Page 8 of A Heart Worth Loving

Chapter Three

Ewan slowed in his walk toward his favorite window in the refectory. He concentrated on listening beyond the pounding in his head. He was sure of it, a noise emanated from the refectory wall. Suddenly, the wall panel slid sideways, and a small, cloaked figure emerged two feet in front of him.

He shook his head, but the apparition remained. She stood before him, a vision in the light of the taper he held. She reminded him of someone. He frowned, unable to recall where he’d seen her before, but then, sanity returned. No flesh-and-blood woman walked these crumbling halls. It had been too long since he’d shared a sweet lass’s bed. For too brief a moment, his cock pulsed at the thought. Then, he blanched. Real women deserved a hale and hearty man, not one tortured by horrors of the past. He gave a low laugh. A ghost was better suited to his tortured soul.

Had she said something?

“Ghost or no, ye are beautiful,” he said.

“Ghost?” she whispered.

A most pleasing ghost, to be sure. She stepped forward and he set the candle on the nearby table, hooked an arm about her waist and pulled her close.

“Damn, but you feel real,” he murmured, then kissed her.

She tasted like sugar and cinnamon. He laughed mentally. A ghost sent just for him, for he loved sugar and cinnamon. God had taken pity to bestow upon him a moment’s pleasure. The lass gripped his shoulders and his cock responded with quick intensity. Aye, it had been too long. Could a man make love to a ghost?

Ewan teased her mouth with his tongue. She gasped—was that surprise or desire? He fisted her hair sucked her bottom lip and pressed his erection into her belly. Wretch that he was, a moment or two more and he might find his pleasure, yet that wouldn’t be fair, even for a ghost.

Abruptly, he released her.

She took two steps back.

“Be gone, beautiful apparition,” he growled. “Even you deserve more than I can give.”

She hesitated.

His body pulsed. Christ, he was half tempted to throw her on the ground and take her, but like the ghost she was, she whirled and faded into the surrounding darkness. Ewan lurched forward to follow. He stepped on something. He grabbed the taper and examined the floor. What the devil, were those keys? Ewan scooped up the ring of keys that lay at his feet.

Keys?

What ghost required keys?

***

Kyla reached home to find the house still dark. Thank God for small mercies. She slipped into the kitchen and hurried up the servants’ stairs to the third floor. Her mother still snored. Kyla drew a breath of relief. No one had noticed her absence. Carefully, she turned the knob on her door, then stepped inside and closed the door with a bare click of the latch.

She released a slow breath. This smuggling business had gotten out of hand.

Kyla unclasped her cloak, tossed it over the chair near her bed, then collapsed onto the mattress. The night had taken such strange turns. First, Mister Mallatratt had clearly decided she was fair game, and then the new owner of Blackstone Abbey had kissed her with more passion than she’d ever been kissed. Tarnation, how had he gotten into the room? Perhaps he’d seen her and followed her through the window? Nae, he would have come down the stairs, if he had.

She abruptly realized he hadn’t recognized her. Had he actually called her a ghost? He’d been drunk, but perhaps he had also been sleepwalking? Maybe he wasn’t responsible for his actions. Whether he’d been sleepwalking or not, the man knew how to kiss a woman. His lips had felt so soft. And demanding. A tremor rippled through her stomach. What man took such liberties with a woman, even if she had trespassed on his property in the middle of the night? Only a beast…but then, was we he not a Beast of Blackstone Abbey? Never had a man been more aptly named.

Kyla sat upright. Surely, she hadn’t enjoyed the kiss? Was she mad, as well? What woman found a stranger’s kiss exciting? That would make her…loose. But he wasn’t a stranger—at least, not completely. If she hadn’t met him on the road that afternoon, and if he hadn’t taken care to deliver her and her mother safely home, she would have been terribly frightened when he kissed her had he not already proven himself to have some couth.

With a sigh, she stood. Her father’s letter fell to the floor. Kyla bent and stretched out her hand, but then froze. Why didn’t she hear the familiar jingle of keys in her pocket? Tarnation, she hadn’t— She stuffed her hand into her skirt pocket. No keys. No, no, no! Holding her breath, she snatched her cloak up from the chair. A quick search revealed both pockets empty.

Fear prickled up her spine. Had she dropped them on her race back home or—

Nae. Surely, she hadn’t dropped them in the abbey? Her heart began to race. She should return to search for them, but she’d need a lantern if she hoped to find them in the dark, and with a light, Lord Kilbreck couldn’t miss her. Trespassing once in the dead of night, he might forgive. Twice, never.

She had no choice but to wait and sneak back at first light.

She returned to her bed and fell back amongst the pillows.

She wouldn’t sleep a wink.

As expected, Kyla tossed all night. When gray fingers of light finally stretched across the cloudy sky, she quickly dressed, swung her cloak over her shoulders, and left her room. The scent of fresh apple-oat muffins wafted up the stairs as she hurried to the first floor. As usual, the cook, Margaret Maclean, was up before dawn, puttering around in the kitchen. She’d been with them since Kyla’s second birthday. Mattie, as they affectionately called her, looked up from pulling the muffins from the oven as Kyla pushed open the kitchen door.