Chaste Kiss (10 page)

William harumphed at her casual dismissal. That man was a knave. Could she not see he was not worthy of her attentions? He was not good enough to kiss her dainty feet much less have her sweet smile bestowed upon him. And she had been verily upset by his questions. How could she look at him with anything other than scorn?

"God, I shall never understand women.” Grumbling, he paced for several minutes, running the last few minutes over again in his mind, then stopped abruptly in mid stride.

"Good Lord,” he rasped. He'd called her love.

What in the name of all that was holy had gotten into him? Surely he'd gone daft. For him such an endearing term was to be saved for none other than a wife or mayhap a lover. And there had been many lovers, yet he had never called one love before, and Isabel was neither of these things. Was he losing his heart to her? A blackened heart that could ne'er be loved in return?

"That, old woman, would be true torment,” he muttered to the floor, certain the witch who had cursed him had descended to the depths of hell when she expired.

"Nay. ‘Tis folly to think such things.” His feelings for Isabel were nothing more than an extension of what he felt for her as a child compounded by lust. And yet, over the centuries there had been many maids fair of face. Why had he not felt a stirring in his loins for them?

Lost in thought, William roamed the manor until coming to the kitchen where Constance and Jerome were discussing Isabel. Whatever his spectral heart held for Isabel, naught could come of it. They were friends and could be no more.

"I don't see what you're so worried about,” Constance said. “She seems to be feeling fine."

Peering over the wench's shoulder, William wished, as he did every day, that he could smell the fare the woman stirred. Food ‘twas but one of many things he missed. He felt certain his mouth would have watered if possible. The speed in which Isabel recovered from her injuries suggested the housekeeper to be a fine cook.

"I'm not saying she's ill, just confused,” Jerome said. “I caught her talking to herself in the garden earlier. She was having an entire conversation. It was the strangest thing. And I could have sworn she was doing it again in the library after Susan left.” Jerome stared out the kitchen window, his arms firmly crossed over his chest.

Ceasing his study of the simmering pot, William turned all of his attention to their discussion.

"A lot of people talk to themselves, Jerome. You're overreacting."

"But—"

"More than once, I've caught you doing the same thing. Don't you dare deny it. And besides, the child has been under a lot of stress with that stalker and all."

William smiled. Constance had brought Jerome down a peg or two, and it looked as though he had actually enjoyed the rebuff.

"Maybe this detective will help her feel better,” Constance continued.

"Perhaps. But I don't think they have any further information."

"I don't mean about that. I mean he's a man. A living, breathing man, and Isabel is a very pretty young woman."

William's ghostly heart dropped to the floor. Living and breathing. The very things he was not. His sweet Isabel would someday find a man who would give her what he could not. And she in turn, would give to that man her heart.

Images of her with a babe in her arms and children at her feet stole into his thoughts as he remembered the dream she had described to him the first night they spoke. He could never fill the shadowy figure, no matter how much he wished to.

"It's too soon,” Jerome grumbled. “After all, woman, she just broke up with her boyfriend, not to mention recovering from a near fatal accident."

"Don't woman me, Jerome Derrington.” Constance waved her finger at him. “You know perfectly well I'm not talking about a lasting relationship. The girl needs to have some fun before it's too late and she's an old spinster like me. Now get out of my kitchen and go tell your niece dinner is ready.” She spun back around and resumed stirring the stew.

William fumed in light of their words. His Isabel needed a man to love and protect her. She was not a strumpet. If he left these two to find her a mate, ‘twould be a disaster. The duty lay with him to find a suitable husband for her. Someone to give her the things he could only dream about. Someone to make her happy and fulfill her dreams. Someone she could love.

He turned to leave the kitchen, needing time to think, but faltered at the intense expression on Jerome's face. The old scholar most certainly cared for the fiery housekeeper. William considered again, the thought of lending aid in bringing these two people together. ‘Twould keep them otherwise occupied and out of Isabel's love life.

Jerome stood staring at Constance's back, mumbling something about her being an old spinster and him a dirty old man.

