Chapter Five

Ribbons of sunlight flooded Raine's room, rousing her from bed. She slouched into the chair beneath her window to collect her thoughts, her mind racing against time.

Derek's deadline had passed and she hadn't come to a solid decision. How she battled with the choices before her--right from wrong, money versus poverty, lust over loathing. On the one hand, the irrationality of his proposition struck a dissonant chord. On the other, practicality overrode those warnings.

She'd counted the money a dozen times, knowing an equal amount awaited her once she met the terms of the contract. The funds would allow her to seek the medical care Grandfather needed, and pay her passage to Maine. A thousand times over. She imagined purchasing a fine house, away from the cold, damp ocean. Whatever Grandfather needed in his final years would be his for the asking. So why did guilt splay her heart?

What she knew of childbirth could fit in a thimble, how to care for an infant, less. One of the terms in the contract stated she would surrender the babe to Derek Stafford after the child was born. However, could she do such a thing? The answer to that question eluded her. At least one issue rang clear in her mind—if she accepted Derek's offer, she could not form an attachment to the infant.

Ill-equipped to deal with a woman's lying in period, that dilemma seemed the least of her worries. One could accomplish anything once they set their mind to it.

The nights she must spend in his bed ranked high on her list of conundrums. She bristled every time she read the details of their coupling. If she lost the child or delivered a stillborn, she'd afforded the proper amount of time to restore her health before fulfilling the terms of the contract. Or forfeit the remaining five thousand dollars.

She could opt to forego another series of bedchamber visits with the black-hearted devil, keep the original five thousand for her trouble and be on her way. She shook her head and wondered anew what black undertakings had tainted the man's soul. The adjectives describing the cad ran thorough her head like a litany. Abhorrent. Loathsome. And cold-hearted.

From whatever angle she approached the terms, the lord of the manor considered her chattel, or worse, a whore. Visions of sharing his bed surfaced. An avid reader, and thus somewhat learned in amorous escapades, a man who paid a woman for his sexual pleasure must be an incompetent lover. The thought delighted her. How she'd love to toss his bumbling inadequacies in his face one day.

The last paragraph of the agreement stated she must surrender all rights to the child from birth through all eternity. Further, she would agree to take the first ship out of Norfolk the moment the physician deemed her fit to travel. Horace Masterson, Esquire, Norfolk, Virginia, and Derek Stafford of Stafford House, the same city, had signed their names and dated the contract. That rankled her most of all. How sure they must have been she'd accept.

Her grandfather's words echoed in the small room. 'There be no one in life to watch over ye, but ye. Be on the alert for scoundrels and rogues. Stay one step ahead of the miscreants.' Oh, Grandfather, I pray you can see it in your heart to forgive me.

She'd consent to the shameful contract, but the bounder would rue the day he'd struck a deal that originated at the gates of Hades.

With a sigh, Raine rose from the chair and walked to the bureau to wash her face. Pressure in her chest, a result of her heavy heart, made it difficult to breathe.

What little air she possessed in her lungs left in a quiet rush. An open Bible rested beside the porcelain washbowl. Not just any Bible but the one she'd placed in the trunk. Dear God, Lucinda's Bible. A tremor rippled through her. She glanced at the passage marked with a red check. Psalm, 41:9: Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me.

The air cracked with tension, and yet the deafening silence choked her. She hugged her cold body with the realization an icy chill had invaded the room. Most frightening was the sudden appearance of Lucinda's Bible. Even the clock on the night table had stopped ticking. She crossed the room, gave it a tap and breathed a sigh of relief. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Placing her hands to her temples, she attempted to clear her brain. Not a soul had entered her room this morning. She'd been preoccupied with the contract, but she would have noticed a person placing the Bible on the washstand. Unless it wasn't a person.

Raine glanced to the bed and gasped. The translucent outline of a woman appeared. Her hands were folded across her chest, her bosom rising and dropping with labored breaths. Raine closed her eyes and prayed that when she opened them the vision would be gone. The chill vanished as quickly as it had entered. She opened her eyes and expelled a raspy breath. The woman had fled too, leaving her Bible behind.

Grandfather had told her about spirits, desperate souls who remained behind with unfinished business or to warn the living that evil lurked in their midst. She sensed the spirit wouldn't harm her, but her abrupt appearances unnerved her. The poor creature would leave once her business was concluded, her mission accomplished. But what was the specter's mission?

The thud of horse's hooves on the ground outside drew her to the window. The outline of Derek's sculpted body clung to the steed's mane and his hair billowed about his head as he raced from the property.

At least she'd been granted a reprieve for the day, wouldn't have to gaze upon his wickedly handsome face. Not until tonight. With a sick knot in her stomach, she wondered which topic she should broach first with him, the ghost who haunted her bedroom or the contract. Both were frightening.

