The Shadows of Stormclyffe Hall by Lauren Smith

entire time she watched him, and he feared she could see right through him. No woman had ever looked upon him with such startling clarity. Her gaze unmade him and reformed him into something he’d longed to be for years: unguarded, open, and unafraid. She was the sort of woman that could tempt him to risk everything to be with her, if only he let himself. And that was exactly the problem. He couldn’t let her get close, not when what was left of his family and their reputation might get hurt.
    When he was finished tending to her, he gestured to one of the fridges.
    “You get the food. I’ll fetch something from the wine cellar.”
    “Sure.” She tugged her hands from his and stepped back.
    The loss of her closeness unsettled him, but he had no valid reason to drag her into his arms. He almost wished he’d lose himself like he had in the drawing room. Distance, even temporary, would be good. He didn’t look back as he left the kitchen. The castle halls were dark. Half of the lighting in the halls still hadn’t been installed yet. Luckily, the route to the wine cellar wasn’t that complicated. A left turn past the painting of two knights jousting, then a right at the hall where Richard’s collection of marble statues stood on pedestals on either side of the long room. It was one of the more intriguing parts of the house. He made mental note to keep her away from the private archives where the journals containing sordid details of the Weymouth tragedies lay.
    The old oak door leading to wine cellar groaned as he pulled on the circular iron handle. The hinges needed oiling or perhaps replacing. One more thing to add to the damned list of things to fix. An electric lamp at the top of the stairs was within each reach, and he flicked it on. Yellow light bathed the steps but didn’t penetrate the pool of blackness below. When Bastian took the first step down, a cool breeze tickled his face, stirring the fine hairs on the back of his neck. He didn’t move as the sound of soft exhalation brushed his ears, like a woman’s heavy sigh. He could almost hear Jane’s voice in his head.
    Ghosts, they haunt these walls. She had never uttered the words aloud, but he had seen that thought flash across her face.
    When his feet hit the stone floor at the bottom of the stairs, he paused again. The curious sensation of focus on the back of his head made him uneasy. It had to be nerves. Jane and her foolish obsession were rubbing off on him, that was all. However…he didn’t linger in the cellar. He snatched up the nearest bottle of red wine from the rack to his right and vaulted back up the stairs, firmly slamming the cellar door behind him with a satisfying bang. Whatever was down there, if there was anything, would stay down there. As he headed back for the kitchen, he strained to focus on a faint sound…the echoing laugh of a woman.

Chapter Six
    Jane studied the plate of cucumber sandwiches, a little smile tugging at her lips. Cucumber sandwiches. Wasn’t that so English? Her stomach rumbled, and she succumbed to her hunger and reached for one of the perfectly cut little pieces.
    “Gotcha.” Bastian chuckled from somewhere behind her.
    She whirled around, a sandwich stuffed in her mouth and guilt heating her cheeks. After swallowing she apologized.
    “Sorry, I’m starved.” She half turned and picked up the plate, offering him one.
    He selected two and set them on a small plate for himself. Then he crossed the room to the cabinets on the far wall and retrieved two wineglasses, filling them.
    There was something so intimate about the two of them alone in the kitchen, ready to share a meal. It wasn’t at all what she had expected when she came here. It was one of the things she and Tim had often done. Meals, just the two of them in cozy little pubs in Charleston on the holidays. It made her heart ache and twist because she missed the man less than the intimacy of just being with someone. She had to be careful. She didn’t