood moments before. And then they burst into laughter.

“Are we ever going to tell her that I’m not with child?” Beth asked as she wiped tears of mirth from her eyes.

“I suppose she’ll find out eventually. It is rather cruel to lead her on, though, isn’t it?”

They both clamped their mouths shut as the housekeeper burst through the door, another plate in hand. This time, she set a near-empty dish before Beth.

Beth stared at it in disbelief. Two slices of toast and a small bowl of plain broth were all the woman had given her. Good Lord, she’d starve if they didn’t say something soon.

“There now,” the woman began, “this should go down just fine. Bland. That’s the key for a woman in your condition.”
And then she was gone again. Beth looked up to see that Michael was about to fall out of his chair, he was laughing so hard. His body shook as he tried to hold it in, but when she gave him a disapproving glare, that was apparently his undoing.

“I don’t find this funny in the least,” she said.

He shook his head and attempted to compose himself. Finally, he was able to look at her without bursting into laughter.

“You’re right,” he choked out. “Not at all funny. How about I steal some sweet biscuits from the kitchen later and bring them to you? Hopefully that will hold you until dinner tonight.”

Beth smiled. “Biscuits would be lovely.” She bit into her dry toast and then turned back to Michael. “Now, I want to know more about this ‘removal’ you plan to do of my ghost.”

“All right...what is it you want to know?”

“Well, I was wondering if perhaps the same person who removes the ghosts can also speak with the ghosts?” Her voice had turned thin and sing-songy for she knew Michael would think her silly for wanting to contact the ghost.

As expected, he rolled his eyes. “Beth, you wanted to flee to London a few hours ago because the ghost scared you. Now you want to talk to the ghost?”

“It’s just that...well, she seemed to be awfully confused last night. She kept asking me what happened to her, and part of me wants to know.” She took another hasty bite of toast and continued talking, too worked up to care that her mouth was full. “What if she has unfinished business? What if she’s trying to tell me something? Should we just get rid of her, without first trying to find out why she’s here in the first place?”

“Good Lord, Beth, you want to have a séance, don’t you?”

She shrugged her shoulders and gave him a sheepish smile. “It couldn’t hurt, could it?”

Michael leaned back with an exasperated sigh. “Of course not,” he said sarcastically. “How could it possibly hurt?”

***

“Ah, there you are!” Michael burst through the kitchen door, startling Mrs. Kerr and the other two girls at work.

“I’m sorry, milord. I didn’t hear you ring,” the woman said as she dusted flour from her hands.

“I didn’t,” Michael said. “I had a question for you, but I hoped to perhaps steal a biscuit or two as well.” He gave her a boyish grin, one he was sure would remind her of him as a boy. One she wouldn’t be able to resist.

As expected, she gave him a motherly smile and moved to the other side of the kitchen. “Of course you can have a biscuit or two. I’ll even send some up to your lovely bride, if you think she can stomach them.”

“Ahem…about that, Mrs. Kerr. I think perhaps—”

“Oh, I just love babies. It’s a shame our Maggie didn’t live long enough to give us grandchildren.” Mrs. Kerr stopped in the motion of setting biscuits on a plate to stare wistfully out the window. “I hope ya don’t mind, but I think of you and Lady Wetherby as something akin to family. Your babe will be the closest we’ll get to havin’ grandchildren.”

Oh, good Lord! What was he to say now? He couldn’t tell the woman she was mistaken. Not only would it make her look like a fool for having jumped to such a conclusion, but it would break her heart. How could he do that to a poor old woman?

“I don’t mind at all, Mrs. Kerr,” he said at last.

She smiled at him as she brought the biscuits to the counter and pulled out the stool. “Have a seat, milord. Now, what was it you wanted to ask me about?”

Michael bit into the sweet, crumbly confection and nearly forgot what he was about. Once he’d savored and swallowed the first buttery bite, he posed his inquiry. “I need to employ the services of a certain type of person, whose profession may be considered…um…”

A wooden spoon clattered to the floor and Michael looked up to see Mrs. Kerr glaring at him. What had he said?

“I can’t believe ya, Lord Michael. Coming to me with such a question. We’re good, Christian folk here, and it’ll be a cold day in Hell before I give ya a name and address of such a person.”

Michael stared at the woman, dumbfounded. How did she know what he was going to ask? And why was she so angry about it? “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kerr, I thought it was common practice here in the Highlands. At least, that’s what I heard.”

“Common practice, indeed!” She threw up her hands and then leveled Michael with a scolding stare. “Why? Because we’re uncivilized? We’re all heathens, is that it?”

“No!” Michael shouted. “That’s not what I meant…that is…I’m sorry I asked. Truly!”

“You had better be, young man,” she said as she took away the plate of biscuits.

Michael stood lamely from the stool, feeling very much like a naughty little boy who’d been sent to his room. He wanted to apologize—to clarify at least—but it was clear Mrs. Kerr wanted nothing to do with him at the moment. She ignored him completely as she began giving orders to the kitchen maids, who both avoided making eye contact with him.

Hanging his head, Michael left the kitchen and went to his study to think about what he’d done.

***

Beth looked up when she heard the scratch on her door. “Enter,” she called, and Mrs. Kerr stepped into the room.

The housekeeper’s hands were full—a plate piled high with biscuits in one hand, and what smelled like a cup of steaming chocolate in the other. Beth’s stomach grumbled and she was sure she must be drooling. Thank heaven Michael had come through on his promise.

“Are those for me?” she asked sweetly as Mrs. Kerr placed them on the small table in front of her.

“Indeed they are, you poor dear.” She tsked three times and gave Beth a pitying glance. “I just hope you can keep them down. Lord knows Margaret couldn’t eat hardly a thing for weeks. But I’m sure you’ll get to feeling better soon, dearie. This stage usually only lasts a couple months at most.”

A couple months? For goodness sake! Beth became more and more convinced that being pregnant was not at all something she looked forward to.

“Actually, I’m feeling much better, Mrs. Kerr.” She took a demonstrative bite of her cookie and swig of her chocolate, then smiled wide at the older woman. “See? I’m just fine!”

“Aw, that’s nice, dear. You enjoy then.”

Mrs. Kerr turned to leave, but Beth stopped her. “Have you seen my husband this afternoon?” she asked.

The housekeeper straightened her spine and turned back to face Beth. “I have, milady.”

“Oh,” Beth replied. “Did he ask you about the medium?”

“The…I beg your pardon, milady, did you say medium?”

“Yes, I did.” Beth watched as the woman’s face went through several expressions and finally landed on a mixture of ashamed and amused.

“Ah, he did, milady…if you will excuse me, I…” She bowed out of the room and closed the door quickly behind her.

“What in the world just happened?” Beth wondered aloud. But then, deciding her stomach was more important than Mrs. Kerr’s odd behavior, she delved into her afternoon repast.

***

Michael was pouring his second tumbler of scotch when Mrs. Kerr poked her head into his study.

“Might I have a word, milord?”

“Come to scold me a bit more, have you?” he asked, but softened his tone with a smile. He was glad she had come to him. After thinking things through a bit, he came to realize there might have been a misunderstanding.

“Actually, I’ve come to apologize. I think I may have taken quite the wrong meaning from your question today.” She picked at her fingernails as she shifted from foot to foot on the plush carpet. “Lady Elizabeth told me you were hoping to find a medium, not a…um…well, you know,” she finished.

Michael laughed. “A simple misunderstanding, Mrs. Kerr. You need not worry about it. Though I would very much like the name and address of a medium, if you know of one, that is.”

“I didn’t know ya had need of one, milord.”
“Yes, well, my wife can’t seem to sleep at night thanks to a ghost, she says.

“A ghost, milord?”

“Haunts the west wing supposedly, though I’ve never seen her.” He set his tumbler down to retrieve paper from his desk. “Beth wanted to go back to London, but I’ve convinced her to stay, so long as I hire a medium to first talk with the ghost and then get rid of her.”

“Well, ya can’t just rid a place of ghosts,” Mrs. Kerr said with an authoritative edge to her voice. “They are where they are because they need to be there.”

“Yes, yes,” Michael agreed. “Unfinished business and all that. Either way, I want the ghost gone before I’m forced to send my wife to Bedlam.”

There was a moment of silence before Mrs. Kerr finally spoke. “I do know of a woman, milord,” she said, her voice sounding resigned. “You’ll find her on the other side of Inverness, just outside of town. Her name is Madam Rosa, and she’s well known in these parts. I’ve no doubt she’ll…get the job done.”

Michael finished writing the medium’s name and instructions on where to find her, grateful that it wouldn’t be too difficult. When he looked up to dismiss Mrs. Kerr, she was no longer there.

Twenty-Eight

“Are you sure this is the place?” Beth asked as the carriage pulled up to a small cottage.

Ivy grew up every wall and a white picket fence enclosed a lovely little garden. It certainly didn't look like somewhere a medium might live. Beth had half expected to find a dilapidated little shack with garlic cloves hanging on the front door.

“Caoin House,” Michael said. “That's what the sign says.”

Beth nodded her head and then flipped the latch to open the door. “Let's go, then, shall we?”

They alighted the carriage and walked through the gate, then walked quietly to the front door. Michael knocked and they waited.

Silence.

“Perhaps she is not home,” he suggested.

“No, no, she must be!” Beth exclaimed, disappointment settling in her belly. They'd come all this way; she just had to be there.

“It's all right, darling,” Michael soothed. “We'll have some lunch in the city and set up our lodgings for the night. I'm sure she'll be here by the time we return.”

Beth blinked up at her husband. “Lodgings? You mean we're not going home tonight?”

He gave her a satisfied grin and pulled her close. She reveled in the feel of his arms around her, of the smell of his cologne, and of the fact that he'd planned a surprise for her. A night in a cozy inn, without a visit from the ghost, would be most welcome.

“It's a long ride back home, and in your current condition...”

“Oh, hush!” Beth said, giggling as she delivered a playful smack to his chest.

He clasped her hand in his and tightened his other arm around her back, before lowering his lips to hers. Beth melted into the kiss, losing herself to the tender play of his tongue.

“Do you make a habit of knocking on people's doors and then using their stoop for your own hedonistic ways?”

Beth squeezed her husband's hand tight as they both stilled and slowly pulled away. Mortification began in her toes and inched it's way up, until her cheeks were aflame. She wasn't sure she'd ever been so embarrassed in her life.

