He looked surprised, as if he expected a different answer. “You’re serious,” he said. “You do believe in ghosts?”
She stood up. “When I was here as a child, years ago, I saw something no one else saw. A woman in white. She was walking down a hallway, dressed in a gown like something my grandmother might have worn for her coming out, all frills and lace and a long train. The dress was almost silver, and she was as fashionably pale as could be, and her hair was all powdered white. It was Christmas Eve. I thought she was so beautiful, so I called out a Happy Christmas to her, even though I should not have been up and about.”
“And then?”
“She didn’t reply. I followed her a bit, but she turned a corner and when I reached the turn, the hallway was completely empty. I knew I would have heard a door open or close.”
“Did you tell anyone?” he asked intently.
Camellia nodded. “I ran to my parents.”
“And they said you were dreaming.”
“How did you know?” she asked.
He paused for the briefest moment. “What else does one tell a child who has just seen a ghost?”
“My father believed me,” Camellia said. “He didn’t say so in front of Mama. But he said I wasn’t the sort of child to mistake a dream for reality.”
“When exactly did he die?”
“Four years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. Do you believe in ghosts?”
“I don’t disbelieve in them,” he said cautiously. “I know I saw something very strange happen to Miss Fitzgerald last night. And I know there’s something about this place that’s… different.”
“Is that the only reason you came here?” she asked, remembering Mrs Bloomfield’s report of his possible scandal. His possible murder of another soldier.
His face closed. “Isn’t it enough?”
“I see,” Camellia said, her eyes narrowing. “I am a worthy ally to help you in your little search, but not to tell the truth to.”
“You wouldn’t want the truth.”
“Oh, you know me so well, sir.” She didn’t bother hiding her sarcasm. Was his scandal as terrible as it seemed? “How dare you presume what I want.”
“I know exactly what you want,” he told her, reaching one hand to the back of her neck, tilting her head up to meet his. And then, without further warning, he kissed her.
His mouth came down firmly on hers, shocking her even more than the unexpected touch of his fingers against her neck.
But as soon as she thought to protest, the kiss softened, his mouth becoming more gentle as he continued to explore her.
And Lia decided that exploring was something she rather enjoyed. The kiss didn’t just make her lips tingle. It sent sensations through her chest and arms and even made her feet shuffle as she leaned closer to him without knowing that she was going to do it. He’d shaved that morning, she thought, with a sudden flush in her cheeks. His skin was smooth and soft, despite the rough look he had—the tan and the half dozen little whitened scars. And his mouth was more than smooth. He grazed his lips across hers, and it was like satin, and she exhaled when she realized he was holding her in a tight embrace.
“Mr Ryder, what do you think—” she gasped out.
“I think at this point, you can call me Finn,” he replied, a lazy smile playing around his mouth.
“That’s hardly proper.”
“Neither is kissing a man you just met, but that’s what you’re doing now, Camellia.”
“Stop using my first name.”
“Make me.”
