Chapter Four

N ever had Christian had such a powerful or swift reaction to a woman before. Usually not one to take mistresses, his last serious liaison had ended little more than a year ago, not in a disaster or a tempest of shouting, but because they had both decided they weren't well suited for each other. Since neither of them had wished to endure a lifetime in a lukewarm marriage, they'd walked away.

They'd parted on friendly terms, and he had gone on to spend the winter in the sunny climes of Rome, for the thought of coming home and taking up the reins of responsibility to his title had chilled him to the bone. In May of this year, he'd finally returned to London, and that experience had been just as unsavory as he'd thought.

Yet…

Oddly enough, with the meeting of this one interesting and amusing stranger, his mindset had suddenly shifted. Perhaps the business of being a duke wouldn't be quite so taxing—or daunting—if he had such a bit of young womanhood to keep him company or be at his side. Of course, he knew her not at all, and her family name only by reputation and gossip, but for the next couple of hours, he had her to himself, and he meant to find out more about her.

Would that strange attraction, that eerie pull between them last once the clock struck midnight and the alleged veil between worlds solidified? He didn't know, but after that lingering kiss that hadn't contained heat enough to light a candle, yet had the potential to completely render him randy as hell, he meant to find out.

"Come." As he closed his hand about hers, the distant rumble of thunder reached his ears. A shiver of unease went up his spine. "It is a foul night indeed, and neither of us should attempt going abroad in it until the storm clears." Not wishing to be too far from this interesting woman, he pulled her over to a low sofa near the hearth and gently but insistently encouraged her to sit. "Would you care for tea? I honestly thought a ghost might have prepared my last repast."

"Oh." Her face blanched. "Yes, but not the tea you have been drinking already. You don't need more of that ."

"Ah." He couldn't help his chuckle. It was adorable that she believed in spells and incantations. "Where do you keep the everyday tea then?"

"In a tin near the stove. You apparently already know where the kettle is located." One of her blonde eyebrows rose in challenge.

"Indeed, I do." Why the devil did he wish to kiss that arched eyebrow and claim her lips all over again? What had possessed him to kiss her in the first place? Surely not a love spell gone awry. He didn't believe in such things. "By the by, perhaps you should refer to me as Christian. Since we have been thrown together in unusual circumstances, I'd rather not stand on ceremony." As he moved to put the kettle on to boil, a knot of worry grew in his gut, for he hadn't been truthful with her regarding his whole identity, but it was rather lovely to interact with a woman who wasn't blinded by his title. Hell, she hadn't even recognized his surname, which meant she wasn't a fervent reader of Debrett's.

It was oddly… refreshing.

"The name suits you." When she settled on the sofa and pulled a woolen blanket over her folded legs, he was struck by the domesticity of their situation. "Are you certain you own this cottage?"

"I am. In fact, I have the papers from my solicitor if you would like to see them." It would be a bit of a sticky wicket, for that would reveal his title all too soon, but if it would set her mind at ease, he'd do it. "Apparently, an obscure great uncle left the property to me, as well as this narrow strip of land it rests upon. Why he didn't sell it to your father or your neighbor is beyond me."

"I never knew this place existed until a couple of weeks ago. There is no need for me to see the papers." She laid her head back against the top of the sofa. "I trust you."

Those three little words had the power to tilt his world sideways. What the devil is wrong with me? Must be the odd energy in the air due to All Hallow's Eve. Needing something to occupy his hands, he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair. Once the water came to a boil, he prepared two mugs with the freshly brewed tea. After adding a lump of sugar to each, he brought them over to the sofa and handed her one.

"What shall I call you?"

Miss Hasting peered into the depths of her tea and sighed. "Emmaline. Though my mother would faint dead away if she suspected I'm tarrying here with you, a stranger, and alone without a chaperone." A giggle escaped, and he rather liked the tinkling sound. "Of course, my older sisters have done far worse, so there is that."

Which only intrigued him more. And the name was much like music played on gossamer strings of fairy harps. "The gossip regarding the Hasting sisters is true?" Once he'd settled on the spot next to her, a tiny sigh left her throat, but she hid it behind sipping her tea.

"I suppose so, but to be fair, everything worked out splendidly for each of them."

"All your sisters are married, I'm guessing?"

"Not all. Nora remains single, but then, she hasn't had the choice, for no man seems to voluntarily wish to take a woman to wife who can't speak or hear. Well, not in the usual ways," she quickly amended and darted her gaze to his. "We love her dearly and are quite protective."

"So I can imagine."

"She deserves someone special who will cherish her for who she is."

