"I do not wish to spend eternity with a woman who loves me. I would rather rot in the bowels of Hell."

Tip turned and looked at precisely the spot where Iversly stood by the window.

"You may rot yet," he growled. "How do you know Miss Sinclaire will not also succumb to your charms?"

"Because, my fine noble lord," Iversly spoke slowly, "her heart lies firmly with another."

Bea's nails dug into the seat of her chair.

"What does that mean?" Thomas demanded. "Bea?"

"Foolish boy." The ghost turned his perceptive gaze upon her. "Your sister is already in love."

May 1, 1817 Mama and I encountered Mr. Cheriot today while shopping. Mama instantly launched into recounting last evening at Lady Ashford's ball, which he listened to with all appearance of sincere interest. He responded with polite sounds when she told him how four eligible gentlemen had already paid calls that morning, naming them particularly. He smiled at me as though pleased for me, which made my stomach queasy.

Mrs. Paul passed us and Mama stopped to converse with her. Mr. Cheriot took my hand and placed it upon his arm and we strolled a bit further to look in the window at Lumley's. We spoke of various matters, then he said, "You know, Bea, I am very glad for all the attention you are receiving, but don't lead those poor fellows on, will you?" I was rather nonplussed. I responded, "Mr. Cheriot, are you flattering or quizzing me?" "Neither," he replied, "it's only that you don't want to disappoint them, since you are already intended elsewhere." I could not have been more astonished. "To whom?" I asked. "Why, to me, of course." He flashed a grin, as though we shared a joke.

Diary, after months in town, I imagined I had finally got the hang of it. I said to him, "Tease all you will, sir, but I am wearing a new bonnet today and nothing can overset me." He smiled and only said, "Those poor fellows, indeed."

He wishes to amuse me. Another woman might, I suspect, find such a flirtation diverting. I think he is odiously familiar.

His groom then appeared in a pelter, bearing a message on a slip of paper. Mr. Cheriot begged my forgiveness, returned me to my mother swiftly though without any less kindness than usual, and went off after only a brief good-bye. I nearly wept, but did not. Weeping is for silly girls, not girls who know better.

Tonight at dinner Papa told me Mr. Cheriot sent a note to explain his hasty departure this morning. It seems that Lord Cheriot fell from a maddened horse and broke his back, and his son was at once required at home. How horrible! My heart is sore for his family-his mother and sister. For him.

And yet, I cannot deny it, I continue to refine upon his teasing comment. When he has such significant concerns, it seems an unpardonably silly preoccupation.

But oh, Diary, the trouble is, I am very much in love with him.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Tip's universe stilled.

"Is it true, Bea?" Thomas demanded. "Or is this merely another of this blackguard's lies?"

"Temper, temper, boy," the ghost murmured.

She sat rigid, arms straight, fists clenched at her sides, her color high. As though reluctantly, her gaze met Tip's across the chamber. Distress and guilt shone from the dark depths of her eyes.

"It is true, Tom," she uttered.

Tip swallowed hard, his chest so tight his lungs seemed not to function. She loved another man. By the look on her face, a man she should not love.

"Who is he?" Thomas asked hurriedly. "If he's within a few hours, Cheriot or I can ride fast-"

"Be quiet, Thomas." Tip wondered that he possessed the power to speak.

"Why haven't you told me before this, Bea?" her brother pressed. "We could have sent for him right away."

"It was not possible." Her voice sounded strangled.

"Well, why not?" Thomas pressed. "Who is he? Has he-"

"He is . . . ineligible," she whispered, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

Silence descended on the chamber once more.

Iversly chuckled mirthlessly. "See what you have done, young fool?" He laughed outright. "You have brought your sister extraordinary distress. Perfect for me, of course. The more pain she brings to our marriage bed, the greater my pleasure will be."

"Iversly," Tip ground out. "Leave. Or I vow I will find a way to make you pay for this, beyond the grave, if I must."

"Ah, chivalrous to the very core," the ghost murmured.

"He has gone," Miss Dews chirped, but her gaze rested on Bea with quiet compassion.

Tip stared at the woman he had loved for years, who had loved another man possibly all that time. A man, no doubt, whose passions did not goad him into kissing her to within an inch of her innocence in a stairwell against her will.

Perhaps the man lived close to Hart House. Then she might endure her mother's demands in order to remain near him. Perhaps he was a member of the local gentry, a married man with a family. Did the cad know he had won her affections? Did he tease her with what she could not have? Or was he beneath her station, a servant? Good God.

Torn with shame, her eyes now admitted everything.

Tip's heart burned.

"Well, that is that." Lady Marstowe's voice was less than steady. Bea's head came up. The dowager stood. "Beatrice, that man will not relent. You are in grave danger."

"I believe he is bluffing." She sounded calm, and very certain.

"Nonsense. His threats are perfectly sincere," the dowager stated. "What will you do?"

