Sizzle All Day (4 page)

For the first time in months, Gillian found herself able to smile at the mention of her former betrothed's name. "David? He's half the man at best. I tell you true, sister, Mr. Delaney is a muckle great man."

The women's eyes met, then they both burst out in laughter that lasted until tears ran down their faces. At some point—Gillian couldn't tell exactly when—those tears of laughter transformed to tears of worry, and she gazed up at her sister and said, "Oh, Flora, what if this fails to work? The sale of Rowanclere must go through. I fear Uncle Angus winna last another winter here."

Her twin sat beside her on the bed and gave her a quick, hard hug. "Dinna give up yet, Gilly. All will be well. That was your first attempt, and it is understandable you lost your concentration under the circumstances. I truly doubt you'll be faced with a nakit man next time you pretend to be a spirit." After a moment's pause, she teased, "Although, if you suspect it might happen again. I may decide to play along. You've whetted my curiosity concerning Mr. Delaney."

Now it was Gillian's turn to act scandalized. With a groan, she flopped back down on the bed. "Alasdair would kill us both. We could haunt Rowanclere in truth."

"Aye, he would nae be happy. In that case, I should content myself with playing hostess rather than a haunt." Laughing softly, Flora stood and crossed toward the door, pausing long enough to frown down at the torn swath of white lying against the tartan carpet. "What happened to the gown?"

"His dog," Gillian said with a grimace. "Vicious little thing tore it."

"Vicious? Why, Gilly, the wee dog is crippled."

"The wee dog's jaw works just fine, believe me."

Shaking her head, Flora bent awkwardly and scooped the gown off the floor. "Oh, I see what you mean. This is ripped right in two." She shot her sister a questioning look and said, "You are lucky Mr. Delaney did not see more of our ghaist than you intended."

Gillian smiled crookedly and kept the baring-of-the-breast detail of the incident to herself. As busy as he'd been dousing his burning buttock, she doubted he saw anything he shouldn't.

Maybe.

However, even if he did note her in-the-flesh state, it wouldn't ruin the plan. According to the magazines she'd read, some types of bogles took an earthly form. The Headless Lady could be one of those types of ghaists. "Leave the gown with me, Flora, so I can repair it for my next haunting."

"You will give it another go, then?"

Shrugging, Gillian said, "I need the practice. It appears that Mr. Delaney is in for a few more supernatural exposures."

Flora shot her a look of surprise. "Delaney? You cannot haunt Mr. Delaney again. You literally lost your head to the man."

"Who else do you suggest I haunt?"

"But he is bound to realize you are a guiser."

"That is a risk I must take."

"No, it is not," Flora said, flinging up her arms. The diaphanous white gown she held floated like a bedraggled flag as she added, "Haunt the servants or Uncle Angus. Haunt me. It is practice you need. What does it matter if we ken the Headless Lady of Rowanclere is really you and not a death bogle?"

Wishing to soothe her sister, Gillian scooted off the bed, took Flora's hand, and spoke in a soft, solemn tone. "Please do not get so upset. It worries me. Flora, I realize the Texan will be a difficult man to dupe at this point, but consider this. If after this day's fiasco I can convince him that Rowanclere is haunted, I shall surely be successful with Lord Harrington. If I can dupe Delaney now, I can cozen anyone. It will be the perfect test."

"I don't like it," Flora snapped, absently rubbing the bulge of her belly. "But I can plainly see your mind is made up. What exactly do you intend to do?"

Gillian walked to the window and gazed out over the castle's great lawn and the road leading to Rowanclere's front door. The roses need tending, she absently thought as she dwelled upon her sister's question.

Aloud, she said, "Since I've already spoken to him and thrown something at him, I think I should probably be a mischievous specter."

Flora sniffed. "As if you could be any other kind."

Gillian ignored that. "I shall need to do something which will make it appear as though the Headless Lady threw the head on purpose. As a joke, perhaps. Maybe I could throw some other things at him. I could be a poltergeist."

"What things?"

"I don't know. I'll need to go through my books and determine which tricks or illusions would best suit a mischievous, talking boodie."

"I have an uncomfortable feeling about all of this."

