One Haunted Evening (Haunted Regency Series Book 1) Read online

  Daphne knew her rum butter was good and that it was well loved in the area, but hearing him say how much he liked it made her want to take a flying leap into his arms and kiss his face with gratitude. Of course, she didn’t. She sat right where she was, afraid to move a muscle. He’d have to let go of her hand at some point—surely he was anxious to eat the rest of his bread pudding—but Daphne didn’t want it to end a moment too soon.

  A gust of wind pick up in that very moment, though, prompting both of them to look heavenward.

  “Oh, dear,” Daphne murmured.

  “Looks as if our picnic might be cut short.” He withdrew his hand and sat back again. Daphne missed him already. “But not before I finish my bread pudding.”

  That brought a smile to her face. He liked it so much he was willing to risk being caught in a downpour to eat it.

  Daphne took a few bites of her own in between repacking the picnic basket. Silence reigned between them, since his lordship didn’t seem to want to take a breath between bites. But then a drop of rain, and then another, pelted Daphne in the face, startling her. She looked to Lord Wolverly, only to find him grinning up at her with barely veiled mirth, but he didn’t make fun of her for being a bit jumpy. Rather, he came to his feet and reached a hand down to help her up. Daphne accepted the assistance and welcomed his lingering hand that seemed reluctant to release her.

  “I’d better get you out of this rain before you catch your death.”

  Daphne smiled. “Fortunately, my brother is the doctor, so you needn’t worry for my health.”

  “I will worry just the same.” He winked at her before he finally let go of her hand and set to collecting their picnic basket and blanket.

  They walked quickly back to town, and Daphne, though she had a doctor for a brother, was quite glad the rain held off long enough for them to make it home. By the time they arrived at her door, there was a gentle mist soaking them slowly but surely.

  “Thank you, Miss Alcott, for a lovely afternoon,” Lord Wolverly said, a gentle smile on his lips.

  “You can’t go home in this,” Daphne replied, refusing to say goodbye to him already. “Then you will catch your death. Please, come inside, just until the rain passes.”

  The viscount glanced up and down the street, and Daphne wondered if he was looking for a way out of spending more time with her. How heartbreaking and disappointing that would be. But at long last, he leveled her with those earnest dark eyes.

  “I would appreciate it very much,” he said. “However, I fear there will be repercussions, Miss Alcott, should a bachelor enter your home without a chaperone present.”

  Blast. Daphne had never had need of a chaperone. How frustrating.

  “Well, then,” she said, trying desperately to keep the disappointment from her tone. “I shouldn’t keep you. The longer you stand here, the wetter you’ll get.”

  His lips twitched up on one end, and it seemed as if he might be biting the inside of this cheek to keep from laughing, or perhaps saying whatever was on his mind. But in the next moment, he handed over the picnic supplies, tipped his hat, and said, “Until tomorrow, Miss Alcott.”

  She watched him go, heedless of the rain, uncaring if she got soaked through to the bone, just for one last lingering glimpse of Viscount Wolverly.

  Thankfully, the sun was bright and warm the next morning, as if the rain had never happened the day before. Alastair stared out of his window onto the Marisdùn gardens. They were something of a masterpiece, especially to see them from above. The hedges were trimmed to perfection, and the flowers were almost shocking to the eye with their bright pinks and purples and yellows. Of course, they wouldn’t have much time left, what with winter coming soon.

  He had just noticed that woman in the blue dress he’d seen the other day when a knock came at his door. He ignored the odd feeling that washed over him and bid whomever it was to enter. Sidney walked over the threshold a moment later.

  “Ah, good morning, Sid!” he greeted. “I trust you’re feeling better by now?” After a night of revelry and imbibing to excess, his friend had barely gotten out of bed the day before.

  Sidney snorted. “A day abed did the trick.”

  “I knew you’d sleep away your time here,” Alastair replied. “This is lovely country, you know? I’m glad to see you’re up and about at a decent hour today so you might enjoy it.”

