Chaste Kiss (29 page)

Spinning around to the west, William gripped the car door for support against the wave of dizziness. No mountains. All was as it should be and yet it wasn't. Why did he have the overwhelming feeling this wasn't where he was supposed to be?

His aunt took his arm. “Are you all right, dear?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I just feel a little tired, I suppose."

"Understood. Come along. Dinner is waiting.” She led him into the house.

After a quiet, but filling meal they retired to the study just as they usually did. Didn't they? The questions were beyond annoying, but William simply couldn't push them from his mind. At nearly every turn, doubt clouded his thoughts. Unsettling doubts about the very fabric of his life, even his very existence.

Although the doctor said to avoid alcohol for at least twenty-four hours, he felt the need for a stiff drink. After pouring a meager amount of brandy into a glass, he sat in a large chair by the fireplace. A low flame burned in the hearth to take away the spring chill.

He took a satisfying sip, relishing the heat sliding down his throat. This felt right, familiar. He knew, deep down, he had sat like this with his aunt on several occasions. Quite regularly, as a matter of fact, but something was still out of place.

His aunt tilted her head as she looked at him. “Feeling better?"

"Yes,” he murmured. He felt better as far as his headache was concerned and could almost say he was content, save for the disquieting image of a beautiful woman who refused to remove herself from his mind's eye. A woman he longed to touch, to hold, to feel every part of her supple form pressed against his. Things he had no desire to do with Winifred. He took a hefty swallow of his drink, laid his head back against the chair, and closed his eyes.

"Not very convincing, dear,” his aunt said. “Would you care to talk about it?"

He cracked open his eyes and looked across at Tess sitting regally in her chair, steadily pushing a needle through the mesh of fabric in her lap. The soft lighting took years away from her aged form. She'd been quite a beautiful woman in her day and still was. It was the way she carried herself mostly, he mused, and he loved her very much. Of that, he had no doubt.

"It's nothing, Aunt Tess. Truly. I'm simply tired."

"Would it have to do with Winifred?"

He caught the knowing gleam in her eyes. He'd never been able to hide anything from her. She always knew when something bothered him. “In a way."

Tess stopped her stitching and gazed at him expectantly. “Are you having second thoughts about marrying her?"

He chuckled, raising his head. “Why, Aunt, I do believe you sound hopeful."

"Oh, my. Does it show that much?"

He nodded with a broad smile.

"Well, that won't do at all. But now that you mention it, I'm afraid I'm not entirely fond of the idea of you marrying Winifred. She's a nice girl, and I've known her family for years, but I simply cannot imagine the two of you together."

"That's all right, Aunt. I'm beginning to think it isn't the best idea either."

"I suspected as much,” she said with a knowing grin.

"Really? And what gave me away?"

"The other woman, of course. The one you kept going on about just before you collapsed. Naturally, I put two and two together. Do I know her family?"

William immediately realized she was talking about the woman he'd invented. The one who seemed to haunt his every waking moment. He hoped he hadn't said anything too revealing. The kinds of thoughts he entertained about the mysterious woman were not for his aunt's delicate ears. Or anyone else's for that matter, save the woman they were intended for. The one who didn't exist.

"Tell me about her,” she said.

"She's beautiful, but in an unusual way.” He studied the amber liquid in his glass. “Nothing like Winnifred.” Lifting his gaze, he grinned. “But she isn't real, Aunt Tess. She's someone I dreamed up, I'm afraid. Must have been the knock on the head."

"Pity. It looks as though you are quite in love with her."

William cringed, hating his transparency. Yes, he loved the woman in his dreams. He knew it with every fiber of his being, but she wasn't real. That blow to his head must have rattled his brain more than the doctor thought.

"I do hope you aren't still going to marry Winifred,” his aunt said. “You're obviously not in love with her, dear. Oh, I know you care for her, but I imagine you're just doing what is expected of you. The way you've always done your entire life."

"You say that as if it were a bad thing, Aunt Tess."

"No, no. Not at all. You never once disappointed your parents, nor have you ever disappointed me. But somehow I believe you've disappointed yourself."

