Donna Fletcher Read online

  John stood, carrying his teacup with him, and walked to the open door of the receiving parlor and closed it. “How do you stand all that banging?”

  “It’s a delight to hear,” Billie admitted as John returned to his seat opposite her. “The work has finally begun on the manor and I’m thrilled. Soon colors bright with life will welcome friends and visitors to Radborne Manor, instead of the atrocious drab grays and plums that fill a good portion of this place.”

  “I heard Bessie is busy sewing new drapes and chair coverings for you,” Claudia said, helping herself to a sugar-covered tea cake.

  Billie helped herself to one as well. “She’s wonderful. She’s been by several times taking measurements and going over swatches of material.”

  A discreet but distinct cough from the vicar caught the two women’s attention. “The conversation seems to have strayed and I am curious as to why you mentioned attempted murder in connection with Lord Radborne.”

  “Goodness, yes,” Claudia declared, snatching another tea cake off the china plate. “He bravely surrendered his life that night in the storm to save others. He was much loved. He was a true hero.”

  The vicar agreed with a nod. “From what I have heard of the man, he demonstrated remarkable courage.”

  Billie returned her empty teacup to the server. “Yes, I suppose the dear man should have a monument erected in his honor.”

  Claudia smiled. “The villagers have discussed it.”

  Billie sent a silent prayer to the heavens to help her control her tongue. “I’m sure Lord Radborne would prefer to be remembered in the villagers’ hearts and, of course, their tales.”

  “I agree with you dear,” Claudia said. “Legends are made that way and dear Maximillian was quite a legend, in more ways than one.”

  The vicar added his own concern. “Yes, I heard the lord was a generous man. The villagers speak highly of him.”

  “Especially the women.”

  The vicar and Claudia cast wide eyes on Billie.

  Evidently her prayer went unheard. She blushed and properly offered an apology. “Forgive my hasty tongue, but I heard gossip.”

  “Gossip is the devil’s tongue,” the vicar warned.

  “Then my tongue must belong to the devil himself,” Claudia said with a satisfied grin. “And the gossip was true. Maximillian did have a reputation with the ladies.”

  The vicar nervously fiddled with his glasses. “I never meant to offend—”

  Claudia dismissed his apology before he could finish it. “Oh pish, John, everyone gossips. It’s the mainstay of the community. The village couldn’t survive without it. It makes us a family.”

  Billie enthusiastically agreed. “Just like back home in Nantucket. We all looked out for one another.”

  Claudia nodded. “She’s right. The villagers loved the stories that circulated about the lord of the manor. They gossiped with pride. Why the men beamed like peacocks that the lord was fancied by the ladies far and wide. And the women enjoyed warning them that there would come a day when Lord Radborne would lose his heart to a beautiful lady and . . .”

  Claudia’s voice faded and she raised her lace-trimmed napkin to wipe the tear from her eye. “I’m sorry. I did so love Maximillian and wanted more than anything to see him fall in love, marry and have a passel of children.”

  The vicar placed a comforting hand over Claudia’s. “I’m sure he was well aware of how deeply you cared for him and returned it in kind.”

  “You are a dear man, John, thank you.” Regaining her composure, Claudia held her empty tea cup out to Billie. “Now, what of attempted murder?”

  Billie poured the steaming hot tea into her cup. “I’ve been thinking.” And that she had. She needed to enlist their aid without informing them of Max’s ghostly interference; otherwise they would probably think her quite insane. Of course, too, there was the very real chance that Max was not a ghost at all, which would make her look more the fool.

  Billie decided to embellish on the gossip she had heard. “I learned Lord Radborne met with a few mishaps before his death.”

  The vicar looked at Claudia. “I was not in residence at the vicarage until after his death and have heard of no such mishaps.”

  Claudia sipped at her tea, her brow furrowed. “I know there was an accident or two, hunting or some such thing.” She placed her cup on the server and looked directly at Billie. “Did you know that Oran Radborne, Maximillian’s father, was murdered only a few months before his son’s death?”

  “What happened?” Billie inquired, empathizing with Max, having experienced the same loss herself and knowing the difficulties and heartbreak one suffered.

  “Oran came upon smugglers in the caves that run beneath part of the manor. They shot him.” Claudia once again dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “He was a gem of a man. I loved him so very much.”

  Billie watched the vicar reach out to Claudia and comfort her not only with his touch, but with softly spoken words of kindness. She settled and relaxed under his consideration.

  Her curiosity piqued, Billie asked, “What caves beneath the manor?”

  Claudia obliged her with the information. “Since smuggling and wrecking are common in the surrounding area, many of the manor lords had avenues of escape and shelter built beneath their homes, mostly for protection. Sometimes the gentry participated in a bit of smuggling themselves. Fine brandy. Tobacco. Spices from the Far East. Many times the local magistrates turn their heads at the unlawful practice for a part of the smuggled bounty.”

  “Are the caves still accessible from the manor?”

  The vicar stumbled over his words. “Y-you don’t in-intend to investigate them, do you?”

  “They are part of the manor and, therefore, I should be aware of them.”

  “I have made you aware of them, Billie. Stay away. The caves are dangerous,” Claudia cautioned.

