The Love Affair of an English Lord by Jillian Hunter

search of idle mischief. Gloves and garters, Chloe. Ah, well. At least no one was hurt this time.”
    She leaned her forehead on the door. The suspense of knowing Stratfield was waiting for her made it impossible to concentrate on the conversation. Surely he did not mean to spend the night in her room. “Devon is not here.”
    â€œI say, is there something wrong with you, Chloe? Your color looks rather off. You aren’t taking sick again, are you?”
    The closet door gave a distinct creak. Couldn’t her uncle hear it? Could he not guess by the panic in her eyes that a man was holding a pistol at her back?
    â€œIt must have been that talk in the carriage,” she said in an undertone.
    â€œTalk? In the carriage? You mean about the cat dragging a mouse to the parson’s chair? I never took you for a squeamish miss.”
    She resisted the urge to grab him by the lapels of his dressing robe and shake him into understanding.
    â€œNot the cat,” she said in a low, precise voice.
    â€œThen—ah, yes.” He raised his heavy white eyebrows in disapproval. “That ghost nonsense again. Poor Stratfield. You women are showing no respect for the dead.”
    Chloe’s head began to throb. “Respect?” Her uncle harbored sympathy for a man who was holding her hostage under his very nose?
    â€œLook how pale you’ve gone, Chloe. Are you afraid of ghosts? If so, I assure you that Stratfield’s shade is not about to seduce anyone in this household.” He chuckled at the thought. “Why would he sneak about doing in death what he could have done in life? With a snap of his fingers that poor man could have had his pick of our silly Chistlebury ladies. Excluding you and my Pamela, of course.”
    Spots of light danced before Chloe’s eyes. Never mind seduction. Would Stratfield really go so far as to shoot them? If she squeezed through the door and bolted, she might make it down the stairs to hide.
    But then Uncle Humphrey would be left standing in the hall, not understanding the danger on the other side of the door. He might try to defend himself against Stratfield.
    â€œIt’s Devon who should concern us,” he added in a somber voice. “Go to bed. We shall have to come up with a plan in the morning to straighten out the young rakehell.”
    â€œIn the morning,” she repeated numbly as he hurried off, his spry figure disappearing down the stairs. Would she even be alive in the morning to hold a conversation? Would she be disgraced by the ghostly Galahad?
    She stared after her uncle, torn between a wild terror and self-survival. This was her last chance. No one would venture up to her room again tonight, believing her safe in bed.
    Tell him the Stratfield Ghost is holding you hostage. Tell him before it’s too late. . . .
    â€œUncle Humphrey,” she called out, “please come—”
    Her uncle did not hear her. She realized her cry for help had failed even before she could finish calling to him.
    She did not see Dominic spring forward; a flash of motion in her cheval glass was her only warning. The next thing she knew, his heavy weight was pinning her to the door. The impact would have echoed through the house with a telling bang had the wood not been warped.
    Caught between the door and Dominic, Chloe found it impossible to move. She could feel the coiled energy in his iron-hard body, and hoped he would not lose control. As for her, she had no choice but to stand perfectly still and pray she would stop shaking. He wasn’t exactly hurting her, but the weakness that rushed through her, the heat of his body felt like an attack of sorts. She was embarrassingly aware of how male he was.
    If she hadn’t experienced the gentle devastation of his kiss that day in the rain, she would have felt differently. Would have been more afraid of him. Perhaps she had imagined his tenderness toward her. Even the memory of it made her dizzy.