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The scent of her filled his lungs, and he breathed her in, feeling almost intoxicated. It was a soft, subtle fragrance, like a meadow of wildflowers after a spring rain. He would not soon forget the scent of this woman or the look in those eyes. Fear shimmered in them, but there was an underlying edge of anger. Though she was frightened, she didn’t faint, as many of her gender would have. Instead—to her credit—she stood her ground.
What a rare, magnificent creature. He knew in that moment that despite the cost to him, he would one day touch her.
When she found her voice she managed to say, “Are you asking me to believe that I am the only person who can see you?”
“Oh, there are a few others.” He saw the fear begin to dissolve and a trace of defiance take over Aye, he thought.Magnificent. What he would give to have her. Almost at once he rejected that idea as nothing more than an impossible dream. Still, the thought tantalized, softening his rough tone. “It’s up to me to decide who’ll see me and who won’t.”
Her voice frosted over. He was, indeed, a madman. “How was I chosen for this dubious honor?”
A grin touched his lips, quick and easy, causing a hitch in her heart. When he smiled he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Handsome and arrogant, a potent combination. And extremely dangerous.
For a moment he lifted a hand and tempted himself with the thought of touching her. His fingers actually tingled at the suggestion. Not yet, he cautioned himself. Not just yet. He closed his hand into a fist and lowered it to his side. “Because I wanted it.”
“Do you get everything you want?”
“It’s my right as lord of the manor.”
“Lord of…” Disgusted, she turned away and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She was shocked to see that she was alone.
Turning back, she saw a falcon perched on the windowsill. As she watched, it spread its wings in flight. Over the whisper of wings, she could have sworn she heard a low, deep moan.
Or was it the keening of the wind?
2
Felicity was upbefore the servants. Her sleep had been disturbed by dreams and visions, though now that she was awake she couldn’t recall them. She knew only that she’d been unsettled by the images that flitted through her mind.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the strange events of the previous night. The only explanation she could accept was the fact that she had been completely exhausted.
Ghosts, indeed! She was an educated, intelligent woman and, as her father had often said, too sensible for her own good. Hardly the type to indulge in flights of fancy.
A good strong cup of tea, she thought, would clear her head and put a shine on the day. Still, she glanced carefully around the room before removing her nightshift. Annoyed at her thoughts, she buttoned the simple white blouse and dark skirt that skimmed the tops of her kid boots, then ran a brush through her hair and secured it with combs.
She crossed the room and drew open the draperies, allowing shimmering morning sunbeams to filter into the room. For long minutes she stood at the window, transfixed by her first glimpse of Falcon’s Lair by daylight. The land below seemed to roll and fold into itself like a well-kept secret. Heavily wooded valleys opened unexpectedly into gorse-covered stretches of moor that climbed steeply toward the clouds. Perhaps a mile away to the east lay a village, with a row of shops and houses, and a church steeple catching the first rays of morning sunlight.
Her heartbeat quickened. How she would love to paint the scene in just this light. Tomorrow, if she awakened early enough, she would carry her sketchbook to the moors and try to capture it.
“Lovely, isn’t it?”
At the deep voice she whirled. “You again. But how—What—“
He was standing directly behind her, and though he didn’t touch her, she felt the tingling warmth radiate through her veins.
“I thought…” She moistened her lips and forced herself to go on. “I thought I’d dreamed you.”
It was she who looked like a dream. So fresh, so lovely in the light of morning, she nearly took his breath away. “Oh, I’m real enough,” he said. “To those who believe.”
She took a step back until she felt the cold window at her back. “Last night I thought you were a…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word. Besides, this was no ghostly specter. This was a man. Tall, menacing, and very much alive. He was toying with her. Trying to make her believe the impossible. She would not be coerced into playing his game.
“How did you do that trick?”
“Trick?”
“Appearing. Disappearing. Is it a parlor game?”
He didn’t want to answer. Not yet. So he simply changed the subject. “You never told me your name.”
“Felicity Andrews.”