Enchanting the Beast, page 5
The man looked like a medieval peasant, with coarse clothing, a straw hat, and split hose. He waved a scythe in front of him, not as if he mowed a field, but more like he warned off some attacker. Before she could blink, he went through the wall.
Phil sat up, pulling the counterpane around her shoulders, and waited for her chattering teeth to calm. Botheration, the ghost appeared to be a memory, with no awareness of her whatsoever. She sincerely hoped the castle held more interactive spirits, or she would have a difficult time finding out what was troubling them.
She wished that Tup could have come with her, but most ghosts couldn’t travel far from the place they haunted. Oh, how she would miss him! And he might have been able to help.
Someone had fetched her trunk; she nearly tripped over it as she opened the small door into the washroom. When she saw the bath full of water, all other considerations flew from her mind. Sarah and Beth must have returned and prepared it while she’d been sleeping, and although the water was tepid, it felt perfect for the warm summer temperature.
Phil quickly shed her clothes, rubbing the small dents in her skin caused by the boning in her dress, and lowered herself into the water. Her feet stung like the blazes, but by the time she finished her bath and rubbed her blisters with some of Beth’s salve, which she’d found next to the tub, she managed to slide into her silk slippers with barely a wince.
The clock on the mantel showed half past five, but she decided to go down to dinner early in the hopes of exploring a few rooms. She glanced in the cheval glass and decided that wearing her favorite blue-gray watered silk gown had been a good choice. The sleeves puffed at the shoulders and tightened down to her wrists and the double-layered skirt had sufficient fullness to approximate current fashion. Besides, the back had a train, and she could imagine herself a princess of the castle.
She almost laughed at her own foolishness, then decided that at her age, she could afford to be a bit foolish.
Phil hadn’t heard a slither from Sarah’s room but checked her assistant’s chamber anyway. The woman hadn’t even unpacked yet. She must have returned to the kitchens with Beth, and Philomena felt relieved that Sarah would be able to fit in with the rest of the staff while they stayed here.
With the approaching dusk, fairylights had been lit in the stairway, which gave the walls a rosy glow. In spite of her blisters, she fairly floated down the stairs, imagining that she ran to welcome home her errant knight, back from some daring quest.
The library smelled of old paper and rich leather. Phil wondered if any of the books contained an account of the castle’s history and decided she would have to ask. Nary a ghost hovered about the room, so she went into the hallway and heard the echo of voices coming from an open doorway at the end of it. She studied the portraits of Sir Nicodemus’s ancestors that lined the walls, deciding that all of them were extraordinarily handsome. He came from a long line of shape-shifters.
The deep sound of his voice almost made her jump.
“…I know, but Joseph said some of the workers wouldn’t hire on with me there. I’m sure he’ll choose fine, Royden—he’s been running the home farm for years.”
Sir Nicodemus spoke from his position near the mantel, one booted foot atop the raised hearth, a glass of burgundy liquid in his hand. He seemed to sense her presence with an uncanny awareness, for as soon as she appeared in the open doorway he looked up.
His eyes met hers, and Phil felt a spark of something like lightning rip through her body. For a moment she could neither breathe nor move, trapped within the depths of his dark brown gaze. He seemed to look into her soul, to go beyond her superficial thoughts into the very recesses of her being. Phil lifted her chin. She wasn’t frightened by what he might find there.
Then the moment passed, and she took a breath. The gold in his eyes glittered in the candlelight. He swept an approving gaze over her, from the top of her loose coiffure to the bottom of her flowing dress. And then he smiled. Rather wolfishly. “Lady Radcliff, how kind of you to join us.”
Phil stepped into the withdrawing room. Decorated in soft peaches and greens, it exuded a peaceful aura. She didn’t detect a sign of an otherworldly presence. Despite the modern furniture, the walls had been decorated with tapestries of knights and maidens, and wooden carvings of saints. Silver chalices adorned several tables, and she longed to study the intricate enamel work on the vases scattered about the room.