Silently chuckling at his choice of words, William silently moved a small stool into his host's path while his attention remained on Constance. A moment later, Jerome turned around, took two steps and toppled over the stool, falling to the floor with a wondrous thud. The housekeeper appeared by his side in less than a breath.

"Jerome! Are you all right?” She ran her hands across his body searching for injuries.

"Fine,” he grumbled. “Mind telling me why you decided to put the stool in the middle of the room?"

"I did not move that stool."

"If you didn't, then who?” He looked up at her from the floor, glowering.

She sat back on her heels, her hands on her hips. “You cantankerous, ornery, stubborn—"

"Kiss her, you fool,” William whispered in Jerome's ear.

He often succeeded in making suggestions to the living without them realizing from whence they came, but had never attempted to do so with Jerome. He believed that somehow the old scholar would know from where the suggestion originated. After all, he was Isabel's blood relation and may also have her unusual sixth sense.

Jerome cocked his head sideways for a scant second before reaching out and snatching the woman's wrist. Constance took a sharp breath at the sudden contact, thankfully ending her prattle. Slowly pulling her closer, Jerome stopped short with their lips a breath apart.

William ground his teeth. What in bloody Christendom was he waiting for? Did the man not have a brain in his head? Frustrated beyond words, he decided to help things along a bit more, although it meant risking the knowledge of his presence. Something he suspected Jerome already pondered.

Gently and quietly as possible, William nudged the stool lying behind Jerome on the floor. Pressing it against the man's back, he successfully pushed the two hesitant lovers together. He watched surprise flash across their faces at the first touch of their lips, then slowly blend into a look of pleasure he could only assume to be a most satisfying kiss.

A sharp stab of jealousy ran through him as he righted the stool. He would never be able to kiss his sweet Isabel. Never touch her ivory skin or hold her warm body against him. Turning away from the lovers, William moved toward the outer door leading to the garden, his heart as heavy as stone.

"Constance, I—oops. Uh, sorry,” Isabel said, and started backing out of the kitchen.

The two entwined bodies leapt apart and quickly stood.

"Uh, dinner is ready.” Jerome cleared his throat. “I was just coming to get you.” His words stopped Isabel's retreat.

Constance nervously fumbled with her apron as she hurried back to the stove. William could see the various shades of red flushing her face. Oh, how he longed to see Isabel color in such a way from his attentions.

"Great. I'm starving,” Isabel said.

William bathed in the smile alighting her face. She was so perfect, so beautiful. Could he forfeit his soul for one chaste kiss? Nay, her sweetness would torment him throughout eternity. ‘Twas better not knowing and she was meant for someone else. Someone living. Someone worthy.

He remained by the outer door and watched her with an intensity far surpassing Jerome's penchant toward Constance as she moved to the cupboard. ‘Twas more than lust he felt for her, of that there could be no doubt. Everything about her spoke to his soul and warmed his heart.

"How did it go with the detective?” Jerome asked.

Isabel retrieved three bowls and glasses. “Okay, I guess. He asked me the same old questions,” she said, carrying the dinnerware to the table.

"Ah.” Jerome folded and refolded the napkins several times before setting them in their respective places.

"I only got a quick glimpse of him, but he looked rather handsome,” Constance said, never taking her eyes from the simmering pot.

"His name is Mick Wise.” Isabel paused and grinned. “And he has a very nice smile."

Holding back a growl, William scowled.

Isabel caught his eye and winked. The severe frown immediately fell from his face.

Good Lord. Were his feelings so transparent? Was she actually teasing him about the detective, knowing of his jealousy?

Constance pulled the pot from the stove and filled the bowls. “Sounds like you like him."

"Yes, I do. Maybe I'll see him again.” She glanced at William with a teasing grin before she took her place at the table.

