Fair Maiden (20 page)
Gloved fingers seized around his arm. Apparently he’d been
distracted just long enough for Muriel to catch up. He swore mentally.
“Such a fine garden you have,” she said in a winded voice.
“Thank you.” He couldn’t say he agreed. Certainly it had the
potential to be fine. However, it had been neglected until he’d moved in. And
even then he didn’t yet have a fulltime gardener. So to him, it looked sort of
ragged, and clearly she was lying.
That brought a frown to his face. Being lied to was
something he really did not like, and his opinion of her slipped another notch
or two. His eyes rose to the stone wall hiding Tessa’s window again. Where was
she?
“Christian?” Muriel’s fingers moved along his arm. “Are you
coming to our ball next week?”
How could such a delightful day turn so sour? Birds sang
their usual, gleeful tune. Bee’s hummed their happy and industrious path around
the roses and hollyhocks, and a cheerful breeze danced about them, playing with
his hair, which he swept from his eyes. “That’s next week?”
“Yes. ‘Tis Friday. We’d love it if you could come.”
He drew a breath. The air was scented with the herbs just
ahead of them, and the flowers along the path. Yet, somehow the pleasant aromas
surrounding him were tainted with Muriel Spencer’s presence. “I’ll have to
check my calendar,” he hedged.
“We’re having an Egyptian theme. You mustn’t miss it.”
“What would I wear to that?”
“I’d love to see you dressed as an Egyptian prince,” she
added, fiddling with the lapel of his coat, and brushing her bodice
suggestively against his arm.
Shifting away, he barely swallowed the bellow of laughter
that attempted to burst forth. “An Egyptian prince? You must be joking.”
Clearly she was offended by that. Her blue eyes narrowed,
her bottom lip popped out, and her hips cocked to the side. “I am most
certainly not joking, Christian! Invitations to this are highly sought after.
And I’ve just given you a personal one.”
He knew she expected him to be touched or flattered by this.
But sadly for her, he was not. “I’ll have to check my calendar,” he said,
returning to his earlier tactic.
Muriel exhaled gustily, and did he just hear a little growl
while she stomped her beslippered foot in anger?
He definitely had to get away from this girl.
Later in his study—the only place he could escape Muriel—his
ghost returned to him.
“Tessa, darling, what a relief it is to see you. Where have
you been?”
“Here and there,” she replied cryptically as she settled
upon the desk before him. Her golden wedding gown billowed out around her.
“Did you see us in the garden?” he asked, hoping she hadn’t
but suspecting she had.
A big sigh escaped her pale pouting lips. Her shoulders rose
and fell with it, and he knew she’d seen them.
“I’m not interested in her,” he rushed to add. “You must
know that.”
“I can see she irritates you so,” Tessa whispered in that
dreamy ghost-like voice of hers.
He laughed. “You have no idea.”
Quiet settled around them like a different kind of phantom.
Christian pushed it way with a request, “I need you and
Jackson to stay close to me. Especially while
they’re
here.”
“Why?” Her emerald eyes rounded and then glittered in the
candlelight.
“She means to trap me.”
A pretty frown took to her face. “What do you mean?”
“Just like the prince trapped you, Muriel believes if she
can get caught alone with me, we’ll be forced to wed.”
“Caught by whom?”
“Her mother, of course.”
“So she can become the next countess…”
“It would be motivation enough for many, I’m afraid.”
“How could I help, Christian? I’m dead,” she murmured, tears
welling in her eyes fracturing the light shining through her.
A fissure formed in his soul every time she did that. He
reached to gather the wetness from her cheek. “Hush, my dear princess, do not
weep…”
The door opened. Speak of the devil, he thought, as Muriel
drifted toward them on a fluttering cloud of lavender gossamer. One wisp of
chestnut hair hung free from her elaborate chignon, which she twisted around an
extended finger. Her mouth was quirked with mischievous intent.
He exhaled and looked at the tear upon his finger; wishing
the rest of Contessa could be this tangible again.
Muriel strode directly toward Contessa without seeing her,
of course. His ghost cringed away as the brunette drew close enough to pass
through her invisible legs and skirt that dangled from the edge of the desk. On
some level, that really angered him, and he wrestled with the scowl that
threatened to encompass his expression.
“Hello, Christian,” Muriel said so sweetly his teeth ached.
“I’ve missed you. Is this where you’ve been hiding?”
He scanned the desk. “I’ve been…studying,” he said, flipping
open the first book his fingers touched.
“About faeries?”