A couple sat on a lovely curved settee adjacent to the cold fireplace, and she turned to study them instead. The man stood at her entrance, his face similar in looks to Sir Nicodemus, but not nearly as handsome. His brown hair lacked the streaks of white and his brown eyes those glittering sparkles of gold. His mouth might have been just as full-lipped, but it was compressed into a thin line that reflected a man haunted by demons. Shadows darkened the skin beneath his eyes and made his complexion look even paler. He quickly rose and sketched a bow, a tentative smile relaxing his face.
The woman next to him stayed seated, her hands anchoring the hoops of her dress across her lap. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed, she had a flawless complexion with the dewy glow of youth. The practiced smile frozen on her face gave her the ethereal beauty that was so popular among the aristocracy of London.
Sir Nicodemus strode forward and gently grasped Phil’s gloved hand, leading her over to the couple. “Lady Philomena Radcliff, may I introduce my brother, Master Royden Wulfson of Grimspell castle, and his wife, the Honorable Edwina Wulfson, baroness-of-honor for Bargest House?”
Philomena frowned. There was something about that house name that sounded familiar, but she couldn’t recall it. Then she realized that Royden had not inherited the shape-shifting abilities of his brother and had been given the honorary title of “master” for his stewardship of the castle. Although he would surpass Nicodemus’s ranking when he assumed his wife’s title upon her parents’ death—assuming Edwina passed her magical testing.
Figuring out the status of lords and ladies always gave Phil a headache.
Master Wulfson reached out and clasped her hand with the intensity of a drowning man. “I do hope you will call us just Royden and Edwina…we’re not much for titles here, are we, Nico?”
Sir Nicodemus shot his sister-in-law a look and then chuckled.
Phil felt his laugh vibrate all the way to her toes. “I would be honored. And you may call me Philomena.”
“Oh,” said Edwina. “Surely you’re too old for us to call you by anything but your title.” The woman possessed one of those irritating, high-pitched little-girl voices. The room wallowed in silence for a heartbeat. “I mean, it would be disrespectful, wouldn’t it?”
Phil formed her lips into an indulgent smile. “Of course not. I insist that you call me Philomena.”
Sir Nicodemus leveled a glare at his sister-in-law before giving Royden a rather pointed look at his hand, which still clutched Phil’s rather tightly.
Royden let her go, and Sir Nicodemus guided her to another settee, this one cross-stitched with numerous flowering roses. He settled next to her as if he belonged at her side, leaned over and whispered, “Now you’ll have to call me Nico too.”
Yes, she remembered that he’d asked her to call him that in London. His breath had tickled her ear and managed to set off those tiny sparks in her body again. She really must find some way to control her attraction to the young man. “I will strive for Nicodemus,” she replied, scooting away from him.
“It appears that I must be content with that…for now.” He lounged back against the cushions and took a sip of his port, watching her with hooded eyes, an amused smile on his face.
“Shall I sing for you before dinner?” asked Edwina, her voice piercing the room like a knife. Phil noted the way the other woman kept glancing at Sir Nicodemus and herself.
“Ah, yes,” said Nicodemus. “Edwina has the voice of an angel.” Edwina preened under the praise.
“Can it wait until after dinner, dear?” Royden asked.
Edwina’s eyes widened with shock. Phil thought this might be the first time anyone had ever turned down an offer to hear her sing.
“I’ve been most anxious to ask Lady Radcliff…er, Philomena, a few questions,” Royden continued.
“I’ll be happy to answer as many as I am able,” Phil replied.
Royden sat down next to his wife, as slowly as an old man. “How do you propose to deal with Grimspell’s ghosts?”
Phil felt Nicodemus tense. “I’m not quite sure,” she answered honestly. The baronet relaxed. His brother did not.
“Surely you have some sort of…plan?”
