Gifts of Love Read online

  She loved him so much that she would have made herself a whore without an instant’s hesitation, if only he had said he loved her.

  But he had not.

  That, more than anything else, caused Antonia to believe he wanted nothing from her except the satisfaction of knowing she could not resist his seduction.

  The room was very quiet, growing chilly as the fire died. Antonia felt alone, and this time not even a ghost came to prove her wrong.

  The following day was strange and unsettling. Antonia had not slept well; between the ghostly visitation and Lyonshall’s near-seduction, she had been left in a state hardly conducive to sleep, and it had been close to dawn before she had finally managed to close her eyes. When Plimpton had awakened her only a few hours later, the lack of rest and her emotional turmoil made her feel raw and tense. She said nothing about the ghosts to her maid, and certainly nothing about the duke’s midnight presence in her bedchamber, but drank her tepid morning coffee in silence.

  When she went downstairs, it was with a certain trepidation, but she found only her mother in the breakfast room. Lady Sophia was not a particularly observant woman, but where her only child was concerned affection lent her acuity.

  “Darling, are you feeling well?” she asked immediately, her large eyes filled with concern. “You seem tired and—and quite pale.”

  Antonia had already made up her mind not to mention the ghosts to her mother; Lady Sophia was of a nervous disposition, and would certainly be unable to sleep a wink if she were told that spirits roamed the castle at night.

  Helping herself to toast and more coffee from the heavily laden sideboard, Antonia replied calmly. “The storm kept me awake, Mama; I am only a little tired—nothing to signify.”

  Lady Sophia waited until her daughter was seated at the table, then glanced around to make certain they were alone. Lowering her voice, she said in her fluttery way, “Darling, I trust you locked your door last night. I was never more shocked! I had intended to speak to your grandmother about the situation, but…but she looks at one in such a way, I felt myself quite unable to make the attempt.”

  It required a moment before Antonia realized her mother was referring to the arrangement of bedchambers. “I am sure you need have no fears, Mama,” she said, pushing aside the memory of hot kisses. “Remember, if you please, that the duke and I agreed we wouldn’t suit.”

  Eyeing her, Lady Sophia said, “Well, so you said at the time, but—Forgive me, Toni, but it appeared to me last night that Lyonshall was behaving with far more—more warmth than was at all seemly. The way he spoke to you and looked at you…” Blushing slightly, she added, “My dear, though you judge yourself quite grown-up, there are some things you simply cannot know about men. Even the best of them may find themselves at the mercy of their baser instincts and—and for you to be all alone with the duke in that big, empty wing—and you so pretty as you are—it just seems to me—”

  Rescuing her parent from the morass of her tangled sentence, Antonia said a bit dryly, “Are you referring to passion, Mama?”

  “Antonia!”

  She felt a pang of sad wisdom. She should have been innocent of passion, as her mother so clearly believed she was. For an unmarried young lady of twenty-one to have the knowledge Antonia possessed was shocking and should be a source of heartache. But the shame of having given herself to a man before marriage was not so dreadful to her because she had given herself in love. No matter what had happened afterward, and despite her words to Lyonshall about the “mistake,” Antonia did not regret what she had done.

  Quietly, she said, “Mama, the duke is most certainly a gentleman, and would do nothing to force me against my will.” He had not, after all; when she had refused him, he had left her alone without another word.

  Lady Sophia hesitated, biting her lip. “Darling, I have often thought you were not…not as indifferent to him as you have insisted. Indeed, you seem very aware of him when he is in the room. If your feelings for him are confused, it could cloud your judgment. And his behavior last night…”

  “He is amusing himself with a light flirtation, nothing more,” Antonia said. “As for me, I am quite certain of my feelings for the duke, and quite able to exercise sound judgment. I assure you, Mama, I have no intention of further disgracing my good name by doing anything I ought not.” The words should have burned her tongue, she thought wryly—or at least pricked her conscience, considering what she had already done.

  The conversation might have continued, but the countess entered the room then. Lady Sophia looked so self-conscious that Antonia was mildly surprised her grandmother did not instantly demand to know what they had been discussing, but it became obvious she had another matter on her mind.

  “Antonia, since the weather makes outdoor amusements impossible, I believe you young people will find some enjoyment in arranging the Christmas decorations. A tree was cut some days ago, and Tuffet is having it brought into the drawing room now, along with mistletoe and holly boughs. The maids have spent the past week or so stringing berries and making other decorations, so you need only put them in place.”

  Antonia would have objected, but before she could the duke entered the room. “An excellent scheme, ma’am. I am glad you have adopted the recent custom of bringing a tree inside; it is especially pleasant in weather such as this.”

  The matter settled to her satisfaction, Lady Ware nodded. “Since Christmas Eve is day after tomorrow, you should have plenty of time to get the decorations in place.”

  So Antonia found herself once more thrown into the duke’s company. Her grandmother carried her mother off immediately after breakfast, obviously intending to occupy her in another part of the castle, and even the servants made themselves scarce as soon as the couple went into the drawing room to find the tree and promised decorations.