Internally he cringed. He hadn’t realized he’d grabbed that
one. “Er, yes. Don’t you find the wee creatures intriguing?”
She laughed. The sound grated on his nerves. It was not the
delicious tinkle that Contessa emitted. “I suppose so,” she replied, removing
the book from his hands and closing it.
To his surprise, the chit actually moved onto his desk and
propped one hand out to brace herself. A naked hand. Evidently she meant to do
exactly what he’d just been telling Tessa she would do.
“What can I do for you,
Lady Spencer
?” Christian
didn’t even try to hide the annoyance that was thick within his tone.
“I’ve wanted to be alone with you…”
He slanted a glance toward Tessa’s angelic face. She was
frowning and leaning farther away from the spoiled brat. Her eyes met with his,
and he cocked one eyebrow, hoping she’d catch on to his thoughts.
Muriel moved her fingers over his. He slid his hands to his
lap. Muriel frowned at that, but kept on task with her apparent plan. “I know
it is reckless of me to want to be near a well known rake, such as you…”
Him, a rake? He settled roughly into the cushion of his
chair and crossed his arms over his chest. She didn’t know him at all, and he
couldn’t help but feel offended by that. Not that he cared what she thought of
him, but he wondered if that truly was the talk of the ton, or just a sly
maneuver she was using to ensnare him.
Contessa drifted from the desk and settled onto a velvet
chair behind Muriel at the darkest corner of the chamber. Her hair, ribbons,
and gown fluttered in that invisible breeze surrounding her, and she lifted one
hand to the shutters nearest her. A little line of concentration creased her
brow and the window opened per her mental command. He saw no change in her
appearance, but he suspected she’d made herself visible when she said, “I fear
you are not alone as you wish, my lady. I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you.”
Wanting to bellow with laughter at Muriel’s startled
reaction, Christian stuffed a fist against his mouth. A little snort escaped
out his nose.
“You!” The one word sounded like an accusation. “I did not
see you there when I came in.” Her falsely blushing cheeks turned red with
rage.
“I’ve been here for quite some time, I assure you. Surely
you do not believe I materialized from thin air, do you?” Only he noticed the
nervousness in Tessa’s voice as she lifted an open book from her lap. It was
the one he’d purchased for her in London, and he wondered how she’d brought it
here when he knew it had been in his bedchamber.
Muriel sprang from her seated position and stared at
Contessa. While she appeared to be snuggled up upon the velvet-covered chair,
she couldn’t help but bob slightly.
He held his breath.
Would Muriel realize she was a ghost? Would Muriel notice
that Contessa’s locks of honey moved not because of the fresh air coming from
the open window, but because of her spiritual form? Would the selfish girl
comprehend that the historical cut and the intricate handwork of Contessa’s
regal dress made her look more like a fey princess from a far away realm and
simply, positively medieval?
Apparently not. Or apparently she’d situated herself in
enough shadow to hide the truth of her form, because Muriel did not see.
“You were in here
alone
with him?” One pointed finger
stabbed in his direction. “Studying faeries?”
“It is one of our favorite topics. However, I’m reading Jane
Austen at the moment,” drawled Contessa as she turned a page, pretending to do
it with her fingers. If she’d been living at the moment, he knew her cheeks
would have been a pretty shade of pink. Obviously it was difficult for her to
act so nonchalant. “Have you ever—?”
“Is that so?” A gray-blue glare shot toward Christian.
“Well!” Her arms hung to the sides with rounded fists at the ends. “I will leave
you to it then.” And she stormed from the study, the fragile material of her
gown whipping around in her wake. But as she opened the door, she became even
more flustered. He heard why as she snapped at her mother, “Not now!”
The door banged shut and then it was peaceful again.
“Thank you,” he said as Contessa returned to her perch upon
his desk. He decided she belonged there. How dare Muriel try to crowd her out!
She nodded, a tiny smirk playing about her mouth. Her
transparent finger followed the grain twisting through the polished wood. Her
pretty eyes remained lowered; hiding that lingering sadness residing there.
“It was fun seeing her so flustered, wasn’t it?” he
continued, hoping to cheer her.
Nodding again, she said, “She did not notice I was a spirit.”
And the fact she
was
a spirit was the true crux of the situation.
He offered a chuckle, trying to brighten her mood and his.
“She’s too self-absorbed to notice something like that.”
When he failed at removing the tension between them, he
rested his hand, palm up, on the desk before her. “Lay your hand upon mine,
Contessa.”
She did, again avoiding his gaze, as he repeated her name
three more times.