"Absolutely. I think we are all searching for that." Though he knew next to nothing about this woman, the feeling and essence of family went deep and was obvious from the affection in her voice. "I had two brothers, but one didn't survive past infancy and the older one perished from a fever as an adolescent." It had been quite some time since he'd spoken about either of them.

"I'm sorry for your loss. It is devastating to lose family you were close to."

Yes, well, he didn't remember either of his brothers well. The one who'd been a baby at death he hadn't seen much, since he was away with wet nurses and the like. As for his other brother? Well, he'd been Father's heir and was kept separate from Christian; he'd been the chosen one. But he said nothing. No sense in airing out the family's dirty laundry so soon.

When the silence would have stretched on, Emmaline continued, "Anna isn't married either, but I suspect she's angling to change that status as soon as humanly possible." A small frown pulled the corners of her kissable mouth downward. "Anna is my blood sister. Our family perished in a house fire a while back. She has terrible scars from that day while I…" The delicate tendons of her throat worked with a hard swallow.

"Yes?"

"Well, I have been terrified to leave the manor. I have stayed inside since. Occasionally I'll venture out onto the lawn, but I'm frightened."

"That some other disaster will befall you," he finished for her in a low voice. When she nodded and stared at him with wide eyes, he nodded in encouragement. "Yet, you are here, in a cottage removed from your father's property, and you sent your maid away, the one person who you had to keep you safe from bounders like me. That was quite brave."

"Or folly." She peered into the depths of her tea. "How did you know I liked one lump of sugar in my tea?"

Christian shrugged. "I guessed, since that is how I enjoy mine as well." After a sip of tea, he asked, "Are your parents still living?"

"My adoptive parents, yes, but my father is ailing. His condition deteriorates more quickly each day. I believe he won't be here for much longer." A tiny catch in her voice tugged at his heart. "I want to be there, yet he no longer recognizes me, and alternately, I want to know what it feels like to stretch my wings and discover if I can fight my way through the fear."

"From what I've seen, you are much braver and stronger than you think." Daring much, he winked at her again. "In fact, I'm sure you could have routed me with that stick."

An unladylike snort of laughter issued from her. "I rather doubt I could have hurt you. It isn't in my nature."

"Ah, so then your preferred weapons are teas, tinctures, and poisons? It's less messy that way, right?"

A dainty blush colored her cheeks a light pink. "Perhaps."

A heavy, loud thud that came from somewhere upstairs interrupted whatever he might have wished to say.

She gasped and her eyes rounded. "What was that?"

"I have no idea." Quickly resting his mug of tea on a small round table near the side of the sofa, Christian scrambled to his feet. "Shall I take a peek and discover the source?"

"Yes, but I'm coming with you." As soon as Emmaline rested her mug on the low table in front of her, she fought her way out from the blanket and followed him across the room to the wooden staircase. "Be careful."

With a grunt in return, he crept up the stairs as quietly as he could, but a few of them squealed and creaked beneath his weight. The touch of her hand on his back as they gained the upper level brought unexpected comfort and calmed his racing pulse. "I will check the two small rooms. You do the same to the larger one."

"All right."

As soon as they separated, the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. He further loosened the knot of his cravat in the event he might need to secure the hands or ankles of an intruder. An efficient search of the two rooms didn't produce an intruder—living or otherwise, but when another thud echoed again, this time from the space where he assumed the attic was located, a muffled scream issued from her.

"Emmaline?" He barely made it into the narrow corridor before she flew out of the room and crashed headlong into his arms. "Are you all right?" With nothing else to do but enclose her into a protective embrace, he waited for her reply.

"Yes, just frightened." When she peered up at him with genuine fear in the blue-gray pools of her eyes, the sensation of falling assailed him. "What if there is truly a ghost in the cottage?"

"Then I will either oust it for you or defend you from it. Either way, you'll come to no harm."

Because need flooded his system, Christian lowered his head and claimed her lips. Like their first foray, those two petal soft pieces of flesh welcomed him in a way that boggled his mind and played havoc with his shaft. A faint sigh escaped her throat, and when she slipped her hands hesitantly up his chest to clutch his shoulders, he held her more securely. This time, he explored her mouth with a bit more ardor and insistence, and as he drew the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, Emmaline gasped. Cheeky bastard that he was, he took the opportunity to touch that organ to hers.

Part of him expected her to slap him, but after a few seconds' pause, she returned his advance, and though there was no experience behind her kiss, that very innocent exploration had the power to turn his blood molten. One of her hands curled into his loosened cravat and she pressed herself closer so that he leaned his back against the wall, but he was certain of one thing.

If there was a ghost in Ivy Cottage, it could wait, for the mystery of Emmaline Hasting needed solving before he evicted a spirit, and suddenly it was the only thing he wished to avail himself of on this Halloween night.