Page 30 of This Haunted Heart

“He showed me his most prized possession to reassure me,” I said sadly. “That night while the house slept, I stole it. There were more valuable things in the family safe by far, but I took just ten dollars in cash from the baron—not too terribly much that he’d bother to look for me long—and the ring that was precious to Lochlan. I fled that horrid house, and I left Light Lily behind for good.”

For a long while, there was nothing but the sound of cricket song coming in through the window.

Needing the comfort of touch, I laced my fingers through the soft walnut strands of Finley’s hair. “Lochlan deserved a whole lot better than me. I didn’t have it in me to wait about until he finally figured that out . . . or worse: married me out of duty or pity. He was good enough—he might have done so just to keep his word. At least he got someone more suitable this way.”

“How do you know he got better than you?” he asked gruffly.

“I . . . I suppose I don’t. But I certainly hopehe did.”

He peered up at me. “Do you truly hope that?”

It was impossible to lie directly to those sad eyes. “All right. You caught me. I want to wish him well, but even now the thought of him with another person turns my insides to lava. So I’ll say instead that I hope his life has been happy and peaceful—and entirely celibate.”

His warm laughter chased off some of the somberness that had settled inside me during the retelling. “You hope he’s become a monk?”

“Absolutely. It’s not too far-fetched, actually. If he stumbled upon a library excellent enough, he’d never leave its walls no matter how pretty the face. Can I please go to sleep now?” I begged. “You’ve exhausted me, playing my game completely incorrectly.”

His exhale warmed the skin of my stomach. “I won’t stop you,” he said, settling in as though he planned to remain there, using me like a pillow, my chemise still rucked up under my armpits.

I pulled the hem down over my breasts, then I pushed at his face to dislodge him. But he was already asleep and breathing heavily—or faking it very convincingly.

I’d just finished saying how tired I was, but when I tried to close my eyes, thoughts gnawed at me. A monster made of my guilt clawed at my insides for all the rotten things I’d done.

The night was a cool one. As a breeze picked up through the window, and the lanterns burned their oil down to a lower glow than I preferred, I was soon grateful for Finley’s warm body pressed over mine.

I had just started to drift away when a taunting thump tore through the quiet, and I repressed a groan. It was a hollow sound not unlike the wet beat of a heart, but distant and faint,hiding away in the dark places out of my reach.

I hated that sound. It was a noise that had taunted me since childhood, at times remaining faint enough to ignore, but other moments it pulled me from my sleep, incessant and frightening and always from the dark. The noise drew closer, growing louder in the hallway.

My pulse pumped faster. I reached down, pressing my fingers into Finley’s hair, seeking reassurance in the warmth of the strands and the steadiness of his breath. But the sound continued, growing so loud panic trapped the air in my lungs.

The doorknob shook.

“Finley,” I squeaked. The air cooled around me, biting at the end of my nose. The lanterns fogged up. Darkness crept in around the edges of the glass globes, fighting its way closer. “Finley!” I gasped, and my fingers tightened in his hair.

“Hm?” he rumbled, lashes blinking open. He lifted his chin.

“The door,” I whispered.

The knob turned and the door creaked open. Finley sat upright, shielding my body with his. My heart thundered in my chest, striking my ribs so hard it hurt. My pulse surged in my neck and thighs.

Footsteps dragged across the floorboards, and the wood creaked.

“Oh God . . .” I said, staring in horror at the haunting darkness pushing nearer, certain I would soon see a creature of nightmare.

But nothing was there at all.

Finley turned to me, setting his large palm over my eyes. “Don’t stare at it,” he rasped.

“Don’t stare atwhat?” I hissed.

“This lost spirit won’t harm you if you ignore him,” hewhispered back. “Don’t stare. Don’t speak to him.”

“Spirit? I don’t believe in ghosts, Finley!”

“Shh,” he soothed.

After that, I could hear nothing over the rush of blood in my ears and the storm of my heart in my chest. My limbs tremored, but Finley’s weight remained over me, consistent and sure. I clung to him.

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