Chaste Kiss (2 page)

A novice historian and a bit of an eccentric, Jerome Derrington had built the house in the style of an English country manor and filled it with priceless antiques. Each room at Derrington Manor depicted one of the gentleman's favorite periods in history down to the smallest detail.

William felt genuinely comfortable in the Elizabethan room, although he had no choice in the matter. The very place where Isabel laid, a sixteenth century chamber bed, shackled his soul to the earthly plain for all eternity.

Isabel smiled and nodded at her uncle's words as she ate every morsel upon her plate. Noting her healthy appetite, William felt certain she would recover rapidly.

"Uncle Jerome, did you come in and check on me earlier while I was asleep?"

"No. Perhaps that tyrannical housekeeper of mine managed to work up the nerve to stick her nose in the door. Why?"

"Oh, I just thought I felt someone here earlier, that's all.” She lifted the cloth and wiped her bow-like lips.

"Do you feel me here as you did long ago, little one?” William whispered, but she did not hear.

Jerome patted her hand. “Well, we're here for you.” He sat carefully on the edge of her bed. “I just wish you'd told me about this. I can't understand—” He puffed out a heavy breath, stirring the edges of his moustache. “But that's neither here nor there. All that matters is that you're home now, safe and sound where you belong. Now, lay back and get some rest."

"I will. That trip to the bathroom really took it out of me, and those prescription painkillers are strong. I feel so groggy even though I've been sleeping all day.” She stifled a yawn as her uncle took the tray.

"Good. Then I know you'll get a good night's rest."

As Jerome opened the door, he reminded her not to get out of bed again without calling for help. With a small nod, she closed her eyes as Jerome left the room.

"Rest, little one,” William whispered. Her lashes fluttered a moment then stilled as she slipped deeper into sleep.

"My sweet Izzy, I have missed you sorely. Alas, I venture you do not remember me, yet we played many a good game of chess, you and I. And many a delightful prank,” he chuckled, inciting a murmur from her. “Sleep, poppet. You must get well."

As the night wore on, William never left her side. She had been his only friend in almost four hundred years, the only bright spot in his ghostly existence. He remembered fondly how the little girl with rebellious curls bounced on his bed and into his heart.

She had known him to be there, watching her. How, he could not explain, but she seemed attuned to him. She once described his image like a reflection on water. There, yet not quite there. A transparent form only she could see and hear.

Isabel had been doing exactly what her uncle had told her not to do that day, bouncing up and down on the antique chamber bed, laughing gleefully with each plop to its feathery cushion. When she finished her game, she paused and asked William not to tell.

Although dumbfounded by her knowledge of his presence, he slowly appeared in solid form, praying she would not scream and run as many had done in the past. To frighten children would be unforgivable. But when he fully materialized, she smiled brightly, and he adamantly swore he would not betray her. From that moment on they were friends.

William's spectral heart lay sadly broken the day her parents took her away from the country manor nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. His poppet wanted to hug his neck and kiss him goodbye, but could not. He was cursed to watch and observe, never to touch a living human being lest he be sentenced to everlasting Purgatory—a nothingness—a vast gray void until the end of time.

Nor could he follow her. The chamber bed did not allow him to venture far and always beckoned him to return to its side at sunset. Until the last rays of the sun slipped below the mountains, the bed held him fast, its vice-like grip binding his spirit.

Pondering and remembering as he paced, William watched her sleep. Why had he not seen her before now? Where had she been all these years? And had she truly heard his voice earlier?

Isabel's mumbling pulled him from his thoughts. Her twisting and turning would not be good for her injuries if her uncle had spoken in truth. “Calm yourself, little one,” he whispered near her ear.

"Uncle Jerome?” she muttered sleepily.

"Nay, sweeting. A friend from long ago. Now rest.” Taking on his solid form, he carefully adjusted the coverlet without touching her. Her eyes opened partway, and he cursed himself for materializing before her. Would she be frightened, or would she remember him?

As she fought to focus upon his image, a small smile slipped across her lips. “William?"

He smiled widely with a deep breath of relief. “You remember, poppet. My heart is touched."

She drowsily clutched at the covers, as her lids grew heavy. “Mustn't touch."

