Page 8 of The Mare Rider of Cornwall Cove
“I wish we could just stay in this bed forever,” I whispered as I carded my fingers through his thick gold hair.
“Mm, me too, but we’d get skinny and die.” He stole a kiss before easing off with a slight wince. “Saddle sores,” he teased as he rolled to the side to locate a tub of baby wipes we kept close at hand. He handed one back to me, then stood to clean himself a bit. After I dabbed at my chest, I swiped my soft cock before handing the wipe back to him to drop into the trash can.
With a sigh, he slid under the covers. I quickly joined him. The cold air that leaked around our ancient windows made it hard to keep the bedrooms warm in this old place, especially with the door shut. Some mornings I swear I woke up and could see my breath.
“I’m sorry about that party,” he confided softly as I wiggled into his side. I really needed to take off my glasses, but I lacked the energy or knowhow to do so.
“Stop. It’s fine.” I kissed his chest, right over where his heart now gently but strongly thumped. “I met a very cool ghost.” His eyes flared at that news. “And I had a talk with Roxie about the next stream.”
His head rolled on the pillow in my direction. I didn’t hide my feelings well, for as soon as he plucked my glasses off my ear, he wrinkled his nose. “I’m not going to like this idea, am I?”
No, probably not. Hell, Ididn’t even like the idea.
The things people did to earn a damn buck…
Chapter Three
The following morning, Ilaid in bed while Phil went for a run.
He didn’t say it, but I suspected he was hoping to run off some of the worry he was carrying on his wide shoulders since our after-sex talk last night. He’d not been happy about the glow party stream at all. Phil was a worrier. He loved me. He did not want to see me get hurt or drained of my life force. I didn’t want that either, and I certainly did not wish to see him put in danger either. If I closed my eyes and let my mind wander back in time, I could clearly see Phil being yanked into Lake Killikee like a rag doll. Angry spirits could possess incredible strength. So, we had a long talk, we made vows to each other about cutting off the feed if anything got too wild, and then we curled up close to try to sleep. It was a fractured rest for both of us, which was why I begged off a run. Also, my legs were too puny and weakto run again. I’d need rest. Say like a year. So, after listening to Phil try to sneak out of our place without being heard and failing miserably, I tried my best to fall back asleep. Forty minutes later, I got up.
Tea and toast would fix me right up. I entered the kitchen, the apartment still quiet save for Reggie sitting on the counter, leg crossed and bouncing, humming “Camptown Racetrack” with a gleam in his eye.
“It’s too early,” I grumbled while filling the teakettle.
“Oh posh, it’s never too early for a ditty,” he parried before returning to his song. Ignoring the ghost, I plugged in the kettle and then padded over to the bread drawer. “When I was back home, before I was shipped over to the colonies, I used to have quite a fancy for racing. Still do if truth be told, bloody exhilarating sport! Also, not to crow too loudly, but it was known far and wide through the ton that the handsome Marquis Birkenhead had a good eye for horseflesh.”
“What is it with you and horses lately?” I asked while staring down into the toaster to watch the coils grow red.
“Is it my fault that equines pop up of late over morning tea? Regardless, there were several times that I attended races with a few of my favorite chaps, many, like myself, members of the Jockey Club.”
I threw him a look. “You were a jockey?”
His nose crinkled. “No, you silly nob, I was not a jockey. I was a marquis,” he sniffed.
“Oh, my mistake, please carry on with your worship.”
His eyes rolled. “You are too droll. As I was saying, many a day was spent racing. King’s Plates was quite the rollicking good time. Newmarket, Salisbury, Winchester. Oh, to be among the elite while spurring your horse on! A few of my finer steeds from the Birkenhead stables grabbed silver and gold plates.”
“Yay for your horses.” I sighed, wishing the toast would toast faster. I loved Reg, truly I did, but when he went on these tangents about the snobbery, I zoned out fast.
“Yes, well, yay indeed. Your sarcasm is misplaced, Archimedes. I’m trying to import a bit of knowledge and culture into your life.” I sighed. He took that as a sign to continue. Six-thirty in the morning was just too early. If I had wanted this kind of information in my head, I would have signed up for a British history class. Did we even have one of those on offer at Liverswell? “If you’re done being a snipe?” I nodded just as my toast popped. “Where was I? Oh yes, days spent at the races with some schoolmates. Lovely chaps. Well, aside from the Duke of Jennings’ second son. Nasty bit of fluff that one, but he had the most delightful mouth. Truly, the envy of the ladies for its plumpness and natural red coloration. I dare say those fat lips looked smashing wrapped around my jolly stick, but I digress…” I fought off a yawn as I slapped some grape jelly and peanut butter on my toast. “So yes, as it has been now clearly pointed out, I know a fair share about horse racing and never in all my days have I seen a jockey larger than the horse he was riding.”
The bite of toast sat on my tongue for a moment while Reginald tittered behind his hand. I chewed and swallowed. “That was a long way to go for a bad pun about Phil and me. Also, and I cannot emphasize this enough, please stop peeping at us having sex!”
“Please, I donotpeep. Peeping is below my station. I merely happened to be passing through your room on my way to the window to try to summon the twins for a bit of late-night gossip when I spied young Philip bouncing away on your kidney prodder like a rider atop Eclipse. I did not tarry overmuch, so you may wipe that disgruntled look from your face. Given how Philip seemed to be enjoying his time bestride you, I shouldthink you would be feeling your oats about how well he was being pleased.”
I thought to comment again or make note of the oats bon mot, but I let it all go for now. “Speaking of the twins, have you spoken to them of late?”
That brought him up short. Something that didn’t happen frequently. A look of concern pulled at his brow. “No, in truth, I have not, which was why I was trying to contact them. Generally, if one tosses a few tidbits at their garret window, they appear. They do love a good chinwag, but it’s been a good fortnight or so since they’ve roused to my calls.” He leaned forward, hands on his knees, to stare at me intently. “Have you snuck over to exorcise them?”
“No, I have not. I don’t have that kind of power, and you’ve asked me not to try.” I did smudge the house on occasion to try to limit their reach into the household. I could speak to the dead. Though I was not a ritual exorcist like the Fangxiangshi that I read of in the book Grandpa had brought over from China but claimed was given to me by the gods. I couldn’t invoke deities to assist in expelling unwanted demons or unhappy spirits. I could ask them nicely to vacate but poltergeists were notorious about staying put, and the twins had died in that attic so they were bound to that parcel of land just as Reg was to this one.
“Thank you. I know you dislike them—”
“They try to open portals to the hells to bring forth demons,” I pointed out as I jabbed a half-eaten slice of PB & J toast at his pointy nose.
“Oh, that’s just childish pranks. They’ve never summoned anything stronger than a dominus. You mortals do tend to make mountains out of mole hills.”