Gillian glanced over her shoulder. "It is the bairn making you uncomfortable."

"It is my twin." Flora folded her arms and rested them on her belly. "What about the séance? Do you still intend to host one of those?"

Gillian pursed her lips and blew a gentle breath that made a circle of fog on the windowpane. "Perhaps. That should be a perfect opportunity for some mischief, don't you think? I do believe I shall save the magic slate and tapping hand for another time, although I would feel better if I rehearsed everything I might need once Lord Harrington is in residence."

Silence descended as the two women considered the situation. Gillian pictured herself tossing various items from the castles hidden doorways, crawl spaces, and blind spots.

She swallowed a groan.
This will never work.

I must make it work.

Each day Uncle Angus found it more difficult to get up and down Rowanclere's numerous staircases. Each day he appeared to suffer greater pain. Each day he asked after her progress, and worry did him no more good than it did Flora.

Gillian refused to accept defeat. Her grand-uncle had surely saved her and her sisters' lives when he rescued them from their abusive Ross relatives following their parents' death. 'Twas her turn to save his.

"The sale of Rowanclere must go through," she said grimly. "Lord Harrington will be convinced this castle is haunted." She plopped back down on her bed, sat cross-legged, and declared, "I shall haunt this castle so very well that Mr. Delaney will shake in his cowboy boots."

"Guid fegs." Flora shot Gillian a sharp stare, then took a seat in a floral upholstered chair. "You have that look about you again, Gilly. Tell me. What did he do? Taunt you? Bait you? Challenge you?"

"No. Nothing like that."

"Then what? You only get that particular sparkle in your eye when you are planning something wicked."

"Wicked?" Gillian protested, giving her head a toss that sent her long hair flying over her shoulder and bringing a theatrical hand to her chest. "Me?"

"The innocent look doesn't fool me. You love to do wicked, dangerous things. That attack of nerves you had in your room before Mr. Delaney arrived was highly unusual. Now you are back to your normal self."

Gillian studied her fingernails. "Do not be silly. Flora. What could be dangerous about darting along Rowanclere's secret passageways pretending to be a ghaist?"

Flora leveled a stern look upon her sister. "I'd say you might fall and hurt your head upon the steps, but we both know it's more likely that hard head of yours would crack the stone."

Their gazes met and battled silently for a long moment before Flora asked, "What are you hiding?"

It was at times like this that Gillian wished she didn't have a twin. They could not keep any secrets from one another. "All right. It is Delaney. The man bothered me."

"Bothered you how?" Flora's expression grew stormy as she added, "Did he touch you, Gilly?"

"Nae. He did not come near me."

"What, then?"

Gillian swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. "He's from America."

Her sister blinked. "So?"

"I dinna like Americans."

"You dinna know any Americans!"

"Aye, I do."

"Uncle Angus? You love him."

"Not Uncle Angus. Besides, he considers himself a Scot despite all those years in Texas."

For a moment, Flora looked at her twin with a blank stare. Then slowly, the light dawned. "Oh, Gilly. You canna be that unfair. Mr. Delaney should not be blamed for the fact that David Maclean acted the cad and married that American heiress. Mr. Delaney had nothing to do with David's betrayal."

"I know that. David hurt my heart, not my mind. But they say in the village that the woman used wicked wiles to ensnare him, and I would not be surprised if such behavior were an American trait. Think of the risks we face. If Delaney suspects we are staging the hauntings, he could use the information against us. He could tell Lord Harrington."

Flora nibbled at her lower lip as she considered her sister's argument. Then she shook her head. "Nae. I dinna believe that. I quite liked Mr. Delaney. He was charming."

"Exactly." Gillian nodded forcefully. "Which is what has me concerned. Did we not have a similar first impression of Mrs. David Maclean?"

"Actually, my first thought was that David stole a bairn from a cradle. But you canna compare our guest to—"

Gillian shook her head. "Mr. Delaney was much too charming and far too flirtatious when addressing a woman well advanced with child."

"Don't be ridiculous. If he flirted with me—and I am not saying he did, mind you—it would be because I am obviously..." she glanced down at her stomach "... safe."