  Lyonshall behaved as though nothing had happened the night before. He was very casual, not nearly so intense as he had been during the previous evening.

  Antonia could not help but feel grateful for that; she could no longer don her social mask in his company. If he had attempted to make love to her, or even to flirt, she knew she would have betrayed herself. Instead, because he was relaxed and carelessly charming, she was able to be calm herself.

  The festive nature of the holiday had its own effect, as well. The sharp scent of holly and of the big spruce tree mingled with the spicy fragrance of potpourri from the bowls the maids had set out in nearly every room, and even as vast as the castle was, the enticing aroma of plum pudding and other dishes being prepared for Christmas dinner drifted up from the kitchen.

  The yule log was prepared, candles put into place, and holly boughs arranged to please the eye. The maids had strung berries of different colors for the tree, and Antonia was surprised to find among the other decorations small, exquisitely sewn sachets in various shapes, obviously the work of her grandmother.

  “I didn’t realize she cared so about the holiday,” Antonia murmured as she fingered one lovely, potpourri-filled sachet in the shape of a star. “She must have sewn these sachets every year for a long time. Look how many there are.”

  “Beautiful work,” the duke observed. “It’s going to be a fine tree.”

  Antonia agreed with him. In fact, she had to admit the castle would look and feel quite different once it had donned its holiday dress. Already, the huge drawing room seemed warmer, brighter, the colorful decorations adding light and cheerfulness.

  She was beginning to see why her family had loved the castle. There was something stately in the sheer size of the place, and a feeling of permanence in the solid stone walls and floors. This place, she realized, had surrounded the Wingate family for centuries. It had sheltered and protected them, hidden their secrets, housed their happiness, their anger, and their tears.

  Ever since the ghostly lovers had appeared the night before, Antonia had been aware of a growing feeling that the castle itself was a living thing. That over the centuries, it had absorbed
so much of the Wingate family emotions that it, too, had become part of the family. She almost told Lyonshall of this feeling, but kept it to herself in the end. It sounded very fanciful, she decided.

  She and Lyonshall worked together in harmony, and for a time Antonia nearly forgot everything except the pleasure of being in the company of a man who talked to her as an equal. But even as they hung decorations on the tree and argued amiably about their placement, she could not help being wary of his changed attitude. More than once, she caught him watching her, and the brooding look she saw so fleetingly caused tension to steal over her.

  To her surprise, he continued to behave casually for the remainder of the day, and she blamed her imagination for the dark expression she had seen. He neither said nor did anything to upset or confuse her. He was pleasant and charming at dinner, even drawing a laugh from Lady Sophia, and when the evening was over he escorted Antonia to her door and left her there with a composed and polite good night.

  Antonia told herself it was all for the best. He had obviously accepted her refusal—or had, at least, realized he was more of a gentleman than he had believed himself to be, and had given up the idea of seduction. But the apparent end of his brief courtship did nothing to ease her chaotic emotions.

  Once again, she could not sleep, and though her mind automatically marked the approach of midnight with both anticipation and anxiety, she was nevertheless surprised to turn from the fireplace and see that her ghostly visitor had returned. Her fear of the previous night was absent, but the eeriness of what she saw as she watched him moving about the room had a decided effect on her. She felt almost like an intruder, watching him without his awareness, yet she couldn’t force herself to look away.

  Just as the night before, he moved around the room restlessly for a time before he eventually headed for the door. She followed without making a conscious decision to do so. In the open doorway of her room, she watched a repetition of the previous night’s scene enacted in the hall, and the same sensual awareness stole over her.

  The dark man and his fiery-haired lady shared a love that had lived beyond their time, surviving the death of mortal flesh to haunt this hall of stone and silence. No one, Antonia thought, could look upon such unquenchable emotions and not feel the power of them. It made her throat ache, made her peculiarly aware of her own body as her heart beat and the blood coursed through her veins. And it made her feel a profound sense of loss, because she had believed just such a love as theirs had once been within her own grasp. That grief grew even stronger when she saw Lyonshall through the entwined lovers. It was as if fate was mocking her.

  She remained unmoving in the doorway as the ghostly pair went into his room. As on the previous night, he closed the door and came to her, but before he could speak she caught a glimmer of movement beyond him in the hallway.

  “Look,” she murmured.

  A third ghostly form had appeared at the end of the hall near the stairs. She came toward them, a pretty woman past the first blush of youth but not yet near middle age, her dress made up of dark colors and fashioned in the style of a century before. She gave a clearer idea of the time than the other two had, since she was fully dressed. She wore a high, stiff cap of frilled linen with a short veil on her neatly arranged dark hair; an outer garment, trailing in back, with semi-long sleeves and linen cuffs, was worn open in front over a laced bodice and flounced skirt.

  She was attractive in a colorless way, but seemed far more lifeless than the other two. Like the lovers, she took no notice of the two living spectators. She was moving along the hallway, but stopped when she reached the duke’s bedchamber door.

  Like a person attracted by some sound, she stood with her head turned a little toward the door and her attention fixed on that room. She was very still for a long moment, the expression on her face curiously intent, even masklike. Then her lips twisted in an ugly grimace, and she continued on her way.

