Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

T hree days later, Xenia passed one of the guards in the corridor. He, along with four others, had arrived the day before from London. Ethan had hired them to do round-the-clock surveillance of the estate, and they worked in shifts, taking turns sleeping. Although the men were friendly, Xenia felt as nervous around them as she had the constable. Her upbringing had given her a fear of police, guards, and others who upheld the law that she could not shake.

A part of her briefly considered leaving. But she couldn't, of course. She was falling in love with Ethan more and more each day. She couldn't abandon him in his time of need, and she wanted to help him with his troubles. Thus, she'd resolved to stay as long as she could…until she had no choice but to run.

Maybe Mama won't find me this time. Maybe I can find a way to be safe.

"Good morning, Mrs. Wood."

The guard, a ginger-haired fellow named Jim Ferris, was built like a brick house. He gave a courteous nod, and she reminded herself that he wasn't the enemy. On the contrary, he'd been hired to protect her.

"Hello, Mr. Ferris." She hid her nerves behind a smile. "You're early for your rounds, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am. His lordship's guests are playing croquet in the garden, and 'e wanted us out there to keep watch."

With Lady Gigi and the others outside, Xenia would have more privacy to speak with Ethan. They hadn't managed to be alone since his visit to her room, which felt like three years rather than three days ago. Ethan had been busy securing the manor, and the omnipresent guards made sneaking around at night more challenging. She missed him…and needed to talk to him.

She stopped by his study first. The door was cracked open. When she peered inside, he was at his desk, his head bent as he scribbled something.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said softly. "Shall I come back later?"

"No." Ethan rose, hastily shuffling papers. "Is there something you wanted?"

"It can wait if you are busy."

"I am never too busy for you."

Limned by the light of the windows, he looked like a virile god, and a part of her marveled that he was her lover. His imposing grace did make the purpose of her visit more difficult, however. Since the piano incident, he had forbidden her—and the others—from leaving the estate. She knew he was only being protective, but enough was enough.

She went over to him. "I need to go to Chuddums."

"No," came his predictable reply.

"Nothing is going to happen," she insisted. "I have business to attend to in the village. If I don't find a replacement for Daisy, Berta is going to quit too. She was in tears this morning; she's simply stretched too thin. I also need to replenish our supplies, arrange deliveries, and?—"

"I said no."

She threw up her hands. "You cannot keep me trapped in this manor forever…"

Her breath whooshed from her lungs as he caught her by the waist. Her bottom hit his desk with a soft thump. Her hands planted on the blotter as he stood in the vee of her dangling legs.

"Shall we wager on that?" Wicked challenge glinted in his eyes. "You are important to me, Xenia. I won't let anything happen to you."

His words transformed her heart into a swarm of butterflies.

"I know you won't," she said tremulously. "And that is my point—you've taken every precaution. You've had locks installed on the doors and windows and arranged a constant patrol of guards. If someone did stage the scene with the piano, they are unlikely to strike again."

"There is no ‘if' about it: the hoax was perpetrated by a flesh-and-blood bastard, and I'm going to see that justice is served." His gaze was piercing. "In the meantime, I know what you mean to do, and I forbid it."

Her pulse raced. "Um, forbid what?"

He snorted. "The purpose of your visit to Chuddums isn't for housekeeping. You want to find out more about Bloody Thom. You think that if you can understand why he is ‘haunting' the manor, you can stop him from causing more trouble."

Odds bodkins. He can read my mind.

"But your plan won't work," he said. "Do you know why?"

She sighed. "Because there is no such thing as ghosts?"

"She proves that she is capable of learning."

She narrowed her eyes. "He, however, has yet to prove that he can have an open mind. Has it occurred to you that there is more than one way to cook an egg?"

"I wasn't aware that you could cook an egg." He cocked a brow. "In any fashion."

She huffed. "My point is that even if it is not a ghost behind these incidents?—"

"It's not."

"Even if the culprit is human, he or she is using details from the legend of Bloody Thom to try to frighten you. Have you heard the verse about him and his curse?"

"As I am not a child, I do not listen to nursery rhymes."

"Well, you should. Because this one is unfolding before us."

Taking a breath, she recited,

"Beware, beware the rattling chain

The flapping robes stained red and bold

Beware the moans and wails of pain

For 'tis Bloody Thom they do herald.

