A Man Of Many Talents by Deborah Simmons

herself quickly, her expression changing from outrage to rather annoyed inquiry. “And why shouldn’t I speak of what happened last night? I thought that was the reason you were here, to banish the ghost?”
    Ignoring her little dig, Christian leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “And just suppose this spectral fellow is really made out of flesh and blood?”
    “Isn’t that for you to find out?” she asked, arching her dark brows just a little.
    “Well, it would be a bit easier if we were more circumspect with our knowledge, using whatever information we come across to our own advantage,” Christian replied. He didn’t necessarily suspect any of the cousins of knocking about down below. Indeed, he couldn’t imagine the colonel or the scholar or the little old lady skulking in the cellars making odd noises, but just in case one of them, most likely Emery, was behind it, any element of surprise was gone.
    Watching the play of expression upon her face, Christian knew the moment she understood him. “Are you accusing someone in this house—my own cousins—of perpetrating a fraud?”
    Christian shrugged. “I’m not saying one of them did it, but now everyone in the whole house, in the whole countryside probably, will know what we discovered. And will have a chance to cover their tracks.”
    The look she gave him next was priceless, a kind of reluctant admiration, as if she wanted to apologize for her blunder but couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. That made two of them. Christian grinned in response, which of course ruined the effect at once.
    Suddenly his hostess became brisk and businesslike. And accusatory. “Well, you should have warned me not to speak of it if you wanted to pursue that course.” Dismissing her own culpability with apparent ease, she eyed him with expectation. “Now what do you intend to do?”
    Christian wanted to say, Kiss you again, but tamped down both the words and the urge. “I had hoped to look for some plans to the house, but now I suggest we find a way below the hall without delay, before our phantom can remove evidence of his activities.”
    Miss Parkinson nodded stiffly, and Christian decided that one thing, at least, he had not imagined the night before. She really was lovely in a unique sort of way. But that hair! It was too tight by half. The Governess needed loosening up in the worst way. Christian imagined himself pulling out the pins, one by one. His breath caught for a moment before he dismissed the vision with a vengeance. If he touched that coiffure, he’d probably get a poke in the eye for his trouble.
    With a frown, he turned his attention back to the ghost. “Let us call for some lanterns. We shall probably need them.” When she nodded again, he summoned the audacity to take her arm for a stroll toward the hall. “So, tell me, how did everyone react to the news?”
    Pointedly stepping away from his touch, the Governess gave him a reproving look. Did she have any other kind?
    “They reacted as anyone would,” she said.
    “And how does anyone react when informed of strange knockings below their residence?” Christian asked, amused.
    At that she had the grace to appear chagrined, but only, Christian suspected, for a moment. “Well, I certainly didn’t tell everyone, as you so rashly assumed,” she said. “I saw no need to inform the servants, as it would only … confuse them.”
    “Frighten more of them into fleeing, you mean?” he asked.
    The Governess looked at him with annoyance, and he nearly laughed aloud. So much for her brief chagrin. “And as for your cousins?” he prodded. “No one turned red in the face or appeared to be disturbed by the news?”
    She shook her head. “I’d like to know upon what you base your supposition that someone here is the cause of haunting.”
    Christian shrugged. “If, as I presume, the ghost is man-made, then it stands to reason that anyone in the vicinity would be a