fingers brushing her stomach.
Recognizing their position had the effect of jolting her libido back to life. But as she prepared to act on it, he stood her on her feet and stepped away.
* * * * *
Jacob Elliott hovered in the dark aloneness that had been his prison for too many years. Guilt drained him, keeping him from moving on, punishing him for leaving Sophie to attend a horse sale when she was ill. She had died alone and, for that, he did not deserve to be with her. His guilt was compounded when he’d taken his own life, denying himself the chance to move on with her.
Now, as in few moments since his death, he not only remembered what he had done, but he also possessed a vague awareness of the world around him. Nights like this, he had found himself in the corridor outside the bedchamber he had shared with his wife. He had been driven to enter the room, overwhelmed by the knowledge that his beloved lay dead inside. Grief had driven him to draw his dagger and plunge it into his own chest that he might join her in the afterlife. But instead of passing on, he merely returned to the darkness, to the guilt…to the waiting.
Even now, the darkness beckoned him.
* * * * *
Alec stepped toward the bed. “I can’t believe it. I thought it was just a legend, a story told to frighten children.”
“It’s nothing to fear,” Dera said, her voice soothing in that moonlit room. “It appears to be a simple residual haunting.”
“Simple?” He swung back toward her. “How can you call that simple? It was a-a ghost! In my inn…my home!”
Her sympathetic expression told him that his reaction didn’t surprise her. “The spirit has probably been here for a long time. You simply weren’t aware of it before.”
“How could I not be aware? The cold…what we saw…”
“Tell me the story again,” she urged.
He stared at the bed. “In the eighteenth century, Jacob Elliott built this house for his bride, Sophie. They lived here less than a year when Jacob was called away on business. He returned to find that Sophie had passed away of a fever. He was so grief-stricken that he drew his dagger and stabbed himself in the heart. He fell onto the bed, across her body, and died. The legend says that his spirit returns occasionally, repeating his moment of death.”
“That sounds like what we saw. The figure stood here.” She stepped nearer the bed. “It paused and then made a move that I would liken to drawing a dagger.”
“But then it vanished.”
She smiled at him. “No offense, but you kind of yelped. I’m afraid that might have frightened it away.”
He placed a hand over his heart and stared at her in disbelief. “ I frightened it? ”
She laughed. “Perhaps frightened isn’t the right word. But you disturbed the atmosphere enough to stop the manifestation.”
The sound of her laughter tickled down inside his chest, calming his fear and shifting his inner thoughts. Three years had passed since he’d last seen her, and he was amazed to discover that his attraction to her hadn’t changed. Even when she’d worked for him, he’d found it hard to keep his hands off her. That last night he’d almost failed, almost moved beyond that wet, wild kiss. Only a phone call about her wounded brother had kept them from consummating their desire. She’d left and—but for a short phone call saying she was leaving the firm to help her brother recuperate—he hadn’t heard from her again.
“According to the witnesses,” she continued, “When the spirit manifests, it repeats the same motions every time. How often have you heard reports of this happening?”
“Almost from the moment I opened the inn two months ago.” He’d come across the property a year earlier and had found it to be too good a deal to pass up. Giving up his career in real estate, he’d thrown everything he had into becoming a gentleman innkeeper. But the ghost—and he had to admit now that it was real—was making it difficult to keep
Recognizing their position had the effect of jolting her libido back to life. But as she prepared to act on it, he stood her on her feet and stepped away.
* * * * *
Jacob Elliott hovered in the dark aloneness that had been his prison for too many years. Guilt drained him, keeping him from moving on, punishing him for leaving Sophie to attend a horse sale when she was ill. She had died alone and, for that, he did not deserve to be with her. His guilt was compounded when he’d taken his own life, denying himself the chance to move on with her.
Now, as in few moments since his death, he not only remembered what he had done, but he also possessed a vague awareness of the world around him. Nights like this, he had found himself in the corridor outside the bedchamber he had shared with his wife. He had been driven to enter the room, overwhelmed by the knowledge that his beloved lay dead inside. Grief had driven him to draw his dagger and plunge it into his own chest that he might join her in the afterlife. But instead of passing on, he merely returned to the darkness, to the guilt…to the waiting.
Even now, the darkness beckoned him.
* * * * *
Alec stepped toward the bed. “I can’t believe it. I thought it was just a legend, a story told to frighten children.”
“It’s nothing to fear,” Dera said, her voice soothing in that moonlit room. “It appears to be a simple residual haunting.”
“Simple?” He swung back toward her. “How can you call that simple? It was a-a ghost! In my inn…my home!”
Her sympathetic expression told him that his reaction didn’t surprise her. “The spirit has probably been here for a long time. You simply weren’t aware of it before.”
“How could I not be aware? The cold…what we saw…”
“Tell me the story again,” she urged.
He stared at the bed. “In the eighteenth century, Jacob Elliott built this house for his bride, Sophie. They lived here less than a year when Jacob was called away on business. He returned to find that Sophie had passed away of a fever. He was so grief-stricken that he drew his dagger and stabbed himself in the heart. He fell onto the bed, across her body, and died. The legend says that his spirit returns occasionally, repeating his moment of death.”
“That sounds like what we saw. The figure stood here.” She stepped nearer the bed. “It paused and then made a move that I would liken to drawing a dagger.”
“But then it vanished.”
She smiled at him. “No offense, but you kind of yelped. I’m afraid that might have frightened it away.”
He placed a hand over his heart and stared at her in disbelief. “ I frightened it? ”
She laughed. “Perhaps frightened isn’t the right word. But you disturbed the atmosphere enough to stop the manifestation.”
The sound of her laughter tickled down inside his chest, calming his fear and shifting his inner thoughts. Three years had passed since he’d last seen her, and he was amazed to discover that his attraction to her hadn’t changed. Even when she’d worked for him, he’d found it hard to keep his hands off her. That last night he’d almost failed, almost moved beyond that wet, wild kiss. Only a phone call about her wounded brother had kept them from consummating their desire. She’d left and—but for a short phone call saying she was leaving the firm to help her brother recuperate—he hadn’t heard from her again.
“According to the witnesses,” she continued, “When the spirit manifests, it repeats the same motions every time. How often have you heard reports of this happening?”
“Almost from the moment I opened the inn two months ago.” He’d come across the property a year earlier and had found it to be too good a deal to pass up. Giving up his career in real estate, he’d thrown everything he had into becoming a gentleman innkeeper. But the ghost—and he had to admit now that it was real—was making it difficult to keep
Similar Books