"I cannot leave Aunt Julia to her fate." Her gaze shot to Tip, then to her brother.

"Aunt Julia? Oh, good Lord, I hadn't even thought," Thomas exclaimed, gaping at the elderly lady.

"Of course you did not, Thomas dear," Miss Dews tittered. "But Iversly will not harm me, and perhaps Beatrice is correct." A dollop of cream attached to her lower lip wiggled as she shrugged.

"He is playing a game," Bea stated. "He wishes to harm the living, and so we must not play to his wishes. We must simply ignore him."

"Ignore him?" Thomas exploded. "That is preposter-"

"Thomas, that is enough," Tip said. "Go find Lady Bronwyn and escort her and Miss Minturn back to the village."

Thomas set his jaw like a mule. "I will stay and help my sister."

"Tom," Bea said. "Your responsibility now is to your betrothed. And I will be fine, truly."

"But Iversly will-"

"I am persuaded he means me no harm. Now, go. They are both overset and need you."

He approached, crouched before her, and grasped her hands with a nervous shake. "You are an excellent sister, Bea, and I am a dashed poor excuse for a brother."

She touched her fingers to his cheek. "I love you, Tom."

He blinked rapidly, pulled away, and hurried from the chamber. She gazed after him, eyes troubled.

Tip moved toward her. "What do you intend?"

"I will wait out the night," she said to her palms upturned on her lap. "And tomorrow we will determine how Aunt Julia and I might leave the castle grounds without mishap." She stood. "I will look again in the library and see if I can find something there that we missed."

"You will voluntarily put yourself in the way of danger?"

Her gaze fixed on his neckcloth. "If he is telling the truth, I am already in the way of danger. If he is not, which I believe, I have nothing to fear."

"It is not that simple."

"It seems so to me."

He drew closer, her beguiling scent and the determined tilt of her chin tangling his thoughts.

"Bea, don't do this."

"Do what?" she said in barely a whisper. "Save my aunt?"

"Sacrifice yourself."

Finally, her gaze flashed to his. "Perhaps it is the lesser of two evils."

Tip stepped back, his heart thudding. "Then you have made your decision and I cannot alter it."

She shook her head.

Panic washed over him, like in the stairwell, but this time his lack of control didn't cause it. The woman of his dreams was slipping away, and he had never truly had her.

"Do you expect me to remain here and watch you damn yourself?" His voice was unsteady.

"No. I expect you to depart before it becomes too difficult, as usual. You have heard something you do not like." Her gaze was firm, her voice resolute. Without passion. "I give you leave to go now."

Tip fought for composure. "You give me no choice."

"That excuse again?"

"Bea-"

"Go to the village. Ask if anyone knows a thing to help us escape this place." Her eyes challenged him to refuse. "We will see you tomorrow."

He could not draw breath and he feared that every one of his emotions showed clear on his face. "Tomorrow, then," he said, but his feet would not move.

He grasped her hand and drew it to his lips. Her lashes fluttered and she looked away. He released her, bowed to the dowager and her sister, and left.

He spent the next four hours scouring the village and surrounding farms for information that could thwart Iversly's plan. He found nothing except, finally, a pint of ale between his palms and the cold, hard realization that Bea was justified to accuse him of fleeing. Only a coward would run from life in the fear that it would be too difficult to handle.

He pushed away the tankard.

This was not about his life. It was about hers. He could not allow her to remain in danger. She might not let him give her his name, but he would give her what he could. If it meant tackling his own ghosts to do it, then so be it.

"Well, Beatrice, you have made your bed," Lady Marstowe said apparently without irony. "But dinner must still be eaten, even at this late hour. Where is that foolish cook?" She strode from the chamber.

"You should not have sent dear Peter away, Beatrice dear. I told you, poor Rhys will not harm me."

"Rhys?" Bea started. "Do you mean Lord Iversly?"

Aunt Julia nodded, her eyes prancing in different directions.

"How do you know his name?"

"Oh, we have had a number of lovely chats."

"Lovely chats? Aunt Julia, he is evil."

Julia smiled and dug in her embroidery bag. "Now, what did I do with that lace? I must finish this cap before you leave so that you can deliver it to Harriet. She will look fetching in it, I daresay. It is quite a shame dear Alfred will never see her wearing it. Silly man."

"Aunt Julia," Bea sat forward in her chair, "I am not leaving here, except perhaps in a different form than I have now."

"That's all well and good, my dear."

"What did you and Iversly speak of?"

She waved her hand about vaguely. "He is a regular ghost, I daresay."

"Yes, I know, Aunt Julia. But did he say anything about-about you?"

"He promised he would be very good to me. They always are, you see."

They? Bea's insides trembled. Aunt Julia's mind worked differently from most people's, but she was not mad. Bea almost wished she were.

"Have you known other ghosts?"

"Several, to be sure," Julia chirped, fishing around in her bag and pulling out a tangle of fabric swatches.