Nothing changed.
The warmth of her spirit caressed his skin, but there was
nothing more tangible. Nothing more he could grasp. No heartbeat to touch.
Christian ground his teeth.
“Let us go to Tabitha. Have her look in her book of spells
again. Perhaps we can come up with something.”
The witch didn’t seem too happy about being cooped up in her
suite while she hid out waiting to play chaperone. Even though he’d given her
one of the nicest accommodations he had available at the castle.
The red-head was nestled, it seemed quite comfortably, upon
the silk-upholstered chaise tucked between the fire and the window which looked
out upon the gardens and countryside.
“So tell me,” said Tabitha. “The first time you spoke her
name, where were you?”
“In my bedchamber.”
Tabitha’s eyebrows twitched with something that seemed a bit
like disapproval. “And after that?”
“At the ball.”
“Hmm.”
“Are you thinking we should try speaking her name in my
bedchamber?”
“And hers, I would suggest.”
“Are you certain you have nothing that would help?”
Christian went on.
With a sigh, which sounded suspiciously like a groan, the
witch fished the book out of her bag. “I will look again.”
They waited while Tabitha took more time perusing the pages
than she had before. The only sounds being his breath, the witch’s soft
muttering, and the paper as it crinkled with each turn.
Tabitha stiffened as she paused to read, then finally said,
“We could try this…I hadn’t thought of it before.”
“What is it?” asked Christian.
“A revealing charm.”
“Well, chant it, speak it, or whatever it is that you do.”
Tabitha chuckled. “I will speak the words in your bedchamber
just after you utter her name.”
As they traversed to his chamber, Jackson intercepted them
bearing news. “It seems Lady Spencer and her daughter have decided to cut their
visit short.”
Christian smiled. “They’ve left?” he asked hopefully.
Jackson nodded.
“And my mother?”
“Has remained. She still wishes to meet Lady Contessa.”
He was working on that, but it did create another problem.
While Muriel would not notice she’d met a ghost, the marchioness would. If he
could not bring Contessa back to solid form, he’d have no choice but to send
Mother back to London disappointed. And that would not fare well for his
monetary situation.
Chapter
21
Magic
“Let us try her bedchamber,” Christian offered, when nothing
happened after the spell was spoken in his chamber.
As they moved into her room, Contessa felt both nervous and
hopeful at once as Tabitha uttered the words another time just after Christian
said, “Contessa.” And this time, she flickered to life before returning just as
quickly to ghost form. The sensation was shocking. One moment she felt nothing,
the next an overwhelming wave of weighty sensation, and then nothing again. She
wanted to cry and when Christian swept a tear from her chin, she realized she
already was.
“Once more,” he suggested. She could hear in his voice he
did not like to see her this way.
But the witch shuddered and turned suddenly to the mirror.
“Do you feel that?”
“Feel what?” Christian asked.
“Someone is watching,” hissed Tabitha, and she looked
frightened for the first time since they met her.
Christian peered into the glass. “Are your parents there?”
he asked.
“No.” At least she could not see them in the looking glass,
but as the witch had said, she too sensed a presence.
“Your parents? What is this? You did not share this
information with me before.” Tabitha’s words were curt with anger, and it was
clear she’d been offended by this omission.
“I’m sorry, Tabitha, I should have told you. I saw my
parents looking back at me one night,” she offered hesitantly as the witch turned
a demanding look upon her face.
“You’re certain that is who they were?”
“Yes. They acknowledged as much when I addressed them so.”
Without warning the witch chanted the revealing spell at the
mirror and another castle appeared in the reflection.
Contessa gasped, and heard the others do the same.
The picture was empty of people, and the chamber was most
definitely not a reflection of them or her bedchamber. Before them was a
spacious room with marbled floors, and pillars, and windows draped in burgundy
velvet. Long tapestries depicting faeries hung from ceiling to floor upon the
walls. Besides a few tables, there were no furnishings, as though they looked
upon a gallery rather than any chamber of import. The only other thing missing
was the presence of family portraits which would normally be displayed in such
a place.
“What does that mean? Contessa, do you recognize that
place?” Christian asked, reaching for her arms.
She felt that sensation of energy with the touch, but wanted
so much more. She wanted to feel the heat, the pressure, the texture of his
fingers pressing the material of her gown into her skin—sensations which were
so fresh inside her memory, and so missed. She longed to feel again, even
though it had been almost overwhelming and almost painful to do so.
“Contessa,” he repeated.
Only then did she realize she’d closed her eyes hoping to
feel something, anything. She opened them and stared into the looking glass.
