What You Deserve (Anything for Love 3)

The conversation felt somewhat strained. She wondered if the tension stemmed from the kiss they had shared. Did regret form the basis of his detached tone?

“We should return to our rooms and dress before the servants discover we shared the same chamber.” Her confident tone belied the nervous flutter in her stomach.

He turned to face her. “Have you ever spoken to the servants about the strange things happening here?”

“Only briefly.” As mistress of the house, it was not wise to draw attention to one’s emotional weaknesses. “They often speak of seeing a lady dressed in a white shroud.” A chill shivered through her, and she pulled the coverlet up over her shoulders. “Mrs. Birch believes it is Mary, the ghost of Samuel’s first wife.”

Tristan came and sat on the end of the bed. The intimate action conveyed a relaxed ease in her company, one so opposed to his dispassionate demeanour when discussing the strange events. Even so, she could not help but stare at his mouth.

“Has your housekeeper said what makes her think that?”

“No. But Mary Fernall never spent a single night in this house.” Given the option, Isabella would not have done so either. “I was always of the opinion that ghosts haunted familiar places.”

“There are no ghosts here,” Tristan reiterated with an amused snort. “Just a concerted effort to make you and others believe so.”

She stared into his blue eyes, searching for reassurance. “I’m sure you are right.”

“Trust me when I tell you I am determined to solve this mystery.”

His confident manner served to enhance his appeal. In their youth, it had been his carefree attitude to life that had fed her attraction. His bright, cheerful countenance had helped to ease the pain of her mother’s passing, forced her to seek out his company. Now, he was masterful without being overbearing. A raw and powerful masculine energy emanated from deep within. The overwhelming feeling of love and affection she still nurtured was now accompanied by a lustful yearning that sought to steal her breath.

She tried to swallow down her desire, suppressed the urge to say she needed him, needed him in every possible way. “What do you intend to do today?” she said, relieved to have asked a simple question without revealing the true nature of her inner thoughts.

“My priority will be to search both rooms at the end of the hall. I believe the answer to the mysterious haunting lies there.”

A smile touched her lips. “When I asked for your help, I did not realise you would be so thorough, so systematic in your investigation. Without wishing to sound patronising, I’m impressed.” It was a compliment, and she hoped he read it so.

“I do have experience when it comes to dissecting the criminal mind.” The glint in his eye told her that he welcomed her praise.

“It is pleasing to know you put your time in France to good use.”

His expression grew solemn. “Marcus Danbury taught me everything I know. He was more of a brother to me than Andrew ever was.”

To discuss his relationship with his brother would only serve to aggravate his sudden mood. “It might comfort you to know that Andrew was aware of his failings. But there will be plenty of time for us to talk later.” Indeed, an honest discussion about their past was long overdue. “But for now, we should focus on the task ahead.”

With a curt nod, he stood. “Would you like me to find the maid and have her attend you in here?”

She gave a weak chuckle. “I am capable of dressing myself, Tristan. The house already runs on minimal staff. But thank you for thinking of me. I shall return to my room. I would rather not appear overly dramatic in front of the servants.”

He inclined his head. “Then I shall be across the hall should you need me.”

“Mrs. Birch wishes to convey her apologies for the lack of variety this morning.” Isabella waved her hand over the silver serving dishes arranged neatly on the sideboard. “As I did not send word of our impending arrival she was rather unprepared.” She chose not to tell him she had caught the servants playing cards and drinking her sherry.

Tristan filled his plate with bread rolls and various slices of cold meat. “This is more than ample. At the monastery, meals were far from extravagant.”

They sat down on opposite sides of the table.

“You always speak of your time in France with such fondness.” She found herself smiling as she spoke. Perhaps because the mere mention of his life abroad always brought a playful glint to his eye.

He sighed. “The people there became my family. Marcus is a good man. You would like him. There is nothing pretentious about his character,” he paused before chuckling to himself, “although he can be incredibly stubborn most of the time.”

Isabella felt a strange pang in her chest. As a young woman, she would have done anything to make Tristan happy. To acknowledge that she had played no part in the life that he regarded with such affection, hurt.

“Well, I for one am grateful you came back,” she said, trying to banish the thought that he had chosen to leave her in order to find true happiness. “Your insight has been invaluable. Had it not been for you I would have touched the painted words smeared across the wall.”

He swallowed whatever he had in his mouth. “It is often easier to assess a situation when you are not emotionally involved. Fear forces one to be less objective.”

“Perhaps you’re right. I hear a noise and think of ghosts. You hear a noise and understand that there must be a logical explanation. I shall be relieved to discover the answer.”