She shrugged. “Until I find out what type of ghosts I’m dealing with, I’m afraid not.”
“There are different types of ghosts?” Sir Nicodemus drawled. Edwina hid a smile beneath a dainty hand.
“Of course,” Philomena replied. She had been prepared for Nicodemus’s continued skepticism, so he didn’t ruffle her in the slightest. “Some are so old, they are just shadows. Some are just memories, doomed to repeat the same actions over and over. And then there are those whose connection to the material world is so strong that I can manage to speak with them.”
“You can really talk to them?” Royden asked with feverish intensity.
Phil held up a hand. “Sometimes, and that’s only if they’re in the mood to do so. Ghosts can be just as unpredictable as human beings.”
“That’s conveniently logical,” Nicodemus muttered.
She ignored him, as did Royden. “But you can perform a séance and make them talk to you?”
She shook her head. “I can’t make them, sir. Neither can I call them, not with any regularity, I mean. It helps if there’s someone else in the room who has a special connection to the spirit. They’ll come at a loved one’s call, and sometimes I can act as intermediary.” She didn’t add that Tup usually helped her. He wasn’t here, so she would have to do her best without him.
Sir Nicodemus looked as if he wanted to say something, but he glanced at his brother’s face and swallowed his words.
“Well, this is all very fascinating, I’m sure,” Edwina said. “But how are you going to help my poor Royden sleep at night?”
“If I can find out why the castle’s ghosts are angry, perhaps I can figure out a way to appease them. Royden, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
He shook his head, but Phil felt Nicodemus lean forward, as if prepared to pounce on her if he felt his brother needed protection. Phil swallowed, all sorts of visions dancing through her head as she imagined him…pouncing. Blast Fanny and her haunting for teaching her things no spinsterish woman should know.
Royden’s hand had started to shake. Nicodemus stood and poured another glass of port, handed it to his brother, then stood by his side. Philomena felt a little calmer with a bit of distance between herself and the shape-shifter. She just needed to avoid looking at him.
Royden drained his glass and nodded. “Ask me anything you wish.”
“I’m assuming the ghosts have lain quiet for centuries. Do you remember when they started haunting your dreams?”
“Not exactly. It’s been months since I first dreamt of them. It wasn’t so bad at first, but then…” He shuddered.
Edwina put her arm around her husband. “At first I thought he was just having bad dreams,” she said. “But then odd things started to happen…”
Phil leaned forward. “Like what?”
“Oh, little things. Like something not being where I had left it. Peculiar gusts of wind that come from nowhere. And then Royden’s thrashing and crying became so violent that I had to move out of the room.” Edwina blushed.
“This is the first I’ve heard of it,” Nicodemus said.
Edwina’s perfect skin turned an even brighter shade of pink. “It’s not something I would ordinarily mention. But anything to help my poor Royden…”
Her husband scowled. Phil didn’t think he liked to be called “my poor” anything. She quickly directed her next question to him. “Can you connect the beginning of your troubled dreams to any occurrences in the household? A new renovation, perhaps?”
Royden shook his head. “No, not that I can think of. We haven’t dug up any old graves, if that’s what you mean.”
“I see,” Phil replied. “But something must have changed, and if we can’t determine what that might be, perhaps we can ask the spirits themselves. Since they seem to be attuned to you, perhaps they will answer your call.”
“Another séance, Philomena?” Nicodemus asked. “If I recall, the last one didn’t go very well.”
Phil’s heart did a little skip at the sound of her name on his lips. He had such an extraordinarily deep voice that her name sounded like a passionate endearment. Botheration, this infatuation for the man was only getting worse. Her annoyance at herself made her reply sound more sharp than she intended. “Yes, Sir Nicodemus. A séance. Tonight.”
Four
Nico wondered at Philomena’s contrariness. The wolf in him could sense her desire, could almost smell it every time he got near her. And yet she acted as if his presence annoyed the hell out of her. He fought the urge of his were-self to grumble in confusion and instead downed the last of his port.
