Chaste Kiss (4 page)

She woke, cursing soundly at the definitive ache between her thighs. How could an imaginary lover seem so real? But she knew he couldn't be. Could he? Yet, she did know a lot about him for a figment of her imagination. Right down to the color of his eyes and the wickedly long dark lashes framing them. How odd.

She lay awake for some time worrying about her sanity, when Constance whirled into the room to help her with her bath. She felt ten times better afterward. But as she climbed back into bed, questions about William and her none-too-stable mind continued niggling at her thoughts.

If William were a real man, he wouldn't be parading around in a jerkin and breeches. But he did look awfully good in them. Very rakish and very sexy.

Her heart skittered across her chest.

Nuts. I need to stop thinking like that
. It only made matters worse. But the more she tried to push away the tantalizing image of a sixteenth century lord dallying in her bedchamber, the clearer he became.

For a moment, she actually thought she could see him standing in the shadows in the far corner of the room, his strong arms folded across his chest, casually leaning against the wall with a soft smile on his face. Watching her—guarding her.

Blinking rapidly, she tried to focus on the image, but he disappeared, just like in her dreams.

"Are you all right, sweetie?” Constance asked, as she adjusted her blankets.

"Huh? Oh, yes. I'm fine.” She nervously watched the shadows in the corner.

No more painkillers. It was definitely time to switch to the over-the-counter stuff.

"You have a visitor,” Jerome said as he entered, his deep voice tinged with disgust. “Chad is downstairs. Are you too tired to see him?” His hopeful tone added to her smile.

"Now, Uncle, I know you don't like him, but he happens to be my significant other at the moment, and I'd appreciate a little tolerance.”
For a few more minutes, anyway
.

"That's all you'll get."

"Oh, stop being such a stuffed shirt and fetch the girl's boyfriend,” Constance fussed.

Jerome mumbled something under his breath as he left the room. Isabel noticed he was keeping a tight leash on his biting comments for a change. Maybe he and Constance would see the light sooner than she thought.

"Thanks for helping me with my bath, Constance,” she said. “You've no idea how much better I feel."

"You're welcome.” She arranged Isabel's hair neatly across her shoulders and gave the covers one more pat. “There, now. Pretty as a picture."

"Thanks. Um, Constance, does Uncle Jerome's surliness ever bother you?"

"Oh, it's just his way. But today he's been the worst. I almost think he's been avoiding me.” She frowned slightly. “You don't suppose he's really angry with me about something?"

"No, I think he's just trying a little harder to mind his manners. Between you and me, I think he's got a thing for you.” She grinned as she watched the woman's face turn a bright shade of red.

"Oh, that's ridiculous. He's much too handsome a man to pay any attention to someone like me.” Still blushing, she fidgeted with the bedspread.

Constance was right about him being handsome. He didn't look his age, and he was still a virile man, but the kindly housekeeper was wrong about herself. She possessed a warm and friendly kind of pretty. The type of beauty that went clear through. Her silver hair made her look refined rather than older, and her tiny frame was pleasantly proportioned.

"You're a very pretty woman,” Isabel said. “And if my uncle hasn't noticed, then there's something wrong with his eyesight. I suspect you, um, have a thing for him, too. Am I right?"

"Now that's enough of that kind of talk. You call me if you need me."

Constance swept out of the room before Isabel could say another word, but her suspicions were confirmed. Why else would Constance deny her attraction while blushing from head to toe?

But maybe she should try harder to keep her nose out of her uncle's business. If she were going to live in his house, she needed to respect his privacy. After all, he was a grown man. If he was really interested in Constance, he'd do something about it.

Thinking of men, Chad was due any moment. A shame she didn't love him. Isabel desperately wanted to marry and start a family. A real family. Not one where the children were sent off to boarding school, left alone on holidays and birthdays with nothing but a token gift in the mail.

"No, definitely not that.” She wanted a partner, a companion, someone who would support her dreams of owning her own antique shop as she would support his dreams, whatever they were. Well, maybe not politics, but something more down to earth—normal.

She sighed softly. Normal was definitely not on Chad's agenda.

