Free Starry Knight by Nina Mason Page A

the least inkling why she insisted on haunting him.
    “Do try to find out what she wants,” he said, turning to Lady Vanessa.
    “Who?”
    “The ghost.”
    “I’ll give it my best shot.”
    The fog was getting thicker. He could barely make out the curve of the road. Beside him, Lady Vanessa was quiet, which was just as well. He needed to focus on his driving. The fog was now so thick he could barely see the bonnet of the car. Jerking the wheel toward the shoulder, he stopped, leaving the engine running and the headlamps on.
    “What are you doing?” she asked, sounding anxious.
    “I can see in the dark well enough,” he told her, “though not in this gloom. And I don’t fancy creeping along these cliffs like I’m playing Blind Man’s Bluff.”
    “So we’re just going to sit here until it clears?”
    “We are. Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
    She waggled her eyebrows at him. “We could always fool around.”
    The suggestion shot a flaming arrow straight to his groin. Against his better judgment, he unbuckled his seatbelt and pulled her into his arms. Their mouths locked in a passionate kiss. As their tongues entangled, his hands moved up and down her back.
    Outside, it began to rain. He was dimly aware of the soft drumming on the roof of the car. Would it wash away the fog or make it worse? He didn’t know and, for the moment at least, couldn’t care less. Her breasts were smashed against his chest, her tongue was playing with his, and his cock was straining against the fly of his trousers.
    It took every ounce of willpower he could muster to let her go. With a sigh, he dropped back into his seat.
    “I don’t want to take you in the car. Not when my castle is just down the road.”
    “How very gallant of you.”
    “I do try,” he said, pursing his lips, “when I have the chance, which, admittedly, isn’t often.”
    She turned away from him, toward the window. “We could always talk, I suppose. Tell me more about your ghost. Why did she hate the man she married enough to jump off the tower?”
    He took a moment to work out how to tell her the story without giving himself away before starting. “As I understand it, the marriage was forced—a common practice back then when a man wanted a woman who didn’t want him.”
    “Hang on. How do you force someone to marry you?”
    “Back then, under Scots law, a man only had to have intercourse with an unmarried woman to make her his wife.”
    “Oh, my God,” she exclaimed. “That’s appalling—and positively medieval . No wonder the poor girl threw herself off the tower.”
    “That wasn’t the worst of it.”
    “No? What could be worse than being forced to marry your rapist?”
    “Marrying a man who raped you to get ahold of your dead husband’s castle.”
    “She was married before?”
    “Aye,” he said, treading carefully. “To a man killed at the Battle of Flodden Field.”
    She went quiet for a few heartbeats before asking, “And all you feel when she’s around is a drop in temperature?”
    “And a slight shift in the room’s energy when she’s there.”
    “Does she ever do anything or move objects?”
    “Nay,” he replied, being deliberately vague. “She just watches.”
    Her darkly penciled eyebrows drew together. He dropped his gaze to her mouth, as inviting as a ripe strawberry, and fought the strong compulsion to take a bite.
    “Does the energy feel negative at all?” she asked.
    He shook his head to dispel his rising lust. “Negative?”
    “Hostile or even malicious.”
    “Nay. Just cold.”
    Outside, it was still raining and, inside, the hunger was rising like a burn in a downpour. In the gaps in conversation, he could hear her heart chanting his name.
    Ca-lum. Ca-lum. Ca-lum.
    He had to get some fresh air, get away from her, before he lost control. Holding his breath, he turned the key to the ignition’s accessory position and cracked the window.
    God help him—and her. His fangs were breaking through his gums.