They turned to face the woman, assumedly Madam Rosa, but she had already disappeared inside the house.

“Come in,” she urged, her voice far away now.

Michael, his cheeks aflame as well, gestured for Beth to go first. She gave a slight twitch of her head and moved behind him to push him through the door. He resisted, like a cat might resist a bath, and silently evaded her by maneuvering to the side and moving behind her. This behavior might have continued all day, but Madam Rosa put a stop to it.

“I haven't that much time,” she called, and Beth began to wonder what other appointments a medium might have in a day: talking to spirits, predicting someone's future, analyzing someone's past...it all sounded very exhausting, so Beth decided to be grown up about the whole thing. The woman was probably very busy.

She marched into the foyer and followed the sounds of clanking china until she found the parlor. Madam Rosa was setting out tea service. Three slices of cake had already been cut and placed on the table in the middle of the sitting area. Beth had expected they'd convene over a crystal ball, but she liked this much better.

“I was expecting you...please have a seat.” She indicated the sofa across from her and then placed the teacups next to the slices of cake.

Beth and Michael settled in and began to eat at the woman's urging. Madam Rosa took a few bites of cake and a sip of her tea before finally saying something.

“I was wondering when I would receive a visit from the two of you,” she began.

“How did you know we would come?” Beth wondered.

The woman gave her a placating smile. “I know a lot, my dear. But mostly I knew because your home is renowned for its other-worldly activity. The name alone says a great deal.”

Michael cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably beside her. When she turned to him, he appeared to be trying to send a silent message to the medium.

Madam Rosa gave an amused smile. “It appears your husband doesn't want you to know the meaning of your home's name.”

Beth gave Michael an incredulous look. “You mean you know what it means?” She couldn't quite believe he'd been keeping it from her, even after she'd asked him about it.

“I just didn't want to frighten you any more than you already were,” he confessed.

“Ah,” came Madam Rosa's voice and they both turned to her. “But you forget, my lord, that knowledge can be empowering. Perhaps knowing that your house is indeed named Ghost House might bring some comfort to your wife.”

Beth's mouth dropped open at this news. Ghost House? Good Lord, he'd brought her to a haunted home! A home he knew was haunted and he'd chosen not to tell her.

“Your parents came to me when you were just a boy, Lord Michael,” Madam Rosa continued as Beth grappled with her newfound knowledge. “Your mother was convinced, much like your wife, that she was being haunted. Your father was eager to exorcise the house, so that your time in Scotland might be peaceful.”

“And what happened?” Michael asked.

The medium stayed silent for a moment before finally admitting, “It couldn't be done.”

“That's why we stopped coming to Scotland, isn't it?”

“That I don't know,” Madam Rosa said. “You would have to ask your parents about that.”

“You say it can't be done,” Beth finally piped up, now she'd regained her tongue. “Do you mean to say we are stuck with the ghost?”

“I mean to say that I will do all that is in my power to help you, but I cannot make promises, milady. Spirits have a will of their own, and if they have unfinished business...”

“They'll stay until it's done,” Beth finished.

***

Michael listened intently as Beth described every one of her ghostly encounters. He felt something like a cad for never having asked her about them himself. In truth, her stories didn't sound made up. How could one invent such horrifying things? And why? Beth was prone to flights of fancy, but she wasn't so harebrained to make up these tall tales.

Perhaps he'd been too quick to judge. Too quick to dismiss her concerns. But he was here now, wasn't he? That had to count for something.

Instinctively, he reached over and took her hand. Her fingers were cold, so he held them tightly in his own. She squeezed back and Michael took it as a sign of her gratitude. It couldn't be easy to recount these stories.

“So, tell me, milady. What do you want me to do for you?” Madam Rosa asked as Beth came to the end of her story.

Beth paused a moment to think before answering. “I would like to know who she is. Her purpose for being in the house, perhaps. I would like to help her finish her unfinished business, if that's possible.”

“My wife wants to have a séance, Madam Rosa,” Michael finally said.

The woman stacked the tea and cake dishes and placed them back on the cart. Then she sat silently for a moment. “I will do this séance, Lady Wetherby, but you must understand the ramifications of such a ceremony.”

Beth leaned forward slightly. Michael kept a firm hold of her hand.

“It's an emotional thing, a séance. You may learn things that are better not known. You must decide if you are both prepared for such an event.”

“I am!” Beth told her. “I've given it much thought. I need to know who she is, Madam Rosa.”

Michael fought the urge to warn her further. He had a feeling this wasn't a battle he could ever win. Besides, they were here, and it would be a great disappointment to not use the woman's services now.

“It is three weeks until the next full moon. This is when we will conduct the séance.”

“Three weeks?” Michael interrupted. “Can't we do it any sooner than that?”

“No.” The woman leveled him with a serious stare. “The full moon promotes spirit activity, and one needs all the help they can get, especially in such a...difficult environment.”

Beth looked at him, her eyes wary. Clearly she was terrified of three more weeks living with the ghost. He squeezed her hand again and said with his eyes what he couldn't say aloud: that he would protect her and do his best to keep her safe from ghostly encounters. He would have added that she could help him by not wandering about the west wing in the middle of the night, but he wasn't sure he could convey that with just a look.

“We will need at least one more person for the séance. Mr. and Mrs. Kerr should be present as they've been in the house nearly all their lives. Have you any family at Dunbocan?”

Beth nodded. “My brother, though I don't know if he will be here by the time we hold the séance.”

Madam Rosa gave a little smile, as if she knew something the rest of them didn't. “He'll be there,” she said. “Make sure he is present as well.”

The medium stood then, and Michael and Beth followed suit. Michael put his hand to the small of Beth’s back as they made their way to the front door of the small cottage.

Before they left though, Michael posed one more question to the woman. “Is there anything we can do until the séance to...”

“Protect her from her dreams?” she finished for him. “Wait here.”

She disappeared into another room off the hallway. Michael turned to his wife and pulled her into his arms.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He pulled back a bit so he could look into her terrified blue eyes. “It's the least I could do after the way I've been. I'm sorry I didn't believe you before. It's all a little fantastical, you know?”

“I know.” She burrowed into his chest and he kissed her forehead, but they jumped apart as Madam Rosa burst into the hallway.

“Now,” she said as she approached, carrying three small bags. “This one—” she held up the first bag, which was tied at the top with a yellow ribbon “—is a tea to be drunk before bed. This—” she held out the second bag, tied with a blue ribbon “—is for your bath water. You must take a bath in this every evening. And finally—” the last bag she held up bore a crimson ribbon “—you will rub this onto the outside of your bedchamber door once you are in for the evening. You must not leave once you have done this. And you must be careful not to confuse the potions. Rue can be poisonous if you ingest too much.”

Beth nodded as Michael took the three bags from Madam Rosa. They thanked her for her time and her help, and then left the cottage.

Twenty-Nine

“Oh, Michael, this is charming!” Beth exclaimed as she crossed the threshold into their room at the inn.

Their bags, which Michael had apparently ordered Bonnie to pack for her, had already been delivered while they were eating dinner, and a fire roared in the fireplace. The walls were painted with yellow and white stripes, and dark pink roses accented the pale motif. It was incredibly feminine and made Beth want to squeal with joy. She'd never seen an inn room quite like it.

“They call it the Rose Suite,” Michael told her as he leaned against the threshold. “It's typically reserved for newly married couples, so I may have fibbed a bit to secure it.”

Beth smiled wide at him, feeling her heart expand with love and gratitude. If she'd ever harbored any doubts about whether or not she'd married the right twin, she certainly didn't now.

“Oh, Michael, it's beautiful,” she said, her voice low as she sauntered across the room to him. Without a word, she stood up on her tiptoes, grabbed him around the neck and pulled his lips to hers.

He tasted like the wine they'd had at dinner. His cologne had worn off, so now he smelled distinctly like Michael. Beth's senses were aroused at once, and she pressed her body into his, thrilling when he clasped her tightly behind her back.

They stayed that way in the doorway until they heard someone coming, then Michael swiftly broke the kiss and ushered her inside the room. Beth could hardly breathe; she was so overwhelmed by his tender and passionate assault on her lips. She wanted more.

When he turned around, Beth pushed him up against the door and attempted another kiss. But Michael pulled back with a little laugh.

“Patience, my dear,” he advised. “We have all night. But first, I have something for you.”

“For me?” she asked.

“Of course for you. Now go sit down on the bed while I retrieve it from my bag.”

She did as she was told and watched while Michael rummaged around in the large carpetbag for her present. The heels of her feet drummed steadily against the baseboard of the bed as she anticipated the surprise.

Finally, Michael procured a small package tied with a pink ribbon and handed to her.

“I meant to give this as a wedding present, but, well...”

Beth gave him a sheepish smile and took the present. Carefully, she untied the ribbon and then unwrapped the paper to reveal a mound of white gauze and lace. She stared at it, uncomprehending. He'd bought her a nightrail. A nightrail that one could see straight through. She’s been nude before him on several occasions now, so she couldn’t understand why her heartbeat sped at the thought of donning this gown for him.

“Don't you like it?” Michael asked, when she'd apparently been silent too long.

Beth gulped. “I-I...” She felt her cheeks grow warm, along with the rest of her; namely the now-moist spot between her legs. “Should I...put it on?”

Michael smiled and stepped aside for her. Beth stood and made her way to the washroom, grateful she didn't have to change her clothes in front of Michael. She would need a moment to gather her courage to walk out in this particular garment. On second thought...

“Bonnie didn't happen to send my robe, did she?”

“Oh.” Michael's eyes widened at her suggestion. “Well, I suppose she may have. I can—”

“I'm chilly!” Beth exclaimed, not wanting her husband to think she didn't love the gift. “And the gown, well...it's lovely, really, but there's not much to it.”

Silently, Michael dug into the carpetbag and pulled out his own robe. “I won't be needing it,” he said with a roguish grin.

Beth took the robe and slipped into the washroom, trying to hide her excitement for what was to come. But as she donned the scandalous gown, which she had to admit made her feel quite beautiful, her mind wandered to Dunbocan and her brother. Was it safe to leave him there with Bonnie alone and unchaperoned?

Thoughts of the two of them niggled at her and by the time she emerged from the washroom, she wasn't so sure staying the night would be a good idea.

