Free Love at the Tower by Barbara Cartland Page B

she had heard tales of a resident ghost.
    Feeling her way she passed by the Earl’s study and followed the corridor around.
    â€˜I am sure that the guest rooms are just a bit further along,’ she muttered, as she felt her way along the wall.
    The floorboards began to creak under her feet and there were strange noises at every step.
    More than once she stopped to look around, feeling certain that someone was watching her.
    That feeling grew stronger as she at last found the guest rooms.
    â€˜Ah, this must be the green room,’ she thought, as she pushed open a half-ajar door.
    This room was elegant and plush. By the flickering light of the lamp, she could see that it was well cared-for and appeared not have suffered any deterioration.
    â€˜To think, in its heyday, this wing would have been filled with up to fifty guests!’
    A noise out in the corridor made her start and she nervously went to investigate. She opened door after door, but found only furniture swathed in white sheets.
    â€˜It would appear that only the green room has been made ready,’ she observed, as she closed yet another door. ‘Perhaps the Earl has had it put in order for me already?’
    The feeling that she was being watched grew even stronger, so she quickly returned to the kitchen for her bag.
    She could not help looking over her shoulder as she went and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
    â€˜I would hate to see a ghost – even if it was Mama,’ she murmured, trying to walk noiselessly on the tiled floor.
    As she balanced her bag in one hand and the lamp in the other, she made slow progress along the corridors back to the East wing.
    Eventually she reached the green room again and as she was feeling very tired she wanted to go to bed.
    But something was not right.
    She paced around the room and decided that it was because the room was too stuffy and warm. So she walked over to the French windows and undid the latch.
    Swinging open the doors the night air gusted in and blew back the curtains.
    For a short while Robina stood there with the cool air fanning her cheeks.
    â€œOh! I am so very tired,” she cried out, as the wind tugged at her hair.
    Pulling off her hat, she ran her fingers through her heavy dark locks and started to unbutton her jacket.
    When she came to her boots, she could not see, so she went and retrieved the lamp and placed it on the floor.
    The buttons on her boots were difficult to undo and she struggled, wishing that she had a boot hook.
    â€œOh, bother!” she exclaimed in frustration, as she snapped a fingernail.
    Finally she managed to pull off her boots and began to roll down her stockings. Flinging them onto a chair, she bent down to pick up the lamp.
    As she raised it, she happened to look towards the door and there, lolling in the doorway, was the figure of a man who was staring intently at her.
    She almost jumped right out of her skin and then with horror she realised that he must have been watching her as she took off her garments.
    â€œWho – just who are you?” she stammered, as she moved the lamp to get a better look.
    The man’s black hair fell over his face and he wore no jacket. His shirt was undone almost to the waist and in his hand he carried an open bottle of wine.
    â€œA very pretty show!” he slurred in a heavy voice. “Now what have we here?”
    Robina was frozen to the spot in horror as the man crossed the room to where she was standing.
    As she tried to make out his face, she realised there was something vaguely familiar about his angled nose and wide lascivious mouth.
    Something about the way his hair fell forward and his lip curled –
    â€œWho, who are you? Do answer me,” she repeated, her voice rising in panic.
    Should she scream? Should she run?
    A thousand thoughts teemed in her head as she was paralysed by fear.
    The man lurched across the room and grabbed her wrist.
    â€œWhy, if it isn’t little