The devilish little wench! She did know, and that dismayed him greatly. No matter how strong his feelings for her, nothing could ever come to pass between. She needed a man to make her dreams come true, and he was not that man. And neither was the detective, he thought sourly. Or had he simply dispatched the clodpole as a prospective husband so Isabel would remain with him? William thought on this as the family partook of their meal, but found no happiness in his discoveries.

Isabel glanced his way several times and with each look, his heart hammered harder in his chest. Aye, he wanted her for himself. No man would ever be good enough for her.

His eyes lingered overly long on her lips. Did she feel the same pull he felt? Did she wish to explore him the way he yearned to explore her? He had heard a woman's longing in her voice and seen desire spark in her eyes the previous e'en, or so he believed. Did she truly want those things with him? He continued studying her luscious mouth as he ran the questions over and over in his mind, driving him near to madness. He needed air.

There was not much time before the chamber bed summoned him. Hopefully, a walk in the garden would ease his restlessness.

William whispered in Isabel's ear, making sure no one would hear him, and told her where he would be if she wished to find him. A nod of her head and a soft smile was her response, and he knew she would join him soon. If for no other reason than friendship. The only thing they could ever share.

Chapter Six

Isabel was ecstatic to find her uncle and Constance in each other's arms, but on the floor? Well, at least they'd made some serious progress, and she had other things to think about at the moment. A certain ghost.

Thoughts of William made her warm in all the right places. Or was that wrong places? Although she wanted him, she could never have him. He wouldn't want her in that way, in any event, yet she had thought longer about his reaction to Mick.

Could he really be jealous? He looked almost green when she talked about the handsome detective. And the way he watched her during dinner, the heat in his eyes, she couldn't have imagined that.

She shook her head. No, that wasn't possible. She and William were friends and that's all they could be. Even if he did want her, he was a ghost. A man who died centuries before she was born. Isabel idly wondered what would happen when she died. Would she get to stay with William? Would she have a choice? Could they touch then? So many questions and none of them based on a single shred of sanity.

Thoughts of dying reminded her of the stalker. She prayed the detective would catch him, and she could finally have some peace of mind. Mick was a nice enough man, handsome, pleasantly built. The thought of kissing him wasn't totally repugnant.

Who was she kidding? He'd probably be great. With a sigh, she helped to clear the dishes. But his kisses wouldn't be like the ones she imagined with William. A tremor rippled through her body.

Stop it. Dangerous thoughts lead to dangerous actions
. Actions she didn't dare take. One touch, that's all it would take to rip him away from her.

For the sake of her sanity she decided to stop thinking and start talking. “Uncle Jerome, what do you know about the history of the chamber bed in my room?"

"Not a great deal. I had it brought over from England shortly after you were born. I purchased it from an antique dealer in London. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. I've just always found it intriguing.” She finished loading the dishwasher.

Constance placed the stew pot next to the sink. “It's always given me the jitters."

Isabel wondered if Constance could feel some of the energy surrounding William. After having felt the odd sensation as a child, she wasn't frightened in the least. She actually liked the faint little tingles trickling over her skin when he was near.

"It is a unique piece,” her uncle continued. “That was one of the reasons I bought it. The intricately detailed carving on the headboard hides the compartment perfectly. You'd never know it was there."

"Compartment?"

"Yes, Isabel. I thought you knew. It has a secret compartment in the center of the headboard. If you gently tug at the acanthus leaf carving in the middle, it opens."

"Was there anything inside?” she asked excitedly.

"No, sweetheart. If there was it disappeared long ago. I'm sure whoever originally owned the bed removed whatever had been inside."

Her heart leapt. Could she somehow remove the cabinet door to test her theory? Could William be free to roam wherever he wanted? She'd have to be very careful. If she damaged the bed, her uncle would have a fit. Not to mention the four-poster was a very valuable antique, and she would never forgive herself if she marred it.

"Thanks for dinner, Constance. It was wonderful as usual. I'm going to take a little stroll in the garden before turning in.” She hurried out of the kitchen and across the patio.

Noting the gentle glow cast over the garden, it wouldn't be long before the sun set, and she could test her theory about the chamber bed.