Lord Melvedere's Ghost Read online

  LORD MELVEDERE’S GHOST

  The Star Elite

  Book Four

  By

  Rebecca King

  Lord Melvedere’s Ghost

  Rebecca King

  Copyright 2014 by Rebecca King

  Smashwords Edition © Rebecca King 2014

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Cecily rested her head back against the squabs and closed her eyes. The door slammed with more force than was necessary seconds before the carriage lurched into motion. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know that he had taken a seat directly opposite and was now staring at her, waiting for her to look at him. She could feel his eyes boring into her but couldn’t bring herself to engage in conversation.

  The tension rose within the confined space to the point that her palms began to sweat and she struggled to remain still. Digging deep for self control, she focused on the exhaustion that weighed heavily on her shoulders and stubbornly refused to allow any outward show of emotion. Inside though her stomach was churning with nerves and her heart was hammering so hard that she was positive he could hear it.

  Her body rocked and swayed with the wild rocking of the carriage. Her determination to ignore him almost came unstuck when the heavy conveyance bounded over one deeper pot-hole in the road making her bounce heavily on the seat. She was very aware that she had yet to find out where they were going and knew that she should really start to ask him questions, preferably before they went too much further away from the safety of Archie’s protective company.

  Like a person stumbling through the darkness seeking solace in light, her thoughts immediately turned toward her elder sister, Portia. She had no idea where Portia was now, and could only pray to God that she was safe. Her only comfort was that the man called Archie had made no attempt to hide his growing affection toward Portia, and would undoubtedly do whatever he needed to in order to keep her alive.

  Although Cecily had very little experience with men, she hadn’t been blind to the careful studying looks Archie sent Portia’s way, or the protective stance he always took when standing beside her. It had come as no surprise to watch her sister respond to Archie’s cool authority and take-charge demeanour, and Cecily knew from pure instinct alone that it wouldn’t be too long before Archie persuaded her sister to risk a more daring adventure toward hearth and home.

  A pang of longing swept through Cecily, and her thoughts instinctively snapped back to the man sitting opposite, who was still waiting for her attention and still staring determinedly at her. The urge to peer through her lashes and see the truth for herself was strong, but she simply refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his close proximity unnerved her. She had no idea what his plan was and, if she was honest, she was glad to take a moment’s respite from the bizarre events of the past couple of days.

  To say her life had been turned upside down was an understatement of mammoth proportions. She had been snatched out of the family home; well, not exactly snatched, she had walked to the church to arrange the flowers under orders from her father but, rather than being able to dutifully carry out her instructions as she ordinarily would have done, she had found herself in the middle of a strange battle between French spies, murderous guards and some mysterious government organisation that seemed intent on protecting both Portia and Cecily, whether they liked it or not. Now it transpired that the man who had offered for her hand hadn’t even given her his real name.

  A sigh escaped her before she could prevent it and she mentally winced, every sense alerted to the rustling of clothing as he moved.

  “You will have to talk to me at some point, Cecily,” Jamie sighed, wondering how long she would be able to hold out. He knew she was avoiding him. Back at the tavern they had just left she had averted her gaze whenever he had approached her, and had made no effort to converse with him, abruptly closing his mangled attempts at conversation with single word answers that had made him want to shake her with frustration.

  In essence, he couldn’t really blame her for being wary of him; angry even. There was so much he needed to explain to her, so much he wanted her to understand that he didn’t quite know where to start. Consternation was an unfamiliar emotion to him and right now it was running rife, throwing his thoughts into turmoil. He had no idea where to start; how to start; what or how to say what he needed to without raising her ire. She had already been through enough of an ordeal already and he needed her to remain strong over the next couple of days, but he also needed to settle the misunderstandings between them once and for all.

  While he was confident he was able to keep her alive and out of the French guards’ clutches, he wasn’t sure how close to hysteria she was. She had been almost too calm, too much in control in the tavern with her sister and Archie, and that alarmed him. He had expected her to be sobbing quietly in the corner of the room on the fringes of hysteria. Instead, she had sat with quiet dignity on the edge of the bed, and carefully watched events unfold around her.

  God, she was beautiful. Her long black hair cascaded around her delicate face and highlighted her natural beauty. Although she was rosier in the cheeks that were currently fashionable, it gave her a healthy glow that was simply captivating. In contrast, her sister, Portia, had a pale porcelain-type complexion that made her appear fragile and untouchable. He much preferred Cecily’s fresh, natural look. He didn’t need her to lift her lashes to know that the piercing blue eyes were simply stunning whether they were brimming with good humour or were solemn and watchful. Her eyes had haunted him every day since he had first laid eyes upon her at the Tissington ball several weeks ago, and he longed to see them again now.

  “I know you are not asleep,” he sighed, glancing down at his boots. Placed wide apart on the dirty carriage floor, he braced himself from sliding across the seat as the carriage barrelled ungraciously along the cart track. “I need to talk to you about what is going to happen next.”