***

Michael looked up as his wife appeared in the doorway from the washroom. She'd donned the nightrail, but it remained covered by his silk robe. He could smell her alluring perfume from his position on the bed and her hair tumbled about her shoulders in a cascade of golden waves. Unfortunately, her freshly scrubbed face bore an awful scowl.

“Do you think they’ll keep to themselves, Michael?”

“You mean your brother and Bonnie? Of course they will, dearest,” he assured her. “Your brother’s been warned and Bonnie is far too smart to be taken in by a rake such as him.”

“Do you think it was a wise idea to leave them there...alone?”

With a sigh, he rolled off the bed and crossed the room to stand before her. “Beth, my love—”

“Perhaps we should go back. I mean, this is lovely and all, and Lord knows I need a night without the ghost, but I can't help feeling that...”

“It's far too late to head back now, Beth.”

“But—”

“Shhh...” He ran his fingers through her hair until he cupped the back of her head. Slowly, he drew her to him and clamped his lips over hers. She melted into him and returned the kiss...for a moment anyhow.

“But what if something happens?”

“It's not our responsibility,” Michael replied, his words muffled as he continued to feast on her lips.

“This really is serious, Michael!” she said, pulling clean away from him. “What if they...?”

“Go on. What if they what?”

Beth’s cheeks colored a delightful shade of pink. “You know...what if they...um...”

“Play whist?” he suggested as he plopped back down on the bed. He held his booted foot up as an invitation for her assistance.

Exasperated, she crossed the room and straddled his leg. “Don’t be difficult. You know very well what I mean.”

“Ah, of course. You’re worried they’ll read aloud to one another into the wee hours of the morning, depriving themselves of valuable sleep.”

Beth turned around and glared daggers at him before she yanked the boot from his foot. Michael gave her his most impish of grins.

“Perhaps he will serenade her until she falls into a dreamless and innocent sleep?”

She pulled the other boot off and threw it to the ground in a huff before trying to escape to the washroom. Michael grabbed her by his robe and halted her progress.

“Let me go!”

He held tight. He hated to treat her like a pup that needed to be brought to heel, but he couldn’t let her continue this way. If John and Bonnie were going to have an illicit liaison, there was nothing either of them could do about it.

“Leave it alone, Beth,” he said, lowering his voice to a warning tone.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she bit back.

“Fine. I’ll tell you what not to do. Do not worry about what your brother and your maid are probably not doing. And do not deny my advances, for I’ve had to be without you all bloody day and I'm desperate to see you in this lovely present I bought you.”

“Michael—” she started to protest, but he was having none of it.

Without further ado, he reached out and grabbed his wife around the waist. He untied the front of the robe and pushed it off her shoulders until it fell to the ground in a heap.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “My God, you look good enough to eat.”

Beth's cheeks colored predictably, and Michael's cock jumped beneath his trousers. Without another word, he hauled her into his lap and they fell back against the mattress. Then he kissed her, until he was sure the only thought left in her head was Michael.

Thirty

The weeks passed with painful slowness for Beth. Waiting for the full moon was tortuous, especially since the visits from the ghost became more frequent.

The woman appeared to Beth, and Beth alone, so far as she knew. It wasn't as if she brought it up to anyone other than her husband, and she was trying to do even that with less frequency. He'd done his duty to her by seeking out Madam Rosa. Beth would just have to be patient and wait until the moon allowed for the séance. She would have all her answers then. Until that time, it wouldn't do for her to worry Michael with the details of every ghostly encounter.

Besides, they'd been far less disturbing than that night she'd seen her after her trip to the kitchen. Beth couldn't seem to stay away from the west wing, and on most occasions, the woman simply reappeared in the mirror, but said nothing. And by the time Beth turned around to try and see her in the flesh, the woman would be gone.

Now, they were mere days away from the séance and Beth's anticipation was mounting. She'd yet to tell her brother or Bonnie , but the Kerrs had asked about their visit with Madam Rosa as soon as they returned home.

She couldn't put it off any longer though, so she sought out her brother, who would no doubt be with Bonnie. Beth had no idea if anything had transpired between them yet, but the two were practically inseparable. John had taken over duties as Michael's valet, since he was intimately familiar with cravat tying and such. This proved to be convenient, since his duties tended to coincide with Bonnie's. They could be found most afternoons hunched over a book in the library. Beth wasn't sure if they were reading or whispering sweet nothings to one another, but at least they were out in the open and not sneaking about behind Beth's back.

One thing was for sure, though: as long as Bonnie was here, John would be too.

As expected, Beth found the pair in the library, sitting opposite one another at a desk, a book sideways between them. Two pair of eyes snapped up to look at her and both stood immediately, Bonnie with a curtsey and John with a nod of his head.

“Were ya needin' something, milady?” Bonnie asked, her cheeks flushed a little pink.

“No, no, I...well, I need to speak with the two of you.” She gestured to the sitting area and they both crossed the room, leaving the book abandoned on the table.

“Is everything all right?” John asked with genuine concern in his tone.

“Everything is fine,” she assured her brother, noting how...mature he seemed to her all of a sudden.

Perhaps she'd done the right thing after all in insisting he serve in their household. Gone was the arrogant lift of his nose and the stubborn set of his jaw. Either he'd learned a valuable lesson or he'd fallen in love, heaven help her!

Tucking those thoughts into the back of her mind for later contemplation, she cleared her throat and leaned forward on her seat. “The thing is,” she began, “is that there is...that is to say, we have...” Oh, goodness, now that she was about to say it, it seemed so very silly! “The house is haunted!” she finally blurted out.

Both John and Bonnie stared back at her, their eyes wide, but with mischievous smiles playing on both their lips.

“Well, that's hardly news, sis,” John said with a little chuckle. “What do you think we've been in here reading about every afternoon?”

Beth felt her jaw unhinge as she stared blankly back at her brother. “You mean, you knew?” She couldn't quite believe they knew of the ghost.

“Forgive me, milady, but the name of your home is Ghost House. And all the cold spots and drafts where there shouldn't be drafts...well, we just assumed. I found that book—” she gestured to the table where the book lay open, “—quite by accident one morning. Practically fell off the bookshelf at me, it did.”

“What book is that?” Beth asked, curious and excited at the same time. Perhaps she'd begin to get some answers even without the séance.

“It's more a journal, really,” John put in. “Generations of inhabitants of this house recorded their other worldly experiences in that book. Most of them were run out of the house by one ghost or another.”

“Some saw fit to have the ghosts exorcised, but no one has ever had the house cleansed, so they keep coming back...the ghosts, that is,” Bonnie added.

“Cleansed? Can a medium perform this task?”

“Not usually,” Bonnie continued. “You'll need a witch.”

“A witch?” Beth couldn't quite believe her ears. Bonnie made it sound as if such people were easy to come by.

“Or a wizard,” Bonnie added, nodding her head enthusiastically. “Mediums don't tend to cast spells and enchantments. They can contact those who have crossed over and ask them to leave, but that's where their powers typically end. A witch can enchant the house to protect from further unwanted guests.”

Beth's head was spinning. How did Bonnie know all of this? And why had the pair of them kept it from her all this time? Enchantments and spells? Michael didn't even really believe in ghosts; trying to convince him they needed a witch to cast a protecting spell over the house was going to be a difficult sell.

“May I...borrow the book?” she asked.

“Of course!” John jumped from his seat to retrieve the book.

By the time he returned, Beth remembered the initial purpose of this interview.     “Thank you,” she said, taking the book from him. “I did come here for a reason, though. We are going to have a séance in three days' time. Madam Rosa will come when the moon is full and will contact our ghost. Hopefully she will be able to rid us of her, because heaven knows I can't take many more sleepless nights. And then I will speak with Michael about a...a witch, I suppose.”

“A fine idea, milady.”

“Thank you,” Beth said. “Madam Rosa has requested we gather the staff who are closest to us, and family too, so both of you will need to be there.”

Bonnie's eyes turned round in her head. “You mean to say, we will be participating?”

“Yes, if you—”

Bonnie let out of a little squeal of obvious excitement. “I've always wanted to be part of one, milady! Thank you!”

Beth smiled at her maid and then met her brother's eyes. “John?” she asked. “Will you join us, then?”

“I wouldn't miss it,” he told her as his gaze turned to the bubbling girl beside him.

Beth fought the urge to laugh at their young love and decided to leave them alone at last. She slipped through the door, making sure to leave it wide open, and then escaped to her chamber to begin reading the book.

***

Beth nestled under the covers and opened the journal to the first entry. Rain beat hard against her window and thunder sounded overhead. She tried to ignore the ominous weather as she began to read.

January 5, 1632

My name is Gwendolyn Laing and I am nineteen years of age. I live in the Highlands and my home is called Cnoc na Sithe or Hill of the Faeries. When I first saw the land upon which my father would build this house, this is what I saw—a hill of beautiful faeries—as it was perhaps the most magical sight I'd ever seen. My father even put the name on the official documents, much to my delight.

However, the house, in all its glory, is not a house of magic and wonder, but a haven for a spirit that refuses to move on. While the house was being built, a man fell from the rafters while painting the west wing. Mama refuses to go to the west wing now and papa even moved his study from there to the main part of the house. The west wing now sits abandoned by everyone but me. I don't mind the ghost. I remember the man when he was alive. His name was Otis, and he was young, with a family, and now he simply remains to make certain they are taken care of. I visit his wife and children often and report back to his spirit. I'm not sure how long this will go on—how many reassurances he will need of his family's well-being, but I will continue to visit until he moves on to his final resting place.

March 15, 1632

Mama and Papa refuse to stay in the house with the ghost. We are leaving and selling the house to a positively wretched family. I fear for Otis and wonder if his spirit will ever move on now.

Beth closed the book, keeping her thumb between the pages to mark her place, and stared out the window. Whatever happened to Otis, she wondered? Clearly his spirit moved on eventually—she would just have to keep reading to find out. Opening the book again, she looked at the next date in the book. June of that same year. The new family was leaving already.

Beware to any who dare purchase this house. Its inhabitants will haunt you for the rest of your days.

A shiver chased down Beth's spine. She continued reading, though, despite the eerie feeling that stole over her. Page after page revealed more and more stories of ghostly inhabitants of this house. For centuries, ghosts had been taking up residence here and driving the living from the land. But Bonnie was right—the house had only been exorcised, never cleansed. She absolutely had to speak with Michael about hiring a witch to perform such a ceremony.

