She sounded so frightened, his lovely girl who had never been frightened of anything in her whole life. This was the woman who had galloped hell for leather at the most dangerous fences. This was the woman who had faced down her ambitious father, Lord Fenburgh, and insisted she’d marry no man but the Earl of Stansfield.
The Earl of Stansfield who apparently she now loathed.
Outraged questions jammed in Josiah’s throat, but he could see she verged on fleeing if he pressed too hard for answers. Now he’d found her, he couldn’t risk losing her. And who knew whether he’d ever find her again? He still wasn’t sure of the laws that prevailed on this immortal plane.
Very carefully he stepped back, giving Isabella space and hopefully demonstrating benign intentions. He had to find out what was going on, but first he had to banish the dread from her expression. Her quivering fear hit him with the force of a blow to the stomach.
“I won’t touch you.” The words cut at him like razors. “Trust me, Isabella.”
A disbelieving huff of laughter escaped her as she retreated onto the landing, preparing to run.
“No…” He surged toward her again before remembering that she didn’t want him to touch her. Quickly he lowered his arms but not before he caught another flash of panic in her eyes.
Whatever he’d done, it set his intrepid bride quaking with fear. Good God, what was going on here?
He forced himself to remain still. After a few suspenseful seconds, she too came to an unsteady halt against the balustrade at the top of the stairs. She watched him unwaveringly as if expecting him to strike at her like a snake.
She lifted her chin, a poignant echo of the vibrant woman who had led him such a dance before promising to be his. “You can’t hurt me anymore.”
He frowned in incomprehension. “Hurt you? I don’t want to hurt you.”
She flinched at the hint of impatience in his voice. “Don’t lie to me, Josiah.”
Sucking in a breath, he struggled for calm when everything inside him wanted to insist that whatever evil she thought he’d committed, it couldn’t be true. “I’d never lie to you.”
Bitter cynicism unfamiliar to the woman he’d known tightened her expression, although at least she stopped edging away. “Of course you would.”
With every moment, he understood less. Foolishly he’d imagined that he’d understand everything if he could just find Isabella. Well, he’d found her and the mysteries became more baffling than ever. “Won’t you tell me what I did, Isabella?”
Something in his tone must have convinced her to take his question seriously. A series of emotions crossed her face, fugitive as summer lightning. Fear. Puzzlement. Anger. Then a profound sadness to match the stabbing grief he’d felt when he’d woken without her and realized that he and his beloved were both dead.
Grim premonition gripped him. “Isabella?”
Her black gaze settled upon him, somber and lightless as he’d never seen it. “You murdered me, Josiah.”
Chapter Three
GINGERLY CALISTA INCHED inside the Chinese bedroom, feeling her way ahead with fumbling hands. There was a full moon tonight so sneaking down from her eyrie in the east tower hadn’t posed a problem. Unless she counted her nagging conviction that this was a mistake and once Miles discovered how inadequate she truly was, he’d cry off from marrying her, never mind the promises he’d made.
This room was pitch-black. The curtains remained drawn, blocking out the moonlight. With every step through Stygian darkness, the temptation to turn and run like a frightened rabbit grew.
She leveled her shoulders and told herself that ghosts didn’t exist. Which did nothing at all to stifle her nervousness about giving herself to Miles. And very little to overcome her awareness of the oppressive, ancient spite infesting the air in this chamber.
Miles would mock her, but perhaps she might change her mind about insisting this would be their bedroom. The views were lovely, but the walls seeped with the memory of old tragedy. The possibly mythical princess. The far too real Josiah Aston and his murdered bride Isabella.
No, they’d choose one of the numerous pleasant chambers on the floor below. A girl could take her commitment to modern scientific thought too far.
“Miles?” she whispered, although there was little chance of being heard outside the room. Everyone in the house was asleep and this entire floor had been left empty for the guests who arrived tomorrow.
No answer.
Dear Lord, had he decided even before he had her that he was no longer interested? Calista told herself that it was no more than she’d expected, but even so, her belly cramped with misery.
“Miles?” she hissed more loudly, wishing to heaven she had a candle, even if it increased the chance of discovery. Then instead of staggering around like a blind woman, she could check the room, confirm he’d let her down and leave.
To try and stitch her broken heart together up in her lonely room.
Too mortifying to contemplate. She straightened, although nobody was present to witness her revival of spirit, and reached in front of her.