Chapter One #3
Viscount Inglewood wore an all-black costume based on eighteenth-century men’s clothing.
“Hundreds of years ago…” The viscount lifted a candle from the table and held it below his face to throw odd shadows.
“A man and a woman fell in love.” He widened his brown eyes even further to look even more mad and laughed eerily.
He disappeared into the darkness, covering the candlelight with his cape until he reappeared by poking his light-brunet head between two guests, causing them to yelp.
“The woman’s father would not accept their love or give his permission for a marriage between them. But they could not live without each other. They hatched a plan—to elope!” he shouted that last bit, causing everyone to jump.
The viscount disappeared into the shadows again.
“Is he mad?” one of the male guests said.
Lord Inglewood reappeared between the speaker and a woman at his side, the candle throwing the odd shadows on his face once more.
The woman dropped her glass of water, in turn spilling it on the lap of the male guest who had spoken.
She screamed, frightened by the viscount, while he yelped at the spill.
But the viscount did not even pause. “On the night of their elopement, the man set out disguised as a driver. He stole his father’s black carriage and four.
Black. Horses.” He disappeared, then reappeared between Quinton and Miss Hall.
Miss Hall gasped so loud, Quinton almost expected her to faint.
“But what they didn’t know was that her father had found out their plan.
Someone had snitched. The tyrannical father hid in the stolen black carriage, and in the would-be lover’s haste to get to his beloved, he did not check the carriage to see if anything had been inside.
When the carriage came to a halt at their secret meeting place, the woman’s father leapt out. With a long, sharp sword!”
Lady Appleton, a woman of about thirty with dark-blonde hair, fainted. Mr. Hall jumped up. “Dear heavens!” he shouted as others went to the slack-jawed woman’s aid.
The viscount shot Quinton a private grin and Quinton laughed because he knew nothing would stop his friend from his theatrics. It wasn’t the first time a woman had fainted at the dinner act and it wouldn’t be the last.
Miss Hall, upon hearing his laughter, shot him a glare.
“No, don’t kill him!” a disembodied woman’s voice wailed from seemingly nowhere. Miss Hall and the other guests forgot about Lady Appleton and looked everywhere for the source of the voice. “I love him, Papa! I love him!” the unseen woman wailed dramatically again.
“What in the blazes?” Miss Hall returned to her seat as she tried to peer into the darkness.
The duke did not miss that she moved closer to him and it shot a rush of pleasure through him.
The viscount reappeared at the head of the table, this time staying put.
“The father threw his daughter into the carriage, locked her inside, took her beloved, and as she watched…” Lord Inglewood reached into his cape and threw atop the table something that rolled across it, bumping and clattering plates, cutlery, and glasses.
It was a severed head.
As usual, this elicited the loudest screams. Three more women fainted. A few men jumped into a fighting position, ready to throw punches if necessary.
Miss Hall grabbed Quinton’s upper arm and pressed against him while clutching her throat.
“Don’t worry, love, it’s not real,” he whispered down into her ear. He inhaled the scent of her hair, an intoxicating mix of fresh air and daisies.
Her attention shot up to him, her dark eyes wide and fearful, but she evidently realized what she was doing and immediately let go of him to return to her seat, pushing invisible hair behind her ear.
Lady Inglewood, the viscountess, finally appeared in full-mourning dress by lifting the fake head from the table. She held it up high with both hands. “No! My beloved! I shall never rest again until I find your soul upon my death!”
The viscount slammed his hands to the table, causing everyone’s heads to turn to him.
“For centuries, the ghosts of the man and woman have searched for each other across the moors. We are here together this week to find them, to get a glimpse of them. Sometimes, you will hear the echoes of a carriage with horses, or the cries of a woman.”
Miss Hall jerked a look in Quinton’s direction. He raised his eyebrows at her, causing irritation to flash in her eyes. It only amused him further.
“But most frightening of all”—Lord Inglewood lowered his voice—“the headless ghost of the man rides upon one of those black horses he had taken that night, haunting the grounds around us as he searches for the woman who cries out for him.” He let out a loud and long maniacal laugh, causing several people to yelp.
Then he sat in his seat as footmen appeared from the darkness with trays of food to serve. “I hope everyone is hungry, yes?”
There was a stunned silence for a long while. Conversation slowly, but surely, began to rise.
Quinton studied Miss Hall, who had been rendered silent since the little performance. However, unlike the others here, who finally were able to laugh at the theatrics and teased each other about the ghost, Miss Hall seemed contemplative. As if she might believe the truth of the story.