Craving the Forbidden (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Fitzroy Legacy - Book 1) by India Grey Page B
Authors: India Grey
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by the mad countess’s ghost, you know …
Retreating quickly, she slammed the door and forced herself to exhale slowly. It was fine. No need to panic. Just a question of retracing her steps, thinking about it logically. A veil of cloud slipped over the moon’s pale face and the darkness deepened. Icy drafts eddied around Sophie’s ankles, and the edge of a curtain at one of the stone windows lifted slightly, as if brushed by invisible fingers. The whistling sound was louder now and more distinctive—a sort of keening that was almost human. She couldn’t be sure it was just in her head any more and she broke into a run, glancing back over her shoulder as if she expected to see a swish of pink silk skirt disappearing around the corner.
‘I’m being stupid,’ she whispered desperately, fumbling at the buttons of her mobile phone to make the screen light up and act as a torch. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts.’ But even as the words formed themselves on her stiff lips horror prickled at the back of her neck.
Footsteps.
She clamped a hand to her mouth to stifle her moan of terror and stood perfectly still. Probably she’d imagined it—or possibly it was just the mad drumming of her heart echoing off the stone walls …
Nope. Definitely footsteps.
Definitely getting nearer.
It was impossible to tell from which direction they were coming. Or maybe if they were ghostly footsteps they weren’t coming from any particular direction, except beyond the grave? It hardly mattered—the main thing was to get away from here and back to Jasper. Back to light and warmth and TV and company. Shaking with fear, she darted back along the corridor, heading for the stairs that she had come down a few moments ago.
And then she gave a whimper of horror, icy adrenaline sluicing through her veins. A dark figure loomed in front of her, only a foot or so away, too close even for her to be aware of anything beyond its height and the frightening breadth of its shoulders. She shrank backwards, bringing her hands up to her face, her mouth opening to let out the scream that was rising in her throat.
‘Oh, no, you don’t …’
Instantly she was pulled against the rock-hard chest and a huge hand was put across her mouth. Fury replaced fear as she realised that this was not the phantom figure of some seventeenth-century suitor looking for the countess, but the all-too-human flesh of Kit Fitzroy.
All of a sudden the idea of being assaulted by a ghost seemed relatively appealing.
‘Get off me!’ she snapped. Or tried to. The sound she actually made was a muffled, undignified squawk, but he must have understood her meaning because he let her go immediately, thrusting her away from his body as if she were contaminated.
Shaking back her hair, Sophie glared at him, trying to gather some shreds of dignity. Not easy when she’d just been caught behaving like a histrionic schoolgirl because she thought he was a ghost.
‘What do you think you’re doing ?’ she demanded.
His arched brows rose a fraction, but other than that his stony expression didn’t change. ‘I’d have thought it was obvious. Stopping you from screaming and waking up the entire castle,’ he drawled. ‘Is Jasper aware that you’re roaming around the corridors in the middle of the night?’
‘Jasper’s asleep.’
‘Ah. Of course.’ His hooded gaze didn’t leave hers, but she jumped as she felt his fingers close around her wrist, like bands of iron, and he lifted the hand in which her mobile phone was clasped. His touch was as cold and hard as his tone. ‘Don’t tell me, you got lost on the way to the bathroom and you were using the GPS to find it?’
‘No.’ Sophie spoke through clenched teeth. ‘I got lost on the way to my bedroom. Now, if you’d just point me in the right—’
‘ Your bedroom?’ He dropped her wrist and stepped away. ‘Well, it definitely won’t be here. The rooms in this part of the castle haven’t been used for years.
Retreating quickly, she slammed the door and forced herself to exhale slowly. It was fine. No need to panic. Just a question of retracing her steps, thinking about it logically. A veil of cloud slipped over the moon’s pale face and the darkness deepened. Icy drafts eddied around Sophie’s ankles, and the edge of a curtain at one of the stone windows lifted slightly, as if brushed by invisible fingers. The whistling sound was louder now and more distinctive—a sort of keening that was almost human. She couldn’t be sure it was just in her head any more and she broke into a run, glancing back over her shoulder as if she expected to see a swish of pink silk skirt disappearing around the corner.
‘I’m being stupid,’ she whispered desperately, fumbling at the buttons of her mobile phone to make the screen light up and act as a torch. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts.’ But even as the words formed themselves on her stiff lips horror prickled at the back of her neck.
Footsteps.
She clamped a hand to her mouth to stifle her moan of terror and stood perfectly still. Probably she’d imagined it—or possibly it was just the mad drumming of her heart echoing off the stone walls …
Nope. Definitely footsteps.
Definitely getting nearer.
It was impossible to tell from which direction they were coming. Or maybe if they were ghostly footsteps they weren’t coming from any particular direction, except beyond the grave? It hardly mattered—the main thing was to get away from here and back to Jasper. Back to light and warmth and TV and company. Shaking with fear, she darted back along the corridor, heading for the stairs that she had come down a few moments ago.
And then she gave a whimper of horror, icy adrenaline sluicing through her veins. A dark figure loomed in front of her, only a foot or so away, too close even for her to be aware of anything beyond its height and the frightening breadth of its shoulders. She shrank backwards, bringing her hands up to her face, her mouth opening to let out the scream that was rising in her throat.
‘Oh, no, you don’t …’
Instantly she was pulled against the rock-hard chest and a huge hand was put across her mouth. Fury replaced fear as she realised that this was not the phantom figure of some seventeenth-century suitor looking for the countess, but the all-too-human flesh of Kit Fitzroy.
All of a sudden the idea of being assaulted by a ghost seemed relatively appealing.
‘Get off me!’ she snapped. Or tried to. The sound she actually made was a muffled, undignified squawk, but he must have understood her meaning because he let her go immediately, thrusting her away from his body as if she were contaminated.
Shaking back her hair, Sophie glared at him, trying to gather some shreds of dignity. Not easy when she’d just been caught behaving like a histrionic schoolgirl because she thought he was a ghost.
‘What do you think you’re doing ?’ she demanded.
His arched brows rose a fraction, but other than that his stony expression didn’t change. ‘I’d have thought it was obvious. Stopping you from screaming and waking up the entire castle,’ he drawled. ‘Is Jasper aware that you’re roaming around the corridors in the middle of the night?’
‘Jasper’s asleep.’
‘Ah. Of course.’ His hooded gaze didn’t leave hers, but she jumped as she felt his fingers close around her wrist, like bands of iron, and he lifted the hand in which her mobile phone was clasped. His touch was as cold and hard as his tone. ‘Don’t tell me, you got lost on the way to the bathroom and you were using the GPS to find it?’
‘No.’ Sophie spoke through clenched teeth. ‘I got lost on the way to my bedroom. Now, if you’d just point me in the right—’
‘ Your bedroom?’ He dropped her wrist and stepped away. ‘Well, it definitely won’t be here. The rooms in this part of the castle haven’t been used for years.
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