Before she sought him out, though, she turned to the last few pages of the diary and found his own sister’s entry. The handwriting was a bit messy, as if she were in a hurry to commit the story to paper as quickly as possible. Quick math revealed that Katherine could not have been more than ten years old at the time.

September 16, 1806

I regret I must rush to write this! The coaches are being brought ‘round as I write, so that my family might return to England, to our permanent home in Kent. My parents have told us that it is because Father has urgent business in London, but I know this is not the case, as I’ve been eavesdropping on their conversations of late.  Mother has become so frightened by the West Wing Wraith, as I’ve taken to calling her. All summer she has been terrorizing us—moving things from one room to another, banging doors and moaning through the night—but worst of all, she invaded mother’s dreams. I heard my father recounting the dream to Mrs. Kerr, who sent him to see Madam Rosa, a medium with whom they had a séance. She tried to rid the house of the wraith, but it didn’t work! If you are the next to inhabit the house, take great care!

Beth slammed the book shut and tossed it aside with a shiver. Good heavens, the West Wing Wraith had been here all this time! Why would she not leave? And why didn’t Katherine warn them about this before they left London?

In all fairness, Beth realized Katherine might not remember the overheard conversations from fourteen years earlier. Or perhaps she’d chosen not to remember them. It seemed to be a rather traumatic event. At least she knew her husband hadn’t brought her here knowing what Katherine had known. His knowledge truly seemed to end at the house’s name. The name that the seventh inhabitants of the manor had given to the house. They had moved there after hearing stories from the locals, certain they would be the ones to rid the place of ghosts for good.

Clearly, they’d not been successful.

A gentle knock came at her door and Michael peeked through without waiting for her to answer. “May I?” he asked.

Beth smiled from her perch on the bed. “Of course,” she said, surprised he’d actually knocked since he normally barged right in.

He sauntered into the room, looking relaxed and rather pleased with himself. And far more handsome than any man should have the right to look. Her heart gave a little flutter at his lopsided grin, meant just for her.

“I wondered if I might convince you to take a walk with me?”

Beth widened her eyes in disbelief and turned her gaze out the window, then back to him. “In this weather?”

Michael gave a little chuckle as he crawled into bed with her, pressing her into the mattress with a kiss that made her toes curl. When he pulled away, he stared at her with lust-veiled eyes and smiled. “Not outside, my little ninny,” he teased. “Just downstairs.”

“Oh, well in that case, I would love to take a walk with you, my lord.” She watched with fascination as he lifted himself off her and climbed from the bed. His muscles rippled tantalizingly beneath his shirt and she fought the urge to pull him back into the bed with her.

Clearly this walk had a purpose and she was rather curious, so she took his hand and extricated herself from the covers. As she did, the book of ghosts slid to the floor and landed at her feet with a thud.

“What’s this?” Michael asked as he reached down to retrieve it.

Beth hesitated. Should she let him read it? Of course she should, she reasoned. Perhaps then he’d truly believe her encounters were real.

“John and Bonnie found it,” she explained. “It’s a journal dating back to the sixteen thirties…it tells about every ghostly encounter this house has ever seen.”

Thirty-One

Michael stared at the book. Its leather-bound cover and gilded edges were familiar to him, though he hadn't seen it in years. Not since that last summer they came to visit. Katherine had tried to tell them about it—pleaded with them, really, to read it. But reading was not something boys of twelve and sixteen wanted to do when they were so close to being sent back to school for the next term. Not even Benjamin, who was the more bookish of the three of them.

“Every ghost?” he repeated. How many had there been?

“There have been dozens,” Beth said, answering his unspoken question. “And every other family has fled because of them. That must be how your father obtained the land. No one wanted the house that knew of its history. Well, except for one couple—they clearly wanted to be heroes, but it didn't work out so well for them.”

Michael's mind spun as his wife prattled on about the specters that had supposedly inhabited their home. “What do you think it is about this place that draws them and keeps them here?” he asked.

Beth sighed and took the book from him, then flipped through the pages, shaking her head. “I've tried to find a common thread—a clue—but I haven't. It seems that the souls of those who die here—and they always seem to die in the west wing—linger, without exception.” She tossed the book to the bed and looked up at him with a bright smile. “But you came here to take me on a walk, did you not?”

“Tired of the ghosts, are we?”

“Exhausted. I would be happy to never hear the word ghost again,” she said as he led her from the room.

Her hand latched onto his elbow and Michael patted it with his own free hand. “Well, I shall be happy to indulge you, then. And if we're lucky, Madam Rosa will get rid of that spirit for good.”

Beth gave him a sideways glance and a little giggle at his avoidance of the word ghost. They trotted down the main staircase together in contented silence, though Michael's anticipation was mounting. He'd had a rather large surprise delivered less than an hour ago and he couldn't wait to see the look on Beth's face when she saw it.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he steered her down a lesser-used corridor on the main floor.

“I just thought to explore our home a little more,” he replied, keeping a nonchalant tone to his voice. “We stick to the same rooms all the time, I wanted to see what else the manor had to offer.”

Beth smiled and tugged him a little closer as they walked, and Michael's heart gave a little leap. It was good to finally be in accordance with his wife.

As they approached the door behind which the surprise was hidden, he paused. Feigning curiosity and acting as if he'd never even noticed the door before, he said, “Hm...I wonder what's in this room?”

Beth lifted her brow and stared at him oddly. “Are you not going to open the door to satisfy your curiosity?”

“Ladies first,” he replied with a smile and gestured for her to do the honors.

She thankfully took the bait and pushed the door open. The door's loud creek was followed quickly by Beth's astonished gasp. She stood dumbfounded on the threshold, much to Michael's delight—it had been his goal to render her speechless, after all.

“What...how...where...” she stuttered, clearly at a loss for words.

Coming up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders, Michael said, “I ordered it when we were in Inverness a few weeks ago, and they delivered it this morning. It's not a Broadwood, but I believe it will suit your needs just fine. Do you like it?”

“It's...it's exquisite, Michael,” she breathed. She turned to face him and his arms fell to embrace her about the waist. “Thank you.”

He leaned down to meet her lips in a tender kiss and lingered just a moment to take in the delicious taste of her. She'd clearly been sipping on tea that afternoon, for she tasted soft and sweet. He pulled back and looked at her through veiled eyes. “Will you sing and play for me?” he asked.

She gave him a sultry smile and slipped from his embrace to make her way to her new instrument. Before she sat, she stroked her fingers along the shiny wood of the encasement, causing a sudden strain against the front of Michael's trousers. What he wouldn't give to lay her down on top of that piano, to feel her stroke him as she stroked the piano...

He blinked to attention as music began to fill the room. He hadn't even noticed she'd sat and opened the lid. As she began to sing, he sauntered to her side and leaned against the edge of the piano with a laugh.

She was playing La cidarem la mano. The song he'd been singing the day of their arrival to ruffle her feathers. The first song he ever heard her sing that told him of her exceptional talents. He hadn't expected her to be a consummate pianist as well, but she accompanied herself with ease and style.

“Won't you sing with me?” she asked as her fingers flitted over the keys.

Michael knew he had a terrible singing voice, but he wasn't about to miss the chance to sing with his little lark. And so they stayed there all afternoon, until their stomachs grumbled with hunger, singing and laughing together, and making merry music.

***

After dinner that evening, Bonnie awaited Beth in her room to help her out of her gown and into her nightrail. Beth's mind wandered to their afternoon while Bonnie undid the tiny buttons at the back of her dress. She still couldn't believe the beautiful piano Michael had bought for her. She'd forgotten how important music was to her life until she began to stroke her fingers over the keys. Until she began to sing with her husband.

She smiled at the memory and Bonnie must have noticed the change in her demeanor.

“Ya had a good day, milady?” she asked as she took her corset from her and hung it in the wardrobe.

Beth nodded. “A wonderful day.”

“Then I take it ya haven't gotten around to asking his lordship about the witch.”

Bonnie's tone held a hint of accusation, but Beth wouldn't let it spoil her mood. And she hadn't wanted to spoil her afternoon with Michael by telling him she now wanted him to find her a witch. It sounded absurd, even to her own ears. Mediums, witches, ghosts, giant monsters at the bottom of a lake...perhaps they had fallen into an alternate universe.

Beth gave a snort at the thought. They had fallen into an alternate universe and it was called Scotland.

“No, I haven't,” she finally admitted. “I will, though, when the time is right.”

“If ya don't mind my sayin', I think ya ought to say something sooner than later. You've only got two days until the séance, and ya don't want much time to pass before ya have the place cleansed.”

Wishing to dispense of the conversation, Beth dismissed Bonnie and finished preparing for bed alone. She had been so determined to tell Michael about the need for a witch that morning, but when she saw the piano, she knew she wouldn't be able to tell him today. Everything was just too perfect, too wonderful, to ruin it with more talk of that silly ghost! Perhaps that was why everyone fled. The frustration was beginning to outweigh her fear, and part of her wanted to leave it all behind.

Of course, another part of her refused to be bested by a dead woman!

A soft knock came at the adjoining panel between hers and Michael's rooms just before it slid open. Michael stepped through. He was already in his robe, clearly ready for bed, and carried two tumblers of scotch in his hands.

“I thought we might enjoy a little night cap before we turn in,” he said as he sauntered in her direction.

She rose from her vanity stool to greet him and take the whisky. She didn't much care for the taste, but perhaps it would help her to sleep better tonight. Perhaps it would keep that ghost from her dreams.

They nestled onto the settee by the fire. Beth settled into the crook of Michael's arm and closed her eyes as his hand played with the wispy strands of hair at her temples. She could stay like this forever. No other-worldly disturbances. No societal rules telling her what to do or how to behave. No reprobate brothers or meddling maids. Just her and Michael. Forever.

“So what is it that Bonnie is so eager for you to talk to me about,” Michael said, bringing the perfect moment to an abrupt end.

She stilled in his arms. What had he heard, she wondered? She opted to evade with a little giggle and a tossed off, “Oh, nothing important, darling!”

She felt his arm raise and his Adams apple move as he took a swig of his scotch. He let out a loud breath as he lowered the glass again. “Come now, Beth, I know there's something going on. Your maid and your brother are being awfully obvious, encouraging me to 'go and have a talk with you' at every turn. And I heard Bonnie say something just a few minutes ago about telling me sooner than later.”