He brings death to all who cross his path

Be they creatures with feathers, fur, or skin

Green will wither and die until his wrath

Is quenched by a true reckoning.

He plays a mournful ballad of blame

Shaking the manor with his ire

His cry for justice is like a flame

That scorches all with unholy fire."

"Don't you see?" she concluded breathlessly. "The robes and chains, the murdered creatures with feathers, the mournful ballad. It is all happening like the poem says."

"A bit of verse doesn't prove that the ghost is real."

"I realize that," she said patiently. "But the events predicted by the poem are happening, which means the more we know about the supposed curse, the more we can anticipate what our adversary—be they spectral or human—might do next."

After a moment, Ethan said grudgingly, "That is sound logic."

"You needn't sound so surprised."

"I am not surprised. I'm impressed."

"Really?"

"Yes. You presented a rational case to justify finding out more about a ghost."

"The truth is…" She exhaled. "I have felt a…a presence in the manor."

"That is just your imagination, pet."

"No, it's more than that." She tried to piece together what she'd been sensing. "When I first arrived, I felt like I had been here before. Like the manor was…was almost waiting for me to return."

"Perhaps the house knew how desperately it needed a housekeeper."

"Very amusing." She wrinkled her nose at his smirking visage. "I am just trying to explain why I cannot discredit the possibility of a supernatural cause. Are you afraid to discover that I am correct, and you are wrong?"

When he bent toward her, she tilted her head back and gazed into his gleaming eyes.

"If you're trying to goad me into allowing your scheme, it won't work. I do have an alternative proposition, however."

A proposition. Now that sounds promising.

"What were you thinking?" she asked coyly.

He leaned closer, his spicy scent filling her senses. Anticipation quivered through her when his lips brushed the curve of her ear.

"We make a trade. A favor for a favor. I agree to let you pursue this Bloody Thom business, and in return, you give me something that I want."

Her nipples tightened into throbbing points, and her pussy dampened. "What do you want?"

"I want…"

When she wetted her lips, his gaze followed the path of her tongue. She recalled the wicked delight of taking him in her mouth. Would he ask her to do it now? Would he command her to kneel while he took out his big instrument and pushed it between her lips?—

"I want you to tell me something about your family."

She blinked. "Um, what?"

"A few details about your parents, whatever you wish," he coaxed.

Although she thought about denying him, she wanted to grant his small request. To share more of herself with him—the sorts of things that a normal person could share without a second thought.

What harm will a few details do?

She sifted through her ignominious past and settled on a few safe facts.

"My papa was a musician who taught me to play the piano. He was also an excellent storyteller." She smiled wistfully. "Since we traveled a lot, we didn't have a place of our own, but wherever we ended up, he made it feel like home. He had this laugh that rumbled out of him…that made everyone around him laugh too."

"His passing must have been difficult for you," Ethan murmured.

You have no idea.

She remembered her father's hope that last week they had together. When they'd believed they had escaped Mama's clutches and would be starting a new life, a good life. He'd talked about her going to school and making friends, never living in fear again. She remembered him saying, " You'll be all right, poppet" and his agonized cries before he was killed.

Fifteen years of living with the loss—with the grief and guilt of her papa's sacrifice—allowed her to say quietly, "It was."

"And your mama?" Ethan prompted.

Nothing about her mother felt safe to share. Long ago, when she was a child, she'd yearned for her mother's approval…but that desire had died the day her papa did. Anger, resentment, and even hatred had smoldered in its place. Eventually, though, even those emotions burned out. After Mr. Trelawney's death, she'd recognized the truth: the woman who'd birthed her was not her mother in any meaningful sense. To her mind, she was an orphan…one who had the misfortune to be the only offspring of a heartless female cutthroat.

When she'd chosen to be Xenia Loveday, she'd emancipated herself emotionally from her mother. If only she could be free of the woman in reality as well. Yet her mama refused to let her go, was determined to control and punish her—to turn her into a cautionary tale.

"My mother and I never got along," Xenia said neutrally. "I left home when I was sixteen and haven't looked back."

Except in fear…always in fear.

Ethan stroked his thumb across her cheek. "Now I understand where your resourcefulness comes from. You've been taking care of yourself for a long time, haven't you?"

All my life, it seems.