  Cecily listened raptly, but refused to open her eyes. Her stomach lurched at his words, but she couldn’t bring herself to lift her lashes. She wanted to cry. Despite everything she had discussed with Portia, now that she was alone, she suddenly wanted to be back at home in Tissington, under the dubious and parsimonious care of her father. Well, if she was really honest she wouldn’t go that far, but she would rather be with Portia and Archie than sitting in a carriage going heaven knew where with this man. She hadn’t even known his real name until they had met again in the tavern.

  “Cecily,” Jamie’s voice dropped several notches in silent warning. He fought to keep his temper in check and clenched his fists against the need to shake her. After several moments of silence, he shook his head and gave up. There was nothing else for it. He stood up and leaned over her. Bracing his hands on the squabs on either side of her head, he dropped a single, hard kiss on her lips and threw himself back down onto the seat opposite before she could slap him.

  His bold actions got the reaction he wanted, and he sat back with an air of satisfaction as her eyes popped open in alarm. She turned eyes that were as cold as ice on him, her face frozen in stern disapproval.

  He waited for her to lambast him; to warn him off, and screech at him for taking liberties as soon as they
were alone. He was slightly unnerved by the cold stare she gave him. It annoyed the hell of him even more when she showed no sign of response other than a single haughtily quirked brow that made her look pompous and untouchable all at once. He longed to grab her, kiss her soundly and wipe that arrogant look off her face but, instead, forced himself to ease back against the seat and stare challengingly back at her.

  “Don’t you want to know where we are going?” His rich, slightly husky tones were driven to a deep rumble by the growing frustration that thrummed through him. She was unpredictable and aloof; he wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not. He was not a man to back down from a challenge though and he squared his shoulders defiantly, prepared to do whatever was necessary to knock down her walls and get to the woman beneath.

  Cecily shrugged unconcernedly. The truth was that she desperately wanted to find out where they were heading at such a breakneck pace, but couldn’t bring herself to lower her guard around this man.

  “Applemore,” she replied crisply, leaning back against the squabs and staring at him defiantly. She wished she had kept her eyes shut to block out the mental image of him that was now indelibly printed on her mind. Her heart ached with unfulfilled dreams and forgotten promises, and she didn’t know whether to love him or hate him.

  Of course, she couldn’t really be in love with him, she sternly reminded herself. They had only talked for a couple of hours at the Tissington ball, and certainly hadn’t spent enough time together to seriously consider if affections were engaged sufficiently to warrant a marriage. She didn’t know what it was about this man that had engaged her attention so easily, but she had spent most of the last several weeks thinking about him, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  He was tall and exceptionally good looking. His dark hair held a hint of curl that was kept at bay by the unfashionably short cut that emphasised the startling grey eyes that seemed to bore straight through you in conversation, and turn a sultry grey when amused. The broad width of his shoulders, confined as they were in a rather rough jacket, gave him an almost military bearing that he seemed to carry naturally. If the government organisation he was in was not military, then he had at some point in his life been in the army, of that she had no doubt. Given his current attire, it was difficult to tell if he was well-bred or not, but the rich, cultured tone of his voice hinted at a well rounded education rather than a rough, work-laden youth. The man was an enigma. He was also a heartbreaker, and she knew first-hand just how callous he really could be.

  She would be unwise to ever forget that but, nevertheless, somewhere hidden deep within the tender confines of her heart, she still ached for the loss of things that might have been. She had no idea what she was going to do over the next few days. Even sitting and staring at him hurt. It just didn’t make any sense. She had only ever talked to him for a couple of hours, with her sister in attendance all of the time. There was no logical reason for her to feel such hurt and confusion. The man opposite was a complete stranger to her, and had to remain that way.

  Especially given the startling revelation from Archie that at the ball in Tissington, Jamie had given his name as Jamie Montford, Lord Calverton, when in fact his real name is Jamie Calverton, Lord Melvedere.

  Still, she couldn’t ignore the breadth of his wide chest encased so lovingly in a crisp, black shirt, or the smouldering eyes that stared back at her. With eyes that were now so darkly dangerous they were almost as black as the clothing he wore, he was almost sinister as he sat opposite. There was a natural air of mystery around him that left her unsure whether she should gather her wits about her and jump out of the carriage at the next available opportunity, or simply follow him meekly until the latest turn of events played itself out.

  If there was a devil incarnate, the man opposite was indeed it. He was tall; taller than average, with jet black hair over the most handsome set of features she had ever seen on a man. High cheekbones bracketed a long, aristocratic nose that pointed down to chiselled lips that were captivating. She had no doubt if twisted they would look cruel and merciless. At the moment, they were slightly upturned at the corners as though he was satisfied about something.

  Her thoughts immediately snapped to a halt. Ignoring the tell-tale blush in her cheeks she returned narrowed eyes to his face and reluctantly met his gaze. She cringed inwardly at the smirk on his face. He knew she had been studying him carefully and the arrogant fop was nothing short of pleased by it.