Beth stayed still and closed her eyes, wishing she could put it off until morning, but knowing she couldn't. During her brief silence, it became apparent that Michael had drawn the wrong conclusion. He inhaled sharply, but she could hear the smile in that breath, feel the excitement in his body all of a sudden.

“Oh, good gracious, Michael, I'm not pregnant!” she exclaimed, slamming back the last of her scotch and then turning to face him. “But can't we please talk about this in the morning? I promise if it was anything so important—” or terrifying, “as a baby, I wouldn't hesitate to tell you.”

He stared back at her, his eyes dark with lust, and she felt the color rush to her cheeks. Would she always feel this way? When they were sixty and he gave her that look, would she still feel butterflies in her stomach and heat in her cheeks? She certainly hoped so.

She gave him a sultry smile, aware that it was the best possible way to get his mind off of what she had to talk to him about. Indeed it took little persuasion to get him from the sitting area to her bed, and once she'd had her way with him, they both fell fast asleep.

Until, of course, Beth awoke from a horrific nightmare. It wasn't her ghost who had visited her. As a matter of fact, she couldn't really say what the dream was about. Only that it disturbed her too much to be able to fall back to sleep. The clock on the mantel, and the slow dissipation of blackness outside the window, told her it wasn't long before sunrise, so at least she'd slept most of the night.

She blinked her eyes until they adjusted to the waning gloom and settled on the book sitting on her nightstand. She hadn't read all the stories that were there yet; she'd merely skimmed through the book, picking and choosing the tales at random. Since she didn't have anything else to do at this time of morning, Beth decided to pick up the book and read until she either scared herself to death or fell back to sleep.

Thirty-Two

Michael awoke to the unwelcome sight of his wife staring intently at that damned book. She was going to scare herself half out of her wits and then he'd have to figure out a way to calm her down without it seeming like he didn't believe her.

He sighed, loudly, but she didn't budge. Her eyes didn't even flicker from the page. This was not how he wanted to start his day. He wanted to wake with her sleeping soundly in his arms. He wanted to feel her body warm and suppliant against his, not sitting up, halfway across the bed from him.

Annoyed, he reached out and tried to grab the book from her hands, but her fingers were clamped hard at the bottom, and she jerked it back with ease. Finally, she turned to look at him.

“What are you doing?” she asked, blinking with apparent irritation.

Michael lifted onto one elbow and rested his head in his hand. He held the other hand out. “Hand it over,” he demanded, hoping she saw the twinkle of playfulness in his eyes. He didn't want to start an argument, after all. He just wanted to have a few quiet moments with his wife before the day began.

“Michael, I'm reading,” she said, and turned immediately back to the book.

“I can see that.” He came to a fully sitting position. “But I'd rather you weren't.”

“You can't always have your way, you know?” Her eyes were focused on the book, but he knew she wasn't reading. She was trying to keep from smiling at her rebuke.

Of course, he could have his way...and he would. Slowly, he reached his hand out and found her nipple, already taught—perhaps from the chilliness of the room, or perhaps she'd been anticipating this—and squeezed it ever so lightly. Beth shrunk down into the pillows with a little squeal and giggled.

“Stop,” she cried through her laughter.

“Stop what?” he asked, moving closer to her and continuing his ministrations on her breasts. “Trying to seduce you?”

“Trying to get me to do your bidding by using seduction,” she corrected. “It won't work.”

“Won't it?” He lowered his head and clamped his mouth over her nipple, still covered in the fine gauze of her nightrail. As expected, she moaned and slid further into the pillows. That's better.

“Michael,” she groaned as he pulled the sleeves of her gown down over her shoulders. “Wait!”

He typically would have ignored her demand, but there was a slight edge of desperation that made him stop what he was doing—with great reluctance—and look up to meet her gaze.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “It's just that there is something I must ask you and I can't allow myself to be distracted or I'll never ask it.”

“Can it not wait a few minutes?”

“No, it can't.”

He sighed, supposing it had been too much to hope for. Accepting defeat, he replaced her sleeves to her shoulders and then rolled off the bed. Once he'd found and donned his robe and rung for breakfast, he turned to his wife. She still sat upon the bed, her golden hair tumbling over her shoulders, her lips parted in apparent dismay. Damn it, but his erection was painfully hard. If he continued to look at her in her early morning state of dishabille, he'd never be able to leave the room.

“Well,” he finally said, turning his attention to the clock on the mantle that told him it was just after eight thirty, “go on.”

“Oh,” she said. “Ah, well...the thing is...erm...” Her brow furrowed into a worried frown as she closed the book and set it aside. “You see, I'm afraid we must do more than just a simple séance to rid ourselves of our ghost.”

Oh, good Lord! Michael groaned aloud—loud enough for Beth to hear—and leveled her with a threatening stare. Of course, that didn't bother her any. She never took his threatening stares as seriously as he would have liked.

“Don't give me that look,” she admonished. “This is very important. Everyone has told me so.”

“Everyone?”

She gave him a sheepish look. “Well, almost everyone.”

Ah. Bonnie. Since when did his wife take advice from that little chit? A week ago she was throwing candlesticks at him to keep her out of their employ. Now they'd apparently become the best of friends. He wanted desperately to understand his wife, but he wondered if perhaps that was a futile endeavor.

“This is about last night, isn't it?” he asked, remembering that his wife had used seduction to keep him from asking any more questions. He had to admit, she beat him at his own game, and that was to be commended.

“We need to hire a witch!” she blurted out and then clamped her lips shut tight as she awaited his response.

Of course, he had no immediate response. Not one he should voice, anyhow. Bloody hell, this was getting out of hand.

With as much calmness as he could muster, Michael asked, “Pray, my dear, dear Elizabeth, what on earth do we need with a witch? Isn't that essentially what Madam Rosa is?”

“Oh, no!” his wife exclaimed, her blue eyes turning round in her perfect face. “They are very different...well, according to Bonnie, anyhow. You see,” she said as she jumped from the bed, crossed the room and pulled him to the settee with her, “Madam Rosa will get rid of the ghost, but she won't prevent others from taking up residence.”

Michael's traitorous lips began to twitch with laughter. Taking up residence? She must have been joking! Though, her murderous stare spoke volumes to the contrary.

He cleared his throat and silently promised he would hear her out.

“The house must be cleansed, Michael! It simply must be or another ghost will move in!”

“Beth, where the devil am I supposed to find a bloody witch?” he asked, breaking his promise and losing his patience.

“I don't know,” she admitted, her tone clipped with annoyance. What right did she have to be annoyed? “And don't you dare bloody curse at me!”

He rose an eyebrow, fighting the urge to...to what? To laugh? To yell at her? To throw her on the bed? Or throw her in the dungeon?

“Rather hypocritical to curse at someone while demanding they not curse at you, don't you think?”

Oh, God. This was not going to be pretty. He'd stoked her ire—again—and he thought it might be in his best interest to seek shelter. Either that or collect any and all heavy, blunt, sharp or pointy objects and hide them from her view.

“I thought you cared to take this seriously,” she said, nostrils flaring. “This is important, Michael, and until you realize that, well...I want you out.”

Well, this was unexpected. And entirely unwelcome.

“Out?” he repeated, raising his eyebrows and planting her with a menacing glance.

“You heard me. I will find the witch on my own and you will...stay out of my room.” She said the last with a hint of weariness, as if she didn't really want to say it. So, why did she?

Well, he was done giving in to her. He was done placating her and giving in to her every whim for mediums and witches and whatever else it was she demanded of him. He'd been more than patient with her. More than accommodating. But now she was trying to hit him where it really hurt: right smack dab in his groin. Literally and figuratively. But he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that he was hurt. Or that he even cared.

“If that is what you wish, my lady,” he gave her a curt bow, not bothering to even make eye contact, “I bid you good day.”

Thirty-Three

Beth hated herself more in that moment than she'd ever hated herself before. Why was she being like this? Why was she acting irrationally and banning her husband from her bedroom for something so silly as a witch?

In her mind, she knew she was being ridiculous and that she was punishing herself as well. But her emotions were high and she'd said many things just then that she knew, even in the moment, she ought not have said.

But it wasn't silly, really. Not to her, at least! She'd gotten precious little sleep since they'd been here—well over a month now. The circles under her eyes grew darker by the day. If her mother could see her now, she would dissolve into an apoplexy. Appearance meant everything...

Beth shook her head. What did appearance matter now? She was already married and she lived in the middle of nowhere practically. She had no one to impress, especially now that even her husband wasn't speaking to her.

With a heavy sigh, she slumped back against the settee and turned her head lazily to the empty spot beside her. The spot where Michael had been just moments earlier. Moments before he gave her an annoyingly curt bow and, in the most horrid tone she'd ever heard from him, acquiesced to her request.

“Stupid ninny,” she muttered to herself. And then, because she couldn't muster the energy to dress or to even speak with anyone just then, she padded across the rug to her bed, curled up under the covers and went to sleep.

But even in the light of day, her ghost would not leave her alone. The red-haired specter came to her in her sleep again, only this time her stomach bulged with the obvious signs of impregnation.

“I feel it,” she said in her far away, but oh-so-present voice. “My baby.”

Beth tried to wake herself, but she couldn't. She felt trapped in the dream, trapped by the young woman, cooing and delighting in her baby's kicks. She couldn't say how long she remained in the dream, but by the time she woke, the sun was high in the sky and her stomach rumbled loudly.

It took her a moment to shake off the dregs of sleep, to remember what had happened before she laid down. To get the image of the woman from her mind...as much as she could, of course.

It occurred to her that Michael had rung for breakfast earlier, but none had ever come. Perhaps she'd been sleeping by the time it arrived. Or maybe he had intercepted Mrs. Kerr on her way to deliver it.

Would he have thought to starve her, she wondered?

She laughed at her foolishness and decided to ring for lunch and for Bonnie. She would have to dress and leave this room sometime today, if for no other reason than to keep her own sanity. She'd never been able to stay put in one place for too long.

Once she'd dressed and had a bit to eat, she set out to find something to do. She could read, but she didn't feel much like reading just then—she had read all morning, after all. She probably wouldn't be able to keep her mind focused long enough to read even a paragraph, anyhow.

It was sunny out. Perhaps a walk through the gardens?

Making up her mind, she found her shawl and then made her way to the back doors of the house. Only to see her husband making his own way through the garden.

Blast him. He appeared to be inspecting it, rather than enjoying it. Perhaps he meant to have it restored in the spring.

