Free The Dragon's Bride by Jo Beverley

disbelief touched his lips.
    “They had an agreement.” After a moment, she added, “Smuggling, Con.”
    “Ah.” He pushed off from the desk. “You can tell Captain Drake—I assume you know the current Captain Drake—that there will be no agreement.”
    “Con—”
    His sharp, angry look silenced her, but then the moment was broken by an outsider.
    “Good Lord, what is this?”
    Con’s secretary sauntered in like a spring breeze into a stale cavern. Lissome, she thought, with his light, lithe body and soft blond hair. But no angel. Every inch of him denied angel.
    Snatched from an entirely different existence, for a moment she couldn’t remember his name. He smiled—a speculative, knowing smile. “Racecombe de Vere, ma’am, at your service. My friends call me Race.”
    Susan dropped a curtsy. “Mr. de Vere.”
    She realized then that she had never once curtsied to Con.
    De Vere’s lips twitched and charming humor glinted in his eyes. He was a lady-killer, but he was having no effect on her except a slight irritation—and huge relief that he had interrupted.
    “What is this weighty atmosphere I sense?” de Vere asked.
    “Equal parts witchcraft and exasperation,” Con said. ‘This was the old earl’s lair. He was completely barmy, and killed himself with some brew that was supposed to give him eternal life.“
    “Does he haunt the house?” de Vere asked, clearly thinking this a treat.
    Con looked at Susan, so she said, “Not that anyone has noticed. Surprisingly, Crag Wyvern has no ghosts at all.”
    “That’s because the torture chamber victims are made of wax.”
    “Torture chamber!” declared de Vere, eyes bright. “Con, you best of good fellows. Let us go there immediately.”
    “If you want to be stretched on the rack, we can do that later.” Con seized the younger man’s elbow and marched him to the door. “For the moment, I gather that breakfast is waiting.”
    At the door, however, he looked back. “After breakfast I want a complete tour, Mrs. Kerslake, and most of your time throughout the day. Also, make sure your brother is available with the estate records.”
    He didn’t wait for a response, which was as well, as she didn’t have one except a shiver that made her fold her arms and rub herself. Even when fighting, even when a third person had been present, they’d talked to each other in a ghostly reminiscence of past intimacy. As if they alone were real in an unreal world.
    It was the other way around. The world was real and Susan Kerslake and Con Somerford were phantasms, ghosts of two young people from a summer so long ago, two people who no longer existed except in memory.
    But ghosts could carry a potent aura. His friend had sensed it, and he was the sort to make trouble.
    She had to get away.
    How long would it take to hire a new housekeeper and make a dignified exit? Too long. Yet to flee was impossibly weak, and there still was the gold. She’d organized a complete cleaning of Crag Wyvern over the past few months and found nothing. The old earl’s hiding place must be obscure.
    She left the room, locking it carefully, and went to her room to write a message to David. When he came up to see Con he could confirm that the run had been smooth. Then she would find a new housekeeper and make her escape, dignified or not.
    Of course, where to go and what to do was another question entirely. Perhaps she should set off after her errant parents and head for the Antipodes!

    As they went down a circular staircase, Race said, “I gather the lovely lady is out of bounds.”
    Con hoped he hadn’t twitched. “Not particularly. As I said last night, you are free to woo her if it’s honorable wooing you have in mind.”
    “Unlikely, but I might attempt an honorable flirtation if I’m not likely to feel your fist over it. She is the only good-looking woman in the place. The maid who brought my water was only one step more substantial than the skeleton in the corridor. This is a decidedly strange house.”
    “I hadn’t noticed,” Con said