My Lady Ghost Read online

  “I shall try to think of words to suitably express my gratitude at another time.” Allison tilted her nose up and turned away from him.

  “I shall look forward to it,” Thorne replied gravely. Allison looked up from her book to see that laughter lurked in his eyes— laughter and admiration.

  It was such a beautiful dream, Allison tried to keep from waking up, but inexorably the sounds of early morning intruded. Her maid bustled about the room, and the scent of hot coffee lured her into opening her eyes.

  She burrowed deep into her covers and tried to remember the dream. Extraordinary, she thought. I saw colors, heard sounds—it seemed so real. In her dream she had been at Silverthorne Castle, a place she had often visited as a child before her father and Lord Silverthorne had fallen out.

  This dream was a recollection of a particular visit, the year she was nine. Prior to that, although she had often seen the Silver Lady, the spirit had never taken note of her, but only hovered about anxiously, watching the people who walked about the castle speculating about where the treasure might be. The second Marquess of Silverthorne had enjoyed taking visitors to tour the castle while he regaled them with tales of his ancestors’ valor.

  On the particular visit that her dream had re-created, Allison had tired of the conversation of adults; tired, too, of Jamie’s boyish teasing. He kept trying to frighten her by jumping out from behind rocks and outbuildings, pretending to be a ghost. So she had slipped away and was exploring on her own when suddenly she saw the Silver Lady, closer and more clearly than ever before. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders, glowing in the sunlight. She looked right at Allison, a radiant smile on her face, and beckoned for her to follow. At the entrance to the keep, the Lady motioned for her to enter. Hesitating a little at the thought of braving the darkness beyond the entryway, Allison heard her mother’s frantic calls. In an instant the Silver Lady disappeared.

  That was the last time Allison saw the specter, for her mother had been frightened and angry at the same time. Warning her that the old castle was too dangerous for her to explore alone, she had sternly forbidden her daughter ever to wander off unaccompanied again. Since that day, Delphinia had always campaigned to convince her that there was no such thing as a ghost, and Allison had eventually come to believe the whole incident was a figment of her imagination.

  Her dream had taken up where reality left off. In it, she had followed the ghost into the keep. It led her through dark tunnels in a phantasmagorical sequence that bore no resemblance to the real appearance of the old castle’s stronghold, at least not any part of it that Allison had seen. Eventually, she was brought into a room filled with treasure. The Silver Lady stood in the center, shining radiantly as she spread her hands to welcome Allison. Golden goblets, swords, rubies, emeralds, and diamonds sparkled as they spilled out of chests. And everywhere there was silver, silver, silver—goblets, swords, coins, cutlery—a king’s ransom of silver.

  As Allison drew near the Silver Lady, she began to change. The beckoning arms became muscular, the figure grew and took on a man’s shape, the clothing went from voluminous skirts to formfitting trousers, and the ghost's glowing tresses became a top hat and intricately tied cravat. Allison did not dare to look at this new figure’s face, but she knew somehow that it was Thorne. She moved into the welcoming arms that enfolded her and lifted her face for a kiss. It was at this point that reality began to intrude. She had tried to hang on to the dream, but sleep retreated, leaving her bereft of the strong arms and passionate kiss she so much desired.

  She realized the dream had been triggered by the conversation the day before. Is this how James pictures the treasure? If so, it is a compelling vision, indeed. Allison shook her head. Impossible! Every square inch of the castle, above and below ground, except for that buried under rubble or threatening to collapse, had been searched over and over. Secret rooms had indeed been found— empty rooms. Whatever the childhood dreams she and James had spun around that treasure, as an adult she was as convinced as Thorne that it had long since been removed from the castle.

  * * *

  That evening, Allison found her opportunity to twit Thorne for his presumption in discouraging her suitors. They returned from another ball in the early morning hours. For once Delphinia was not feigning tiredness. She yawned even as she followed the footman’s high-held candle branch up the stairs. Allison accepted Thorne’s suggestion of a glass of sherry, so that she could beard him on his interference in her affairs. He had given her fresh cause: This time Claude Springfield had also eschewed dancing with her.