  Sidney collapsed into the high-back velvet chair near the hearth and swung his leg over the arm. How Alastair considered this devil-may-care rounder one of his best friends was a mystery. But the truth was that despite their vast differences, Sidney had always been there for him. Most notably when Alastair’s father had died, leaving him an orphaned viscount at the ripe age of eleven. Navigating those foreign waters would have been near impossible without Sidney’s support and good humor.

  “Speaking of enjoying the countryside,” Sidney said, banging his leg lackadaisically against the side of the chair. “Care to take a ride?”

  Alastair did care to take a ride, as a matter of fact, but not with Sidney. Miss Alcott was coming by to meet Jupiter today—at least he hoped she was. Visions of her riding sidesaddle in front of him, her dark hair blowing and bouncing with the motion of the horse, his arms wrapped about her voluptuous waist to hold her steady, filled his head and sparked desire within him. He turned toward the window again, under the pretense of wanting to look onto the gardens, but really to hide his growing manhood.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass, my friend,” he said, watching the woman in blue wander aimlessly through the garden. It only just started to occur to him how odd it was, this strange woman wandering about the garden. Was she a servant? If so, shouldn’t she be working? Or if she was a neighbor, who gave her permission to trespass?

  “I didn’t realize you had plans,” Sidney said, breaking into Alastair’s thoughts.

  “Well, I do,” he said, and then added, “At least, I think I do.” He thought Miss Alcott held him in high esteem, as he did her, but there was no guarantee she would show up today. Perhaps she’d spent the entire night tossing and turning, only to realize she didn’t like him at all. Or maybe her brother would forbid her to come.

  “You think you do?”

  Damn. He should have kept his mouth shut. He turned from the window, his ardor back under control, and leaned his back against the cool pane. “If you must know, I’ve become rather smitten with a young lady here in town.”

  Sidney’s face lit up with all the mischief and joy of a thirteen year old boy when he’s caught his first glimpse of a lady’s breast. “You old dog!” he drawled with all the insolence of that thirteen-year-old boy. “Who would have thought the puritanical Lord Wolverly would fall in love at first sight.”

  “I have no idea what being puritanical has to do with falling in love. I’m certain the Puritans would take offense.”

  Sidney threw his head back and barked with laughter. “You must introduce me,” he insisted.

  “Not on your life.” Alastair wouldn’t put it past his friend to seduce Miss Alcott himself.

  “Oh, come now!” he said, laughing all the while. Clearly, he was enjoying trying to get under Alastair’s skin—he always did. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  Alastair pushed off the windowsill and made his way across the room to where his friend sat. “No,” he said as he took Sidney by the elbow, helping him out of the chair. “Now, I’ll kindly thank you to leave my chambers.”

  “You can’t keep her hidden from me forever!” he shouted as Alastair shoved him out the door and slammed it promptly behind him.

  He could hear Sidney guffawing through the thick mahogany. Alastair shook his head. Sid always made light of what Alastair found important, and while it irked him to no end, it was also what endeared his friend to him.

  After carefully dressing himself and perfecting his cravat, Alastair went down to breakfast, and mid-way through his plate of eggs and toast, the butler came in to announce a vis
itor.

  “Lord Wolverly,” he said with a curt bow. “Miss Alcott to see you.”

  Damn, but those two little words—Miss Alcott—set his heart to racing as if he’d just run the length of Rotten Row at top speed.

  “Shall I put her in the drawing room?” he ventured when Alastair didn’t answer.

  “Thank you, Bendle,” he said, abandoning his half-eaten breakfast. “She’s here to meet Jupiter, actually, so I’ll come with you and greet her in the foyer.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  Bendle led the way down the corridor toward the front door. Standing there in the foyer was Miss Alcott, a vision in blue again. There was nothing fancy about her dress, nothing remarkable about how she wore her hair in a low chignon beneath her bonnet, but there was something extraordinary about her. She needed no fripperies or frills to accentuate what a stunning beauty she was. So simple, so gentle, so open.

  She turned to him at the sound of his footsteps clicking on the marble floors. A smile broke out on her lips, pushing those sweet round cheeks so high that the skin around her eyes crinkled in the most adorable way.

