Free These Haunted Hearts: A Regency Ghost Story by Anna Campbell Page B

absence. One chance meeting wasn’t likely to turn him
into a robber baron ready to spirit her away to his lonely tower
where he could have his way with her.
    Having his way with her was the last thing Kinvarra
wanted, as she was humiliatingly aware.
    Nonetheless, she had to fight the urge to retreat.
She knew from dispiriting experience that her only chance of
handling Kinvarra was to feign control. “What do you want?”
    This time he did lean closer, until his great height
overshadowed her. Close enough for her to think that if she
stretched out one hand, she’d touch that powerful chest, those wide
shoulders. “I want—”
    There was a piercing whinny and a sudden pounding of
hooves on the snow. Appalled, disbelieving, Alicia turned to see
Harold galloping off on one of the carriage horses, legs flailing
as he struggled for purchase without stirrups.
    “Harold?”
    Her voice faded to nothing in the night. Her beau
didn’t slow down. In fact, he kicked his mount’s sides to encourage
greater speed. She’d been so engrossed in her battle with Kinvarra,
she hadn’t even noticed that Harold had caught one of the stray
horses.
    Kinvarra’s low laugh mocked her. “Oh, my dear.
Commiserations. Your swain proves a sad disappointment. I wonder if
he’s fleeing my temper or yours. You really have no luck in love,
have you?”
    She was too astonished to be upset at Harold’s
departure. Instead she focused on Kinvarra. Her voice turned hard.
“No luck in husbands, at any rate.”
     
    ***
     
    Kinvarra suffered Alicia’s hate-filled regard
and wondered what the hell he was going to do with his troublesome
wife out in this frigid wilderness. The insolent baggage deserved
to be left where she stood, but even he, who owed her repayment for
countless slights over the years, wouldn’t do that to her.
    It seemed he had no choice but to help.
    Not that she’d thank him. He had no illusions that
after she’d got what she wanted—a warm bed, a roof over her head
and a decent meal—she’d forget any promises of gratitude.
    In spite of the punishing cold, heat flooded him as
he briefly let himself imagine Alicia’s gratitude. She’d shed that
heavy red cloak. She’d let down that mass of gold hair until it
tumbled around her shoulders. Then she’d kiss him as if she didn’t
hate him and she’d—
    From long habit, he stopped before the flaring images
became too interesting. A thousand fantasies had sustained him the
first year of their separation, but he’d learned for sanity’s sake
to control them since. Now they only troubled him after his rare
meetings with his wife.
    This was the longest time he and Alicia had spent
together in years. It should remind him why he eschewed her
company. Instead, it reminded him that she was the only woman who
had ever challenged him, the only woman who had ever matched him in
strength, the only woman he couldn’t forget, desperately as he’d
tried.
    He smiled into her sulky, beautiful face. “Poor
Alicia. It seems you’re stuck with me.”
    How that must smart. The long ride to his Yorkshire
manor on this desolate night suddenly offered a myriad of
pleasures, not least of which was the chance to knock a few chips
off his wife’s monumental pride.
    She didn’t respond to his comment. Instead with an
unreadable expression, she stared after her absconding lover.
“We’re only about five miles from Harold’s hunting lodge.”
    The wench didn’t even try to lie about the
assignation, blast her impudence. “If he manages to stay on that
horse, Horace should make it.” Fenton showed no great skill as a
bareback rider. Even as Kinvarra recognized the wish as unworthy,
he hoped the blackguard ended up on his rump in a muddy
hedgerow.
    “Harold,” she said absently, drawing her cloak tight
around her slender throat. “You could take me there.”
    This time his laughter was unconstrained. She’d
always had nerve, his wife, even when she’d been little more than
an untried