* * *

That evening, Derek sat at the oak desk in his study with his head between his hands. He found the waiting unendurable. Fresh candles, brought from the kitchen by Crete this afternoon, graced the room and lifted his sour spirits. He hadn't heard from Raine in three days, long, tortuous hours where he vacillated between despair and hope. What should he think in the face of her silence? Does she find me repulsive? Am I lacking in the physical attributes she desires in a man? The war wound hadn't crippled him, but most days he wasn't able to hide the limp. Perhaps she demanded perfection in a mate. Maybe he'd erred in believing money motivated most people, but then the delectable creature living in his manor could never be classified with most people.

The pleasure of gazing upon her perfection eluded him since their last discussion. But last night, the soulful notes from the piano had drifted through the manor. Torment in truth, for every carnal vision known to man stormed through his bedeviled brain. Moved by her impassioned brilliancy, he had closed his eyes and allowed the sonata to devour him. She had played a piece by Haydn with such depth; the musical genius would have applauded her performance.

About to close his ledgers, a rap at the door launched his heart into rapid beats. Crete and Henry bid him goodnight several hours ago, which could only mean one thing. The lass stood on the other side of the door, no doubt carrying news of her imminent departure to Maine. The thought churned his stomach.

"Come in," he said in a failed attempt to keep his voice level.

The door creaked opened and in walked the woman who haunted his dreams at night and tormented his days. He pushed from the chair and walked to the side of the desk. "Good evening, Raine." She didn't answer him, but rather pinned him with a look of annoyance. He pointed to a chair near the hearth. "Please, have a seat."

With a nod, she walked toward the fire and eased into a wingback. He sensed no open hostility, but then again, she didn't exude warmth either. Folding her hands in her lap, she raised her chin and met his gaze. "I've come to a decision."

Five short words, and already he felt like a moronic schoolboy hoping to harness the lead role in a play. "I imagine your scarcity speaks for itself."

"I needed time to think and, I have questions."

He settled into a chair across from her. "Reasonable enough."

"Do we have an understanding you'll love and care for the child, male or female?"

His heart fluttered. "Yes, my oath. Should you be delivered of a girl, I'll love and cherish her. The child will want for nothing."

"You mentioned I must agree to meet Madelina."

He nodded.

"What does she require of me?"

"Information," he said. "It's necessary for her to chart your--your cycle, identify the optimal time for copulation."

Color rose in her cheeks. "What else?"

"I believe she has instructions for you--for us--to increase the odds of producing a male." He tapped his foot against the floor, waiting through the painful seconds while attempting to read her thoughts.

Long moments later, she spoke, "What do you plan to tell Crete, Henry, and your family about the impending birth?"

"My father will be informed you've agreed to bear my child and have also agreed to leave Stafford House after the birth. The others will believe you were with child when you arrived at the manor."

He flinched at her bitter response. "I see. I'm to play the part of a harlot in addition to surrogate?"

"I couldn't come up with a more suitable explanation―"

"Ah, yes, explanations." Her eyes clouded over. "A woman of loose character would have no compunction about surrendering her child." Her foot matched his against the floorboards.

"After the babe is born, they'll be told you received a letter from your grandfather beseeching you to return to Maine due to his ill health."

"Most convenient. And so, I've agreed to desert my child."

"Our child," he corrected her. "It makes sense it would be in the babe's best interest to remain at Stafford House while you travel home."

Her teeth clenched and next her hands. She looked as if she'd like to breach the short distance between them and slap him. "But in truth, never to return, of course."

"They'll assume you will return one day, but in reality, you won't."

"You've thought of everything." Her eyes went from light green to dark emerald. The alteration reminded him of a star burning out on its way to earth. "I'm staggered by your elaborate scheming on such short notice."

Guilt dogged him, as it had so many times since he thought of the plan. He tried to respond, but the words couldn't get past his tongue. How did she have the ability to reduce him to a blithering idiot?

"You're ingenious, Derek, quite resourceful."

"I can't allow your personal thoughts about me to enter into the equation." With the realization he sounded brusque he softened his tone. "Do you have any other questions?"

Her lips thinned. "That will suffice for now, but I do have terms."

Hope reared its head. She'd thought enough about it to demand terms. "Please, proceed."

"You'll deposit the five thousand dollars you so generously left on my pillow into an account in my name at the bank. I need full access to the funds, must be able to withdraw them at my choosing."

Lightheaded, the taste of victory licked at his senses. "Of course, anything else?"

She handed him a piece of paper. "I've signed the contract."

Next to his signature, hers appeared. Anxious to bring the session to conclusion before she changed her mind, he said, "I'll ride into Norfolk in the morning; meet with Mister Thomas at the bank before I ride to Madelina's."

"And then?"

"I'll make arrangements to meet with her according to your schedule."

"My schedule?" She snorted. "I agreed to carry your child but I remain your humble servant. Please, inform me of the time and day."

"Very well, anything else?"

Her back stiffened. "Yes."

"Proceed."