  “I agree,” John said, his fingers fidgeting with his glasses.

  Claudia stood. “I must be going. I have an appointment with my solicitor. John, you stay and make certain you convince her to keep her distance from the caves.”

  Billie assisted Claudia with her black cloak. “I would like to learn more about Oran Radborne’s death and his son’s. Will you help me?”

  Claudia smiled. “It would give me pleasure to help you as long as you don’t place yourself in any danger.”

  “Agreed,” Billie said and gave Claudia’s hand a squeeze.

  Claudia gave her a motherly hug before hurrying out the door.

  “Does Lord Radborne’s ghost have anything to do with this sudden interest in the father and son?” John asked, remaining in his seat.

  Instead of returning to her seat Billie walked over to the window draped with heavy plum velvet curtains. She sighed and wrapped her arms around her waist, watching the gray clouds gather in the sky. It would rain again. She wondered if it ever stopped raining here in St. Clair.

  “It is the ghost that disturbs you. Tell me about it,” John offered gently.

  Billie turned around, her own arms still comforting her. “You won’t think me a fool?”

  “Never,” he said and held his hand out to her.

  She went to him eagerly, needing the sincere support he offered. She took the chair beside his and his hand encompassed hers.

  “Tell me,” he urged in a whisper.

  “What can I say?” Billie held onto him as she spoke. “The ghost visits me at his whim. Day or night. He dictates to me what I shall or shall not do to his manor. And he—”

  Billie pulled her hand from his. She turned away from him to gaze at the flames in the small hearth, embarrassed by what she was about to discuss with him.

  “You can talk to me about anything, Billie,” he said softly.

  Feeling safe and secure with John, she admitted, “He kisses me.”

  “And you enjoy my kisses immensely,” came the bold retort.

  Billie whipped around, her wide-eyed stare frantically s
earching the room for Maximillian.

  “Billie, what’s wrong?”

  John’s gentle voice turned her attention to him. “Did you hear anything?”

  “I heard you,” he answered.

  Billie remained silent, expecting Max to add his opinion. When silence reigned, she stood and slowly walked the perimeter of the room while she spoke with John.

  “I sometimes wonder if I’m going slowly insane.”

  “I doubt insanity has anything to do with your visions. I daresay they are more dreams than not. You push yourself much too hard. You should rest more and not worry so about the manor or its history.”

  “I feel that if I could but settle these inquiries that disturb me then perhaps the ghostly visits would cease.”

  “And the restless spirit would be at peace.”

  She smiled graciously at him and continued her patrol of the room. “You understand.”

  “I offer my help freely and unconditionally. Whatever you need from me, you only need to ask.”

  “He’s a useless fool who can offer you nothing but prayer.”

  “Shut up this instant,” Billie shouted without thinking at Max’s comment.

  “I beg your pardon,” John said nervously.

  Billie rushed to him, dropping down beside his chair on her knees. “I’m so sorry, John. I didn’t intend—” She shook her head, not able to offer a rational explanation. “Forgive me. I need your help and I deeply appreciate your willingness to give it to me. Thank you.”

  With a slight tremor in his touch, John caressed Billie’s face. “I will always be here for you, Billie.”

  “That comforts me more than you know.”

  He hesitated briefly and then, as though finding the courage and afraid of losing it, he bent his head down and kissed her.

  Surprised by his gentle play of lips against hers, she stilled. His kiss continued, undemanding and softly sensual, sending a shiver racing through her.

  He eased his lips from hers slowly as if unwilling to relinquish the taste of her. He rested his forehead to hers and murmured, “Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I have so wanted to kiss you.”

  Billie planted a light kiss on his cheek. “Your kiss was delightful and I wouldn’t find it at all presumptuous of you if you should feel the inclination to kiss me again.”

  John smiled, cupped her hands in his and moved a respectable distance away from her. “I would like that. Would you join me at the vicarage tomorrow for tea?”

  Billie didn’t hesitate. “I would be delighted.”

  “Good,” he said, releasing her hands and standing. “I must leave now. I have business to attend to.”

  Billie hurried to the nearby chair to retrieve his gray scarf and gloves. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “Why can’t the fool find his own way out?”

  Billie turned around, forcing a smile. “On the other hand, would you mind if Pembrooke showed you out? I have a pressing matter to see to.”

  “Of course,” John said with concern. “All this work going on in the manor must keep you busy.”

  “My hands are full, all right.” She walked him to the door, casting a quick glance around the room as she went.

  Pembrooke was in the hall and dutifully took charge of the vicar, leaving Billie to shut the receiving parlor door with a solid thud.

  “Show yourself this instant, Maximillian.” When he didn’t answer, she stomped her foot. “At once. Do you hear me, Maximillian? Show yourself this minute.”

  “I think not.” His deep voice held much more authority than her angry one.

  Billie marched to the center of the room, spinning around slowly in an attempt to determine his whereabouts. At the moment he sounded as if he surrounded her, his voice resounding from every corner of the room.

  Frustrated, Billie shook her finger. “I demand that you show yourself now!”

  His laughter rolled like thunder in the quiet room. “Demand?”

