Chapter Two
On the second day of the ghost-hunting party, fog and mist clung to the cold air.
Lillian sat proud atop the horse lent to her by the hosts.
She and her father had been paired up with Mr. and Mrs. Wormwood for the day’s hunt.
The couple amused Lillian because they looked so wildly different from each other.
He, tall and blond, while she stood almost two feet shorter than him, her hair black and eyes dark.
“We’ve been to this party before,” Mrs. Wormwood said, trotting beside Lillian. Her riding hat had a black veil. “What did you think of the performance last night?”
Lillian laughed, though the chill of the story still iced her veins. “They did a proper job of terrifying me, that is for certain.”
Mrs. Wormwood grinned.
“It’s not real, though, right?” Lillian looked around. “I feel almost silly even asking that as I am here searching for said ghosts.”
Mrs. Wormwood gave her a sidelong glance while holding the reins elegantly.
“I, personally, have never seen or heard anything. Nor has my husband. We attend because it is good fun for this time of year. The headless, horse-riding ghost is legendary in these parts, but I don’t think anyone has actually seen it.
Just wild stories told over ales and dinners.
” She visibly hesitated. “Well, I do know of one person who claims he’s seen something. ”
“Ah, good afternoon, everyone.” The Duke of Chalworth seemed to appear out of nowhere at Lillian’s other side with another gentleman she had not yet met.
“Miss Hall.” His pale-blue eyes pierced through her as his gaze upon her lingered for too long.
“And Mrs. Wormwood.” He angled his head at Lillian’s companion.
The duke was decidedly odd and she did not know what to make of him.
She had danced with him during the season many times and though he was much older than she, it was impossible to deny that he was also one of the most handsome, eligible men in his class.
It didn’t hurt that he was also a duke. But she had enjoyed the way his hands had felt when they’d grasped hers while dancing, and the hardness of him beneath his elegant clothing when he’d walked with her arm in arm.
But despite his mature good looks and the way his attention on her secretly made her heart flutter a bit, one time he had tried to convince her giants had once existed.
He talked at length about them and while his passion about such a bizarre subject admittedly held her attention, it was so decidedly odd, she hadn’t known what to think and had had nothing to offer the conversation other than stunned silence.
Turns out the duke exemplified the eccentric noble.
Never would she have guessed by looking upon his tall, wide-shouldered, silver- and black-haired form.
Surely, the grays would indicate he’d know better due to his age. Evidently not.
“Ladies,” the duke said, interrupting her thoughts, “I don’t know if you have met my friend here yet, Mr. Brainard? He is new to the hunt this year.”
The duke introduced the women to his friend, who turned out to be the youngest brother of a man with whom the duke was friends.
Lillian felt a bit of elation at an unmarried man her age at the party whom she had not met over the season.
She had not met him the previous night, either, but was glad to finally make his acquaintance.
She studied him. Appearance-wise, he did not hold up to the duke at all, despite his youth.
The gentleman had light-brown hair and a ruddy complexion.
But why would she compare, anyway? How silly of her.
Either way, she should like to ride beside him and get to know him.
Her father, seemingly having the same line of thought, introduced himself to Mr. Brainard. However, the pair rode ahead a bit while they talked.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Wormwood rejoined her husband and they trailed behind.
Which meant Lillian now rode with the duke, and only the duke. There was a pang of disappointment, but also apprehension. As if she should be nervous around the strange man!
“It’s a fine day for a ghost hunt, don’t you agree, Miss Hall?” The duke doffed his black top hat, looking breathtaking in a dark-green wool riding coat that clung to his muscular form. The coattail hung beside hard, muscular thighs in cream-colored trousers.
She nodded back, hoping her face had not flushed with the unexpected delight she felt. “I suppose one would not find a ghost under blue sky and sunshine.”
The duke laughed and it was a pleasant noise. Despite her hesitations toward the older man, she felt a prickle of pleasure along her spine.
“I should be honest and forthright with you, Miss Hall. I invited myself into your hunting group with Mr. Brainard to distract your father so I could get you all to myself.”