  Antonia felt chilled as she watched the woman. It was a feeling quite unlike what she had experienced upon first seeing a ghost in her room. This was something far more acute, and deeply troubling. She had a strange and powerful urge to rush to the lovers and warn them to take care, because someone in the castle intended them harm. She knew that somehow, felt it with every fiber of her being. The lovers were in danger.

  Her rational mind reminded her that these people had been dead for a hundred years, but she couldn’t seem to throw off the oppressive feeling of dread or her anxious desire to prevent a tragedy.

  Standing beside Lyonshall, she watched the woman continue down the hallway and vanish into one of the rooms. Slowly, Antonia turned and went into her own room, her emotions so disturbed she didn’t realize immediately that Lyonshall had followed her.

  “Toni?”

  Antonia went to the fireplace, still feeling chilled, and stretched her hands out toward the flames. “That other one,” she murmured. “She means them harm.”

  “Yes, I saw.”

  “I feel so helpless. It’s like watching the first seconds of a carriage accident in the streets and feeling powerless to stop what you know is coming.”

  He stood several steps away, watching her, and his voice remained low. “Whatever will happen—already has, Toni. A hundred years ago.”

  “So my mind tells me. But what I feel…is difficult to overcome. They seemed so happy together, with their whole lives before them, yet I have an awful certainty they didn’t live much beyond what we have already seen.” Antonia shook her head a little, trying to push away the dread. “I wonder who they were.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No, I—I know very little of my family’s history in this place. That is a dreadful thing to say, isn’t it?”

  “Natural, if you haven’t lived here. Most of us do tend to live in the present.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Have you asked Lady Ware about the ghosts?” he asked. “She would very likely know the history of the castle, and of the family.”

  “No,” she replied. When he continued to gaze at her with one brow raised, she shrugged. “Grandmother is such a brusque and matter-offact person, I have no doubt she would tell me I imagined the whole.”

  He was silent for a moment, an odd look of hesitation in his eyes. “Somehow I feel sure she wouldn’t tell you that. I believe she knows about the ghosts. My valet tells me only the South wing of the castle is held to be haunted. Perhaps Lady Ware put the two of us here for that reason.”

  “Because of the ghosts?” Antonia frowned. “Why would she do such a thing?”

  Again, Lyonshall hesitated. “If she wishes us to reconcile, she may have believed a pair of young lovers might push us in the right direction—even if they are ghostly lovers.”

  Antonia felt wary, disturbed by the way he had led the conversation back to them. She was in no state to endure more of the previous night’s discussion, and she was surprised that he wished to talk about the subject yet again. He had accepted her request to end their engagement with little attempt to persuade her to change her mind, yet now he seemed almost obsessed. She would have thought the blow to his pride—if nothing else—would have made the entire subject unbearable.

  She avoided his eyes by turning back to the fire. “I seriously doubt she has any such belief. She told me herself it would be foolish to suppose you would make me a second offer, and she knows very well the idea is—”

  “Is what? Repugnant to you?” he demanded when she broke off abruptly.

  “Must we discuss this again?”

  “Yes. Because you have yet to tell me the truth.” His voice was a little harsh now.

  Antonia refused to look at him. “I thought you had accepted my wish to have done with this. Your behavior today led me to believe that was so.”

  He gave a hard laugh. “Indeed? My behavior today, Toni, was due to your refusal last night. No man with any sensibility could accept with pleasure the look of sick anguish I saw on your face last night. If you wished to
hurt me yet again, you certainly did.”

  “That was not my intention,” she heard herself say, and wondered why she couldn’t allow him to believe even the worst of her if it would only drive him away.

  “Then what was your intention? You were willing, Toni, we both know that. You came alive in my arms with all the passion I remember so well, and for a moment I hoped…But then you refused me, in a voice so cold it froze my heart. What have I done to earn that from you? How can I accept your wishes when I don’t understand the reasons for them? Is my desire to make you my wife so unbearable to you?”

  Trying to appear calm even if her mask was gone, Antonia held her voice steady. “If you must hear it again, I have no wish to marry you, Richard. I suppose you feel yourself perfectly entitled to your revenge, but—”

  “Revenge?” He crossed the room quickly and grasped her arm, turning her roughly to face him. “Is that why you refused me last night? Because you believe I want revenge? What put such a mad notion as that into your head?”

  She met his grim eyes as squarely as she was able, though it required a tremendous effort. “It seems obvious to me. In all the months since our engagement ended, you have made no effort whatsoever to heal the breach, or even expressed interest in doing so—why now? Because you suddenly find yourself virtually alone with me and stormbound? No, I think not. You wish to punish me for jilting you. I realized that last night. Why else would you go to such lengths to remind me that I gave up to you what any woman should give only on her wedding night? Why else would you torment me with the knowledge of how—how easily I can be swayed when you touch me?”

  A crooked smile curved his lips briefly. “At least you admit that much. So I wasn’t wrong, after all. You do still want me, don’t you?”

  “Should I deny it?” she said bitterly. “What good would that do? You know the truth.”