The Ghost and Jacob Moorhead (16 page)

She chuckled. “
That
meaning…” She gestured toward the bed.

The ghost growled.

“You’ve stopped,” she added, chuckling.

Not by choice
.
Bloody hell
,
Honey
, he exploded.
You know I miss touching you
,
holding you
,
making love to you
…
You cannot know how much I miss all that
.

“Oh, can I
not
? I too have been forced to stop
that
, you know.”

Almost the ghost lost control and engulfed his love in an embrace. He caught himself just in time, backing away before Jenna felt more than a chill. They both sighed.

And while they softly made verbal love to each other, McAllen rode out and about and then returned his mount to the stables. “High Moor is excellently run,” he said to the groom who had been assigned to care for his horses. “Excellently.”

“His old lordship loved the land here. He were a good landlord,” said the groom.

“And the new young master?” asked Lester.

“He’s learning.
Wants
to learn. He’ll do.”

Lester nodded. It was what he’d thought from what he’d seen on his ride but his knowledge of London gossip concerning Jacob made it difficult to believe. Thoughtfully, he strolled toward the house but, seeing Melissa wandering soulfully around the garden among the guards there, he turned aside and approached her. “You are looking particularly lovely today,” he offered.

She looked up in surprise. “And you. Riding gear always did flatter you,” she said and felt a flush across her bosom and up her neck. She turned and hung her head, awaiting one of his sarcastic remarks, since she’d been fool enough to remind him of their past.

“Thank you.”

After a moment she turned, wide-eyed. “Just…thank you?”

He smiled but there was a touch of hardness in his gaze. “Shall we stroll? I think I can protect you if we run into evildoers.” He touched his pocket, which was ever-so slightly distorted by the small handgun hidden there. “So perhaps we might find somewhere just a trifle more private?” His eyebrows arched with the question.

She hesitated only a moment and then laid her hand on his offered arm. They headed for the side of the house and a walled winter garden he’d discovered earlier that day.

* * * * *

“You failed,” said the king’s remaining agent, staring at the raggedy man, standing, hat in hand, before him.

“You didn’t say there’d be guards,” said the man accusingly.

“I didn’t know.”

“Bad luck, that rider coming from one direction and a coach from behind…”

The former slave nodded. “But I must have the woman and you failed.”

“At least we got the man that guards her. You said he was impossible, that he’d have to be killed. Bleeding like a stuck pig, he was,” said the man, satisfaction in his voice.

“But you too suffered a death. And you left your dead behind. He’ll be identified. He’ll be known as your friend.” The freed man saw his dupe blanch. “You must disappear, you and the others. And I must find new men.” He sighed. “Why must it be so difficult, this taking a weak woman and carrying her off to where she will be dealt with as she deserves?”

The man didn’t really want to know why the foreigner wanted the woman kidnapped. He stood first on one foot and then on the other, twisting his hat in large, rough, palmed hands. “You have to pay us.”

“Why?” The former slave looked surprised. “You failed.”

“We did what we were told t’do,” he said, stubborn. “You didn’t say there’d be guards.”

The agent stared down his long narrow nose. It occurred to him that perhaps the gang couldn’t get away if they had no funds—and he didn’t want one of them taken up and telling a magistrate about himself. “Then,” he decided, “since you failed, you’ll get only half.” The former slave went into the bedroom, shut the door and returned with a small bag of coins. “You share that around. Then you—all of you—take yourselves away from here. Unless, of course, you wish to find yourselves taken up by the magistrate and awaiting trial?”

Once again the man paled. He didn’t turn his back but edged from the room without taking his eyes from the man who’d hired him. Once the door was shut between them, he took himself down the inn’s stairs far more quickly than was usual with him.
I don
’
t trust the bastard not to kill the lot of us just to be sure we can
’
t talk
. And that was another reason he’d tell his gang that
they
could do what they wanted, but
he
at least was leaving on the evening stage as ordered.

* * * * *

Jacob entered the dining room a trifle late. He glanced around and frowned. “Where is Verity?”

Reading cleared his throat.

Jenna, uncomfortable with her new role as guest, glanced up. “What is it, Mr. Reading?” she asked and then bit her lip when he scowled at her.

“Just Reading, madam,” he scolded.

It appeared that the butler had had no difficulty with the change in Jenna’s status even if she had. As a guest, she shouldn’t call a mere butler mister.

“Miss Verity said she couldn’t afford the time it takes to dine properly and ate earlier in the servants’ dining room.”