"Safe? I seriously doubt Alasdair would agree. No matter, Delaney was still too forward in his actions, just like Mrs. Maclean was when she stole my betrothed."

"She bought your betrothed, sweetie, and Mr. Delaney wasn't forward. He was courteous."

"He was cocky."

"Aye, I believe you mentioned that already," Flora said dryly.

Gillian's mouth twitched with a grin at that, though the seriousness of her point quickly quashed the urge. "Cocky as in bold and brash, sister dear. He claims to be a writer, but for all we know, he could have come to Rowanclere for nefarious purposes."

"He had references from a full dozen English peers."

"So? Sleekit men can fool anyone. Perhaps he is a thief who is here to steal our valuables."

"Now you are being silly."

"True," she said flippantly. "We have no valuables. Uncle Angus's brother sold them all."

"Gillian."

Hugging one of her pillows to her chest, she sulked a few moments before saying, "Ah, all right. Perhaps I should not be so distrustful. Still, I sense Mr. Delaney is more than he presents himself to be."

A wicked light sparked in her sister's eyes. "Considering your description of how much the man presented, that is saying quite a lot."

* * *

Jake tucked Scooter beneath his arm as he made his way downstairs the following morning. He'd slept surprisingly well for a man so recently "haunted" in his bedchamber. Probably because he would have enthusiastically welcomed the seductive spirit into his bed.

He'd heard tales of headless ladies and green ladies and gray ladies, various ghouls, bogles, and brownies, and while he didn't necessarily believe in them, he wasn't prepared to discount the stories entirely. However, such phenomena had nothing at all to do with the shapely flesh-and-blood woman who had invaded his privacy yesterday. Even before he'd pulled on his pants this morning, he had decided to track down the elusive illusion while he was here at Rowanclere. There was no reason he couldn't keep an eye out for her at the same time he searched the confines of the castle for the piece of Texas history suspected to be harbored within its walls.

After all, he ought to get some fun out of this trip.

Last night and again this morning he had examined the portion of the wall where the apparition had appeared, and while he was certain a hidden passage existed, he'd failed to locate the mechanism that opened it. He'd decided to look for it again at different times throughout the day. Changing light altered how a room appeared, exposing different details.

Right now, however, he wanted to survey the lay of the land, get his bearings, and develop a plan on how to best conduct his search. In light of yesterday's events, his decision to conceal the true purpose of his visit appeared to have been the right one. Rowanclere definitely had its share of intrigue.

Reaching ground level, Jake eventually found himself back in the centrally located room that presently served as Rowanclere's entry hall. He eyed his choice of doors. The most appealing led past the dining room he'd noticed yesterday. The least appealing led outside. Out of doors where he should take Scooter. Where a light mist fell. An undoubtedly cold, light mist.

Jake gave the dog in his arms a scowl and muttered, "Pest."

Outside, he surveyed the surroundings for an appropriate spot to set Scooter down, settling on a spot of green grass beside rosebushes in bloom. With her business taken care of. Scooter happily took to sniffing around. Jake flipped up the collar on his jacket, hunched his shoulders, stuck his hands into his pockets, and burrowed in to wait on her. Damn, but he was miserable cold. Here it was the middle of summer and he could all but see the fog of his breath on the air.

"It's a helluva way to live," he observed to Scooter, who had fastened a hunter's gaze upon a lark perched upon the spreading branches of a nearby birch tree. The brainless mutt had yet to accept she was no longer fast enough to catch birds. Although Jake had to admit, even on two legs and dragging a hind end, she was still faster than most men. The dog was actually quite amazing.

And hungry, judging by the way she'd caught a scent and was scooting off.

"Whoa there, pooch." He stepped after her, reaching into his jacket for the rope sling he'd fashioned from a long strip of sheeting to assist her mobility. Slipping it under her belly, he lifted her rear quarters from the ground and she took off, dragging Jake along with her.

They wound up at what he deduced from the aroma to be the door to the kitchen. Within minutes, a playful Scooter had secured for herself not only a bowl of choice table scraps, but also a nice warm spot in front of the fire. Still chilled from the early morning cold, Jake was tempted to plop down beside his dog. The scandalized cook wouldn't hear of it, however.