His gaze turned suddenly to the house, as if he knew someone was watching him, and Beth jumped behind one of the long velvet drapes. She waited a moment, and then peeked out again, but he was gone.

Humph. If he thought to run from her, it wasn't necessary. She didn't want to see him as much as he didn't want to see her.

She retreated back towards the front of the manor, still contemplating what to do with so many empty hours ahead of her, when she remembered she had a lovely new piano at her disposal. A smile came to her lips and she sighed, a happy, contented sigh of relief that she had, at long last, found something to pass away the lonely hours ahead.

On quick feet, she scurried down the hallway and through the music room door, then shut it snugly behind her. It was completely quiet on this end of the house. She could probably stay here for hours and no one would bother her.

With another happy sigh she plopped down onto the tufted piano bench and lifted the lid. The black and white keys stared back at her and she could almost hear them begging her to play. And so, she did. She played and played and played. Bach, Mozart, even Beethoven, for the Moonlight Sonata seemed just the thing for her morose mood.

Eventually, she tired of the grandiose pieces and moved to simple ditties she could sing along to. Lullabies and such. She smiled as she remembered when her youngest sibling Julia was born. Her mother used to set Julia by the piano and Beth, at eleven-years-old, would play lullabies for her baby sister. Bye, Baby Bunting was her favorite, and so she set her fingers to it now.

“Bye, baby bunting...Father's gone a-hunting...Mother's gone—”

Slam!

Beth winced as the hard wood of the cover banged down onto her fingers, and a cacophony of notes filled the air as they were mashed into the keys. She breathed deeply as she extricated the first throbbing hand out from underneath and lifted the cover to its rightful place again.

“Ow,” she muttered as she shook her hands of the pain, trying to figure out what might have caused the sudden fall.

Perhaps she'd been playing too forcefully earlier. She did tend to get excited when she played Bach. Odd, though, that it would come down during a quiet, calm lullaby. And with such force! Almost as if...

No! She shook her head. She would not even think such a thing!

Once the throbbing ceased, she poised her fingers above the keys again and began to play. Not three notes had been pressed when the cover came crashing down again. Only this time Beth snapped her fingers back just in time to avoid being crushed again.

She held perfectly still, barely breathing, and stared at the piano. Her heart beat faster the longer she sat there. Her eyes darted about the room, but of course, there was no one there. Just her. Alone.

Mustering her courage, Beth finally slid the bench back and walked slowly to the door, trying to keep her tears at bay. But as soon as she was in the hall, she ran, allowing the tears to spill onto her cheeks, until she burst through the back doors of the manor, into the garden.

***

Michael stayed in the garden for quite some time after he'd seen his wife spying on him. He thought about going after her, then thought better of it. She had been the one to say hurtful and horrible things. If she wanted to make amends, she would have to come to him. Michael was tired of being the peacemaker all the time. He'd done is very best since they'd been here. Hell, he'd married the woman to save her from what could have been a very scandalous situation.

Patience was a virtue he'd always had—unlike his twin who had no patience for anything or anyone—but at long last, his patience had worn thin.

And so in the garden he remained, inspecting the dying rose bushes and browning topiaries. Yes, the garden would need to be replotted and replanted come spring.

His mind wandered to his childhood summers there, when the gardens were glorious, resplendent with a rainbow of colors. They used to run and play, he and his siblings, through the hedgerows, mostly trying to outrun Katherine so they could have a bit of peace and quiet and do boy things without her looking down her nose at them.

He supposed there were times like that in London and Kent as well, but perhaps not as many, and not nearly so carefree. In England, they were all too aware of the social strictures hanging over their heads as the children of the Marquess and Marchioness of Eastleigh.

But here...

He looked back toward the house to the spot where Katherine had appeared earlier. He'd immediately stepped out of sight when he realized she was there. He didn't think she'd come out to find him, but one never knew, and he really didn't care for company just then.

She was gone now, of course, and before he could stop the thought, he wondered where she'd gone. Would she hole herself up in her room all day?

Michael shook his head. Not likely. That was one thing to admire in his wife. She was a restless spirit—he chuckled at the irony—and always liked to be doing something.

And then it dawned on him that she'd probably gone to play her new piano. His conscience niggled at him as he thought of their afternoon together the day before. They had laughed and talked like an old married couple, and it had been heavenly. One of the more delightful afternoons of his existence, he realized with a smile.

Suddenly, he wanted to go to her. To be with her and have what they'd had the day before.

But could he swallow his pride enough to go to her?

He looked at the house again, then back at the dying shrubs before him. It wasn't as if he was getting any real work done; the garden couldn't be replanted until spring.

Making up his mind, Michael tromped through the garden and into the house. He didn't stop until he reached the door to the music room, where he heard her singing a familiar lullaby.

Odd choice, seeing as she was a consummate singer and pianist, but it was lovely just the same. It made him smile with the thought of her singing to their children someday. Someday soon, he hoped.

He was just about to step through the door when she slammed her hands to the piano, creating an angry cacophony of notes that seemed to reverberate inside the walls. What the devil?

A moment went by before he heard her begin to play again, but she didn't even get three notes out before she banged the cover shut. And Michael's heart deflated.

What he'd hoped had been just a silly argument was not nearly as such. She was clearly infuriated if she could not even bring herself to play the piano without banging ferociously on the keys. Perhaps this was not the time to try and make amends. A little more time...

Michael was unable to finish his thought because Beth, in all her fury, flung wide the door and ran down the hall, back towards the main part of the house. She didn't see him there, on the other side of the threshold. Or, if she did, she didn't acknowledge him.

Well, if she could be angry, so could he. The memory of her hurtful words came back to him, of her banishment from her room, and he renewed his resolve. She would have to come to him.

Thirty-Four

The evening of the séance arrived with a palpable amount of tension. Neither Michael nor Beth touched their meals at dinner, and the servants seemed to have all gone mute. The normal chatter that could be heard walking through the house was gone, the only sounds coming from the fierce winds and rain outside.

It was nearing the end of October; the days were getting shorter and far colder than only a month earlier. Michael insisted a fire blaze in every main room from now until spring and even put in an order for extra blankets to be delivered from a local shop in Inverness. He didn't want his servants freezing to death in their sleep.

As for his wife, well, her heart was cold as ice, so he didn't think the winter months would affect her much.

He looked to the door that connected their rooms and scowled. They still hadn't spoken—not a single word—since yesterday morning. She was quite the most stubborn creature he'd ever known, and he had no doubt that if she wanted to, she could keep her silence for the rest of her life. But why?

Michael had never seen the point in that kind of behavior. She was surely miserable, perhaps even as miserable as he. So, what was the point in staying angry? Would it really accomplish anything?

Michael scoffed. If she thought this behavior would convince him to go out and hire a bloody witch, she was sorely mistaken. Aside from thinking this was all a great deal of nonsense, she'd gone about trying to get her way in the completely wrong manner.     He did not respond well to manipulation.

A scratch came at the door and Michael bid John to enter. The young man stepped into the room, looking tall and self-assured and somehow more like a man than he'd looked a few weeks earlier.

“Madam Rosa is here, my lord.” He gave a little bow and started to back out of the room, but stopped.

Michael watched, waiting for his brother-in-law to muster the courage to say whatever it was he intended to say. Clearly, something was on the boy's mind.

“Might I speak plainly...as your brother-in-law, and not as your valet?”

Well, this would be interesting. “Why not?” Michael said, not bothering to mask the weariness in his tone. He had a feeling he knew what John was going to say, but he held his tongue and waited.

“I know how difficult my sister can be,” he began, lowering his voice so he couldn't be heard in the next room, in case Beth was listening. “She's got a temper like the devil, and it only takes one wrong word to set her off.”

No news there. “Go on,” Michael prodded.

“And, well, the thing is, she never really means what she says.”

“Then why does she speak at all?” This came out unexpectedly and through gritted teeth before Michael had a chance to stop it.

John didn't even flinch at his tone. “Nobody knows, Michael. It's just how she is. But, perhaps...well, you're so nice to her, she thinks she can get away with such behavior. If you've ever seen Julia and our mother interact, you would know what I meant. If mother had a bit of backbone—”

“Are you calling me spineless, John?”

John gulped. “No, of course not, I just...”

Michael gave a little chuckle at his brother-in-law's discomfort. It was quite fun to toy with the young pup. “It's all right, John. I am spineless. I either give in to her every whim or I hold my tongue and say nothing, hoping the problem will solve itself.”

“But you love her.”

Michael's head snapped up at this. What did that have to do with anything? “And?”

“And if you love her, you should talk to her. It's not giving in, it's just discovering common ground in your marriage. You can't go on like this for the next fifty years.”

“Where the devil did you learn all this?” Michael wondered. He was only nineteen...and a man. Men didn't think of life and relationships in such terms, at least not at his age. And most of them not even at Michael's age.

A sheepish grin spread out on John's lips and Michael knew immediately that these were not his own words. He laughed heartily and said, “Tell Bonnie thank you for the advice.”

John backed out of the room with a smile on his face, and Michael thought how nice it was to not be at odds with him. It did seem, however, that he was always at odds with someone from the Crawley family. Would his relationship with John go back to one of a strenuous nature once he'd patched things up with his wife?

Michael sighed and downed the last of the scotch in his glass. He didn't have much time to ponder such things; they had a séance to conduct.

He found Madam Rosa and his wife in the drawing room enjoying a cup of tea. It seemed a rather civilized thing to do on such a torrent night. At eleven thirty. Before a séance.

Good Lord, what would his brother say if he knew what he was doing this evening? Surely, he'd laugh in his face and tell him he'd been bested by his wife for allowing her to talk him in to such a thing. Not that he had much room to talk. He'd become so smitten with Chloe, he'd followed her to Essex and...

Michael shook his head of the memories. It had been a long summer of deception and betrayal, and he didn't much want to dwell on that now. Or ever again, really. It was all behind them and he simply wanted to live happily ever after.

If such a thing were even possible.

He took in the sight of his bride. She had changed since dinner, into a simpler gown that seemed to be made of much sturdier material than the flimsy silk one she'd worn earlier. Somehow, she was more appealing to him this way. The way the thick fabric hugged her curves, like a warm blanket, made him long to be in bed with her. To feel her warmth up against him. To hear her murmuring and moaning in his ear...

