"How touching. Brotherly love at its finest," the ghost murmured, his voice echoing through the chamber in eerie accents. Thomas's hands tightened.

"I am so sorry, Bea. I didn't even think of what it would mean to you. You must be horrified."

She pulled away. "I don't see the point in being horrified, not when there is work to be done. We will best this curse, I tell you. I will not be forced to marry this heathenish brute."

"The heathens were before my time, my lady," the apparition said.

"I am not your lady."

"You will be."

She struggled to ignore him, but fear scampered through her. "Thomas, long before midnight tonight we will have worked this out and tomorrow we will all be far from this wretched castle, no doubt laughing about the whole episode. What did Miss Minturn have to say, or haven't they gone yet? They really must, right away."

"Cheriot and Aunt Grace went, but she wouldn't speak to them. I'm going now to escort Lady Bronwyn to the village. Cheriot thinks the woman might speak more freely with her former student."

Bea stilled. "He knows Bronwyn can leave the castle?" Her heart sped up. She didn't know why it should race, except perhaps that her mind ran to precisely the same conclusion that Thomas and Bronwyn's had the previous night.

Thomas frowned, looking uncomfortable again. "I told him, of course."

"Of course." Bea's stomach clenched.

"I should go," he said hesitantly. "We haven't much time."

"Yes. Come back quickly and let me know what Miss Minturn says."

"Will you be all right with him?" He gestured in the direction of the window.

"I will. He cannot force me to wed him until midnight. If it reaches that point, then I will be happy for all the company I can get." She pasted an untroubled smile on her lips.

Thomas squeezed her hands then hurried from the chamber.

Bea turned to Iversly. "I do not wish to die tonight."

"And I do not wish to spend eternity haunting this castle. It seems we are at an impasse. Unfortunately for you, the curse has already decided."

"I don't believe it. This is a ridiculous curse. No one in his right mind would have contrived it. It penalizes the innocent along with the guilty."

"I believe that was the intent." Iversly's voice was hollower than usual.

"Really?" Bea stepped toward him. Chill swirled around her, cooling her face. She tucked her hands into her skirt. "Why would the warlock have done that?"

"He did not deign to share his rationale with me. But if you should like, when we are able to leave the castle, we can search for his shade and ask him."

"You will be able to leave it, even as a ghost?"

"If my bride comes willingly."

Bea did not believe any of this would occur. But Lord Iversly's despair reached out like a tangible grasp.

"I regret you must take part in this, my dear," he said, his voice harsh. "But I am glad it is you rather than that empty-headed child."

She pursed her lips. "I suppose I should consider that a compliment."

"I admire your poetic passion."

"My what?"

"Your heart seeks with such abandoned hope. Hidden from the world, yet still it seeks. We will make a fine pair, forsooth."

Bea took a sharp breath. "I am not anything like you, my lord. And I will not marry you."

"You are more like me than you imagine, my lady. And you will become my bride tonight."

She broke his gaze and, grabbing up a shawl, ran from the chamber.

Halfway down the winding stair she met Tip. Light filtered through a slit aperture, casting his handsome features in stark angles.

He halted several steps below her. "Are you all right?"

Of course she wasn't. "Yes."

"Thomas told you?"

She nodded, certain he could hear her heart's pounding in the confined space. "What did you learn in the village? Aunt Grace came to me earlier, to tell me news in private I think, but Lord Iversly interrupted us."

"Iversly spoke to you today?" Tip's jaw hardened. Bea's stomach did an uncomfortable tumble.

"Just now. What did Miss Minturn say?"

He stared at her steadily, the silence stretching between them.

"Peter, tell me." Her voice whispered across damp stone. She gripped the rotting rope that snaked up the center of the spiral stairwell.

"Lady Marstowe and I received the impression that Miss Minturn at one time suffered an encounter with Iversly."

"What sort of encounter?"

"She said little."

"What little, exactly?"

"She repeated several times that she could not see him."

So, the spinster governess was not a virgin.

"Then she cannot help us," Bea concluded.

"For a woman who will not step foot on the castle grounds, she is peculiarly nervous of him."

"Who wouldn't be?"

He moved up a step toward her, his brilliant eyes thrown into shadow. "You aren't."

Bea's throat tightened. "Do you intend that as another criticism?"

"A statement of fact. Deny it, otherwise."

"I do not wish to argue semantics with you." She wished to be in his arms, surrounded by him, his warm skin beneath her hands and his hands on her, everywhere, as they had been the night before. "Have Thomas and Lady Bronwyn left to interview her?"

"A few minutes ago, duly chastened."