A lump rose in her throat, and she couldn't speak.

"But now you have me, Xenia. Trust me. Let me in."

Her heartbeat accelerated, but she couldn't give in to her dangerous yearning. When she tried to protest, he swooped down. His kiss was scorching yet intimate. The urgency of their passion transported her into another realm, one where she felt safer than she ever had. When he broke the kiss, she was pressed against him, her arms wound around his neck as if she never wanted to let him go.

"I think I got the better end of the trade." His eyes held a smile. "Go get ready, and I shall escort you to the village."

"Hold up." She shook off the haze of desire. "You are coming with me? Why?"

"While you are looking for your ghost, I will be looking after you."

He kissed her nose, pulling her up. Papers clung to her skirts and swirled to the floor like dried leaves. Automatically, she bent to pick them up.

"Leave the papers." Ethan crouched beside her. "I'll get them?—"

She looked at the sheet in her hand, recognizing it immediately. It was the sonata she'd found by his piano—the one she'd played, eliciting his wrath. He must have made another copy. A wise woman probably would have returned the score to him without another word…but when had she been wise?

"Have you been working on this?" she asked curiously.

He tried to snatch it from her, but she was too quick, keeping it out of his reach as she rose. Scanning the notes, she hummed the melody. The tune was as soulful and elegant as she remembered, and there were new bars that added an interesting shift to the melody.

"If you're quite finished." He held out an imperious hand. "Give it here."

When she complied, he shoved it under a pile on his desk.

"Why are you hiding your composition?" she asked. "It is beautiful."

"Do you think so?" His tone was gruff. "You are not saying that to be kind?"

"The melody is unique, both restrained and passionate," she said candidly. "It lingers like a memory one can't stop thinking about. I've caught myself humming it a few times since I, um, played it…"

Really, Xenia? Did you have to remind him that you violated his privacy?

He sighed. "I haven't properly apologized for my outburst, have I?"

"You have. And it was my fault as well?—"

"Then it's an explanation I owe," he said. "After the damage to my hand, I thought music was lost to me forever. You were right when you said that playing the piano is not a trivial matter—to me, it was everything . But I was a performer, not a composer, and the sonata you found…it was my first and only attempt at writing music. Something I'd started as a lark before my injury and forgotten about. Hearing you play the piece brought back memories...mostly of everything I'd lost. I took my anger out on you, for which I humbly beg your forgiveness."

His sincerity made her heart flutter.

"You are forgiven," she said sincerely. "And I hope I am as well."

"Not only are you forgiven, but I may also owe you thanks." He hesitated. "Because you unearthed that sonata, I started wondering if I could…well, perhaps if I could give composing a go again. A real go, this time. It's not the same as performing, but…"

He gave a self-conscious shrug.

"But you would still be making music," she said excitedly. "Oh, Ethan, I think it is a brilliant idea. How is it going so far?"

"Slowly," he admitted. "I keep telling myself that if Beethoven could compose his greatest work without his hearing, then surely I can manage with one hand. But not being able to play the melody and accompaniment together is a challenge."

"I could help if you'd like. Play the part of the left hand."

"You would do that?"

The heated intensity of his gaze made her pulse race.

Don't you know, Ethan? I would do just about anything for you.

She cleared her throat. "Most definitely."

"I am a novice at composition," he warned. "I am not sure I have a talent for it."

"May I share a bit of hard-earned wisdom?"

He cocked his head.

"Pretend until it's true," she said. "Act as if you know what you are doing and soon enough you will."

When he looked skeptical, she added, "The method works. I didn't know how to be a housekeeper, but I acted as if I did. Eventually, I figured it out…and I even fooled you."

"You didn't fool me." He snorted. "From the time you shared your ‘Golden Rule,' I knew you'd never been in service."

Perhaps not her grandest moment.

She tipped her head. "Then why did you let me stay on?"

"Because I like you." He pulled her close. "Thank you, Xenia. For your encouragement."

"You're welcome."

His kiss was tender and sweet, leaving her lightheaded.

"I kept you on for another reason too," he said.

"Oh? What reason was that?"

"You're a naughty minx, and I like the games you play." He gave her a playful swat on the bottom. "Now go get ready for our outing."

She squeaked with mock indignation before hurrying off. A smile played on her lips…because she liked the games he played, too.