If He's Sinful. Hannah Howell

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ looked so sad, so utterly defeated, that Penelope decided the poor ghost had probably just realized the full limitations of being a spirit. Although the memories locked into the bed had told Penelope how the woman had died, it did not tell her when. However, she began to suspect it had been not all that long ago.

      “I would like to help you,” she said, “but I cannot, not right now. You must see that. If I can get free, I swear I will work hard to give you some peace. Who are you?” she asked, although she knew it was often impossible to get proper, sensible answers from a spirit. “I know how you died. The bed still holds those dark memories and I saw it.”

      I am Faith and my life was stolen.

      The voice was clear and sweet, but weighted with an intense grief, and Penelope was not completely certain if she was hearing it in her head or if the ghost was actually speaking to her. “What is your full name, Faith?”

      My name is Faith and I was taken, as you have been. My life was stolen. My love is lost. I was torn from heaven and plunged into hell. Now I lie below.

      “Below? Below what? Where?”

      Below. I am covered in sin. But I am not alone.

      Penelope cursed when Faith disappeared. She could not help the spirit now, but dealing with Faith’s spirit had provided her with a much-needed diversion. It had helped her concentrate and fight the power of the drug she had been given. Now she was alone with her thoughts and they were becoming increasingly strange. Worse, all of her protections were slowly crumbling away. If she did not find something to fix her mind on soon, she would be wide open to every thought, every feeling, and every spirit lurking within the house. Considering what went on in this house, that could easily prove a torture beyond bearing.

      She did not know whether to laugh or to cry. She was strapped to a bed awaiting some stranger who would use her helpless body to satisfy his manly needs. The potion Mrs. Cratchitt had forced down her throat was rapidly depleting her strength and all her ability to shut out the cacophony of the world, the world of the living as well as that of the dead. Even now she could feel the growing weight of unwelcome emotions, the increasing whispers so few others could hear. The spirits in the house were stirring, sensing the presence of one who could help them touch the world of the living. It was probably not worth worrying about, she decided. Penelope did not know if anything could be worse than what she was already suffering and what was yet to come.

      Suddenly the door opened and one of Mrs. Cratchitt’s earlier companions led a man into the room. He was blindfolded and dressed as an ancient Roman. Penelope stared at him in shock as he was led up to her bedside, and then she inwardly groaned. She had no trouble recognizing the man despite the blindfold and the costume. Penelope was not at all pleased to discover that things could quite definitely get worse—a great deal worse.

      Chapter Two

      “This is ridiculous,” muttered Ashton Radmoor as he was stripped of his clothes by two scantily clad women. “A costume, Cornell?” He scowled at the youngest of his four friends, trying to emulate the look his late father, the viscount of Radmoor, had perfected. Cornell was unimpressed, judging by his wide grin. Obviously Ashton had to practice the look a great deal more.

      “It is all a part of the game,” Cornell replied. “Part of the gift we are giving you.”

      “I am not sure I ought to accept this gift. I am to speak with Clarissa’s brother tomorrow.” He had no intention of following in his father’s faithless footsteps, the ones that had put his family into the dire straits they were now in.

      “Exactly,” said Brant Mallam, Lord Fieldgate, “and we all know that, once you do, you will consider yourself bound up tight. You will undoubtedly become quite pious in many ways. Consider this your last hurrah.”

      Ashton grimaced as one of the women dressed him in a tunic and the other put sandals on his feet. “What sort of game requires me to dress like some ancient Roman?”

      “The Pagan Sacrifice game.”

      “God rot it!” Ashton shook his head. “Whyever should you think I would enjoy something like that?”

      “It is harmless and we decided that you needed the memory of something rare and exotic, even a little shocking, before you became a staid, old, married man. If you do not enjoy it, I am quite certain the woman will be able to give you whatever you decide you do want. Mrs. Cratchitt trains her girls well. Fly free and wild for one night, Ashton. We have purchased you a full night of delight. Fulfill a few dreams. Even you must have some. After tonight there is only Clarissa and the breeding of heirs.”

      There was no denying that hard, cold truth. His forthcoming union with Clarissa Hutton-Moore was no love match, not that he particularly believed in love, anyway. It was a union based upon the usual need for an heir and a nearly desperate need for money. Clarissa had the appropriate bloodlines, was beautiful, and had a very impressive dowry. She would be an excellent hostess, which was also important now that he was a viscount. She moved about in society far more comfortably than he ever had. She was a perfect choice for a wife.

      So why did he feel as if the weight of the world now rested upon his shoulders? That question kept invading his mind more and more with each step he took closer to marriage with the much praised Lady Clarissa. True, there was no real affection between them, and little passion, but such things were luxuries few men in his position could afford. Yet a little warmth in one’s wife would be nice, he mused, and he had not yet detected even the smallest spark in Clarissa.

      And that, he suspected, was what made him continue to drag his feet. The thought of a marriage bed where only cold duty existed was a deeply chilling one. He feared it could eventually cause him to act against his own principles and begin to seek out a little warmth elsewhere. Ashton knew his friends thought him too full of ideals or, worse, a hopeless romantic, but he had always wished for a good marriage. He did not want the more common arrangement found in society, one where the wife was simply a hostess who occasionally bred a child for her husband while the husband indulged in a long succession of mistresses. That sort of marriage had destroyed his family, had torn his poor mother’s heart to shreds. It began to look as if that was exactly what he would be stuck with, however.

      He was abruptly yanked from his dark thoughts when one of the women began to blindfold him. “Is this necessary?”

      “Adds to the mystery,” replied Cornell.

      “I feel bloody foolish.”

      “It is to be hoped that you will feel a great deal better soon. We shall see you in the morning.”

      As he was led away from his friends, Ashton was not sure he would want to spend an entire night playing silly games. He was no innocent, but he was not the rake his friends were, despite what rumor and gossip tried to make him. It was an indulgence he had never been able to afford since his father’s reckless waste of a fortune on such indulgences and gaming had left the Radmoors nearly destitute. Ruefully he admitted to himself that his father’s actions were part of the reason he struggled to remain temperate in all things. That and the disease that had finally ended the man’s life. He was even somewhat staid in his lovemaking. The need was there but not the inclination to be inventive or daring. He prized his control in all things.

      The problem was that, although he had felt a need for a woman before, he had rarely truly lusted after the woman herself. On the few occasions he had felt a stirring of a hearty lust, it had faded quickly when it had not been returned in kind or he began to think he was losing control of his passions. He had never experienced that knee-weakening, СКАЧАТЬ