"'Tis still true, I fear."

Her eyes opened once again, wider than before. “Where've you been?” she asked, her voice suddenly indignant as she fought her body's desire for sleep.

William chuckled as he gazed down into her bright green eyes. “I have been here, sweeting, waiting for you."

"You still can't leave?"

"Nay, I cannot. I remain tethered to the chamber bed and cannot venture far.” He shook his head with a grin. “I have missed you sorely. I have missed our games and talks. I have missed watching you grow up. You are no longer a babe. I did not recognize you at first."

Her face scrunched up slightly. “Ugly bruises and bandages."

"I see them, little one, and they tear at my heart. Who did this to you? What ill fate has befallen you?"

"A man tried to kill me,” she mumbled groggily.

"Holy Mother,” he whispered. “Has he been punished?"

"No. It was a stranger, but I'm safe now. I'm home.” She sighed and snuggled deeper into her pillow.

William struggled to contain his anger, fearing he might upset her. “Aye, you are safe here."

His mind whirled at her words. Why would anyone seek to harm her? No matter. He would guard her through the days and nights as long as she remained at Derrington Manor. No one would harm his poppet ever again.

Prying her eyes open, she gazed up at him. “I dreamed about you for years.” She smiled wistfully, her lids heavy, yet revealing glittering slits of green. “I had the biggest crush on you, my imaginary friend."

Imaginary
. She remembered him, but not as a ghost. The disappointment cut deeply.

She laughed softly. “Never knew I had a thing for you, did you, my lord?"

William watched her mouth quirk up at the corner, oddly fascinated by its perfection. “Nay. I must admit, I am rather taken aback by your avowal."

Isabel studied him, her teasing grin fading as she fought the weight of her heavy lids. “Strange. You fit, but not Chad."

Although he knew he should let her rest, the wistful tone of her voice sparked his interest. “Fit, poppet?"

"The silhouette of my dream man. My perfect mate. You fit, but Chad doesn't. I suppose I still have a crush on you.” She sighed softly.

William was curious about her childhood infatuation, yet could not help but hear a woman's longing in her voice. Picturing himself in her dream, he grinned.

Lord William Ashenhurst, rake, rogue, and rapscallion—a husband. His poppet possessed quite an imagination.

"I am honored, Izzy.” He felt a tiny prick of jealousy as the full import of her words came back to him.

Who the devil was Chad?

Frowning, she groaned. “No more. No more Dizzy Izzy."

He laughed, shoving aside the nagging question. “Very well. I shall call you Isabel, if it so pleases. Now, you must rest. You need to regain your strength.” William faded into the shadows, invisible to the world and to her.

"Don't leave."

His heart warmed with her soft plea. “I will remain at your side this e'en. Sleep now, poppet."

"Good night, William.” She smiled then slipped back into a drug-induced sleep.

Grateful for the moments they shared during the night, William hoped they could talk again, but feared the little girl who was once attuned to him had vanished, and in her place was a woman who did not believe in ghosts.

"Izzy, are you asleep?"

Isabel opened her eyes to see her Uncle Jerome smiling down at her. His thick bushy mustache and reddish-brown hair had given way to more gray since she'd seen him last.

"No, just dozing,” she said with a small yawn. “And you know I hate that awful nickname."

He chuckled softly. “I see you haven't lost your sass, young lady. But how are you feeling?"

With two cracked ribs, various lacerations, a broken nose, a gash across her forehead, and a concussion she felt just dandy. But at least she was away from
him
. “I'm fine."

"Liar. Here, take this,” he said, handing her a pain pill.

She tried to smile, but the bandages pulled uncomfortably at her skin. She put the pill in her mouth and sipped through the straw he placed to her lips. She relished the cool moisture sliding across her tongue and down her throat.

Her uncle placed the glass back on the nightstand. “Not to worry, my girl. You'll feel better in no time, now that you're home."

Home
. The word sounded wonderful. She'd been a fool not to take the time to visit her uncle and enjoy the only place she'd ever truly been happy. She loved the clean mountain air filled with the aroma of pine trees and flowering rhododendrons, the magnificent views and slower paced lifestyle. Here, miles away from High Point and her deadly admirer, she was safe.