  Thorne handed her a small crystal glass and, to her surprise, immediately turned away from her. He made his way to the French doors that opened out onto the small garden at the rear of the town house. “A beautiful evening, isn’t it?” he asked, holding out his hand in invitation. “Shall we walk in the moonlight?”

  At the expression on his face, all thought of quarreling with him disappeared. Heart pounding with excitement, Allison crossed the room and took his hand, allowing him to lead her through the windows and into the silvery light. They walked silently side by side down the narrow, winding brick path.

  “Your hair glows like moonbeams,” Thorne finally said, turning to face her. “In fact, in that silver-beaded gown you look like a moon maiden. Are you, in fact, a daughter of the moon ?”

  She lifted her eyes to meet his. Naked desire stared out at her and called an answering passion from her. Suddenly, she was in his arms, without knowing who had made the first move.

  Thorne’s first kiss was hard, urgent—the expression of long pent-up feelings—and she returned it in kind. Then his lips gentled on hers and began a slow, maddeningly slow sampling of her lips, proceeding by delicate nips, stopping to suck gently on the fullness at the center.

  This was seduction, and Allison loved every minute of it. As her knees buckled, she slumped against him, and he gathered her close with his strong left arm while his right hand plundered her hair, plucking out pins and jewels to free it. Then he broke off his kisses to spread it about her shoulders, fingering it wonderingly and murmuring, “So soft, so silky.”

  Allison put her hand behind his head and pulled him down for another long, drugging kiss. Before it had ended, she felt herself being lifted off her feet. She kissed his jawline, reveling in the sensation of tiny pricks from his beard, as he carried her back into the house and lowered her onto the soft leather of the largest sofa in his drawing room.

  Immediately, Thorne followed her down, pressing her into the yielding leather, kissing her face, her neck, her bosom. She pressed her breast willingly, eagerly, into his hand as he pulled the beaded lace away. Lost to reason, frenzied with desire, she lifted her hips as he began to work the material of her skirt higher, all the while raining kisses on her.

  But just as he successfully worked the fabric free, Allison became aware of the meaning of the words that punctuated his kisses. She stilled beneath him. “What? What did you say?” Her voice was breathless.

  “I said you would be the most cherished, indulged ..Thorne, too, stilled as he realized what she was reacting to.

  “ ‘Mistress in all of England.' Isn’t that what you said?” She pulled her hands out of his hair and pushed against his chest.

  “Don’t. Oh, God, don't deny me this. You want me, I know you do. I’ve been going mad with desire for you. I know it will be awkward. Your mother is an observant woman, but—”

  “My mother is a principled woman, and so am I.” This time Allison pushed with all her might, heaving with her body, too. Thorne began to slide off the sofa. He had to sit up to regain his balance. Instantly, Allison wriggled from beneath him. Springing from the sofa, she hastily reclaimed her bodice and smoothed her skirt.

  “No wonder the gossips say I am your mistress! They know you better than I do. How dare you warn Jason and Ronald away because they might have dishonorable intentions, when you planned to offer me your own dishonorable intentions!” The sense of betrayal and
loss Allison felt overwhelmed her. She turned and dropped her face into her hands, sobbing.

  “No, no, my love, don’t cry.”

  “Don’t call me your love.” Swallowing her tears, Allison turned on him furiously. “You could not possibly love me and make such an offer. You cannot even know me at all, to think that I would agree to be kept by you.” She broke away from him. “What a fool I have been. And poor mother. She thinks you hung the moon. ‘Dear Thorne, such a kind and decent man, to take us under his wing when William treated us so shamefully.’ Little did she know you had nefarious reasons for your kindness.”

  “No, you and she were too busy spinning your silken webs, to entrap me in marriage.” Thorne drew himself up angrily. “Well, it hasn't worked. Any number of women have tried, but I am not inclined to marry. I thought you understood that.”