  Jamie watched her gaze narrow warningly but refused to be cowed by her. If the stain on her cheeks was anything to go by, she was uncomfortable at having been caught staring at him, but he had no intention of letting her off the hook so easily. She had haunted his dreams many nights since he had been ungraciously thrown out of her home. Now that he had her alone, he had no intention of allowing her to dictate their conversation – or lack thereof.

  “We aren’t going to Applemore,” Jamie announced bluntly, his body gracefully moving in rhythm with the rocking carriage.

  “But that’s where you told Archie we would be going,” Cecily scowled darkly at him.

  “I am not sure how much Archie has told you, but we have reason to believe that Applemore isn’t safe either.”

  Panic began to swirl within Cecily, and she struggled hard against the sickness that began to churn in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if it was the wildly swaying carriage that was making her feel ill, or the events of the last few days, or the uncertainty of her future, but she suddenly had the desperate need to fresh air.

  “Stop the carriage,” Cecily demanded, sitting forward to glare at him.

  “I can’t, we need –”

  “I don’t care what you need. Stop the carriage.” Cecily felt the blood drain out of her face and stared down at the floor in mortification. The last thing she needed, or wanted, was to lose the contents of her stomach in front of anyone, let alone this man.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Jamie watched the colour vanish from her face so quickly that if her beautiful features hadn’t already been emblazoned on his mind, he would have considered the sudden change in her appearance a figment of his imagination.

  “Stop the carriage,” Cecily demanded, glaring at him sternly. Even sliding across the seat made her stomach lurch alarmingly. She reached out toward the door only to find her wrist captured by long, warm fingers.

  “What is wrong?” Jamie demanded, watching her swallow harshly. “Do you feel sick?”

  “Just stop the carriage,” Cecily urged, humiliated at the thought that she couldn’t prevent what was going to happen.

  “Do you normally get travel sick?”

  Cecily looked helplessly at him. “I have no idea.” It was the truth. She had never really travelled anywhere in a carriage such as this one to be able to find out whether she could travel or not. Her father had never allowed them to go anywhere and, while she had been travelling with Archie and Portia, she had travelled short distances or had walked.

  She lifted helpless blue eyes toward him. His heart melted and he felt a cad for trying to goad her. Had that been why she had been so aloof? She had been feeling unwell and hadn’t wanted him to know?

  Alarmed by the paleness of her cheeks that now made her look like Portia, Jamie peered around the blind at the hedgerow as it flew past. They were going too quickly for anyone to take any reasonable shot and have any hope of hitting anything, or anyone, in the carriage. Dropping the window, he dragged her over to the sit beside him and unceremoniously pushed her against the side of the carriage next to the window. It all happened so quickly that she groaned at the speed of the motion accompanied by the jolting of the wretched conveyance.

  “Take some deep breaths in. It should pass in a minute,” Jamie murmured, studying the rolling landscape around them carefully. He could hear Jonathan shouting orders at the horses. As one of the best horsemen in the Star Elite, Jamie had no doubt that Jonathan was capable of handling the horses through and around any obstacles or difficulties that lay i
n their path. That left Jamie free to be able to concentrate on the woman beside him.

  Cecily took several deep breaths of the cold air that flew in through the open window, and felt her stomach settle a little. That is, until the carriage dipped into a particularly deep rut before beginning to bounce. Shaking her head, she leaned forward and braced her elbows on her knees in an uncharacteristic and very unfeminine posture of misery, and dropped her head into her hands. She was aware of Jamie rubbing her back awkwardly and wished Heaven would open up and swallow her rather than allow her to sit in such humiliation.

  “Were you ill back in the tavern?”

  Cecily shook her head wishing he could talk about something else.

  “Do you usually get travel sick?” Jamie persisted frantically trying to come up with an explanation for her malady.

  “I don’t know,” Cecily mumbled, “I haven’t been anywhere before.” They had been in the carriage about an hour or two at the most and, as far as she was concerned, that was more than enough. She wanted out, if only for a few minutes. “Can I not ride up front?” She knew before he spoke what the answer would be and wondered why she had bothered to ask.

  “You know you can’t. It is not only improper for a lady to ride up on the box seat, but it is also dangerous. You are unmistakeable.” He glanced at the glossy hair on her head with a shake of his head, “Anyone could spot you from a mile away.”

  “Please stop the carriage,” Cecily groaned, feeling her mouth go dry. She began to count; mentally sing nursery rhymes, anything but think about the subject he was seemingly refusing to let go.

  “We can’t. We have to keep moving.” He mentally winced at the thought of her reaction to the news that she would be in the carriage for the better part of the day. The only other item in the carriage was a basket of food for them to eat and a flagon of ale. They were going to eat on the go, and would only stop for Jamie to replace Jonathan as coachman, or for a change of horses.