A Loving Spirit Read Free Page A

Royce indicated to see a painting of a woman in Elizabethan regalia, ruff, drum farthingale, and ropes of pearls and rubies.
    Antoinette frowned. "I cannot sense her presence."
    "No one has seen her in quite a long time," Lady Royce said regretfully. "Not since before I came to live here. But there are many legends about her. They say she cannot find peace because she was betrayed by her true love."
    "We shall just have to find her, then, won't we, Antoinette?" Cassie said.
    Antoinette nodded slowly. "Perhaps."
    "Well, if I can be of any help, do let me know," said Lady Royce. Then she looked past the settee where Cassie and Antoinette sat, and smiled. "Phillip, dear, here you are at last! Do come and greet our guests."
    Cassie put down her teacup and placed a polite smile on her face, preparing to greet the shambling scholar, whom she still pictured as old despite his mother's youthful appearance. She didn't hear any tap of a cane on the floor, or smell any camphor to warn of his approach.
    She stood and turned around, and felt the polite smile freeze on her lips.
    Why, Lord Royce was not old at all! In fact, he did not look much like her idea of a scholar, as he was quite good-looking. He was a trifle thin, true, especially compared to the burly, broad-shouldered planters she was accustomed to at home. And his complexion was rather pale, probably from spending a great deal of time studying indoors. His eyes were an intense, stormy gray, that seemed to pierce right through to her innermost soul.
    But she would have thought him a poet, not a student of antique civilizations. His hair was not just in need of a bit of a trim, it was truly unfashionably long, falling almost to his shoulders in thick dark brown waves, as if he could not be bothered to cut it. It was damp, as if he had just washed it and hastily combed it back, but it was rich and soft-looking. She actually lifted her hand a bit, wanting to touch it, before she realized what she was doing and dropped her arm back to her side.
    No, Lord Royce was not at all what she had been expecting!
    Then Lady Royce's voice came to her through the haze, and she realized that things had been going on about her. Things she ought to pay attention to, such as introductions.
    "...and this is her niece, Miss Cassandra Richards," Lady Royce was saying.
    Cassie stared dumbly at Lord Royce as he reached for the hand she had dropped to her side, and lifted it to his lips for a brief salute.
    His breath was warm on her fingers, and she had to fight down the strong urge to giggle. She scarcely even noticed the small hole in his green sleeve.
    "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Richards," he said. "I suppose you must always speak the truth?" His voice was dark and rich, like Jamaican rum.
    Cassie blinked at him. What on earth was the man talking about? "Ex-excuse me, Lord Royce?"
    He smiled at her as one would to a rather slow child. "Your name. Cassandra. 'Disbelieved by men.' Are you named after the great prophetess of Troy?"
    Cassie vaguely remembered her mother telling her the story of the Trojan Cassandra, who was doomed to always tell the truth of her prophecies and never be believed. Her mother had loved the old myths. "I suppose I must be," she answered.
    He gave her another smile, and went to sit beside his mother. Cassie slowly sat back down, her mind screaming one word at her. "Fool, fool, fool!"
    She could feel her face flaming. What a thorough idiot he must think her!
    "Miss Richards was just asking me about the history of the castle," Lady Royce said, pouring out a cup of tea for her son. "She is very interested in it."
    Lord Royce raised his dark brow at Cassie. "Indeed, Miss Richards?"
    Cassie seized on the topic. Surely she could converse more easily about a haunted castle than ancient Troy. "Oh, yes! It is truly fascinating. There must be much to learn about it."
    "It is an interesting place," he agreed. "I plan to someday write a history of it. It was built in