  “We did not scheme!” Allison stamped her foot in fury. “In fact, in spite of mother’s constant harping, I had absolutely no intentions of remarrying. I like my independence, and—”

  “I rather thought you did, so I naturally assumed that if you accepted my attentions that meant you ...”

  But Thorne couldn’t quite bring himself to complete that sentence. In truth, before this night he had had no thought of making Allison his mistress. For weeks he had been struggling with his growing feelings for her, knowing an affair would wrong her, but fearing that marriage to her would doom him to his father’s fate. What had just happened was entirely spontaneous.

  “Oh, yes. I know. Like so many men, you thought as a widow I was ripe for any number of affairs. While I believed myself to be falling in love with you, you were planning—what? To purchase a nice little house for me in Hampton? But no—you just said you meant to be generous. Doubtless you planned on leasing a house right here in Mayfair.”

  She sliced the air downward with her hand. “What a fool I am. I don’t even know you. Well, our idyll is at an end. Mother and I will remove ourselves from your household tomorrow.”

  “You most certainly will not! Where would you go? What would you do? Your combined income would not support you in a genteel manner.”

  “Then I shall just have to find a position somewhere. I will not be a whore. Yours or anyone else’s.” Allison’s voice broke. She turned and ran out of the room.

  Thorne caught her at the bottom of the steps.

  “You and your mother will remain here,” he stormed in his most intimidating voice.

  “Don’t you presume to tell me what to do. I won’t spend another night under the same roof with you.”

  “I shall be the one to move, then. I’ll go to my club—something I should have done long ago, before temptation overwhelmed me.”

  “Ah, yes. And I am the scheming temptress. Let me tell you this, Thorne D’Aumont: I would have preferred the attentions of St. John to yours, for he at least made no pretensions of concern for my honor.”

  Stung, and not knowing how to undo the false impression he had given her without explaining a great deal more than he cared to, Thorne let her go when she pulled her elbow from his grasp. He watched her climb the stairs and felt a little like a man who had been milled down by an unexpectedly strong opponent—hurting all over, not quite sure what he had done wrong, and too dazed to know what he should do next.

  Chapter Three

  “I do wish Aunt Henrietta would not be so careful of our purse.

  I would gladly have paid more postage to be able to read this,” Allison complained, holding the piece of crossed and recrossed parchment closer to the window.

  “Let me try if I can read it,” Delphinia started to rise from the sofa where she lay with a cold cloth across her forehead. “I can usually make out her hand.”

  “No, Mother. Puzzling it out can only make your headache worse.” Allison cast a worried look toward her mother, whose headaches had intensified and become more frequent since their removal to Bristol two weeks before. What does it signify? she wondered. Is her unhappiness the cause, or does she have a malady requiring a physician's attendance? It little mattered, since her mother had resolutely refused to see a Bristol physician.

  Delphinia swung her feet to the floor and held out her hand. “My headache has gone long since. I have just been too lazy to move.” Allison reluctantly handed her the letter and watched as she frowned over the cramped writing.

  “Hmmm. Something about a house party, and a ... oh, a ghost,” Delphinia said in a tone of utter disgust. “It’s about the Ghost of Hammerswold supposedly selecting a bride for the Hammerswold heir. What a lot of nonsense. James would do well to cease keeping company with that disgraceful Jared Camden. I doubt marriage to Sylvia Patchfield can improve him.”

  Allison laughed. “True. If the ghost chose that little cat for Jared, his much vaunted wisdom must be called into question. But why is Aunt Henny raking those old coals?”

  Delphinia squinted at the paper. “It seems to be something about a maid. How confusing. What has a maid to do with the ghost?” She turned the paper sideways so that she could read the perpendicular lines. “This part I can’t make out either—surely it doesn’t say James and Jared have been riding donkeys?”

  “A fatal jest for the donkey that had the misfortune to carry one of Jared’s girth, I sadly fear.” Allison grimaced in disgust.

