He touched his finger to her sumptuous lips. “We must be careful what we say whilst in this room.” Jerking his head, he gestured to the door. “Let us vacate this chamber and find one further along the hall.”
Isabella nodded. Taking the candle lamp from the dressing table, they moved to the room nearest the stairs. With its white and gilt furniture and vivid yellow walls, the chamber was brighter, far more fashionable, although the bed was only large enough for one.
“This should suffice,” he said forcing a smile to hide his frustration. As soon as he’d heard the sounds and found the message painted on the wall, he should have bolted down to the servants’ quarters and checked they were all in their beds. It was too late now. Distracted by the pile of pillows and wine-stained dress, they had given the culprit ample time to flee.
Isabella pulled back the sheets and sat on the edge of the bed. “You said we have much to do tomorrow. Does that mean you have a plan?”
“We will conduct a thorough search of the rooms. Speak to the servants. I want to visit the gatehouse, to ensure Mr. Blackwood is not at home. You must also tell me as much as you can about your relationship with Andrew.”
She sighed as she climbed into bed and placed her head on the pillow. “I suspect such a thorough investigation will take us all day.” There was a nervous hitch in her voice. “And then I suppose you must leave. You are far too busy to spend your time here.”
The sadness in her eyes belied her casual tone.
Tristan came to stand next to the bed. “I’ll not leave you.” He bent down and brushed a lock of ebony hair from her face. “Try to get some sleep. I shall spend the next few hours over there in the chair.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip. “But it will be uncomfortable.”
“Trust me. I have slept in worse places.” It would be far more uncomfortable lying next to her when all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and banish the ghosts for good. “Besides, the bed is too small for two.”
An image of him covering her body flashed into his mind, purely to prove there were other positions available should they wish to share a bed.
Tristan walked over to the door and turned the key in the lock.
“Why are you locking the door? I thought you did not believe in ghosts.”
He smiled. “I don’t. It is the living we must protect ourselves from.”
Chapter 9
Isabella opened her eyes and stretched her arms above her head. Finding her surroundings somewhat unfamiliar, it took a moment to recall the reason for moving to another chamber. She propped herself up on her elbows and scanned the room.
Whilst the yellow drapes served to prevent the morning sun streaming in, by the very nature of their vibrancy they cast a golden glow over the gentleman sleeping in the chair. With his cheek resting in the palm of his hand, and a lock of fair hair falling over his brow, he appeared peaceful, angelic.
A soft sigh left her lips.
She watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest with some fascination. He might look pure and saintly, but there was nothing innocent about the way he’d kissed her. His wicked mouth had claimed hers with a level of unbridled passion that was positively sinful. She touched the tips of her fingers to her lips as she recalled the heavenly memory.
It had been a mad moment of weakness. It had been a desperate urge to relive a happy moment from her past. Yet she knew that succumbing to her desire for a man who refused to commit would only lead to more pain. Despite it all, kissing Tristan did not feel wrong. In Tristan’s company she felt safe; in his arms she felt complete.
There has never been anyone other than you.
His words echoed through her mind once more, just to torment her. What did he mean? In the five years since their separation, he must have taken another woman to his bed. The depth of passion emanating from him during their salacious kiss proved his penchant for carnal pleasures. Perhaps he thought that to declare himself celibate would help to heal the wounds of rejection. Perhaps he simply meant that, since breaking his promise to her, he had not proclaimed love to anyone else.
It was all rather baffling.
Just as baffling as the eerie events they had witnessed a few hours earlier. Had she been alone in a cold, dark chamber, she might have expired from the shock. Then again, without Tristan’s assistance, she would not have found the courage to return to Highley Grange.
“Why did you not wake me?” Tristan’s sleepy drawl caused her heart to miss a beat. He sat up straight, yawned then rubbed the muscles in his neck. “I think it would have been more comfortable to sleep on the floor.”
Guilt flared. “I know it is probably not much consolation, but I do appreciate you being here.”
His languid gaze drifted over her before settling on her hair. “I see you managed to sleep, although it
appears to have been a somewhat restless affair. After all that occurred in the early hours, I doubted you would.”
“It took a while,” she said patting down her locks. “The tedious journey from London, coupled with getting caught in the torrential rain, must have taken its toll.” She chose not to divulge that she had lost herself in whimsical daydreams, where passionate kisses were a prelude to something far more satisfying.
“Let us hope the weather has improved.” He stood, stretched his arms out in front of him before parting the drapes and peering through the window. “At least the sun is shining this morning.”