"How on earth did I ever manage to get such a wise old sage for an aunt?” He'd meant that in a teasing light, but as with many a jest there was truth hidden within.

"Generations of good breeding, I'd wager."

Her matter-of-fact tone brought a soft chuckle from his throat. She had undoubtedly hit the mark quite squarely about his life. Not once had he ever done anything without thinking of his position or his family first. Marrying Winifred was on that list of supposed duties of his station, but he didn't love her. He could barely scare up a wisp of a memory about her, pleasant or unpleasant, let alone any desire. He could only guess that he'd dreamed up the other woman in lieu of his lack of feeling for Winifred.

"It simply wouldn't be fair to either one of you,” Tess continued. “Of course, I can't condone you loving an imaginary woman, but then again she can't disappoint you, can she?” She smiled sweetly, but with the slightest hint of mischief. “Are you quite sure you don't really know this woman? Perhaps you're still confused and aren't remembering clearly."

"Rest at ease, Aunt. I won't be marrying Winifred. I believe I knew that the moment she came into the hospital room. As for my health, I think I'm quite recovered. The dreams I had were vivid, but I'm certain I've never met the woman.” He stared wistfully into the fire. “That, I could not easily forget."

"I see. Tell me, how did she come about then? What were you doing in these vivid dreams with this beautiful woman, if I may be so bold to ask?"

William could hear the subtle teasing in her voice. Although she was a lover of a good tale, she was more than likely trying to prove he did know the woman. If it were only true.

Not wanting to disappoint her, he decided to tell her all he could. “I was dying. I think. Some of it is still a bit hazy."

"That must have been horrible."

"Nay, I mean, no.” He shook his head slightly. Where had that come from?

His aunt peered at him closely, her head cocked to the side.

William hurried on with his story. “It was actually quite nice afterward."

She settled back in her chair. “You aren't making yourself very clear, dear. How could it have been nice afterward? You don't mean to say you actually died in your dream. I've never heard of anyone doing that. I've always woken up when something dreadful like that was about to happen."

"I always have too, but I remember how I died. I was murdered in a bed belonging to a young girl. I remember as I took my last breath an old woman, her mother I think, bent over me, waving some sort of knife, and cursed my soul. ‘Twas the unpleasant portion of my dream."

'Twas?
What on earth was wrong with him?

His aunt paused, then said, “Oh, you rascal. You're teasing me. And you had me quite enthralled with your tale. You know perfectly well that's the story of your Uncle William."

Relief filled him. Of course his odd use of long dead phrases was some sort of remnant of his dream. “I believe you're right, aunt. I hadn't realized until now. The blow on my head must have jarred loose a few old memories or something. Funny, though. After I died, I mean, after Uncle William died, things changed. I suppose I took what I knew of his story and enhanced it, because that was when the woman appeared."

His aunt's face went white as she sank back into her chair, dropping her sewing in her lap.

"Aunt Tess, what is it? You don't look well.” He hurried to her side and fell to his knees in front of her. She was his only family. Since his parents passed away several years before, she'd remained with him, taken care of him, and loved him. Heaven help him if anything should ever happen to her. He couldn't bear to lose another person he cared for.

Odd, he hadn't lost anyone since his parents, yet the pain in his heart was devastatingly fresh.

"No,” Tess said, her voice quivering voice as she covered his hand with hers. “I'm quite all right. You go on and tell me more about your dream."

"Aunt Tess, really. I think you should—"

"No, no. I insist. Tell me about your dream. What happened—after—you died?"

Her insistence baffled him since she obviously wasn't well, but he decided to continue. Thinking back on the unusual images that played through his mind while unconscious, he began his tale again.

"As I was saying, that was when I met the woman.” He moved to stand next to the fireplace. “At first she was a little girl. We played games. Hide-and-go-seek, and I believe I taught her to play chess.” He chuckled at the memory, or dream rather. “Anyway, time passed and she grew up."

