Chapter One

Northampton

September, 1817

H is warm hands covered her shoulders from behind as he nuzzled her neck. Letting her head fall back against his shoulder, Lady Juliet Hastings of Abercorn shivered with anticipation. She knew his hands, his lips, his body, and soon he would take her to the stars. Her light shift was too much for her heated body and she itched to have it off, to feel him touch her, kiss her in places that made her feel alive.

Even at the thought, her shift was gone and she faced him, his hard nakedness touching hers. He pulled her tight against him as his mouth took hers in a kiss that made her bare toes curl. She felt loved, beautiful, and worthy all at once. His kiss moved from her lips to her neck and lower still. She held her breath to what she knew came next. His mouth—

A sharp bump to her temple woke her as her head banged against the side of the coach. Blinking, it took her a moment to recognize her surroundings as the usual wave of cold after the dream flowed over her, making her pull her cloak tightly about her. With no one in the coach, there was no need to blush, but she did. He had followed her!

Pushing aside the curtain over the window, she looked out at a tree-lined road lit by the coach lanterns in the night. When she'd left Thorndale Manor, she'd assured herself the dreams would stop, but if anything they seemed more real, as if she were in a waking dream. It was far too unsettling, and too intimate to confide to anyone.

She let the curtain fall. The dreams had been her only solace after her husband died. It had been barely half a day before his brother had descended upon Thorndale Manor and made it clear she must leave. He cared not that she had no family left and nowhere to go, or rather almost nowhere. With only her clothes, a few books, some private items, and her horse, she was to take up residence in her only inheritance, a haunted cottage.

She shivered at the thought of her dire straits. The home had been passed down from her great-aunt, to her grandmother, then to her mother, neither of the past two generations having ever dared venture to it. She'd been told tales of the haunting since a young child. And now, with no servants and but a basket of food, she was about to be the first to spend a night at Brambling Cottage in generations.

She'd sent a letter to the caretaker, not knowing exactly when she'd be arriving, having postponed her departure as long as possible. She hoped Mr. Kingman had at least thought to set wood for a fire and maybe a lantern.

The coach slowed. Moving aside the curtain again, she found the trees barely discernable. Were they being robbed? She held her breath as the coach came to a halt. She jumped when the door opened, but it was only her coachman, or rather the man who used to be her coachman.

"Why are we stopping?" Her voice barely made a dent in the silence of the night.

"We have arrived, my lady." The coachman held out his hand to help her to descend.

Beyond his figure was nothing but darkness. No owl hooted nor horse neighed, as if they knew better than to disturb the air with their sound. She swallowed hard, gathering her courage. Finally, she took his hand and stepped to the ground.

Before her were only thick woods, and she frowned.

"This way, my lady." Holding a lantern with one hand, he held the other out toward the front of the coach.

Picking up the skirts of her black traveling dress, she moved forward on stiff limbs, the chill of the air making her thankful she wore her wool cloak. Once past the horses, she looked up to find a large cottage, the lower floor's windows and two above lit with cheery light. Her eyes itched with tears at the welcome sight.

"There looks to be a small stable around the side. If you'd like, I can settle your mare into her new home?"

She nodded, grateful for the man's thoughtfulness and whoever had prepared her home. Feeling a little better, she moved forward and opened the gate, which was also whisper quiet, reminding her that despite the look, she was about to enter her ancestor's domain.

No sooner had she closed the little gate and taken a step upon the narrow flagstone walkway, then the front door opened.

She froze, her hand to her chest as her breath stopped.

A large, tall figure moved into the doorway, backlit by the deceptively warm environs behind him. "Welcome to the nest."

At the sound of his deep bass voice, her heart skittered, and the little hairs on her arms rose. She knew that voice! It was the man in her dreams. The one who kept her company at night and distracted her from her ogre-in-law for four long months. How could she have dreamed of a real person? Avid curiosity at what he looked like fought with her fear. Forcing courage into her stance that she didn't truly have, she lifted her chin slightly. "The nest?"

