Chaste Kiss (5 page)

Isabel clutched the covers to her chest. She'd just overdone it with the bath, and Chad's visit, and all the excitement about her shop. Of course that's what it was. And those pain killers. She couldn't forget those.

Releasing the death grip she had on the coverlet, she settled back against the headboard, but her uncle and Constance continued to watch her warily.

"Really. I'm fine. I'm going to lie back and forget the entire incident,” she said, trying to reassure them.

A flash of white caught her eye. Oh, God. He
was
there in the corner amid the shadows.

"You call us if you need anything,” Constance said.

Isabel nodded, staring at the dim figure standing with his arms folded across his chest. They really had talked during the night. She hadn't been dreaming. A full-fledged ghost haunted Derrington Manor.

No, she had to be hallucinating. There was no such thing as ghosts.

Her uncle rose, capturing her attention. “I'll check back on you in a little while."

Isabel nodded numbly, words having completely escaped her as she continued mentally arguing with herself.

They walked passed the figure near the door, temporarily blocking her view, and yet noticed nothing. Once they were gone, her eyes searched the dim corner.

Empty.

"Right. Like it should be,” she murmured, cautiously looking around the room.

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she let out a soft breath of relief, but couldn't shake the odd feeling of not being alone.

"Are you still here, William?” She didn't really want a response, although some part of her prayed for one.

"Aye, I am here.” He materialized at the foot of the bed, looking exactly as she remembered him. Just like in her dreams.

She gulped. “You're not a figment of my imagination or a delusion brought on by too many painkillers, are you?"

He smiled, setting his deep blue eyes to sparkling, and her heart into a tailspin. Lord, he was handsome. All this time she thought he was a dream, a childhood fantasy, but now she realized how ridiculous she'd been. He was far too gorgeous, too real, too—everything, for a child to dream up.

But a woman could imagine the strapping figure of a man, and she was most definitely a woman. Isabel could feel every part of her female anatomy awakening with the mere presence of him.

So much for having ice in her veins.

He stepped to the side of the bed. “I am real. As real as I can be in this world. I pray I did not frighten you.” His smooth deep tones sent a delicious shiver down her spine.

"You are cold,” he said, and moved quickly across the room to the wardrobe for an extra blanket.

She admired his long graceful strides. His tight leather breeches tucked into riding boots displayed his muscular thighs perfectly. Her gaze moved up his exquisite masculine form as he returned to her side with the quilt.

A white linen shirt with a deep ‘v’ shaped neck and billowy sleeves with ruffled cuffs lay beneath an embroidered red jerkin laced together. His turned up collar framed his strong jaw and contrasted sharply with his black hair. Definitely the look of a rogue.

Dark hypnotizing curls visible between the undone lacings of his shirt teased her to distraction. He looked exactly as he did in her dreams. No—better. Much, much better.

He stepped back after having carefully adjusted the blanket to his satisfaction. “Better?"

"Better,” Isabel said softly, then shook her head to break the haze of desire clouding her thoughts. Lusting after a ghost couldn't be healthy. Maybe she'd lost it, after all. “Um, thank you for the quilt. And no, you didn't frighten me."

"I am verily relieved."

There was that smile again. Thick, full lips she knew could take her to a world of absolute ecstasy. Nervously clearing her throat, she dropped her gaze to the quilt. Oh, this was awkward beyond belief! She had the hots for a ghost.

"I see that my presence disturbs you. I will leave you to your rest, poppet,” he said.

She heard the disappointment in his voice and quickly doused the growing heat in the pit of her stomach. “No, I was just thinking. Please, don't go."

"If you are certain."

Isabel nodded.

"Very well. I shall remain.” William moved the chair he'd held over Chad's head next to the bed and sat.

"Why couldn't I see you before? I used to be able to see you all the time when I was little?” she asked.

"I do not know. Perhaps ‘tis because you are no longer a child and ‘tis harder for you to believe in me."

"I suppose.” She looked away for a moment, refusing to let her libido rule her thoughts—although it pounded rather furiously against the door she'd locked it behind. “William, I vaguely remember why you're here. I mean, I remember you're cursed somehow and something about being attached to the bed."