  “Lord Wolverly!” she said, dipping into a curtsey. “I do hope I’m not too early.”

  He delivered a quick bow in greeting. “Not at all, Miss Alcott,” he assured her. “I was just finishing my breakfast.” He accepted his overcoat from Bendle and then offered his arm to her. “Are you ready to meet Jupiter?”

  The sweet girl gave an eager nod and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. Alastair led her back outside and down the stairs to the drive, and then they made their way the short walk to the stables.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked as they sauntered along the path.

  “As well as one can when one lives across from the only pub in town,” she replied. “And you?”

  “Better than the night before.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “I guess the ghosts decided to let me rest finally.”

  Miss Alcott laughed, sending joyful reverberations through Alastair’s body. How was it she made him feel so light and happy?

  “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts,” she teased, her lips turned up in a mischievous smile.

  “I don’t,” he replied, sending her a little wink as they arrived at the stables. “Here we are.”

  Miss Alcott tipped her face up to look at the rustic building before them. “Yes, we are.”

  Lord Wolverly removed her hand from his elbow and moved to open the doors. Daphne immediately felt his absence, and a bit of the apprehension she always tried to so hard to suppress bubbled its way to the surface.

  “This way,” he said, but as he started to turn, he must have noticed the slight hesitation in Daphne’s eyes. He walked the few paces back to her. “Is something the matter?”

  She shook her head, and closed her eyes. She felt like such a ninny. “No, it’s silly, really,” she said. “I’m fine.” Though she didn’t feel fine at all. Her heart was racing faster than a well-sprung phaeton.

  “Miss Alcott, whatever it is, I beg of you to tell me,” he insisted, taking her hand in his. She prayed he would never let go. “I shouldn’t ever want you to feel uncomfortable.”

  Those words warmed her through and through. Part of her felt that with him beside her, she might be able to conquer any fears she might have. “Thank you,” she said, meaning it. But she didn’t explain. She hated to talk about it, about what had happened. It only brought up the most painful of memories. “But I’m fine. Truly, I am. Please, take me to see Jupiter.”

  Lord Wolverly studied her for a long moment, and then he finally nodded and turned back toward the stables. Blessedly, he kept hold of her hand, leading her into the large, wooden building. Daphne hadn’t been in a set of stables since the accident, but she remembered the smells like it was yesterday. The sweet, pungent hay, the sweaty, leathery smell of the horses. And not an ounce of smoke, thank the good Lord.

  Wolverly stopped in front of a roomy stable where a beautiful reddish-brown beast stuck his nose over the gate. Daphne’s heart softened toward the viscount even further as he approached the animal with all the tenderness one might use to approach a newborn babe. The horse whinnied softly and nudged Wolverly’s chin in an attempt to nuzzle his master. Lucky horse.

  “Miss Alcott,” he said, stroking down Jupiter’s nose, “I would like you to meet Jupiter. Jupiter…this is Miss Alcott.” As he said her name, his eyes lingered on her with a reverence no man had ever shown her before. Her stomach fluttered and a flush of heat started at her toes and worked its way all the way up to her cheeks. It was easy to forget where she was when he looked at her like that.

  She dipped a bow to the horse with a soft giggle. “A pleasure to meet you, Jupiter. But I must insist you call me Daphne, if I am to call you by your given name.”

  Wolverly apparently found the humor in this, for he chuckled and played along. “Oh, yes. We are all on a first-name basis here in the stables.” He settled his gaze on Daphne again. “So I must insist you call me Alastair.”

  Daphne’s mouth went dry. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. After trying several times to tell him that he could call her Daphne, he put her out of her misery. But not with words, thankfully. Words would have ruined this perfectly romantic moment. Instead, he abandoned Jupiter, who protested with a huff, and strode purposefully to Daphne. He didn’t even pause when he reached her—he grabbed her in his arms, his hand following the path of her jaw until it cupped the back of her neck so he could bring her closer. For a kiss. A kiss.