William gripped the mantel and stared down into the flames. “She had the most beautiful head of riotous auburn curls and emerald green eyes I've ever seen.” He paused for a moment, as the image was so breathtakingly clear. “She said she loved me. I can almost feel—” He stopped abruptly. There was a limit to what he should tell his aunt, and he wasn't exactly comfortable talking about his liaison with an imaginary woman. “I'm sorry, Aunt Tess. It was just so real."

He turned back around and found her perched literally on the edge of her chair, her eyes wide as saucers.

"You could feel? Did she touch you? Did you touch her?"

"Well, yes, but—” He quickly crouched back down beside her. “What is it, Aunt? You look like you're about to faint."

She gripped his arm tightly, her fingers digging deeply into his flesh as she searched his eyes. He felt as though she peered into the very depths of his soul.

"The legend,” she whispered. “It's true."

"What's true?"

"I never imagined. I never really believed. After all, no one had ever seen him. Although, there were stories.” She tentatively stroked his cheek.

"What is it, Aunt Tess. What on earth are you talking about?"

She took a steadying breath and smiled. “Do you remember the legend about your uncle?"

"I remember the story. We just discovered that. What is it?” William grew more worried by the minute. He'd never seen her so pale and distraught.

"The part about after his death, dear. Mistress Morecott's journal. Don't you remember?"

He shook his head, fearing for his aunt's health.

"According to her writings, her mother cursed Lord William to haunt the earth until he sacrificed his heart and soul for another. For a woman. He would then live again through a first born son of an Ashenhurst.” His aunt paused, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You are the first born son of an Ashenhurst."

"Aunt Tess, this entire incident has upset you. I should never have mentioned my peculiar dreams.” He stood, helping her to her feet. “Come along. You need to rest. If you're not feeling better by tomorrow, I'll call the doctor."

"No.” She clutched his arm tightly. “You must see it. You have to see it. Those are memories, Thomas. Not dreams."

"You can't be serious.” Her announcement disturbed him immensely. He not only worried over her sanity, but over his own. He wanted to believe the nonsense she spouted. He wanted the auburn haired woman to be real. And as before, her use of his first name didn't feel right as it should.

She released his arm and primly clasped her hands together at her breast, her lips pursed in determination. “I am quite serious. Now stop looking at me as if I'd grown another head. You and your uncle have a second chance at life. Don't waste it by being stubborn."

William spun away from her, his mind a jumble of insane wishes. “You can't really believe—” His gaze froze on a portrait across the room. He hadn't noticed it earlier when he came in. “Where did that come from?” he rasped.

"It's always been there."

He shook his head. “No. It wasn't finished when I—” His head whirled with frightening thoughts.

"Died?” his aunt said, finishing his insane thought for him.

He spun back around. “I couldn't have posed for that!"

Tess gently placed her hand on his arm. “No, you didn't, but William did. It was finished after his death."

Her calm voice only served to heat his own. “No. No, this is ludicrous.” He paced frantically as he ran his hand down his face. “I am Thomas Ashenhurst!” Although he proclaimed it rather loudly, it still didn't fit. Blast the knot on his accursed skull!

"Yes, you are. But you are also William Ashenhurst."

He sank into his chair and gulped down the rest of his brandy.

"Dear, the woman you dreamed about. The woman you're remembering. You called for her by name. You called her Isabel."

William slowly lifted his gaze to his aunt as memories assaulted his brain with wave after wave of clarity. He was Lord Thomas, but he was also Lord William, his ancestor, and his namesake. He'd died in the year 1621 and was cursed by that hag, Lady Morecott, to haunt and never touch a living human being. But he had touched.

"Isabel,” he whispered.

"You see now, don't you, dear?” Tess settled back into her chair and picked up her stitchery, her color back to its normal rosiness. “I always wondered why you resembled your great, great, oh bother. I never could quite remember the number of generations. Oh, well. He was your uncle, nevertheless, and now I know why you are the very image of him."

She sighed softly with a wide grin. “I suppose I can finally stop saying you didn't pose for that portrait every time someone asks me. Rather annoying to have to repeat myself so many times. Would you rather I call you William or will Thomas be all right? I quite prefer the name Thomas, but it is your choice after all."