She swallowed hard. Images of him and the bed, the bed she was lying in at that very moment, unnerved her. She'd meant to make conversation and refresh her memory, not send her hormones into a tizzy. The door to those dangerous thoughts needed a heftier deadbolt.

"Aye, little one. I am cursed to haunt the chamber bed, and to never know another human's touch for all eternity."

"You never told me the entire story though, did you?"

"Nay,” he said with a shake of his head. “'Twas not a story one should tell a babe. ‘Tis not pleasant, Isabel. I was not an—honorable man."

"Would you tell me now?” She smiled to encourage him, and he grinned in return.

"As you wish.” Taking a long breath, he leaned forward, his forearms resting on his powerful thighs. “I was caught in a tryst with a nobleman's daughter and murdered in this chamber bed. The maid's mother thrust a knife through my heart."

He stared down at his clasped hands, and she admired his long tan fingers.

"She was a pretty young maid,” he continued. “I oft wonder what became of her."

"Did you love her?” Isabel regretted the question the moment it passed her lips. She didn't really want to know. The thought of him loving a woman, although ages ago, bothered her more than it should.

"Nay, I did not love her. Nor any other woman. I used and discarded them. I was a rake and a rogue of the worst caliber. I was a fool,” he said softly, staring off into space.

"Go on,” she prodded softly.

William returned his gaze to the study of his hands. “With the knife still clutched in the woman's hand, she placed a curse upon me. She condemned me to walk among the living, never to touch, and never to roam far from the chamber bed. If I dare to break these bonds, I shall cease to exist. Sent to a place where there is no sound and no color. Purgatory."

An odd sense of relief that he hadn't loved the maid mixed with the wave of sorrow washing over her. “Is there no way to end the curse?"

He lifted his head, and she felt caught in his deep blue gaze. “Nay, Isabel. The old hag spat her words upon me and here I shall remain. ‘Tis a fitting punishment for one such as me."

"Oh, William."

"Do not fret, sweeting. This is my existence, and I have come to accept things as they are.” Casting her a crooked grin, he said, “All ‘tis brighter now that you are here."

He rose and stepped closer to the bed. “Now, you should rest. Your uncle will bring your meal soon."

"Will you be here when I wake up?"

"I will always be near you as long as you remain here at the manor, for that is my boundary when the sun is high, or the stars alight the night sky."

Always near, yet forever untouchable. Isabel's heart fell with the sad thought. She wondered if the old woman realized she would be cursing not only William, but a woman four hundred years in the future. To never experience his touch, his kiss, was a cruel curse indeed.

As if he would ever want such a thing from her, she silently admitted.

"Isabel, I must ask, although ‘tis none of my affair. What, pray tell, did you see in that—that cockscomb?"

"I have no idea.” She cast him an honest smile, but it quickly faded. “Tell me the truth, William. Do I look all that horrible? I know I'm a mess, but is it really that bad?"

He paused before responding. Somehow that didn't make her feel any better.

"I fear, I am no judge. You are as beautiful to me as the day we first met. You will always be so in my eyes."

"Great. A pudgy, freckled face girl with frizzy pigtails."

He laughed softly. “Nay, little one, but do not distress yourself as to your appearance. I am certain that all will be well when the bandages are removed. Has the physician not told you thus?"

She sighed. “You're right. Worrying about it won't do any good. Thanks for being honest. In your own way."

Smiling, William faded as he stepped away from the bed. “My pleasure, poppet."

With a sigh she settled back in the bed, taking care not to move too much.

"From a pudgy girl to a drab bitch. Gee, I sure am coming up in the world. Wouldn't my parents be proud?” she mumbled acerbically. Well, it beat being an angel that belonged in heaven, she supposed.

Chapter Three

Isabel slowly opened her eyes and watched the man who had become her favorite companion over the last several days scan the text before him. Seated by the chamber bed, William didn't know she was awake and watching him. She admired his strong features in soft repose as he read, unlike the scowl he usually wore when she moved about the room and did things for herself. Or the roguish smile that played along his lips when she beat him at chess.