Her eyebrows lifted at this. Were older men usually so bold? Perhaps they no longer had a care about others’ view of them. Something she, admittedly, could not say for herself. “Why?” she couldn’t help but ask.
The duke’s eyelids closed halfway and he lifted one corner of his mouth in a roguish grin. “Because you heard the crying woman.”
Disappointment flared inside her and she decided to stare straight ahead. “It was the wind.”
“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “but no one else has ever heard her before. Not even me.”
This little fact did intrigue her, but she also did not wish to encourage him and decided to keep the thought to herself.
For a long while, they rode near each other in a companionable silence.
She liked that she didn’t feel the need to constantly talk with the duke, and he seemed unbothered by it as well.
Being with him felt comfortable and normal.
But surely, it was because she had spent time with him over the past few months and knew him well enough.
The voices of the others in their group started to sound farther and farther away. As Lillian realized this, the fog suddenly became opaque right in front of her eyes, the endless damp brown and rocky ground that stretched as far as the eye could see getting swallowed up by it.
Worry settled in her stomach and she gently pulled her reins to stop her horse. She heard no other sound. Not even birds. “Father?” she called out, getting no response. She could no longer see the duke, either.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up straight at the same time her horse’s ears became alert and turned forward.
She stared in the direction of the animal’s ears and could not see more than ten feet in front of her now.
The eerie silence became interrupted by the sound of horse hooves approaching.
It had to be someone from her party. But remembering the story from the night before made her heart kick up as if trying to run from the sound.
In the impossibly thick fog, she swore she saw a dark-gray, shadowy outline of a large horse at the very edge of her perception in the solid fog.
Her horse snorted and his front hooves began to stomp on the ground in warning. Overtaken by fear, she cried out, “Father!” When there was no response, she said, “Your Grace! Where have you gone?”
“I’m right here.” A horse approached from behind at a rapid pace. He pulled up to stop beside her. “We seemed to have gotten separated in the fog.”
She quickly looked back in the direction of the shadowy form at her front, but it was no longer there. “Please tell me you were in front of me,” she said, her voice shaking.
The duke stared in the direction that had her attention, removed his hat, and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I’m confused from this fog. Did you see something?”
She swallowed. Her eyes must have played tricks on her. “No. No, forgive me. The fog merely scared me, is all.”
The duke stared over at her for a long moment, his icy eyes causing her heart to skip a beat. “Let us dismount and walk our horses for now. If we find a safe spot to wait for the fog to clear, we shall.”
Glad to no longer be alone, she did exactly as he’d said.
As Lillian made to slide down from her horse, the duke dismounted and came over to her to grasp her at her waist before bringing her down safely.
The unexpected touch and ease with which he handled her caused her to gasp rather loudly, which in turn made her embarrassed.
For too long to be proper, they stood facing each other, her head angled back to see him, mere inches between their bodies and faces.
Lillian’s heart galloped and stomach twisted as an image of the duke leaning down to kiss her flashed in her mind.
The twinkle in his pale eyes told her he knew exactly how his touch had affected her. But he didn’t do anything else except gaze upon her mouth for a brief moment, then stepped away to grab his horse’s reins. Silently, he handed her reins to her as well.
She took a deep breath, exhaled it, and vowed to ignore whatever that had all been about.
They slowly walked with their horses, the damp fog around them feeling strange. Neither of them spoke. Nor did they hear any of the others in their hunting party. After an unknown amount of time, they came upon the stone ruins of a building.
“Ah, I know where we are now,” the duke said in a low, deep voice. He sounded a bit relieved. “Here, we will tie up the horses on this tree.” Though he did the tying for her. “Take my hand so we do not get separated.” He held out a black-gloved hand to her.
Propriety would have instructed her to deny it.
To turn it down, to not touch him in such a way.
He was neither her husband, nor her betrothed.
Not even a beau. But the pull to do so overwhelmed her.
And anyway, was it not for safety? Never had she seen fog so thick before.
They could easily get lost or separated.