Jenna hid a sigh that her old friend, the Everstons’ longtime butler, had adjusted more quickly than she could do to her new position in the household. Then she stared as Jacob turned on his heel and left the room. He returned not too much later with Verity in tow. He forced her to sit beside her aunt before going himself to the end of the table and taking his place. He looked around. “Well, Reading? I’m starved.”

Reading, startled, twitched himself back into proper order and turned a frown on the two footmen waiting to serve. He himself turned to the roast sitting on the sideboard ready for the next course and began slicing it. He watched surreptitiously to see that his minions did their job properly, that they didn’t neglect to pour wine as needed or offer seconds to those who appeared to want them. He also watched Miss Verity. She sat, hands in lap, refusing every offering. He’d a feeling there would be a reckoning between Miss Verity and Mr. Moorhead and almost wished he could be a spider in the corner watching them.

As the meal continued, he also observed their unwanted guests. The widow tried very hard to make the meal a proper social occasion but got no help at all from Jacob. Verity was equally unresponsive. Mr. McAllen answered curtly when she addressed him. Mrs. Jennings, embarrassed by her family’s rude behavior, did her best to keep up her end of the discussion, but knowing nothing of London doings and having no acquaintance with those about whom Mrs. Rumford spoke, she could do little to help lighten the atmosphere.

Long before the sweet course was offered, the widow gave up in disgust. And wondered how one could feel so alone in a room full of people.

Verity, refusing the sweet as she done all else, rose to her feet. Jacob, who had watched her from the corner of his eye, did likewise and followed her from the room.

The widow tittered. “I now see why Jacob wasn’t happy about my arrival,” she said in a sly tone.

“Do not make life more difficult for yourself than you must,” ordered McAllen. He too refused the sweet and, given his host had exited with no thought to the proprieties, he merely nodded toward Jenna and removed himself to the billiards room that he’d been pleased to discover during his wandering around the house.

Jenna too stood. “I must check that there is enough ice to get us through the night,” she said, excused herself and exited before Melissa could close her mouth and think to ask why they’d need ice.

“Ice?” she finally said but didn’t expect a response.

“For getting the fever down,” said Reading. He watched the footmen clear the empty places before picking up the sweet tray and again offering it. He’d seen immediately that this guest had a sweet tooth and suggested to the new housekeeper that she might wish to set out bonbons here and there around the house and, especially, in the widow’s room. “The tarts are especially nice,” he suggested.

Melissa hesitated and then sighed. There was a long evening to get through, there was nothing to do…and she did like sweets. She pointed to a tart and also to the trifle that she’d already enjoyed. It was excellent and she said so, pleasing the servants that she cared enough to compliment Cook.

Chapter Eleven

Jacob, coming up behind Verity, grasped her upper arm and turned her into a salon. “Not so fast. You are to dine in the dining room with the family. You know that.”

“I’ll not eat with that woman.”

“Wom—ah. You mean Mrs. Rumford.”

“Your
lover
,” she said, glaring.

“One-time lover,” he said softly, his temper rousing. “I did not invite her here, Verity.”

“But I haven’t noticed you getting rid of her either.” Verity tossed her head and turned away, crossing her arms. “Kissing her in the salon… Couldn’t you at least have closed the door?”

His brows arched up under the hair falling over his forehead. “I did not kiss her. I haven’t kissed her since London.”

“Ha. I heard her…”

“
I have not touched her
. Not as you mean.”

Verity cast a narrow-eyed look of disbelief over her shoulder and Jacob’s patience snapped. He twirled her around and pulled her close, one hand forcing her chin up. His mouth dropped to hers…

When, breathing rather heavily, he set her away and turned from her, he said, “I’ll not apologize.”

Verity, who had been about to demand just that, closed her mouth. She raised a hand and touched her lips. Then, reliving every moment of what had been her first passionate kiss, she shook her head in disbelief. It was so unlike anything she’d ever thought to experience that it shocked her. She just stared at him. She felt dazed, lost, very unlike herself. When he didn’t relax the rigid stance he’d adopted, she walked from the room without a word.

Jacob sighed. “Well, that was a mistake.”

A rather large one
, growled a voice in his ear.
That
’
s my granddaughter
,
you rake
,
you
.
You keep your hands off her
.

“Does one lose all sense of propriety when one dies?” asked Jacob, acid dripping from his words. “Any gentleman I know would have gotten himself out of here the instant he saw what was toward.”

I don
’
t suppose you noticed
, said his granduncle,
but this is the second time you
’
ve interviewed a female and forgotten to close the door
.

“I had no intentions of kissing her,” objected Jacob, on the defensive.

No
,
but
…
There was a rather long pause and, when the ghost continued his tone had changed, a sly note appearing,
Did you like it
?

