For a long time, there was nothing, but then there was that indication that he was there. The scent of a man and a tinge of smoke. The wind raged outside, but it was quiet and still within the room. Anne's heart beat powerfully, anticipating the rush at her throat, but it didn't come. Not that her throat didn't feel impossibly tight all on its own. Her mouth had gone dry and she felt as if her knees would give.
Why was she doing this? Because she had to. "I need to speak to you," she said as clearly as she could, ignoring the bone-deep shiver she felt.
Eventually, there was a creak in one of the chairs.
"One of the spirits in this house is hurting my maid."
Nothing happened. Anne looked over at the chair where she thought the noise had come from. There was no form. Unlike Alfie, Richard did not show himself. She knew he was there though. She felt like in her gut. He was watching her.
There was another creak and without meaning to, Anne took a step back. She tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. The images before her eyes changed, crept around the room and revealed a different world. She was in his realm now, and she had shifted without his hand around her throat.
There was a fire in the grate and the furniture was different. He was there now, sitting in the chair where she had heard the noise.
A dark countenance considered her. He looked exactly the same as the other times she'd seen him. The clothes were the same, the hair was the same. Perhaps his appearance didn't change. Who was to say how he existed here?
Broad shoulders covered with black leather leaned against the backrest, and linen-covered arms lay along the armrests. His hands were impassive, resting at the edge of the armrests. They were large, with long, straight fingers. A scar ran across his knuckles. He appeared a bit different sitting; still just as imposing. In his thirties, he was much more an intimidating man than he'd been in his youth. War and strife had changed him. "You stay in this house, you bear the consequences," he said.
"He is abusing her."
"Then she should leave."
"How many spirits do you seek to gather in this house?"
He shifted his head back slightly and looked over at her. "Are you disturbing me over something utterly inconsequential?"
"A life being taken is hardly inconsequential."
"It is to me."
"So you are unwilling to do anything?"
"I would have thought my regard for intruders into my house was clear by now."
Frustration clawed at her throat. He did not care. Why had she assumed he would? It was a stupid belief now that she looked back on it.
"You are keeping them here. Release them."
"What concern is it to you, Anne Sands of London?"
At least, he now had realized she wasn't his wife. It did show there was more to him than just an echo of pure hatred, indicating there were thought and consideration.
She looked around the room. It did look quite different. There were curtains on the bed as had been the fashion during the time he had lived. There were weapons on the desk, a flintlock and a sword, strewn letters and the strongbox. The broken lock lay on the floor.
"You broke my lock," he said, obviously seeing where her attention was.
"I didn't realize it was something you used."
"Why did you break into my box?"
Anne shifted on her feet. "To discover who you were."
"And why do you wish to know who I was?"
"You were attacking me. I needed to know who and why."
"Pragmatic, then." Desperate might be more accurate a term. "I am your enemy. And have you discovered a way to defeat me?"
"Being non-corporeal, you have me at a distinct disadvantage."
"I am corporeal now, but unfortunately for you, stabbing me has no permanent effect. You cannot injure me. Besides, I have your dagger."
Her eyes traveled to the table, where she saw it lying on top of a book.
"You should treat your weapons better."
"I found it in one of the outbuildings. I am not normally one to carry weapons. It was not how I was raised."
"Yet you did."
"While being ripped out of bed by a strange man, a lady must, out of necessity, take steps to defend herself."
He pursed his lips and considered her in silence. His eyes traveled down her body. "You are in mourning. Who is it you mourn?"
"My aunt." She looked away. His questions were direct, too direct for propriety, but then perhaps things were different in his time. She was not an expert at bygone etiquette, or maybe he just lacked manners. By his actions, it didn't seem something he was overly concerned about.
A noise made her snap her eyes back, but he had not moved. "It harms me to be here, doesn't it?"
"I couldn't say," he said uncaringly.
"I thought only touch drew me here, and released me."
He didn't answer. The fact that he had not touched her showed it wasn't true.
"How do I get back?"
"I have to release you."
"And if you keep me here, I will die."
"Yes."
"If you will not help me, then release me."
"Why should I if you have put yourself in my power? You did request to come here."
"Because I was beseeching your help."
He raised his eyebrow. "You are a strange woman, Anne Sands of London."
"Well, I am Anne Sands of Hawke's Moor now."
A smile spread across his lips. "And how long do you wish to stay so?"
"It is not a matter of wish, more of must."
The leather of the chair groaned as he rose and Anne had to stop herself from stepping back, from running for the door. She had no idea what he would do now. But his attention wasn't on her. Instead, he walked to the desk and picked up the rusty dagger. As he moved toward her, she had to force her knees not to buckle with fear.
He was so much taller than her, and broad, so fit for fighting. He was Goliath to her David.
"You cannot hurt me," he said, holding the dagger out to her. Carefully, she took it from him. It was cold to the touch.
"I made you release me."
"Mere surprise. I can hurt you, however. I think you've understood that."
"Except as a gentleman, you have no cause to."
"There is nothing gentle about me, Miss Sands." Even without murderous intent, he was intimidating. "Remove your maid from this house if you do not wish to see her harmed."
"She will not go."
"Then she will forfeit her life if someone in this house seeks to take it."
"Have you no control over the spirits here?"
"It is no concern of mine. If she refuses to go, she chooses the consequences."
"He is seducing her."
"And if she wants to be seduced, who are you to stand in the way?"
"Because anyone who seeks to rob you of your life does not love you."
"Tell that to Romeo and Juliet," he said.
Before Anne could react, he reached his hand up to her breastbone and forcefully pushed her backward. Having not expected it, she lost her footing and fell into darkness. The chamber was back to her time, dark and quiet. There was no sight of him. She landed heavily on her backside, ungracefully sprawled on the floor. Dealing with him certainly ended up bruising her. "Romeo didn't intend to kill Juliet, or vice versa, whichever it was."
If he heard her, he made no indication. There was no movement or sound, and no indication he was there. He was there; this was where he dwelled, but he gave her no sign of him.
Her body ached dully as she stood up. It was strange to think he was in this very room, but the curtain of death was now so thick, she had no sign of him. It was even stranger to think she had been on the other side of that curtain. Would even Mr. Harleston believe her if she told him?
Grabbing her candle with her free hand, she left the room and closed the door behind her, retreating to the guest room that was now hers. It was warm, the coals on the fire heating the room.
She put the rusty dagger down, considering it as she slowly undressed and hung her gown up on the wardrobe, her mind turning over the things she'd just learned about her ghost. Had he been truthful when he'd said there was no way to harm him? Did she wish to if they had a truce?
He did not care about preserving life. As he had embraced death, that was perhaps not surprising. Why would a ghost care about the lives of the living when death was so inevitable? And he had more or less accused her of trying to keep lovers apart. The notion of Alfie pursuing Lisle still sat so very badly. Life was precious. Lisle's life was precious. But was love? She refused to believe Alfie would treat Lisle's life so carelessly if he loved her.