Page 47 of This Haunted Heart

“You look tired,” I said drowsily.

Rynn yawned wide. “You have a gift for exhausting me.”

Cheek pillowed on my chest, she fell sound asleep in my arms.

Chapter 13

Rynn Mavis

Iawoke alone in the grass. The sun had dipped in the sky, and I was no longer pressed against the warm body of a man. My skin was bare to the elements. The drop in temperature as the shadows grew longer pulled me from my slumber.

My God, that had been an excellent fuck. My hips were covered in rounded fingerprint marks. My core ached pleasantly. My ass was still tender. The memories alone were enough to heat my skin all over again.

I hadn’t slumbered well at all the night before. It was no wonder I’d fallen so deeply asleep after two overpowering releases. My heart was an erratic mess, beating in a staccato that had to be unhealthy. My body was filthy. I pulled leaves and twigs free of my curls. My shoes were gone. My clothingwas nowhere to be found.

My pirate was also gone.

He’d abandoned me out here without a stitch of clothing and no boots. I climbed to my feet, grumbling under my breath. Covering my breasts with my palms, feeling exposed and embarrassed, I marched for Nightingale House, cursing Finley’s name every time I stepped on a rock or scraped my foot on a stick.

“You will rue the day, you pirate,” I growled. “Rue. The. Day.”

My progress was slow, but I finally made it in through the front doors. Finley had left a housecoat hanging from a bronze torchier in the foyer for me. I stared stubbornly at the peace offering for a long moment before I slipped it on. Rolled up on an oaken chest was a large terry-cloth towel. I took it too, setting off for the lavatory. A bath sounded divine, and based on the filthy footprints I was leaving on the floorboards, it was a necessity.

I was more familiar with the back stairs than I was the main set, so I headed for them, passing the locked central room and the dining hall. As I neared the back stairs, I felt a pull in my gut, a tug of curiosity. I hadn’t thought about that strange black door again since I’d found it, but I was getting closer to it, could sense myself drawing near like iron to a lodestone. The temperature cooled, pebbling my skin.

I should have gone straight to the bathroom, but instead I padded down that hall, leaving more dirty footprints on floorboards that longed to be tread upon. The roses that flanked the door had been traded out for an even fresher set. These blooms were a dark shade of purple.

“I’m not curious because of ghosts,” I whispered to myself,failing to repress a shiver. “It’s all those locks. Not that supernatural nonsense. Who locks a door like that?”

Cold caressed my skin as I moved closer. Reaching out for the heavy padlock, the hairs on my arms rose to unsettling attention. I was inches from touching it when a knock sounded.

The thud was hollow and sudden and seemed to echo from everywhere all at once, surprising a squeal out of me. I sprinted from the hall, turned the corner sharply, and rushed up the stairs.

“It’s not haunted, it’s not haunted,” I chanted to myself, taking the steps two at a time. “Big houses make noises. That’s just what they do as they settle. You’ve let Finley get in your head!”

When I finally made it to the lavatory, I took a steadying breath and convinced myself to push all spooky nonsense out of my mind. That sound could have been anything.

A figment of my stressed imagination.

Wood beams creaking in a strong wind.

A bird flying into one of the many windows.

I crossed to the copper tub, heeding its call of peace and cleanliness. It was large, with ornate clawed feet and a matching cabinet. I’d heard rumors of baths that had great iron water heaters right beside them but had never partaken in such luxury before. It seemed like something that should belong in a palace. Seated on the side of the tub, I turned on the taps and let the water warm.

Finley had set out a bar of castile soap, a variety of coarse sponges and brushes, a bottle of vinegar, sliced up lemons and oranges, creams and oils and perfumes, all laid out in a neat row across the counter. I found a bottle that smelled likeFinley’s peppery fragrance, and I added a generous amount to my bath. Inhaling deeply, I stirred the water with my arm, then added the citrus.

Before I hung up his housecoat, I peeked around the room, listening for more strange sounds.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I scolded the walls, “but if this houseishaunted, know that it’s rude to watch a woman bathe, even if you’re dead.”

Finley had spilled inside me when he came, so I washed with vinegar first to deter pregnancy. The next time I saw him, I’d give him hell for being so careless.

As I sunk into the giant tub and hot water caressed my skin, my nose filled with that spicy fragrance, and it grew harder and harder to hold on to my irritation—harder to hold on to anything but a peaceful bliss as my muscles loosened and the dirt and sweat washed away.

I took a sponge and the bar of soap to my body, scrubbing harshly until my skin and nails felt new again. I even took the time to wash and brush my hair, a daunting task because I’d been a bit neglectful of it lately, but I drowned my curls and set to it, showing them much needed love.

I liked the acoustics of the room and found the scenery in the fixtures inspiring, so I began to sing. First quietly, then my voice steadily carried as my confidence grew. It was easy to feel alone in such a giant house, to feel free to do as I pleased.

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