Jacob almost grinned. Then, angry all over again when he realized his granduncle shouldn’t suggest a man might like his granddaughter’s kisses, he said, “None of your damned business.” He too left the salon and then didn’t know what to do with himself. It was too early to go to bed. He feared running into the widow if he went to one of the salons. Finally he headed for the billiards room where he hoped he might find McAllen.

Perhaps a game or two would set his mind in a direction other than that Verity’s bedroom was just across the hall from his own. As he approached the game room, he sent a small prayer skyward that Verity would not forget to lock her doors. He didn’t entirely trust himself…

* * * * *

Jacob needn’t have worried because Verity didn’t go to bed. She rejoined her aunt in the sickroom.

“Thank God.”

Verity, who had been wringing out cold towels, glanced at where her Aunt Mary stood. Mary’s hands were on her hips, arms akimbo and her eyes on their patient. “Aunt?”

“He just broke out in a healing sweat. If you would wake the footman and ask for dry bedding to be brought?”

Verity looked at Rube, saw the sweat streaming off him and knew they’d succeeded. She too sent a prayer of thanks heavenward. “At once,” she said and dropped the towel back into the tub.

Half an hour later Mary told her to go to bed. Verity took one look at her aunt’s drawn features and shook her head. “He’s safe now. You are exhausted. You go to bed and I’ll watch. If I cannot stay awake, I’ll send for my aunt.”

Mary didn’t hesitate. She knew she was too near to falling asleep to keep a clear head. “You send for
me
if you need relieving. Jenna is recovering but she still needs far more rest than she’s willing to admit.”

Verity nodded but she was determined that she would stay awake forever if possible so her aunt could finally get some rest. She was quite certain Mary had not slept—
really
slept—since the night before they’d left York for High Moor and run into that trap. Once Mary was gone, she asked the footman to watch for a moment while she retrieved a book. Jacob came along the hall just then and, hearing, said he’d watch.

Verity refused to meet his eyes, merely nodding, because the memory of his kiss which she’d put firmly from her mind suddenly flooded her senses all over again. She hurried past him, almost running on her way to the library where she hoped she’d find something engrossing enough it would keep her awake…and her mind from living, still again, that kiss.

When she returned she heard the murmur of voices and quickly but silently entered the makeshift bedroom in which they’d cared for their patient.

“Must guard her…”

“She’s safe. I’m sleeping in a room next to hers.”

“Not good enough,” said Rube, his voice just a thread of sound.

Jacob grinned. “I don’t suppose you believe in ghosts?”

Rube looked startled. “Doesn’t everyone?” he asked.

“Very few in this country. I’m one. I’ve been forced to believe.”

“This has something to do with Mary?” asked Rube, the frown creasing his brow deepening.

“My granduncle’s ghost, her father, is hanging around for good reasons from his point of view. He is angry that Mary is in danger and insists he’ll not allow anyone to come near her. I assure you, he’ll wake me if any stranger, or for that matter, even one of our servants, comes near the stairs to the guestroom floor where you’ve put her.”

“Ah. Her father’s ghost? He will take great care of her…”

And before more could be said Verity saw her patient’s whole body go lax as he fell into a deep and natural sleep.

“He trusts a ghost more than he trusts me?” muttered Jacob.

“Her
father
,” murmured Verity.

Jacob turned quickly and, seeing her, stared at her as if he wanted to devour her—or that was the impression she got.

Forcing the words out, she explained, “He would think a father’s love and his sense of duty worth trusting.”

Jacob stalked toward her. When she didn’t move, he put his hands on her arms just below her shoulders. Still she didn’t move, only stared at him, a bemused expression giving him hope. “Let’s do it right this time,” he said softly and, slowly, giving her time to object, he lowered his head to hers. His lips touched hers lightly, lifted, shifted slightly and touched again. And again. And then, his hand going to the back of her head, he held her still and the kiss deepened, slowly, gently, perhaps even a trifle hesitantly.

After a long moment, a thud caught his attention and he lifted his mouth from hers, backed away enough to look down at her. He cast a look toward the floor and saw a book lying there, the covers tented and pages crimping slightly. He smiled a hint of a smile and instantly returned to the very enjoyable occupation of mouth on mouth—but, after another long kiss, he felt her hands pushing at his shoulder and, with a sigh, slowly and carefully released her.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

She blinked.

“For allowing me to correct the impression I must have given when I attacked you earlier today. I was angry, Verity.
You wouldn
’
t believe me
.”

She recognized the hurt in his tone and allowed herself a tentative sort of belief. “Why has she come?”