  Billie spun around, thinking him behind her. “You intruded on my privacy,” she said to the empty room. “And now you hide from me like a petulant child.”

  “Petulant child?” his full voice echoed.

  “You have no right—”

  “You forget who you speak to, madam. I am the lord of this manor and you shall respect my authority.”

  Her anger mounting, Billie argued back. “I am now the lady of this manor and you shall respect my position. Don’t you dare intrude upon my private conversation with friends again.”

  “I dare what pleases me and that fool of a vicar irritates me.”

  Billie turned again, catching a sound to the left of her. “John is a gentle, caring man who you would do well to heed.”

  “He is an idiot. What man apologizes to a woman for kissing her and what the bloody hell were you doing kissing him?”

  Billie shouted loudly as if addressing someone outside the room. “I enjoyed his kiss.”

  A discreet knock sounded before Pembrooke opened the door slightly, peeked his head in and asked if she was all right.

  “I’m fine,” she snapped. “Now leave me be.”

  Pembrooke hastily retreated, shutting the door firmly.

  “Now see what you’ve done,” she cried. “You’ve made me irritable with my staff.”

  “The staff matters not. Explain yourself.”

  She turned once again, directing her voice to the hearth, and threw her hands to the heavens in frustration. “What am I to explain?”

  His voice rumbled with a mixture of anger and annoyance. “Why you kissed the vicar.”

  “The vicar kissed me, which is none of your concern.”

  “Everything in this house is my concern.”

  “Fine,” she sighed, feeling close to surrender but deciding a change of subject might help. “Then tell me about the caves beneath the manor.”

  His deep voice filled every corner of the room. “You will stay away from those caves, Belinda.”

  “But perhaps I could uncover something of importance down there.”

  “Danger is the only thing you’ll find. The caves are not safe to explore. You are not allowed down there.”

  Tired of his commands, she retaliated, “I will go where I wish.”

  “I think not.”

  Billie shivered from his warm breath that whispered across the back of her neck. He stood behind her, directly behind. If she turned, she would brush against him. If she stepped forward she would be too close to the hearth, her cheeks already flushed red from the flame’s heat. Chairs stood to the right and left of her. He had expertly trapped her.

  No choice but to confront him. She turned slowly.

  He stood almost on top of her and the size and appearance of him made her gasp. He looked positively magnificent. He wore a smoky gray waistcoat and jacket with pale gray breeches, a white linen shirt and a gray-and-black-striped cravat knotted at his neck. His black hair was pulled straight back and fastened securely. His sea-blue eyes resembled the rich colors of a turbulent sea. And he wore no smile. His features were sharp and unflinching and heartbreakingly handsome.

  Billie grabbed the folds of her fawn-colored cashmere dress and held her head up, annoyed at the strands of unruly hair that fell loosely around her face.

  “I will say this one time, Belinda,” he said calmly but sternly. “You will not go to the caves.”

  Billie found speech difficult given the fact that she couldn’t take her eyes off his lips, thin and powerful and oh-so-delicious. She ached for him to kiss her.

  The soft flutter of her eyelids and a gentle sigh of longing brought an ungentlemanlike smile to his face.

  He slipped his arm around her narrow waist and brought her up against him. “A vicar’s kiss could never satisfy you. You’re too full of passion.”

  His lips took hers and demanded she respond.

  She did, her arms slipping around his neck, her body pressing firmly against his and her tongue mating with his in a wild frenzy sh
e couldn’t deny.

  His hand roamed down her body, cupping her bottom, moving her against him intimately. She felt the swell of him, bold and powerful, and her head swam with wicked thoughts.

  The loud knock sounded at the door just before it sprung open to admit Matilda.

  Billie stumbled and stared wide-eyed at the woman in front of her, her mouth still aching and her body trembling. She cast an anxious glance about the room but saw no one save her and Matilda.

  “Stay away from the caves,” came the stern whisper.

  Billie looked at Matilda. The woman smiled at her.

  “I beg your pardon, m’lady, I thought you were finished in here and I could clean up.”

  “Of course,” Billie said, walking over to the window and touching her still swollen lips. Whatever was the matter with her? She had melted at the sight of him and become soft clay in his hands to mold as he wished. Was she crazy? Before she knew it he would have her obeying his every command and whim.

  The first raindrop fell against the window as Billie turned around swiftly. “Matilda, tell me about the caves beneath the manor.”

  Chapter Ten

  Billie secured the leather belt around her slim waist, buttoned her black wool jacket and slipped the red knitted stocking cap on her head, shoving all of her hair beneath it.

  She looked in the full-length mirror in her bedchamber and took stock of her appearance. With her brown wool skirt and black boots, a fisherman’s thick knit sweater beneath her jacket and her hair tucked away she looked like a young girl, ready and willing to attempt . . . an adventure.

  The workers were busy in the dining salon and the main parlor. Their hammers droned away with monotonous bangs. Pembrooke and Matilda had gone to the village for food staples, though Billie imagined it was an excuse for them to escape the constant clatter.

  The vicar had cancelled their afternoon tea, which they had shared each afternoon for the past few days. He had been called to the house of an ailing villager and was expected to be gone until early evening.