Cheevers announced dinner, his protruding lips trying unsuccessfully to form the words without sounding like a quack. Nico gave him a nod of approval anyway, knowing that the young man desperately wanted to impress their London visitor, and he held out his arm to Philomena to escort her in to dinner. He never would have made the attempt if it hadn’t been for the instincts of his were-self. He would have thought she’d reject him.
After a brief hesitation, she took his arm and he suppressed a smile of satisfaction. How did ordinary men deal with ladies when they managed to completely hide their true feelings?
He sat next to her at the table, which appeared to discomfit her. Royden and Edwina sat facing them, Edwina chatting away about nothing as usual. Nico worried that his brother might collapse face-forward onto the table, so he watched him throughout the meal. Nico hoped Royden, who had scarcely slept and barely eaten, had the stamina to play the séance game tonight.
“I hope our fare isn’t too simple for you, lady?” Nico asked.
Philomena contemplated her plate. “On the contrary. Without the heavy sauces that cover every dish in London, one can truly appreciate the flavor of the course. This is quite an exemplary sugar beet.”
He watched with ridiculous fascination as she popped the vegetable into her mouth. She had an extremely kissable mouth. The wolf in him made him lean toward her and brush his arm against hers. The shock of that brief contact made him wonder again at his reaction to her. A mere touch had never managed to affect him so.
“You are a remarkable woman, Lady Radcliff,” Nico murmured.
She froze at the compliment. If he was having difficulty figuring out his own reactions to her, he feared he would never understand hers. Why did she seem so rigid with him?
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
Nico shrugged. “You are so accepting. You embrace people without judgment—and most surprisingly, shape-shifters as well.”
She spoke to her plate. She hadn’t looked at him once since they sat down. “I talk to dead people, Sir Nicodemus. That has a tendency to alter my perception of the living. I’m acutely aware of the short time we have on this earth.”
His attraction to the woman must be clouding his good sense. He was really starting to believe that she told the truth. That she did see ghosts. Nico brushed his leg against her skirts beneath the table. She pretended she didn’t feel a thing. “Our castle is so old it’s probably full of spirits,” he said. “Surely you should have seen a few by now.”
“Just one.”
He froze in the act of reaching for his wineglass. “Have you, now? Why didn’t you mention it?”
She finally turned and looked at him. Her pale eyes had darkened to a smoky gray in the candlelight, and the red in her hair made her dark brown curls fairly glow. She had a tiny nose that tipped up slightly at the end. With her round cheeks, it gave her a rather impish look. Nico licked his lips.
“I didn’t mention the spirit because I didn’t want to dishearten your brother. I cannot speak to a memory ghost and that’s all he appeared to be.”
Damn. He was starting to want to believe her.
“Did I hear you say ghost, Philomena?” Royden asked. Evidently Edwina had paused long enough in her prattle for him to overhear. As a matter of fact, his sister-in-law now stared at them with heated concentration.
Nico felt Philomena’s sigh of dismay. “I saw one of your castle ghosts earlier this evening,” she said. “But it was only for a brief moment.”
Royden’s eyes lit with excitement. He completely abandoned any pretense of eating his dinner. “What did it look like? If it should match one of the ghosts in my dreams…”
It would just be a coincidence, finished Nico silently.
But Philomena started nodding her head. “It would confirm that the ghosts were actually visiting you.” She set down her fork and tilted her head in consideration. “He looked like a medieval peasant—”
“Straw hat?” Royden interrupted. “Thick coarse hose, rolled up above the knee?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, that’s right. And he held a scythe—”
Roy clutched the edges of the table so hard Nico could feel it shake. “And he tried to chop your head off!”
Lady Radcliff froze, Edwina’s mouth fell open, and Cheevers let out a stifled quack. Nico threw the footman a warning look. Proper servants pretended to be deaf even to the most outlandish statements from their employers.