He searched her features. Her question implied belief, but was it? And what could he say? “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve asked but she’ll only talk of feeling lonely, bored…and perhaps that’s all it was. Perhaps if she’d had time to choose another lover after we parted and before her husband died she’d have gone to him instead of me.”

“You are a long way north of London. If merely lonely, she could have gone to Tunbridge Wells or Bath far more easily.”

He sighed. “I doubt, frankly, that she could have afforded the cost of living in one of the spas.”

“But to travel this far north. Isn’t
that
expensive?” She remembered how, when orphaned, she’d feared she’d run out of money before she reached her aunt.

Jacob frowned, a line pinching up a bit of skin just between his brows. “It
is
expensive…” He sighed. “Verity, I don’t know. She mentioned a scandal… Perhaps she felt she had to escape. Perhaps she sold something to finance her way north?”

Verity finally gave in and asked the question that had been running around her mind ever since she’d had time to think about the woman’s unexpected arrival. “Or perhaps,” she suggested, “my grandfather’s heir put her up to it?”

He blinked. “Mud?” He stared over her shoulder and then nodded. “Yes, I can see it is possible…if she had debts and he paid them… But how could either of them have thought such a plot could succeed? He would have wanted her to get me away from here. What if I’d merely kept her here at High Moor or nearby? The dower house is empty, I think.”

Verity gave quick thought to the notion he could have sent Aunt Jenna and herself there when he decided she couldn’t live here unchaperoned. Instead of sending for Aunt Mary they might simply have moved out of High Moor and under another nearby roof. But she wouldn’t think of the implications of that—especially after his kisses.

They were talking about that woman…

Jacob had no clue to what was running through her mind and, after a moment’s thought, said, “It’s an absurd notion, Verity. Mud isn’t so stupid he’d believe I’d allow her to ruin all.”

“Perhaps he didn’t believe you’d find such an isolated estate worth a year of your life, that it would be easy to tempt you away from it.”

“Ha! If that’s the case, he doesn’t know me, does he?
Not at all
.”

“But then, do you really know him?”

Jacob’s frown returned. “I haven’t wanted to know him. He’s a prating hypocrite, Verity, always going on about propriety and proper form and the
right
people… But my granduncle told me he—” He broke off, suddenly aware that what he’d been told was not proper news for feminine ears. He went on with a different subject. “Forget I said that. Verity, I really don’t want to leave you but I must. Mary has gone up to her room and, except for our ghost, is alone. I must go up.”

“She is unprotected?” She pushed at him, urging him away from her. “Yes. Go. Quickly.”

Jacob grinned. “With my granduncle watching, she’s not unprotected, Verity. But a ghost might require a living hand to do the actual work if a stranger appeared. If my granduncle couldn’t make the villain aware of himself, I mean.” As if he could not help himself, he leaned nearer and, reaching a hand behind her head, stole one more kiss. A quick kiss. An exceedingly unsatisfying kiss… But then he drew in a sharp breath. “I must go now, immediately…or I will find it impossible to leave you.” And he went.

Verity stared at the door for a moment and then sighed. She turned—and found Rube staring at her. She blushed. “You’re awake?”

He smiled slightly. “I hadn’t noticed—”

“That I’m a fool?” she interrupted, not wishing to know what it was he’d not noticed.

His features fell into a quizzical expression. “Fool? In what way?”

“To allow that man to take liberties with my person. He is a rake. A
roué
of the most abandoned sort…and I don’t know what else, do I? I should allow him nowhere near me.”

“Did you like it?” asked Rube, unknowingly echoing her grandfather’s words to Jacob earlier that day.

The blush burned. “What a question. You shouldn’t put such thoughts into words.”

“Why? Loving is a perfectly natural part of life. Why should one not discuss it?”

“It’s…it’s personal. Private. Not…not something one talks about.”

“Now there
is
foolishness. Of course one talks about it. It is the most joyful part of life. Why should one not talk of happy things?”

Becoming cross, Verity said, “In
this
culture we do not do so—whatever you may do in yours.”

He chuckled. “The English. So cold. So secret and withdrawn. I will never understand you.”

“Even my aunt?”

He grinned. “Ah. Mary is a different sort of Englishwoman. She has traveled and learned. She’s thought deeply about what she’s learned. She is, perhaps, not even entirely English anymore?”

Verity ignored that provocative comment and, instead of pursuing a line of thought that disturbed her, asked, “I still do not understand what she did that was so very wicked that that king wishes her dead.”

Rube sobered instantly. “The man is insane. We tried so hard to keep her from going to him. We knew it would not turn out well. And you see it hasn’t.”