Bea's eyes went wide. "You reprimanded Lady Bronwyn? You cannot be such a hypocrite."

A flash of anger crossed his face. Bea instinctively backed up a step.

"Yes, you'd better retreat, Beatrice Sinclaire," he said, with nearly as much menace as Lord Iversly, "or I may teach you to give as good as you got. Then who would the hypocrite be?"

Heat flooded Bea, from her cheeks to her belly. She must redirect the conversation. Or escape. But he stood below her so broad-shouldered, his stance rigid, entirely blocking the narrow staircase.

"She was very frightened," she said hastily. "And she likes my brother very much. Yesterday she asked me about his marital prospects."

"She saw opportunity. So did he, although not in the same vein as her, I'll merit."

"Oh, no," Bea gasped. "Do you think he won't marry her?"

"He will, or he will have another lesson from my fist."

The vision of Thomas's swelling cheek and bloody lip came back to Bea. "You struck him?"

"He deserved it."

"For trying to save Lady Bronwyn's life?"

"For putting you in danger," he snapped.

Bea's lips shut tight. "He could not have been expected to consider that," she finally said.

"He should have. He should have thought of you before Lady Bronwyn. You are his sister, for God's sake."

She swallowed over the thickness in her throat. "He wasn't thinking. He-he is enamored of her. I am sure he cannot spare a thought for anything more."

"You know, Bea, if you are so intent on proving that you're not the retiring, obedient girl everyone thinks you are, you might consider no longer putting yourself on the line for your jackanapes twin who hasn't given a thought to your needs or wishes since I can recall."

Prickly indignation spiked in her, and hurt so deep it whisked her breath away. He spoke the truth. Thomas never thought of her except when he needed her.

"You are a wretch for throwing that in my face," she shot out. "I didn't think you could be so cruel."

"Not cruel, merely honest." But his look suggested something entirely different. He scanned her face, lingering on her mouth like he had the night before. But this time struggle shone in his eyes, and the spark of anger had not receded.

She gripped the rope harder. "I don't need you telling me what to do."

"Yes, you have made that perfectly clear. But someone needs to straighten out the tangle of half-truths you're feeding yourself."

"That is rich, coming from you."

"More insults. We haven't quarreled in our entire acquaintance, yet now constantly these past few days." He looked so stiff and unyielding, so different from the man she thought she knew.

"Forced proximity," she uttered from a place of sheer hopelessness.

His gaze sharpened.

"You have never been obliged to spend so much time with me," she explained, "nor I with you."

"We are back to that accusation now, are we?" His voice sounded rough, at odds with the inflexible set of his shoulders and his hard mouth.

"I was merely pointing out-"

"That you grow increasingly impatient with me the more hours you must endure of my company." His tone was cold. "I don't think I need to ask why you will not marry me, Bea. I am compiling a perfectly good list on my own."

"I didn't say that I don't like your company." What was she doing? "I like it very much. After last night that ought to be obvious to you." Oh, God, her double-crossing tongue!

His gaze sharpened. "It seems to me that very little of what I once considered obvious, in fact, is," he said in a low voice. "Now come here."

"What? Where?" Bea quivered.

"Three steps down. Come here."

Yes. "No." Yes. "What for?"

"I do not intend to beg you to marry me, if that is your concern. I told you I would not." His words suited his appearance. He looked entirely un-lover-like. Rather, about ready to do murder.

She bit the inside of her lip. "Then what do you want?"

"For you to stop talking." His arm cinched her waist and he pulled her off the step, trapping her to his chest. "Like so," he growled over her mouth, and seized it.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Bea sank into him and Tip's hands swept down her back and over her behind, dragging her body against his muscular length.

Sweet, powerful aching invaded her. She gripped his coat and opened her mouth to allow his tongue entrance. She couldn't help herself. She belonged in his arms-nature and feeling and need all bound into one. He cupped her in his hands and wild, wet heat surged through her where his hard need pressed, igniting a craving so intense she trembled. She yearned for him in a secret place deep inside her that was primal and shockingly physical. It could be so easy: succumb, and save herself from danger.

His hand scooped the base of her skull, his lips traveling a hot, delirious path down her throat. Then his fingers slid through her hair and along her neck and down to cover her bodice and Bea's breath caught upon a moan. His touch was perfect pleasure, rousing all the need inside her. He caressed her through gown and nightrail, and without the stays now she felt him completely, like she had when he'd stroked her naked breasts. She wanted him to kiss her breasts again, to use his lips and tongue on her and make her weak with pleasure. She moved into his touch, wanting more, needing him.