Then said, “I’m sorry. I do not recognize it.”
“Could you have forgotten it?”
“’Tis possible. There is much I still do not recall.”
“We will not get her back if we remain here,” the witch cut
in.
“What do you mean?”
“Come,” Tabitha gathered his coat sleeve in gnarled fingers.
“Back to your chamber. Please, my lord.”
Without further argument, except for a creasing of his
forehead, Christian hastened to the doorway, along the hallway, and returned to
his bedchamber. She followed, unable to stifle the sniffles of sadness.
“What is it?” Christian demanded of Tabitha upon a growl.
“That room, that mirror…. Her bedchamber is simply dripping
with magic. So much of it…so thick with it…” The elderly woman shuddered.
“Of course it is. Did you not see the vines ascending the
bedposts and the living insects fluttering about it?”
“She cannot sleep there any longer.”
“What?” demanded Christian. He stood glaring down at Tabitha
with wrath clouding his dark eyes, and his becoming but thin mouth forming a
tense line.
“If you want her back, my lord, she must not sleep in that
chamber. Everything about it strengthens the spell holding her.”
“Then here, with me…” he began to suggest.
“Certainly not.”
His expression warned that he meant to protest, but before
he could, the witch continued, “Do not be a fool, young man. If she does return
to the living, how is that appropriate?”
Christian scratched at his nape, looking guilty instead of
angry.
“She will remain with me,” said the witch. “It is the only
way I can watch over her and work on a solution. It is the only way I can bring
her back to you.” Tabitha wrung her fingers wearily.
“I must have her back.” He turned his expressive eyes upon
her. The dark color of his irises heated with an intensity of emotion she had
not seen. “We must gather more information,” demanded Christian as he motioned
for Tabitha to sit in the only chair within the master bedchamber, and for
Contessa to take the bed.
Exhaling quietly, Tessa levitated above the blankets.
He moved with an aggressive-looking gate to the fire to give
it a stab with the iron poker. A log split, sending flames and sparks against
the blackened stone inside.
Christian gave it another shove. “Why was I the only one who
could see her?”
Tabitha took a few moments to ponder that. He shifted, set
the poker back into its cradle, hooked one arm on the mantle and tossed an
impatient glare over his shoulder.
Tabitha finally said, “I suspect,” she began slowly, “that
since the spell is connected to this castle, and since you are the owner, you
were able to see her when the others could not until she revealed herself.”
“But my parents owned it before me. They took holiday here
recently. My mother had the chambers decorated, and my father had the estate
fitted with the most modern plumbing. Why did she not awaken then?” He flicked
a bit of ash off his tan trousers.
“The stones suggest your destinies are linked. Therefore,
she would only awaken when you took possession—”
On a gusty breath, he bit out, “I am so utterly baffled. How
then did she show up at the ball, when before that she could not leave the
grounds?”
Tabitha, unsuccessfully, tried to smooth a wrinkle from her
violet gown. “Well, it was your name she uttered as she searched for you. I
believe that is what brought her to you.”
“How can that be?”
“I believe you’re connected to her, and therefore, the only
one to have the power to break the spell, besides the one who placed it upon
her. As I noted before, my lord, the incantation is held together with her
name. This estate and her bedchamber are part of it as well.” Tabitha paused on
a sudden gasp. “By the saints! Why had I not thought of this before?”
“What?”
“There could be more than one spell at work here.”
“Explain.”
“Perhaps one spell took her life and trapped her in spirit
form, and another placed her here at Krestly Castle. And you were the first to
speak her name. I believe that information had been taken from her. For her to
remain trapped in death, it is likely that whoever placed the spell did not
expect her to remember it.”
“And she was placed here intentionally.” It was not a
question.
But Tabitha treated it as such. “She
had
to have
been.”
“If she has seen her parents in that chamber, are they the
ones who built it for her?”
After pondering that for a moment, the witch said, “It would
seem that is the case. They could have commissioned the room for her resting
place after she was murdered and trapped between Heaven and Earth. But I am not
certain.”
He took up that dangerous gait again as he moved toward
Contessa and settled before her at the foot of the bed. But whilst his
movements were sharp, the tender expression upon his face was not. Reaching for
her hand, he whispered her name.
She came to life, and felt a shuddering breath move past her
lips as her body sank into the feather mattress. His fingers searched for her
pulse and the heat of them seared a path from palm to wrist. As he graced her
with his dimple, she reached for his face.
“Oh darling, please stay this way,” he said.
But she did not.