"Something is amiss in my room."

"Whatever it is, you need only tell me and I'll see to it."

She studied him, and he had the distinct feeling she wanted to say something derisive. She did. "I believe this is one thing even the great Derek Stafford can't correct."

"I won't know until you tell me."

"At times, my room takes on an icy chill."

"Is the hearth not working?"

"Perfectly well."

Damnation, why didn't she just spit it out? "I'm not good at guessing games. Whatever it is―"

"Your wife's Bible appeared on my bureau, the one I placed in the trunk before Henry toted it to the attic."

His heart skipped a beat and a wave of dizziness washed over him. "What are you saying?"

"I feel a presence beside me and cold air suffuses the room."

Tongue-tied again, he gaped at her.

"I assure you, my faculties are intact. There is a specter in your manor. I suspect it is trying to tell me something."

"God in heaven! You're serious."

"I am."

Her calm tone unnerved him.

She rose from the chair and walked to the door, turning to look at him. "You're so very good at explanations, perhaps you can explain why your late wife's spirit is attempting to reach me." With that, she walked from the room, closing the door in her wake.

Derek remained in the study, his exuberance over Raine's acceptance of the contract dampened by her warning about the ghost. He dropped his head into his hands. How many times had Lucinda told him witches and ghosts skulked about the manor, lived among them? In the last years of her life, his wife had deteriorated so rapidly, he should have institutionalized her. Should have, but couldn't.

Raine's faculties were acute and sharp, and then some. If the lass said a spirit resided in the manor, he would wager his mother's garnet cameo it did. But who and why?

He poured a drink and swirled the amber liquid around the glass. Drained after waiting days for Raine's answer, he hoped the brandy would settle his nerves. Sleep would elude him this night. Even if he didn't hear a mysterious slamming of doors or muffled laughter lurking in the dark corners, he would imagine he had. "Preposterous," he said to the ceiling, yet he couldn't discard Raine's warning.

An hour and several drams later, he quit the study and took the stairs to his bedchamber. He would sort this out tomorrow. Tonight, he longed for sleep.

* * *

The following morning, Derek found Raine plucking leaves from a row of collards in the garden. She jumped when he tapped her on the shoulder. "The firm, dark green leaves are best for eating. Discard their wilted, yellow cousins."

"Pray tell, you sought me out to dispense lessons on vegetables?" She came to her feet without his assistance and strolled toward the fruit and berries.

"I meant to help," he said, realizing he'd just been handed the direct cut.

When she turned to him with an icy look, he handed her the papers. "The documents you requested from the bank. Everything is in order."

Raine snatched the papers from his hand and tucked them into her apron.

"I met with Madelina." He lowered his voice when she looked over her shoulder. "She expects us Monday afternoon, three days from now."

Raine turned to a trellis of ripe berries and nodded; his second dismissal.

"I'll inform Crete you'll be absent from the manor on Monday."

"And the reason for my sudden absence?"

He hedged and wrinkled his brow. "I'll tell her I've taken the liberty of arranging an appointment for you at a dressmaker's shop."

She rolled her eyes. "How kind of you, Mister Stafford. You not only wish to see me with child, but elegantly attired."

He had been demoted to Mister Stafford again. He had no wish to argue with her. Angering the contrite miss would gain him nothing. "Have you had a moment to look at the contents in the pouch?"

"Yes," she replied.

He retrieved a piece of paper from his vest pocket and handed it to her. "We'll go over the instructions with Madelina. For now, I leave them in your care." With the distinct impression she'd be delighted over his leave, he stepped into his next question lightly. "I forgot to tell you, I enjoyed your performance the other night. Haydn, wasn't it? You played with passion."

She moved her gaze from the task of picking berries and met his. "I'm a passionate woman. Whenever I engage, I do so wholeheartedly."

Like a piece of clay in her hands, waiting for her deft fingers to mold and knead him, he almost swallowed his tongue. In truth, he wanted to suck hers. "Would you play for me tonight, something by Beethoven?"

"I'm honored to perform any duty assigned to me." She offered a faint smile and a half-hearted curtsy. "Will that be all, sir?"

He longed to wipe that smile from her erotic mouth. With his lips. Instead, he drew a silent breath and broached the subject of the ghost. "You haven't mentioned your room today. Anything significant to tell me?"

The moment the words left his mouth, a cold presence stepped between them. He froze and wondered if she felt it too.

She shook her head, keeping her eyes on his. "The ghost was on hiatus until moments ago."

"What do you think the spirit wants?"

"She's standing in front of you. Why don't you ask her?"

He felt the color drain from his face, the words squeaking past his throat. "You are able to see-see her?"

"I feel her, same as you. Or do you deny you knew the moment she made herself known?"

He shook his head.

"Perhaps it's you she wishes to speak to." She swept past him, her nod so slight he wondered if he imagined it. The chill evaporated.

The ghost had left with Raine.