A low chuckle issued from him, causing tiny ripples of pleasure to flow through her body. "That's what your great-aunt called it."

That he knew how her ancestor had referred to the cottage had her fear overriding every other emotion, and she took an instinctive step back. Was he a ghost?

"I apologize. I should perhaps introduce myself. I'm Noah Kingman, the latest in my line to take care of Brambling Cottage, and the only one honored to have a Finch come home."

Home? Honored? Though she couldn't see his face, it was as if he smiled as he spoke. Relieved he was not a ghost, she forced her legs to move forward. "I'm Lady Juliet Hastings of Abercorn." Despite her intent to draw close enough to see his face, she slowed to a stop after three steps.

"No need to introduce yourself, my lady. I would recognize you as a Finch if I were to notice you across the Burlington Arcade in London."

Her heart raced at his words. Surely, he could not have actually been in her dreams! She felt her cheeks heat. "You…you could?"

This time he laughed. "Oh, yes." He stepped to the side and opened his arm toward the beckoning warmth inside. "Come see why."

Her curiosity overrode her fear, and she started forward again. As she neared him, his face, illuminated by the light, became clear, and she stumbled upon the walkway.

His hand shot out and grabbed her arm to keep her upright. "It appears we have a rogue stone. I will be sure to get that fixed on the morrow."

She should say something, but her throat had closed. Mr. Kingman's face surpassed any other man's. He had a high forehead with dark brows that framed the most brilliant green eyes she'd ever seen. High cheekbones gave him an aristocratic appearance, but the shoulder length black hair and slightly stubbled square jaw made it clear he was a commoner. No peer would be seen with such a roughened jawline. Unfortunately, it somehow made him more stunning, and his very broad shoulders just added to the pure maleness radiating from him through his rough white shirt.

"Lady Juliet, are you injured?" His brows lowered and concern filled his eyes.

She wrested her gaze from his face and shook her head, forcing herself to look toward the doorway and not at him. Still, his scent, that of a deep wooded forest, perhaps pine, wafted over her, calming her nerves. "No. It's just difficult to see out here."

He recognized her hint immediately. "Please come inside. I know it's not what you're used to, but I hope I made it comfortable."

She opened her mouth to ask if he had actually readied her new home himself, but thought better of it and instead stepped across the threshold.

*

Noah couldn't stop gazing at Lady Juliet Finch. Though that wasn't her name anymore, that's who she would always be to him. As soon as he'd opened the door and she'd turned toward him, the light from the windows spilling over her, he knew her. She looked exactly like her ancestor, Orinda Finch.

Though her mahogany tresses were pulled back, many had escaped on her journey and framed her delicate heart-shaped face. Her lips were full, lightly pink, her nose aquiline and her eyes almond shaped. He'd anxiously awaited her approach to discover their color, laughing inside to see they were a unique combination of blue and green, just like Orinda's. Her figure was petite, the thick cloak looking too heavy for her small frame to bear.

He didn't understand her hesitancy, which concerned him as it may be himself she feared. But as he'd grasped her arm, he could feel how small she truly was. Determinedly, he kept silent as he stepped inside after her and allowed her to view the parlor.

Her head swiveled from left to right, her shoulders relaxing.

He'd been right to have everything ready, despite what his brother had said. Directly across from them, a fire crackled in the fireplace.

She turned to look at him. "This was not what I expected." Her smile was faint, but relief shone in her gaze.

Grinning, he stepped farther into the main room. "Did you expect larger or smaller?"

"Neither. I had surmised it would be…" she tilted her head, "darker."

He found the comment odd. Brambling Cottage sat nestled among the trees, yes, but the grounds were filled with flowers, birds, and sunshine during the day. "Well, it is night."

She looked askance at him, her lip quirking up slightly. "I meant inside. For a haunted cottage, it feels warm and cozy."

