Chapter 4

This house was familiar.

Lilly remembered hurrying down the long halls through rooms filled with warmth and light. But she couldn’t run any longer, and she missed the caress of summer sun over her skin.

It was dark now, cold. Her bare feet trod upon timber floors as she made her way through the manor, moving silently from room to room, searching for someone, anyone awake in this dark place.

“Dum, dee, dum, dee, dumpty dum,” Lilly hummed.

She missed laughter the most, and especially smiles. No one smiled at her now—not happy smiles, anyway. They were always just a bit lacking, brittle and fake. Her papa never smiled anymore. But Lilly remembered a day when he had spun her round and round so fast that her feet left the ground. She had shrieked at him to stop, or not stop, laughing so hard her sides had ached.

Laughter was just a memory that tormented Lilly’s restless nights.

“Oh, that’s right. Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,” Lilly sang, pleased to dredge the line of a childhood favorite from her imperfect memory. The words echoed in the empty hall and she grew afraid of the strange echo.

Unsure of many things, she leaned against the wall to rest and looked up. The nursery where she had stayed during her last visit was on the upper level, far away from any of the guest rooms so she couldn’t bother anyone. Getting there required too much energy, and her heart fluttered in her chest already. She pushed her weary body away from the wall and peered at the portrait opposite.

The lady in it seemed familiar, but it took Lilly a while to place who she was. Giles’ mother. Lady Daventry had given her a pretty pink parasol for her birthday and kissed her cheek, promising they would be great friends when she grew up. Lilly had carried it with her every day until it broke. She couldn’t remember why it broke, only that she’d been angry about the loss and had cried into the countess’ gentle embrace after discovering it in pieces.

“Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.”

Lilly knew all she wanted to know about falling and turned away from the portrait, dragging her heavy limbs onward. She leaned against a solid door at the end of the hall, pushed until it opened, and smiled at whom she found.

Giles. His heavy breathing filled the room.

While she longed for companionship, she dared not wake the earl, a man who was meant to be her husband when she grew old enough to marry him. She moved past a bureau, snagged a ruby cravat pin as she went, and stood at the foot of the massive bed to observe him in silence. Papa had warned her not to impose.

Firelight licked over his sprawled golden form, and nothing else in the room had the power to capture her attention. Only the man.

The twisted linen hinted he was naked under the sheet and she stifled a giggle.

The absence of Giles’ clothes did not shock her. They were often missing. Sometimes pushed down around his ankles, or gone completely. He looked peaceful in sleep; the laugh lines of his face relaxed as he breathed, even and deep.

Smiling that his ginger hair was as tousled as always, she traced her fingers over his sheet, enjoying the slippery linen against her skin.

His foot was close and she touched him, brushing the tuft of ginger hair on his big toe with her fingertips. His leg twitched away and she raised her eyes along the lean length of him. So much skin exposed.

In London, she’d never viewed him all at once like this, or from so close a distance. Despite his habit of making love to every woman he seemed to meet, Lilly thought him perfect. Sleek like the caged jungle cats her papa mentioned were in London, but intent on giving nothing but pleasure.

He kicked the sheet the rest of the way off and her breath caught.

He was beautiful. Whole and unmarked.

Unlike Lilly who had hard lumps of skin on her arms and back.

She let her eyes rest at the junction of his thighs and his body changed as she watched. He grew and lengthened so much he surprised her. Lilly swayed forward, curious to get a better look, but he moved and touched himself, a ragged breath hissing from between his parted lips.

An aroused Giles was a comfortable sight to Lilly. It was just something he did, as commonplace as flicking his hair from his eyes or brushing a speck of dust from his coat sleeve.

Dragging her eyes away from Giles’ changing form, she looked around the room. In the firelight she noticed pale walls, dark timber, and pillows on every chair. She liked his bedchamber best of all the strange places she’d been taken to. The banked fire created a dreamy warmth that made her want to curl up and sleep. She glanced back at the naked earl.