Damn. He had to get a hold of himself. They had a séance to do, and currently, his wife wasn't even willing to give him the time of day; she wasn't about to warm his bed, of that much he was certain.

Neither she nor Madam Rosa was aware of his presence yet, which he found rather odd since Madam Rosa was supposed to be clairvoyant. If she couldn't even detect the living people in the room, how would she detect the dead? It wasn't until Michael cleared his throat that they both turned in his direction.

“Lord Michael,” said Madam Rosa with a slight incline of her head. “I was just telling your wife how lovely the manor looks. It's been years, but I think this is the best I've ever seen it.”

He gave her a slight bow, his eyes shifting from her to his wife and back again. “Thank you. We are very proud of the work that's been done. Now, if we could just set to work on the west wing...”

“I'll go find the others,” Beth said, rising quickly from her seat.

She brushed past him, her shoulder making the barest of contact with his arm, with nary a glance. But Michael didn't want it to seem that anything was out of the ordinary, so he said in his most jovial tone, “Oh, yes, thank you, my dear. I shall entertain Madam Rosa until your return.”

Beth didn't respond, not verbally anyhow, but her lips gave a little twitch at the corners and he could almost hear her eyes roll in her head. Good humor would always work in his advantage when dealing with his wife. It seemed to be the only thing to break down her barriers.

But perhaps that wasn't the tactic he should really be taking. Perhaps he should heed Bonnie's advice and stop trying to smooth things over with humor and kindness. It might only encourage her in the end.

“Lord Michael.” Madam Rosa's voice brought him from his thoughts and he was almost annoyed with her. He had to puzzle out this bloody mess with Beth, but he couldn't do it with all the interruptions.

However, the fact of the matter was that the woman had traveled here on this wretched night to perform a service for them. A service for which Michael had paid dearly. They needed to get on with it.

“My apologies, Madam Rosa,” he said, turning to her. “My thoughts are elsewhere this evening.”

There was a pause as she studied him, nodding her head, a small smile in her pale face. “Your thoughts, Lord Michael, are exactly where they should be.”

Thirty-Five

Once Beth had found all the participants, the seven of them convened in the foyer at the bottom of the grand staircase. Lightning cracked and thunder roared just outside the front door, and everyone seemed to jump a little at every instance.

But the storm outside paled in comparison to the tumultuous feeling in Beth's stomach. It had been a long couple of days. She'd hardly had any sleep. Not necessarily because of the ghost, but because of her own blasted imagination. Now she'd seen the ghost so many times, her image was burned in her mind. It had come to the point that Beth wasn't sure if she was conjuring the woman in her head or actually seeing her in person.

Surely her husband would send her off to Bedlam if he knew this.

She glanced at Michael, who climbed the stairs beside her, silent and stoic. She was rather surprised he'd held his silence for so long. They'd never gone this much time without resolving their differences. Well, at least not since they'd come to common ground. Beth didn't think the two weeks in the carriage on their way to Dunbocan counted.

But by this time he would have come to her. He would have tried to make amends somehow, if for no other reason, to get into her bed. Then why hadn't he?

This thought made Beth nervous and was yet another cause of her sleepless nights. She pondered going to him, giving in, apologizing and admitting to her irrational behavior. She wasn't sure why she hadn't done it yet, other than her stupid, foolish pride.

She sighed, and it must have been louder than she'd thought, for Michael turned his head to her and raised his brows. Embarrassed, Beth quickly looked down and pretended to focus on her footsteps as they made their way down the west wing corridor.

Everyone walked in a close huddle, moving as one large group toward the room at the other end of the hallway. When they reached the door, a chill raced down Beth's spine, but she ignored it and turned the knob.

John and Bonnie had set up a table and seven chairs earlier in the day, which sat in the middle of the vast room. It was round, at the request of the medium, though Beth wasn't sure of the significance. The curtains were open to let in the bright light of the full moon, but that was the only source of light.

However, Madam Rosa wasted very little time in setting up and lighting her candles. The woman had brought a carpetbag full of accoutrements, including six candles, a stick of incense and a loaf of freshly baked bread. Beth couldn't understand the meaning or necessity of any of these things—the spirit spoke with her on a daily basis without any of it. But she accepted that it must be part of the ritual for good reason and held her tongue.

They all took their places around the table: Beth and Bonnie on either side of the madam, Michael and John on either side of them, respectively, and Mr. and Mrs. Kerr at the head, opposite Madam Rosa.

“Take the hand of the person next to you,” Madam Rosa said, her voice quiet and haunting in the large room.

Beth hesitated in taking Michael's hand. It was odd. They were husband and wife, and had shared many intimacies in the last few weeks, but something as simple as taking his hand gave her pause. However, it didn't really matter if she hesitated, because he reached out and grabbed her hand before she had even a moment to think about it.

He was a bit forceful, and he held her hand more firmly than was necessary. Was he scared? Or just peeved that he had to be here?

Probably the latter, she decided, just as Madam Rosa began to chant.

Only she wasn't chanting in English, she was chanting in Spanish, blast her. Beth couldn't understand a word, and she cursed herself for never having picked up the language. Fluent French was useless to her now.

“She's invoking the spirit,” came Michael's whisper beside her.

Beth snapped her head sideways to look at him. “You speak Spanish?” she whispered back.

“Hush!” Both Michael and Beth turned to see Madam Rosa glaring at them. “Silence is imperative.”

Having delivered a sufficient scolding, the woman tipped her head back again, closed her eyes and resumed her chant. But something about the moment had tickled Beth, and she felt the sudden urge to laugh.

She chided herself for being so silly and immature, but she couldn't help it. Her body shook slightly with the effort to hold her laughter in, and when Michael squeezed her hand, it became even more difficult.

She tried to take a deep breath to center herself, but she inhaled a large whiff of incense and dissolved into a fit of coughing. When she finally got hold of herself, she looked up to find Madam Rosa staring daggers at her. Again.

Beth gulped. “Sorry,” she muttered. “The, erm, smoke...”

“Perhaps you do not wish to conduct this séance, my lady,” the woman accused in her thick, Spanish accent.

“No!” Beth felt her cheeks flush at being so brazenly confronted, and in mixed company. “I'm ready. I promise.”

And then the séance finally commenced. Madam Rosa tilted her head back and began chanting yet again, and it wasn't long before a palpable chill permeated the large room. The medium's head lowered slowly, until her chin was parallel with the table, and her eyes snapped open, their focus on the older couple across the table.

Beth turned in the direction of the woman's fierce gaze. Mr. and Mrs. Kerr looked as if they had indeed seen a ghost. They both sat deathly still and stark white, and the confusion mounted for the rest of the participants. Covert glances were exchanged among the four who seemed to be uninvolved now.

Michael caught Beth's gaze for a moment and something reassuring passed between them. She squeezed his hand and then turned back to the woman just in time to hear her say:

“You took my baby.”

***

Well, this was completely unexpected. Michael shifted his gaze to the couple at the other side of the round table. They sat there, shaking and terrified, as the medium—or whoever she was at this moment—made her accusation. Michael didn't like this one bit.

The Kerrs were old and kind people; it wasn't fair they'd been dragged into this. Michael had a mind to stop the whole thing right then, but Beth must have sensed that desire, for she squeezed his hand again in a silent warning to remain quiet. Clearly, she wanted to see how this would play out.

Admittedly, so did he, but he didn't like having his servants terrorized.

That thought brought him up short. Why did he care so much about his servants being terrorized and not about his own wife? This ghost had been coming to her for weeks, keeping her awake at night and making her jumpy in the day. She hadn't said much to him about it since they'd gone to Inverness to see Madam Rosa, but she didn't have to. It was all over her face. In the things she said when she talked in her sleep.

Resolved to keep his mouth shut and let the medium do her work to the end, Michael turned his attention back to the eerie scene that played out before him.

“We didn't,” Mrs. Kerr muttered, her mouth barely moving in her pale face.

“Where is my baby?” the woman asked, but her voice had turned almost wailing.

The Kerrs looked at one another and then back at the medium. This time, Mr. Kerr spoke.

“Margaret,” he said, and he sounded as if he might burst into tears at any moment. “We don't know. We...gave her away...to a family who could care better for her.”

“Who?” This question came from Beth, who sat beside him, absorbed in the drama. She obviously regretted her outburst, for she cleared her throat and muttered, “I'm sorry,” to the room at large.

But the Kerrs didn't seem to notice. They answered the question just the same.

“They were a nice family,” Mrs. Kerr explained, her focus still on Madam Rosa. “From Inverness, where she could have an education and other children to play with. We wanted our granddaughter to have a happy childhood, Margaret. The Gilchrists were willing to take her in, since they could not have children of their own—”

“Gilchrist?”

All eyes turned to Bonnie, who had cut the woman off, including the medium...Margaret...whoever she was.

“Yes, dear, Alan and Fiona Gilchrist.” There was a pause, and then, “Do you know of them?”

Bonnie shook her head, and her loud swallow could be heard in the now silent room. “I don't know of them. I know them. Alan and Fiona Gilchrist are my grandparents.”

Thirty-Six

“Your what?” Mrs. Kerr stared at the girl, her eyes wide and her mouth agape.

“They are my grandparents...though, I haven't seen them in many years. When my mother refused to give up her baby—me—they sent her away, to a secluded home, far out in the country. That is where I was raised for the most part, and Alan and Fiona visited often. But then mother discovered she had...special talents. She found a benefactor and we left our small country cottage for a grand manor home in Edinburgh. That is when Alan and Fiona ceased their visits.”

“My daughter?”

All eyes turned to the medium, still inhabited by the spirit of Margaret.

“Dead,” Bonnie said, with very little emotion. “From childbirth.”

Good Lord, did everyone die in childbirth? Beth felt sick to her stomach all of a sudden. The ghost and the stories and the pungent smell of the incense were all coming together to turn her stomach in a most violent manner.

Don't swoon, don't swoon!

“Beth?” she heard Michael's voice through the haze of her sudden illness. When he touched her skin, it ached, as if a thousand needles were pricking her arm.

Her world started to spin. There was a flurry of activity around her, voices calling her name and other strands of conversation that didn’t make sense to Beth just then.

And then, almost as quickly as it had begun, it all stopped. The queasy feeling in her stomach was gone. Her head no longer felt light, and her skin no longer ached, though she was damp with perspiration. A chill ran up her spine, prompting Michael to divest himself of his jacket and throw it about her shoulders.