As understanding dawned, he held back his smile. "Allow me to show you the rest." He strode past the fireplace where Orinda's portrait hung.

"Thank you, that would be—"

When she didn't continue, he turned back to find her staring at her great-aunt. Her mouth open and her eyes round as she stood in shock.

Had no one told her she resembled, no, not resembled, had the exact appearance of her ancestor? He walked back to where she stood and looked at the woman in the portrait. It was Orinda, yet it was now Juliet, only in different clothing. He'd fallen in love with the painting since his father had first allowed him to care for the inside of the cottage. As a very young man, he'd felt as if she gazed at him like a grandson. To be fair, he'd been in love with the stories his mother told of her long before he'd seen the portrait.

Lady Juliet raised her hand and pointed at the painting. "That's me." Her voice could barely be heard above the crackling of the fire.

"I suppose, in some way, it is. That's Lady Orinda, your ancestor. She was the last Finch to live here before you arrived. I'm sure she's quite pleased you're here."

She turned a very pale face toward him. "You talk as if she's still alive."

Part of him wanted to tell her Orinda's spirit was very much present, but she was obviously quite scared. "Of course she's not alive." He held his arm out toward his right where an open doorway led to the kitchen. "Come, let me show you the rest of the rooms. I'm sure you're tired and would like to rest after your long journey."

Bravely, she nodded, keeping her gaze from the portrait.

More than a little confused by Juliet's fearful reactions, he kept his dialogue to information regarding the physical home. After showing her the kitchen behind the fireplace and the small dining room adjacent to the parlor, he took a lantern from the hook by the stairs and led her up to the next level and the single bedroom with a small private sitting room. He'd started fires in both rooms as well.

Her silence as he explained where all the supplies were told him she was too tired to truly understand. After leading her back downstairs, they found two trunks and a small bag had been placed inside the now closed door. "Would you like me to bring any of these upstairs?"

She ignored him and instead ran to the door and opened it. "Thank you!"

"You take care of yourself, my lady."

Though he heard the coachman click his tongue and the harness jingle as he headed for home, Juliet remained at the doorway.

Not waiting for an answer, he hefted one of the large trunks on his shoulder and brought it upstairs, setting it down on the floor of the sitting room.

When he returned downstairs, Juliet had closed the door, but remained standing next to it staring at the fire across the room.

"Would you like this one in your bedroom or the upstairs sitting room?"

She finally moved her gaze and looked at him, the loneliness in her eyes making his stomach clench. "The sitting room will be fine." She touched the small bag the coachman had set on the straight back chair by the door. "I can carry this up myself."

"Then I will put this upstairs and leave you to settle in." Hefting the second, lighter trunk on his shoulder, he climbed the stairs, pleased that the third step from the bottom no longer squeaked. He'd fixed it as soon as he'd received her letter.

Placing the trunk next to the other, he stood gazing at the lighter trunk idly wondering what was inside. "Perhaps that one is her unmentionables, while the first is her gowns."

No sooner had he said the words than the small trunk lock clicked and the lid lifted a crack.

"No, Orinda. I will not disturb her privacy." He folded his arms and waited.

Finally, the lid closed and the click of the lock sounded in the silence. He dropped his arms. "She's had a long journey and is very tired. Don't send her dreams tonight. Allow her to rest."

He didn't wait for a response nor expect one, but turned around and strode back down the stairs. It had been a long time since Orinda had a guest. He just hoped she could refrain from scaring her great-niece away.

Striding into the parlor, he found Juliet asleep on the settee, no doubt tired from her travels. Quietly, he laid the cloak she'd draped on a chair over her and left, closing the door behind him.

He took the short path to the stable where he found her animal well cared for. Untying his horse, he walked him out before mounting. Looking back at the windows, he couldn't see her, but in his mind he did. "Orinda, I think she needs a lot of tender care." With that, he headed for home, taking the winding path through the woods, looking forward to his nightly dreams.