Giles must be hot. The sheets bunched at the foot of his bed, but he touched and pulled on his length, rolling over onto his front to rub himself into the sheet.

Eyes locked on his flexing hips, Lilly twirled the ruby pin between her fingers, marking time until his breath hitched. She did not even need to see his face to know he enjoyed his pleasure. She crossed the room, but glanced back as she opened the door, smiling at the familiar low groans that rang through the chamber.

He made that exact same sound every time he played with other ladies. Lilly wrinkled her nose. She did not like the other women very much. They could do things with him she couldn’t. They could dance and walk about in his company all night if they wanted. Lilly could never gad about in society. Her injuries were too severe.

She tugged on the heavy door and stepped into the dark hallway. Nails clicked on bare timber and she reached for Atticus. He licked her hand urgently, but through the fog of her dulled senses, she could not raise enough concern for his distress and continued her wandering.

The other rooms were empty and cold. No one else slept on this floor. Lilly wondered where her papa was and lurched toward the stairs to go below. Descending the stairs took a long time and she leaned heavily on the railing for support. Atticus was not a great deal of help as he clutched a mouthful of nightgown with his teeth, tugging in the opposite direction. Lilly continued down.

Still, ignoring Atticus was hard, but she reached the bottom step anyway and turned to look about. She could see nothing except darkness outside the open front door. Papa would not be outside. He did not like the dark, and neither did she. No one good would be out there in all that blackness.

Moving from memory, Lilly shuffled to the open drawing room doors, but knocked over a small table that never used to be there. Unfortunately, she couldn’t right it, so she left it where it fell.

Atticus tugged on her gown and an unmistakable rip broke the silence. Too weary to scold, she turned, laid a hand on his shaggy coat, and patted him clumsily.

Skirting the fallen table, she moved forward, her feet dragging on the thick wool carpet. She enjoyed the sensations tickling her toes, but the drawing room was as empty of life as everywhere else.

She returned to the doorway, retraced her steps to the main staircase, and looked up. She knew where she could see a familiar face. Giles was upstairs, but it was such a long way back to him.

Maybe Papa was in Giles’ study. When she found the room, it was warmer than she expected, scented with cigar smoke but deserted.

Lilly swayed, exhaustion tugging her limbs. Atticus whined. She gripped his coat to reassure him, but overbalanced and fell partly against the hound, slumping to the floor in an untidy heap. Her companion whined again.

“Quiet now. I’m unharmed,” Lilly whispered.

A thick sheepskin rug cushioned her body and tickled her cheek. She pushed up with her arms, but could not raise herself even to her knees. Atticus barked and nosed her cheek. She used what little strength she had left to wrap her arms around him.

“Atticus, be still.”

Atticus wriggled, perhaps trying to help, but Lilly’s arms were heavy and weak all at once. She could not hold on. She landed heavily on the floor, hurting her head when she fell beyond the soft sheepskin.

Lilly sprawled in a long spill of moonlight thrown from the high, un-shuttered windows, waiting for dizziness to pass. She could not get up, so she curled into a ball and clutched her useless hands.

The room spun out of focus. Faces came and went. Serious men and women, dressed in wigs and jewels, smiling benignly upon her. A clock ticked, chiming once, twice, three times.

“All the king’s horses…”

Warmth pressed against her back as Atticus lay his full length against her. If she could remember the word, he would bark for her. It was simple. Just one word and he would wake Giles. She was sure the earl would come, pick her up, and take her somewhere warm if she asked nicely.

But the nursery rhyme was all she could remember. She opened her mouth to speak, but retched instead, forgetting all about seeking help as waves of nausea shook her.

“Couldn’t put humpty together again.”

* * *

Giles woke late, tired and worn out. He had again dreamed of the ghost with white hair. His sheets had not been this sullied by his solitary sleeping since he was an untried boy. He raised his head and looked about the room. Last night he’d imagined singing, for God’s sake.