  Daphne had no clue what she was doing. No human had ever been this close to her before, at least not for something this intimate. Heavens, her senses were so overloaded, she could hardly take it all in. His hands caressing her back while still holding her firmly against him. His coarse lips against hers, gentle, yet prodding, as if he wished for her to open to him. His body, warm and hard against her. He smelled clean, as if he’d recently bathed, and was that bergamot she smelled?

  His tongue played against her lips, sending bolts of desire straight to her belly. Or perhaps a little lower than that. Heavens, this was overwhelming, and—

  She opened her mouth in an attempt to catch her breath, and he seized the opportunity to delve inside. Now she was positively throbbing down there. His tongue was so soft, so warm. She followed his lead and mimicked his motions, reveling in the play as her nipples hardened against the fabric of her chemise.

  One of his hands moved lower, almost to her derriere, and he pressed her against him, against something hard and altogether exciting and frightening. Daphne grabbed onto his firm upper arms and dug her nails in, unable to curb the desire that was now coursing through—

  “Well, well, well.”

  Alastair—for how could she possibly think of him as Lord Wolverly after such intimacies?—abruptly broke their kiss and looked over Daphne’s shoulder at whoever it was who had interrupted them. Daphne’s heart was racing so fast, she worried it might jump out of her throat any moment. She wanted to flee, but the bands of steel that held her at her back and behind her head wouldn’t budge.

  “Go away, Sidney,” Alastair said, the warning in his voice so dangerous sounding, even Daphne trembled a bit. Or perhaps she was simply weak in the knees after that kiss.

  The man named Sidney laughed insolently. “You mean you really won’t introduce me? Come now, if I’m to be the best man at your wedding, I ought to at least know the bride, shouldn’t I?”

  Alastair tightened his grip and a low growl reverberated through his body. “You are a blighter and a rogue—you’ll be lucky if I let you even gaze upon her face. Now get out.”

  Goodness, was this Sidney so very terrible? “Alastair,” she whispered.

  “Yes?” he asked; his tone was clipped and his eyes never left Sidney.

  “It’s all right. I don’t mind meeting him. He can’t be all that bad.”

  Finally, his dark eyes shifted to meet hers. There was fire in their dep
ths, or was it fear? Was he afraid of something? She smiled at him in an effort to set him at ease.

  He let out a long breath, and Daphne could feel the tension easing from his body, since they were still pressed firmly together. “Fine.” He eased his grip and turned her around to face his friend. “Miss Alcott, Mr. Sidney Garrick.”

  Daphne had a feeling she knew why Alastair didn’t want her to meet his friend, and she almost giggled at the idea. He was handsome, yes. Light brown curls framed a very attractive face—he was almost angelic, though she assumed he’d be better categorized as a fallen angel than a heavenly one. He leaned against a beam, his arms crossed over his chest, and a roguish smile on his lips, but as Alastair finished the introduction, he pushed off the beam and sauntered—like Casanova himself—to stand before them. He took her hand in his and bowed over it, drawing it to his lips and lingering there for as long as Alastair would let him. Which wasn’t very long.

  “Enough, Sidney,” he warned, and Daphne had a feeling that when he used that tone, most people cow towed to whatever he demanded.

  Mr. Garrick, however, seemed to enjoy enraging his friend. He lifted his lips from her hand, and met her eyes, a smirk playing across his mouth. He didn’t really have an interest in her—she knew that, and Alastair probably knew it too—Mr. Garrick was only being roguish to get under Alastair’s skin. Based on the rigidity of Alastair’s body at her back, it was working quite well.

  Daphne knew very little about the games men played, or the games women played, for that matter. She was innocent in almost all matters of the heart. But she knew she liked Alastair more than she was able to express, and she knew that the last thing she’d ever want to do was hurt him. Encouraging Mr. Garrick would most definitely be hurtful.

  “A pleasure,” she said, with very little emotion. “Now, I do believe Lord Wolverly plans to take me for a ride upon his prized beast, so you will have to excuse us, Mr. Garrick.”