Beth blinked until her eyes were able to focus again. Six concerned faces stared back at her, including Madam Rosa, who seemed to be herself again.

“What happened?” Beth asked, not to anyone in particular. She wasn’t sure who, if anyone, would have an answer for her.

“You became a bit overset, my darling,” Michael said, his voice husky and low as he brushed damp pieces of hair from her forehead.

“I know what happened to me.” She turned her gaze to the medium. “What happened to...to Margaret?”

“She’s gone,” the woman informed her.

“Gone?” Beth couldn’t believe a ghost that had been there for that many years would just up and vanish after one séance that lasted only a few minutes. But then all her dreams and encounters came flooding back. “She was looking for her daughter, wasn’t she? But her daughter is...”

Like the most difficult of puzzles, all the pieces began to fit together.

She turned to Bonnie, who she noticed had tears in her eyes. “That means that Mr. and Mrs. Kerr are your great grandparents, I think.”

Bonnie nodded while the Kerrs sat in their seats, clearly overset themselves by all the evening’s discoveries.

“Perhaps,” Michael finally cut in, “we should all retire for the evening. We’ve accomplished what we set out to accomplish this evening. And I have a feeling we all need a good night’s sleep before we embark on a closer look at the Kerr family tree. Madam Rosa, if you will follow Mrs. Kerr, she will take you to your room.”

Madam Rosa nodded her thanks, but not a single person issued a protest to Michael’s statements. Slowly and quietly, they all rose from their seats, blew out the candles and left the formerly haunted wing of Dunbocan.

***

Beth allowed Michael to lead her through the darkened house back to their chambers. They had yet to resolve their earlier argument, but at this point, Beth didn’t care. She just wanted to be with him. She wanted to put all their differences behind them and move on, now that the ghost was supposedly gone from their lives.

As they approached her door, she turned to him. She didn’t say anything, but simply threw herself into his arms and burrowed her head in his shoulder. Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids, but she held them back. It was all over; there was no reason to cry.

Michael’s arms went around her, strong and secure. “Oh, my love,” he whispered. “How I’ve missed you. Please say you won’t shut me out anymore.”

“Come to me tonight?” Her voice came out almost like a squeak, and Michael pulled back from her with a smile.

“Try and stop me,” he returned, just before he lowered his lips to hers.

The kiss was everything she needed in that moment. Warmth and comfort and reassurance. It was tender and selfless, and she kissed him back, letting her tongue tangle with his in languid strokes.

Her racing heart slowed to a steady pulse, matching the rhythm of their breath, which seemed to be one now. And as his one hand trailed up her back to sink into the hair at the nape of her neck, all the tension of the evening, of the day, of the past several weeks, drained from her body and seemed to melt into the floor beneath them.

Before Beth knew what had happened, Michael had scooped her up and carried her slowly through the door. He never stopped kissing her as he closed the door behind them, or as he walked to the bed. Not even when he sat her down on the mattress and began to undo her buttons at the back of her dress.

Inch by inch, the chilly air invaded her body as Michael undressed her. But there wasn’t much time to notice the cold before he’d undressed himself and pushed her back to the mattress, bringing the bedclothes up around them.

His breath, warm and spicy, like the scotch he was so fond of, removed the last of her chills as he placed open-mouthed kisses down her neck, to the valley between her breasts, and finally came to rest over her achingly taut nipple.

Beth moaned as he teased her with his tongue.

“Oh, my darling,” he rasped as he looked at her with heavy eyelids. “Did I mention how much I’ve missed you? Dear God, don’t ever ban me from your bed again.”

Beth couldn’t help but giggle. “It’s only been two days, Michael,” she said, but only to tease him. She had no intention of ever denying herself the pleasures of his company—in or out of the bed—ever again. She would find another way to torture him when he made her angry.

But clearly, he wanted to play, for he ceased his ministrations. “Is that all?” he asked. “Well, that’s not a very long time, is it?” He very slowly began to withdraw from her, but Beth was having none of it.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, knowing full well he didn’t really plan to stop, but enjoying the wickedness of their banter.

“But, it’s only been two days, my love. Surely you meant to punish me for longer than that.”

Beth shook her head, meeting his eyes with all the intensity she felt in her heart. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t want to punish you ever again.”

Michael’s lips met hers with such force, she was sure they would be bruised in the morning. But she didn’t care.

They joined as husband and wife. The scents of their desire filled the air as he plundered her, sweet and pungent, arousing Beth to heights she’d yet to experience. She no longer worried that she might become pregnant with his child. Whatever the outcome of their passion, she would not be afraid. Not with Michael by her side.

It seemed like hours before she was able to even think clearly again, let alone speak, but when she did find her voice, there was only one thing she wanted to say:

“I love you, Michael Wetherby.”

Epilogue

“They’re here! Michael, come quickly!” Beth danced about at the window, waiting for Michael to join her so they could greet their guests together. What was taking him so long? She was going to die from her excitement.

“Goodness, Beth, they’ve yet to even come to a stop in the drive,” Michael said, coming up beside her.

“Don’t ruin this moment by trying to make me see reason. It’s been more than a year since I’ve seen my cousin.” Beth’s stomach dipped with nerves and anticipation. Part of her was desperate to be with Chloe, but another part of her worried about all that had transpired in London. Heavens, it felt like centuries ago. Bygones were certainly bygones, but still, what would it be like to be in the same room together now?

“Well, come then.” Michael took her by the elbow and led her toward the front door. “Let us wait in the drive for them.”

Beth smiled wide. It was quite possible that she was the luckiest, most doted upon woman in the entire world. Michael had proved that just days after the séance, when he arrived home from town with a witch in tow. The witch who, once and for all, rid Dunbocan of the spirit world.

And truth be known, Michael was quite lucky himself. Somehow, they’d fallen into the most compatible marriage Beth could have imagined. They certainly still had their differences from time to time, but they were both always eager to resolve them.

They walked onto the portico together, arm in arm, just as the carriage came to a stop before them.

Michael turned kind eyes on her. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Beth nodded. “I’ve missed her so,” she said. “I just hope seeing Andrew won’t be awkward. What about you?”

“I got what I wanted from the start. I’ve nothing to feel awkward about.”

Beth smiled again and leaned her head against his shoulder.

After a brief pause, Michael asked, “And what about seeing their baby? Will seeing him…”

A painful twisting happened in Beth’s chest. It might be difficult to see little Benedict. They’d been hopeful for so long, yet there was still no baby. Beth wondered if she would ever know what it was like to be a mother. And she wondered if Michael would one day regret marrying her if she couldn’t bear him a child.

“It might not be easy,” she said quietly, “but I will love that little boy as if he were my own. As I love John and Bonnie’s little girl.”

Michael squeezed her hand, and Beth fought back the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks. “You are the most wonderful aunt any child could ask for,” he said, drawing her closer to him. “But more importantly, you are the most wonderful wife a man could ask for.”

She turned to him suddenly, her heart swollen with love for this incredible man. “You mean that? Even if I can’t give you a child?”

“My sweet Elizabeth, after all this time, you ought to know me better than that.” He kissed her upon her nose and gazed down at her with so much love, she wanted to cry. “I married you because I loved you. Nothing will ever change that.”

With her spirit soothed, she turned toward her cousin in the drive and smiled. Andrew stood beside her, their son in his arms, and they both waved up at Michael and Beth.

All the tension and worry melted away, leaving only excitement for the next month with her cousin Chloe. “Well, then,” she said with an adoring smile meant only for her husband, “let us go and greet our family.”

The End

Other titles available from

Jerrica Knight-Catania

The Daring Debutantes Series

The Robber Bride

The Wetherby Brides Series

More than a Governess

The Wary Widow

The Bedeviled Bride

And Wetherby Short Stories

Christmas Warms the Harts

The Perfect Kiss

A Summons From the Duke

Regency Christmas Summons Collection 2

© 2011 Jerrica Knight-Catania, Lilia Birney, Samantha Grace

In JERRICA KNIGHT-CATANIA’s Loving Mister Lockwell, Lady Isabel Whitton has no use for people other than her twin sister -- she much prefers the company of her books. So when she discovers that all her cousins from near and far have been summoned to her home, Danby Castle, for Christmas, she isn't pleased. To make matters even worse, the deplorable Mister Lockwell has come uninvited. * Damien Lockwell, 3rd son of the Earl of Totterdown, has invited himself to Yorkshire for Christmas. Spending the holiday with the Whittons seems far preferable to watching his father drink himself into a stupor. And Lady Isabel proves to be just the kind of entertainment he was looking for -- she's smart as a whip and quite the most unique creature he's ever met -- not to mention she despises him, which is the most thrilling part of all for a man like Damien.

~ * ~

In LILIA BIRNEY’s A Second Chance For Christmas, Philip Whitton has been summoned back home by his grandfather after a wastrel existence in Italy, studying music and trying to forget his first love. Emily Barlow, nee Ware, is picking up the pieces of her shattered existence following her husband's death. Thrown together by chance on the road back home to Danby, Emily and Philip rekindle the flames of their old passion. Will the fire burn itself out like it did before, or are they ready to follow their hearts and live out the truth of their love?

~ * ~

In SAMANTHA GRACE’s Twice Upon a Time - since her father’s untimely death, Felicity Halliday has relied on the medical knowledge learned at his side to treat London’s most disreputable in order to support her family. Life has been hard, but everything changes the night she is snatched from an alley behind a theatre and tossed into a nobleman’s carriage.  * It has been less than a fortnight since Julian Beckford returned to London after a sojourn in India, and he’s already up to his top-boots in one of his cousin’s mad schemes. When his foolish cousin decides to engage an actress to play his wife over the holidays at Danby Castle, Julian becomes an unwilling party to the lady’s abduction. Along their journey to Yorkshire, Julian makes a stunning discovery about his cousin's pretend wife....and finds it’s possible to love Twice Upon a Time.

About the Author

Jerrica Knight-Catania left her “glamorous” life as an actress in favor of becoming a romance author, where she could write about truly glamorous lives. She currently resides in New York City with her real-life hero of a husband, their shy Russian Blue, Dr. Snuggle, and their beautiful daughter who is most definitely a princess-in-training.

Jerrica loves to hear from readers! You can send her an email at jerrica@jerricasplace.com

Visit Jerrica’s official website to learn more about her other books, the Wetherby family and to see what’s new in her writing world!

www.jerricasplace.com

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