His door stood ajar, so he pulled the top sheet from the bed and wrapped it around his waist just in case one of the housemaids walked past. He was not going to be the subject of conversation between that pair of bird-witted chits.

For the first time, he had dreamed of the ghost touching his possessions. Giles had woken, rolled over, and flexed his hips against the mattress, completely caught up in the fantasy that she was beneath him. Pleasuring himself with the friction of the sheet and the scent he imagined she might wear. Lemons. It had only taken a moment before he had groaned into his pillow.

He rang for his valet, dressed, and ate a hearty breakfast, ignoring the frowning expression Worth wore as he poked through his bureau drawer and jewel box. He was reviewing his plans for the day when Dithers knocked on his door, and came in without waiting for permission.

That was certainly not like him. Dithers hovered on the threshold, spotted him, then barreled across the room, agitation clear in every step. The world slowed as he drew closer. There was obviously not going to be good news in the greeting.

“The nurse has run off, milord.” Dithers sounded incensed by such a dereliction of duty.

Giles closed his eyes. He should have seen this coming.

“Maisie went to fetch the woman because Miss Winter’s breakfast was growing cold, but we have not been able to locate her.”

Giles reached for his jacket and tugged it on, pausing only long enough for Worth to thread a jade pin into his cravat. “Right. Of course.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as the valet fussed with the fit of his sleeves. This was not going to be an easy day. If the nurse had abandoned her post altogether, where did one find another?

Dithers hovered at the edge of his vision. When Giles looked at the white-faced man, unease rippled through him as he sensed there were more bad tidings to come.

“Miss Winter is missing from her bedchamber. We went to check her room for the nurse and when we did not see her there, we also realized the young miss had left her bed.”

Dithers finished his speech to Giles’ back.

Giles ran the short distance to Lilly’s room and skidded into the doorframe. He stopped in shock. The drapes were open wide and a frigid wind blew in through the window. A chair stood in front of it. Surely, the pain was not so great that Lilly would take her own life? Not here. Not now.

Giles crossed the room with a sinking heart, forcing his feet to the open window. He looked down. There was no body below on the pavers. He slumped in relief, but then turned to look about him.

The bedding, turned back untidily, looked as if Lilly had slept there for at least a little while, but the hearth was cold. A dark cloak lay over the chair back and Giles recognized it from Lilly’s arrival at Cottingstone. Was she dressed in just a nightgown? Last night had not been particularly warm. To be dressed so lightly could not be good for her health.

“The main door was wide open this morning too, milord.” Dithers finished his bad tidings from the doorway.

“Were we robbed, Dithers?”

“Not that I could detect, so far. I was busy checking the silver when Maisie reported the nurse missing. I thought we should search for Miss Winter first.”

“Yes, do that.” Giles looked around the room, puzzled.

Where was Atticus? Why had the dog not made an appearance yet? It was not at all like him. Giles strode out, checking all the rooms near this one, but found no sign of Lilly. He dispatched his staff to search the upper rooms.

Giles cursed the fact that he had so few staff. At a moment like this, he could do with a few more. Had the nurse abducted Lilly? He should probably have the servants search for a ransom note, too.

The library door was closed and he found the room unoccupied. He slammed the door behind him, frustrated by the woman’s disappearance. Giles thought he heard a faint noise but couldn’t determine where the sound came from. He crossed the hall to check the drawing room and found a small table on its side—the same one he always tripped over when deep in his cups. He righted it and eyed the room. Had she sought escape? A quick check behind the curtains and furniture produced nothing. All the windows were secure, as expected.

Giles retraced his steps to the main staircase and looked up. Dithers and his staff darted in and out of the upper rooms, but none looked hopeful. He glanced at the front door again, pondering what benefit could be found in abducting a woman so grievously ill.

A whine echoed down the hall.

“Atticus!”

