Four Dukes and a Devil by Jeaniene Frost, Cathy Maxwell, Tracy Anne Warren, Sophia Nash, Elaine Fox Page B

flashlight?”
    “Yes to the basement. I’ll look for a flashlight.”
    She rummaged through some drawers in the kitchen until she came up with an old but solid Maglite. She watched him make his way down the wooden steps to the basement. It was really more of a cellar, with a packed-dirt floor and rough stone walls that looked as if the long-ago builders had chipped the foundation out of the earth with miners’ picks.
    “I’ll wait here,” she said, as Sam opened the door to the basement.
    He glanced back at her, amused. “Good idea.”
    As Sam disappeared into the dim light of the single-bulbed cellar, Gray sat on the top step. The sound had stopped, but the chill in the house remained. Didn’t they say you felt a chill when a ghost was around?
    She laughed at herself. She didn’t believe in ghosts. Besides, it seemed pretty obvious this was a furnace problem. But what about the smoke smell, she wondered, then shook her head against the thought. This was what came of getting way overheated only to be left to cool off on her own.
    Which brought her to the bigger issue of Sam. Ten minutes ago she’d been ready to jump into bed with him. Had he felt the same? Certainly he had seemed to.
    A puff of air brushed by her cheek, and she smelled smoke again. She sat up straight, put a palm to her face, and sniffed the air, her heart racing. A second later the hairs on the back of her neck rose, as if someone stood just behind her. She twisted, pushing her back against the doorjamb.
    The kitchen behind her was empty. Silent.
    In fact, the basement was silent, too.
    “Hey, how’s it going down there?” she called, peering down the stairs. She was starting to creep herself out. “Sam?”
    The ensuing silence sent her pulse racing. She stood, one hand gripping the handrail, and stared at the six square feet of basement visible from the top of the stairs as if she could conjure him.
    She heard a rustling, briefly imagined Sam wrestling with an ethereal nobleman, and took one step down the staircase.
    “Sam?” Her voice was reedy. She cleared her throat. “Sam!”
    A moment later he appeared at the bottom of the steps. His hair was tousled, his shirt collar askew, and what looked like a large spiderweb clung to one sleeve.
    “It’s definitely your furnace.” He wiped at the web with one hand, making a face as it clung to his fingers. “The filter looks like it’s been there since the turn of the century, but there’s a valve on it I’ve seen go bad before. That’s what made the woo-woo whistling sound. I can come back tomorrow with my tools and fix it up.”
    “Oh good.” She took a deep, relieved breath. Just seeing him put her at ease. She looked at his hands, imagined them taking their time…exploring…She shook herself, dragged her eyes to his face. “It’s strange that it was so loud, though. Do you think that’s why people have said this place is haunted?”
    “Maybe. The noise travels up through the ducts, so that probably amplifies it, makes it echo. And then there’s your smoke problem.”
    She noticed he held something. “What’s that?”
    He grinned and lifted the narrow box in one hand. “The ghostly pipe. An old carton of cigarettes hidden behind the furnace. Somebody here must have been a closet smoker.”
    Gray tilted her head. “I don’t think Robert smokes, Rachel would hate that.”
    He shook his head. “These are old. The box and a couple of the packs inside are a little singed from the heat, but you can still see that this is not modern packaging. Take a look. They’re probably ten years old.”
    “Is the furnace that old?”
    He made a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “That furnace is ancient. I’m surprised they haven’t had to replace it. I can patch it up, but it’s a miracle it’s still working.”
    He started up the stairs, holding out a deep purple box with the words Pall Mall on it, along with some sort of crest.
    “Ooh.” She took the box in both hands. “My