At least she hoped so. She prayed the faceless man didn't know anything about her uncle or where he lived. Maybe the lunatic would be satisfied with nearly killing her. Maybe he thought he already had.

"Constance tells me Chad called,” Jerome said, tearing her from her disturbing thoughts. “Apparently he had to go out of town to some sort of political rally. He'll be back in about a week."

Despite the bandages, she grinned at his paternal tone. When her parents had been killed while on one of their jet-setting tours during her junior year of college, her uncle took up the mantel of fatherhood, even though she was a grown woman.

Odd how she seemed more like him than her own parents. She preferred milling around in junk shops and antique stores to rubbing elbows with the snooty set. At least her parents didn't mind her refusal to stay out of their social circle, but then they were so caught up in their own lives, she hadn't really expected them to care one way or the other.

"I really don't understand what you see in that boy,” Jerome grumbled.

Poor Uncle
. He couldn't seem to reconcile himself with the fact that she had a boyfriend. Not too surprising, since she'd had so few over the years. Isabel opened her mouth to tell him that she and Chad weren't going to be an item for much longer, but changed her mind, deciding to wait until she informed Chad first that their relationship was over.

Realizing she wouldn't have to attend anymore of those horrible galas and political banquets, Isabel grinned and sniffed softly at her own foolishness. The very things she'd gone out of her way to avoid.

Chad Martin was rapidly climbing the political ladder, and schmoozing with the bluebloods was part of the job. But she hated every minute of it—another reason to break things off between them. They wanted very different things out of life.

"Susan called, too,” her uncle continued. “She said she'd wait until you were better before coming to visit."

Isabel moaned, which her uncle assumed to be a positive affirmation of what he'd said. Bandaged up like a mummy with raccoon circles around her eyes was not the time to face one of God's gifts to man.

"Now get some rest. Constance will be up in a little while with your breakfast,” he said. “Buzz if you need me. I'll be in the library.” He gently kissed her cheek then left.

Isabel let her gaze wander around the room, taking in her surroundings. Everything was exactly as she remembered. Heavy tapestry drapes hung at the windows, thick woolen rugs covered the floor, and each piece of furniture dated back to the sixteenth century. It was perfect.

The only change was the coverlet on the bed. Hand stitched and made of soft linen the color of gold, the magnificent quilt went well with the four elegant over-scaled corkscrew carved posts and delicately carved headboard. The deep rich tones of sculpted mahogany surrounded her, encasing her with a sense of security she hadn't felt in years.

She smiled as wide as her bandages would allow at the surge of pleasant memories. Although each room at Derrington Manor was lovely, she always felt drawn to the Elizabethan room. In some strange way she felt as if the room welcomed her like a long lost companion. She shouldn't have stayed away for so long.

The smell of fresh brewed coffee and pancakes teased her nose, pulling her attention to the doorway.

"Good morning.” Constance bustled in and sat the tray laden with food on the nightstand. Her eyes darted nervously about the room.

Isabel held back her grin at the housekeeper's unease. “Good morning, Constance."

"Ready for some breakfast?"

"Mmm, it smells delicious.” Gingerly propping up against the headboard, Isabel realized she hurt in places she didn't know could hurt, but at the moment she had more important matters to tend to. “I need to take care of some business before I eat.” Gritting her teeth, she started to rise.

"Just a minute, young lady. I'm here to help you, remember? Your uncle's been fussing and fuming all morning, about how you were doing too much. He's probably still grumbling around downstairs—the old bear. Now, lean on me, sweetie, and we'll get you all fixed up."

Isabel giggled softly then held her breath against the pain. Constance and her uncle had some sort of love-hate relationship going on, continuously picking and barking at one another in order to avoid their mutual attraction. It was comical to say the least, but Isabel couldn't afford to find anything funny in her current condition.

Not bothering to argue with Constance, she made the trip across the room to the bathroom and back, surprisingly with less pain than the day before. No doubt due to Constance's help. But no matter what either of them said, Isabel wasn't going to ask every time she needed to go. She absolutely despised feeling helpless.