The dog whined again. Giles headed for his study. Someone must have locked Atticus inside. That would explain his silence up until now. Perhaps the dog could search for the girl. He had never trained him to do so, but perhaps, given his pet’s devotion, he could find Lilly.

But the door to his study was already open—which begged the question: why would the dog not come out?

Giles rushed to reach the threshold.

Atticus looked at him with a mournful expression, and then lay his large head back down over the still white form slumped in front of the cold hearth.

Lilly. A tangle of pale hair lay over her features and the floor. He hurried across the chamber, avoided her sickness to kneel next to the woman, and reached for her hand. A ruby cravat pin fell from her nerveless fingers.

Ignoring the expensive trinket, he rubbed her hand. She was freezing cold.

Atticus stopped Dithers and Mrs. Osprey at the door with his warning growl.

“You found her, milord! What a relief.”

“Dithers, get her room warm again. Hurry. Her skin is like ice.”

Giles chafed her thin hands and considered how best to lift her. He remembered Lord Winter’s agonizing slowness and gentle hold, but he hadn’t seen the man lift her. What if he made her pain worse?

Atticus watched intently, as if he understood Giles’ dilemma. But there was no help for it. Although he did not know anything about the extent of her injuries, Lilly could not possibly remain on the cold floor.

“Lillian? Lilly, wake up. I need to move you, sweetheart.” He received no response and, alarmed, he checked for a pulse at her wrist. It was hard to find and very faint. He cursed and then eased his hands under her thinly clad form.

Giles lifted her easily into a sitting position then raised them both, pulling her tightly against his chest. She was light. Too light. He held nothing but air. Beneath the stench of sickness, he detected the faint scent of lemon in her hair.

He swayed a moment on his feet then carefully made his way out of the room, up the long steps, and along to her bedchamber. Atticus moved ahead of him and barked once. By the time Giles got Lilly to her bedchamber, Dithers had the window closed again and the fire relit.

The sheets were cold. Atticus settled himself along one side of the bed, seemingly content that Giles was in charge, but kept a distance. He possibly did not care for Lilly’s new aroma, but at least she was alive.

As Giles nestled her in the bed, he touched the cold glass of a bottle and removed it to read the label.

Laudanum, and all of it gone.

Giles’ heart thumped. His mother had used the same poison to follow his father into the family burial plot.

“Get some hot water, Mrs. Osprey. Quickly, woman,” he snapped, thrusting the empty bottle at her.

The housekeeper looked at the bottle and blanched, stuffing it into her pocket, and out of his sight.

Giles fussed in confusion, tugging the dirty strands of hair clear of the pillow so they lay to wait for the warm water. He would rinse them out and they could dry over a towel, but that wouldn’t make her better. He reached for the blankets and cocooned them around her body loosely, wishing this had not happened. Cataloguing tasks helped keep his panic at bay, but he wanted her father back. Now.

He reached for her small white hands and rubbed, hoping to warm them using friction. Combined body heat could warm her swiftly, but he would not consider joining her in bed until he grew desperate about her condition.

Mrs. Osprey arrived with the dish of water and Giles took it from her. He cleaned Lilly’s hair carefully himself, washing all traces of sickness away, and toweled it dry. When Mrs. Osprey handed him a comb, he tugged it through the damp ends slowly. Beautiful hair—silver-white, thickly curled around her face, neck, and torso. He laid the strands over another towel and finally raised his gaze to her face.

Lilly’s eyes were closed, he could see that much. Her pale lashes lay heavy against the swells of her cheekbones. A sting of emotion rippled through him, and he struggled to understand his reaction.

Lilly was a tiny woman. Pale like moonlight. He moved her hair further back from her face.

And forgot to breathe.

Hollow rushing filled his ears and the world around him darkened, focused on this one place. The sparkles floating in front of his eyes were blinding, until he simply had to draw in a breath of lemon-scented air to keep seeing the vision lying in the bed before him. The drapes were still open, and it was still day.

Lillian Winter was his ghost.