  “Another ridiculous wager, I have no doubt. Our poor Jamie will bankrupt himself yet.” Delphinia’s expression saddened as she lay back down and dragged the cloth onto her forehead once again.

  “Perhaps James can explain it all to us when he arrives. I had expected him before now.” Allison leaned forward to peer out the window of their parlor. “Not that I truly believed he would be on time. Let us call for our tea now, else it will be time for dinner, and Mrs. Peterson’s tea cakes will be quite stale.”

  Delphinia rose once more and fluttered anxiously to the window. “I am sure he was unavoidably detained. Perhaps his carriage broke down, or robbers ..

  Allison barely suppressed an amused smile at her mother, who could not bear to hear ill of any of her male relatives. Rather than believe James had been careless about his arrival time, she would accept that Napoleon yet lived and was on the march to London.

  “Do not distress yourself, Mother. He’ll be here soon. I’m sure. I'll call Peterson, shall I?” At Delphinia’s nod, Allison moved to the parlor door. Their one male servant, an ancient man in an ill- fitting uniform, sat dozing on a bench in the hall.

  “We’ll have our tea now, Peterson.” She had to repeat the sentence, bending to speak into his ear.

  The butler awoke with a start. “Master Jamie here?”

  “No, but we have decided to begin without him.”

  “Up to his old tricks,” the elderly man growled as he limped away to do his mistress’s bidding.

  “Peterson’s rheumatism is bothering him again, poor old dear.” Allison returned to her chair by the window and picked up the book she had been reading.

  “How I wish we could afford to pension him off.” Her mother sighed.

  “He likely wouldn’t go, Mother. You’d never convince him you could do without him. But we do need a younger man for the heavy work. Oh, that foolish, foolish girl.” Allison tossed her book down in disgust.

  “Girl?”

  “Yes, the heroine in this novel has refused a very worthy and very wealthy gentleman. And who is she? A nobody, with encroaching, ill-mannered relatives.”

  Delphinia clicked her tongue. ‘These romances—so unrealistic. I don’t see why you read them. I suppose it has ghosts and haunted castles and other things to your taste!”

  “Not this one. To tell the truth, I don’t quite know what to make of it. It isn’t precisely a romance. More of a satire. I suppose the silly creature will get her comeuppance in the end, but in her place I would certainly have swallowed my pride and accepted him!”

  “Now dear, you wouldn’t accept a man you didn’t care for. Else why did you not accept Lord Bertland’s proposal?” Her mother
wagged a knowing finger at Allison.

  “This Eliza Bennet does love her suitor, though she may not know it yet. You have the right of it, though. I won’t remarry except for love, and now that I have no hope of Thorne, I do not look for that to happen.” Allison suddenly stood and began pacing the parlor, straightening cushions and realigning the chairs. Her lower lip was trembling.

  “You still have hope of Thorne,” Delphinia asserted. “It was all a misunderstanding. That dear, kind, honorable man could not have meant to give you a slip on the shoulder. He is not in the least rakish, and even if he were, he wouldn’t dishonor you, his kinswoman and widow of his best friend. When he returns from Paris, he’ll set all aright.”

  Allison clenched her jaw. She had smiled over her mother’s defense of James, but she found nothing humorous in this continued manifestation of her mother’s worship of Thorne, her favorite representative of her favored sex. When Allison told her Thorne had asked her to be his mistress, Delphinia had flatly refused to believe it. She insisted Allison had misunderstood Thorne. And since he had decamped to Paris the next day, there had been no opportunity for Delphinia to hear from his own lips that he had intended an affair. She had only come to Bristol because Allison made it clear she would leave Thorne’s home, with or without her mother’s company.

  Despairing of ever convincing her mother of Thorne’s culpability, Allison sighed. “I do wish you would not pursue this subject. Mother.”

  Before Delphinia could, with the best intentions, rub more salt into Allison’s wounds, a loud knock at the door announced the arrival of their visitor.

  Allison jumped up. “I’ll go. Peterson will take forever, even if he heard it.” She hurried from the room, glad to put an end to their conversation.