Blackmoore(43)

After several moments, I felt free of the restlessness that plagued me inside and set about finding a way down to the beach.

The house was perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. But surely there would be some way to access the beach from the estate. I was grateful for the bright moon—just a few days from being full—for lighting my way.

When I found the steep stone steps leading down the face of the cliff, I 125



J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n did not pause. This was what adventures were about—the rush of the leap, the elation of the landing. This was what my soul needed on this night of frustration and caged dreams.

I counted two hundred seventy-six stone steps until my feet touched sand. By then my legs shook from the effort of the climb down the cliff, and I waited a moment to catch my breath and really take in the scene before me.

The moon shone a silver ribbon across the water. A cold wind blew, and I wrapped my cloak more tightly around myself. I looked to the right and the left, seeing the lights of Robin Hood’s Bay probably a mile away. I wondered what Alice had against going to the beach at night and why she thought it was something she had to warn me against. I walked toward the water and leaned down to touch it. It was frigid and foaming and curling up on the sand. I dragged my fingers through the wet sand until I had a handful of small shells. Closing my fingers, I dipped my hand in the water, shaking it back and forth to try to rinse off the sand. My hand was almost numb after a moment of that, and I stood and thrust the shells into the pocket of my cloak, wiping my hand off at the same time.

Then I stood with my head tipped back and regarded the moon and the stars and the ocean stretching out into forever. This very water could carry me away to India. It could carry me away from all of my troubles here. If it weren’t for that bargain with my mother, I could . . .

A splashing sound caught my attention. I stepped forward, then back in alarm. Something was in the water. Right in front of me. Coming toward me, in fact. Something large enough to make those splashes. Too large to be a fish. I racked my brain for another explanation. A dolphin? A shark? What else might be coming toward me?

I thought of Alice’s fear, and I wondered for a brief moment if I had misjudged her. Perhaps there really was something dangerous in these waters. Perhaps there was something here to be truly frightened of.

Perhaps . . .

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The something stopped splashing, and emerged directly in the path of moonlight that lit up the water like a silver ribbon.

Linger’s Ghost.

My heart pounded against my ribs. The pale figure moved toward me.

I backed up a step, then two, and a scream filled my throat, when sud-denly a strange idea occurred to me.

I stopped, peering at the figure in the moonlight, and with a nervous voice called out, “Good evening!” I felt infinitely stupid, not knowing how else to address what surely was a man in the water.

The ghost—the man—stopped moving and peered in my direction.

“Kate? Is that you?”

My mouth fell open. “Henry?”

“Yes.”

He started moving again, and I stammered, “Er . . . are you . . . uh . . .

clothed?”

A pause met my question. “No,” he said with a laugh.

My face was hot. I turned my back to the water and called out, “I need to speak with you. Can you . . . come out? And put some clothes on?”

I waited, my face on fire, as another low chuckle reached my ears.

Then I heard soft splashing, and I imagined him walking onto the sand.

Or, rather, I tried not to imagine him walking onto the sand without a stitch of clothing on. The seconds stretched on so long I thought I would die of embarrassment. I was losing my nerve and starting to question the wisdom of my idea.

Then soft footsteps approached me from behind, and Henry’s voice said, “You can turn around now.”

I turned around, but I was not fully prepared for the sight before me.

My jaw fell open before I could catch it. Henry had put on his breeches— slung low around his hips—but nothing else. The moonlight glimmered off his bare chest and shoulders, drops of water clinging to his skin. His skin was smooth and more muscled than I had ever dared to imagine. His 127



J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n muscles went on and on, lean and defined, and yet he stood there without any self-consciousness, as if looking like a Greek god was something that came easily to him.

“What did you need?” he asked, rubbing his hand over his wet hair.

I forced my mouth to close, and then I tried to swallow. All rational thoughts had flown from my mind, and I could not pull my eyes away from his shoulders, his chest, his . . .

“Kate?”

I pulled my gaze up to his face, but that was no better, with his eyes dark as night and his lips . . .

“Do you . . . have a shirt?” I spied a white bundle in his hand. “Is that it? You should put it on.” I was speaking much too fast, and my voice cracked.

Henry chuckled, a low, sultry sound. “Why? Does this bother you?”

He wore a wicked grin. My face flamed hotter.

“No. I only thought you looked cold. Isn’t the water cold?” I was still speaking too fast, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“Don’t worry,” he said and did not move to put his shirt on. He did, however, rest his hands on his hips, which only drew my attention to how low his breeches were sitting. “What are you doing out here?” he asked.