Chad strolled into the room, and she winced at the sight of the large bouquet of yellow roses clutched in his hand. Why did it have to be roses? She'd learned to detest their scent. Well, at least they weren't red—or black.

He took one look at her and came to a screeching halt beside the bed. “Good, God! Look at your face."

"Thank you for being so tactful,” Isabel said coolly.

"I'm sorry, darling, but it just took me by surprise.” He lightly kissed her cheek. “How do you feel?"

As usual, he was quick to save face. “Better, but I still have a long way to go."

"Yes, I imagine so. Is—uh, any of the damage permanent?"

"I'll have a scar on my forehead, and they may have to fix my nose, but I have to wait before they can do any of that. I'm not even sure I want them too.” That ought to throw a little scare into him, she thought, then internally chastised herself for being so hateful. It wasn't Chad's fault she wasn't beautiful and perfect like her old roommate, Susan.

"Not seek a surgeon? What could you be thinking? You don't want to look like Frankenstein, do you?"

She held back her groan. Chad could be a very charming man when he wanted to be. Today, obviously, wasn't one of those times. “It isn't that bad. You're just looking at a lot of bruises and scrapes right now."

Deciding it would be best to change the subject before she said something nasty, Isabel focused on the flowers. “Thank you for the roses. They're lovely. Why don't you put them in that vase over there?”
The vase on the other side of the room, far away from me
.

Hopefully she wouldn't be able to smell the things from the bed. The gauze across her nose helped mask the scent somewhat, but not when they were right up close.

Chad did as she instructed, then sat on the edge of the bed and casually leaned over her. His voice turned husky as he fingered a lock of hair hanging above her breast.

"You actually look rather nice lying here in bed."

Leaning forward, he laid a kiss against her neck then another to her lips, but they left her cold. His kisses just couldn't compare to the perfection of a certain Renaissance man.

Does insanity run in my family?

His fingers stopped twirling her hair and slipped to caress her breast as he deepened the kiss.

She quickly caught his hand. “No Chad."

With a disgruntled sigh, he leaned back. “You always stop me. Why don't you want me to touch you?"

"I happen to have two cracked ribs at the moment.” Although true, it was a cop-out answer.

"You're right, I'm sorry. This isn't the time or place. But you didn't have cracked ribs last weekend, or the one before that. We've been seeing each other for months. Don't you think it's time for our relationship to move to the next level?"

"I'm just not ready.”
Geez, another cop-out. Come on, chicken, tell him
.

Stalking to the window, Chad ran his fingers through his short blonde hair. She studied the clear-cut lines of his profile. He had a polished look about him with his hair trimmed to perfection and the classic cut of his slacks and crisply starched shirt. Any other woman would be drooling at the sight of him, and Isabel had in the beginning. She actually thought she'd made quite a catch when they started seeing each other regularly, but not any longer. His caresses and kisses did nothing to stir her blood. Only a figment of her imagination managed to speed up her heart rate these days.

Isabel cleared her throat, shoving thoughts of her nonexistent lover to the side. “Chad, I've been doing a lot of thinking."

He turned from the window to face her, obviously still disgruntled.

"I think we should break up.” His silent cold stare unnerved her, and she rushed on. “Uncle Jerome and I are going into business together. Here—in Brantley. So, you see it wouldn't make sense to keep seeing each other."

The news finally registering, he stomped across the room back to the bed. “Absolutely not. I've put too much time into this relationship for you to just throw it away."

"I'm sorry, Chad, but I-I don't love you."

"Love? What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Stunned, her jaw dropped. “Then I don't understand—"

He gripped her upper arms, staring hotly into her eyes. “Your uncle may be an eccentric, but he's well known on Wall Street, and so was your father. Even though you're broke, your breeding makes you the perfect senator's wife."

Isabel's stomach lurched and churned as angry tears burned the backs of her eyes. All this time he was only using her and her ridiculous social status. How could she have been so blind?

She threw back her shoulders, tearing away from his grip. The move cost her dearly, but she ignored the pain and stared coldly into his eyes. “Goodbye, Chad. Don't call me. Don't come see me. I don't ever want to see you again."