He filled an empty spot in her life with his caring nature and charming wit. Simply put, he was her best friend, but he wasn't real in the true sense of the word. He was a ghost. A fact she had a terrible time remembering. He had no idea that a simple glance in her direction kicked her pulse rate up several notches, or put unrealistic ideas into her sexually frustrated head.

All that aside, Isabel enjoyed his company and felt happier than she had in years. Her life was changing, and her dreams were finally coming true. All save one. But lately her desire for a husband and family wasn't as mountainous as before.

The only dark shadow in her world other than never knowing what William's touch would be like, was the unknown man who had tried to kill her. She prayed constantly that the police would catch him before he found her.

"You are awake, poppet. Why did you not speak?” William rose from his chair and came to the side of the bed.

"You seemed content to read, and I didn't want to bother you."

"You are never a bother. I value your company more than these meager words.” He smiled as he held up the book.

"Meager? What are you reading?"

"Shakespeare."

She laughed then quickly gripped her side. The pain wasn't as acute, but still more than bothersome.

"You should not laugh so, sweeting. ‘Tis not good for you."

"Ah, but laughter is good for the soul. Just like you. You're very good for my soul."

"I thank thee, mistress.” He presented her with his familiar courtly bow. “Are you ready for our nightly game of chess?"

"Absolutely."

He went to the small table across the room to retrieve the board and playing pieces, while she propped up against the pillows and smoothed out the bedspread. After carefully arranging the board atop the bed, he pulled up a chair, and they began their game. This was their time. Her uncle and Constance both assumed she slept and wouldn't check on her again until morning. By then, William would've disappeared leaving her alone again. Something she found not at all to her liking. Since her Renaissance ghost had re-entered her life, she discovered she never wanted to be without him.

An hour later, after being sorely beaten at chess, she laid back against the pillows, her mind drifting from one place to another.

"You did not play well this e'en. Are you feeling poorly, Isabel?"

"No. I feel all right. I guess my mind's on other things."

"You refer to your business venture."

She gave half a nod. Her mind was on the stalker, but she didn't want to mention it.

William returned the chessboard to the table. “You do not lie well, sweeting. Tell me what troubles you."

Tears teased the corners of her eyes. Her business was a wonderful dream come true, but she was too terrified to leave Derrington Manor. How could she run a business if she couldn't even leave the house?

Biting back the tears, she turned her face away. She despised crying, and even more so in front of William.

He moved to the side of the bed and leaned over her. “You are upset, little one. I beg of thee, tell me what troubles you. I cannot bear to see you cry."

"I'm afraid.” She sniffled as a lone tear tumbled over the rim of her eye.

His hand came close to her cheek, stopping several inches from her face. She pressed her head deeper into the pillow, as far away from him as she could.

With a sigh he pulled back. “I wish I could console you."

"You do console me. I'll be all right.” She swiped her hands across her bandaged face and plastered on a bright smile. If he'd moved any closer, she would have lost him forever. Her false smile slipped slightly.

"What ‘tis the thing you fear?"

Losing you.
Casting her gaze to the coverlet, she turned her mind back to what had made her cry. “The stalker's still out there somewhere."

"Aye, but fear not, I will not let him harm you. I would sooner be condemned to Purgatory than let him touch a single hair upon thy head."

Isabel took a steadying breath and looked up. His face was stricken with worry. What a wonderful thing it was to be cared for so strongly. To have someone other than her uncle wanting to protect her and keep her safe. “Thank you."

"You are most welcome. Now, enough of this depressing talk. ‘Tis time for a pleasing tale.” He retrieved a book from the nightstand then stretched out on the bed next to her. “I pray thee, remember. At the first sign of you drifting off to sleep, I shall leave. You do not sleep still, little one, even with your injuries, and will likely strike me where I lie. By my word you must dash around the world and back in one e'en."

She smiled at his teasing and snuggled down into the bed, carefully turning on her side to listen to him read. His deep smooth voice soothed her nerves and tickled her spine, leaving behind traces of the desire she constantly forced to the back of her mind.