constricted, but now the lady was coming to her senses.
Admiring her pert nose and pouting lips, Geoff wished he could walk in Mark’s shoes, if only for a day. He would show the dear girl the sort of man she deserved--a real lover, not a bumbling dilettante who retreated with anxiety after the merest kiss. Besides having no taste in poetry, the fellow lacked the least bit of savoir-faire with women.
As Lara paused and looked around the room, Geoff’s smile withered. He wished the living pair would stop this dallying and move into the library. Here in the secret room he sensed another
spirit lurking, and the perception disconcerted him. The intruder hovered just beyond his scope. He wondered if the other ghost could comprehend him any more clearly he could it.
He frowned. The notion of an invisible Peeping Tom spying on him disturbed him--and the reminder of his own voyeurism embarrassed him. While he’d lived, he never would have resorted to such a shabby practice. Voyeurs, like critics of poetry, sank to their sordid pursuits because they lacked the capability to participate themselves.
He knew...only too well.
Ashamed and angry about his fate, he banished the other spirit from his mind and floated down closer to the mortals. In the dimly lit room, Lara shone like a diamond--though, admittedly, one “in the rough.” If only she would dress in a manner befitting her beauty, she’d be a gem of unparalleled magnificence.
Entranced by her golden curls, he nuzzled up to her neck, trying in vain to detect the scent of her perfume with his useless ethereal nose.
“Oh!” She flinched and rubbed her upper arms, her blue eyes wide as she looked toward Mark. “Where is that horrible chill
coming from?”
Horrible? Geoff balked, nearly as startled as she. For a
moment he’d forgotten himself--forgotten what he was.
Shoulders sagging, he glided away from her. He only prayed that the other spirit skulking nearby hadn’t see what a spectacle he’d made of himself.
“I don’t feel anything.” Mark moved toward her but stopped short, passing up a perfect opportunity to provide comfort to a woman. Any real lover knew where that led.
“The feeling’s fading now.” She gave her head a quick shake. “That was really creepy.”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Mark took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the door.
Creepy , Geoff echoed in his mind, disgusted with himself. He had sunken to such a level! Geoffrey Vereker, poet extraordinaire, formerly known as the “Don Juan of the New World,” could no longer get within a yard of a lady without making her shudder.
Not that her reaction had necessarily been all his fault. The macabre air of the room may well have affected her sensibilities. He looked around at the four walls. Though he could see no evidence, he still sensed another party’s presence. When he looked at the fireplace, a feeling of familiarity struck him. He had been here before, sometime during his lifetime. Perhaps he’d once had a tryst in the little room. Indeed, he
believed he had.
“Wait a minute.” Lara froze in place, Mark’s hands still on her shoulders. She stared toward one of the back corners. “There’s something over there on the floor.”
A folded paper lay where she indicated, tucked partially under the molding.
Letting go of her, Mark picked up one of those modern portable electric lamps. He aimed the beam into the corner. A red wax emblem stood out in the center of the document.
“Another letter.” He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe this will answer some questions.”
Lara bit her lip. “I’m not sure I want the answers.”
Geoff tended to agree with her. He had a feeling of foreboding about the letter. As soon as he’d lain eyes on it, something heavy had pressed down on him, an unexplained weight of despair. While he’d lived he had managed to avoid such unpleasant emotions, but after a century of virtual solitude he was no longer a stranger to
Admiring her pert nose and pouting lips, Geoff wished he could walk in Mark’s shoes, if only for a day. He would show the dear girl the sort of man she deserved--a real lover, not a bumbling dilettante who retreated with anxiety after the merest kiss. Besides having no taste in poetry, the fellow lacked the least bit of savoir-faire with women.
As Lara paused and looked around the room, Geoff’s smile withered. He wished the living pair would stop this dallying and move into the library. Here in the secret room he sensed another
spirit lurking, and the perception disconcerted him. The intruder hovered just beyond his scope. He wondered if the other ghost could comprehend him any more clearly he could it.
He frowned. The notion of an invisible Peeping Tom spying on him disturbed him--and the reminder of his own voyeurism embarrassed him. While he’d lived, he never would have resorted to such a shabby practice. Voyeurs, like critics of poetry, sank to their sordid pursuits because they lacked the capability to participate themselves.
He knew...only too well.
Ashamed and angry about his fate, he banished the other spirit from his mind and floated down closer to the mortals. In the dimly lit room, Lara shone like a diamond--though, admittedly, one “in the rough.” If only she would dress in a manner befitting her beauty, she’d be a gem of unparalleled magnificence.
Entranced by her golden curls, he nuzzled up to her neck, trying in vain to detect the scent of her perfume with his useless ethereal nose.
“Oh!” She flinched and rubbed her upper arms, her blue eyes wide as she looked toward Mark. “Where is that horrible chill
coming from?”
Horrible? Geoff balked, nearly as startled as she. For a
moment he’d forgotten himself--forgotten what he was.
Shoulders sagging, he glided away from her. He only prayed that the other spirit skulking nearby hadn’t see what a spectacle he’d made of himself.
“I don’t feel anything.” Mark moved toward her but stopped short, passing up a perfect opportunity to provide comfort to a woman. Any real lover knew where that led.
“The feeling’s fading now.” She gave her head a quick shake. “That was really creepy.”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Mark took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the door.
Creepy , Geoff echoed in his mind, disgusted with himself. He had sunken to such a level! Geoffrey Vereker, poet extraordinaire, formerly known as the “Don Juan of the New World,” could no longer get within a yard of a lady without making her shudder.
Not that her reaction had necessarily been all his fault. The macabre air of the room may well have affected her sensibilities. He looked around at the four walls. Though he could see no evidence, he still sensed another party’s presence. When he looked at the fireplace, a feeling of familiarity struck him. He had been here before, sometime during his lifetime. Perhaps he’d once had a tryst in the little room. Indeed, he
believed he had.
“Wait a minute.” Lara froze in place, Mark’s hands still on her shoulders. She stared toward one of the back corners. “There’s something over there on the floor.”
A folded paper lay where she indicated, tucked partially under the molding.
Letting go of her, Mark picked up one of those modern portable electric lamps. He aimed the beam into the corner. A red wax emblem stood out in the center of the document.
“Another letter.” He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe this will answer some questions.”
Lara bit her lip. “I’m not sure I want the answers.”
Geoff tended to agree with her. He had a feeling of foreboding about the letter. As soon as he’d lain eyes on it, something heavy had pressed down on him, an unexplained weight of despair. While he’d lived he had managed to avoid such unpleasant emotions, but after a century of virtual solitude he was no longer a stranger to
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