Grabbing her, he vigorously shook her battered body. “No one dumps Chad Martin. Do you hear me? Especially not some drab little bitch with ice in her veins!"

She felt as though her ribs were pulling apart, the bones snapping. Her teeth clenched, she held her breath, trying to ignore the mind-shattering pain.

Clang! Bang! Crash!

"What the hell?” Shoving her away, Chad spun around.

Isabel fell back against the pillows, gasping with tiny breaths as she took in the Chaos exploding around them.

Invisibly, William jerked open cabinets, slammed doors, and toppled furniture. In the beginning, he felt guilty for listening in on their conversation, but now his rage ruled his actions. How dare the knave lay his hands upon his sweet Isabel? He wanted to pull the man up by the scruff of his neck and run him through. Damn the curse upon him!

Not satisfied with the calamity he created, William picked up an antique chair and held it aloft with every intention of pummeling the cur.

"No! Please,” Isabel wheezed.

William froze for a moment, then carefully returned the chair to the floor. Blast the woman and her cursed love of antiques. He would have to show himself and frighten the whoreson away.

Moaning, William appeared in solid form, his skin a ghastly shade of green, his hands extended and groping, with a gleaming dagger dripping with blood protruding from his chest. As he stumbled toward the heinous excuse of a man, he hid the smile threatening to spread across his face. The codpiece turned pale and stumbled back from William's gruesomeness, until at last, the swine scampered out the door screaming his fool head off.

The moment he left, William let loose a deep bellowing laugh, allowing his visage to return to a more pleasant normal state, lacking the knife and green colored skin.

"Oh my God,” Isabel rasped.

"Isabel.” William turned and hurried to the bed, nearly taking her in his arms before dropping his clenched hands to his sides. “Are you hurt? Did that whoreson harm you?"

"William?” She swallowed awkwardly. “Lord—William—Ashenhurst?” she asked, pointing at him with a shaking hand.

"At your service, mistress.” He bent at the waist with a courtly bow.

She dropped her hand to her lap and stared off into space. “I've snapped. I've really lost it. They say a crazy person doesn't know they're crazy, but obviously I am. Why else would I be sitting here looking at a man in full Renaissance dress and chatting with him as though he were real? I really should've gotten therapy. As soon as my legs start working again, I'm flushing those pills."

William prayed she would remember him and not be afraid, but her rambling proved his visage too much for her. He hastened to waylay her fears.

"I am real, poppet. You are not mad. We were friends when you were little. Do you not remember?"

Her glazed eyes turned to him. “You're real? Not imaginary?” She shook her head weakly from side to side and swallowed. “I'm not losing it?"

He smiled at her adorable perplexed expression. “Nay. You are quite sane.” Thoughts of her attacker returned to his mind. “Are you hurt, sweeting? Did he harm you?"

"No—I mean, yes.” She clenched her eyes closed for a brief moment. “I mean, I'll be all right, I think."

William looked back over his shoulder toward the door at the sound of hurried footsteps. “Your uncle is coming. He shall tend you. Anon, mistress.” He bowed again and vanished.

Isabel stared at the empty space as Jerome bolted into the room with Constance on his heels.

Rushing to her side, he took up her limp hand. “Are you all right? Chad ran out of here screaming. Scared me half to death. And the noise!"

"I'm all right.” Isabel tried to calm her racing heart and figure out what to say. She was so confused. “I-I don't think Chad liked my breaking up with him. And—and he kind of threw a fit, I guess.”
That's what really happened. Right?

Constance picked up the mess while Jerome stayed by her side. “I'm glad you broke up with him, Isabel, but this is a bit much. What is he, some sort of nutcase?"

Isabel nodded guardedly as she glanced around the room. “Yes. A nutcase,” she agreed absently. Or else she was.

Her eyes froze on the shadowy corner near the door. Was there someone there?

No, of course not. If there were, her uncle and Constance would see him, wouldn't they? She pressed her trembling hand over her eyes.

"Are you sure you're all right?” her uncle asked.

Peering between her fingers at his worried expression, she forced a smile to her lips. “I'm fine. I think I'll rest a while.” Yes, that's what she needed. Lots of rest.