The Haunted Miss Hampshire by Kasey Michaels

Author:Kasey Michaels
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-04-16T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Cassandra slowly walked to the center of the room, unconsciously twisting her hands together as she darted quick, nervous glances toward the innocent-looking Sheraton chairs. "Plans for you, Philip?" She lifted her chin a fraction. "I wouldn't be so bold as to presume to make plans for you."

Motioning her to a chair (the griffin-headed one was, unfortunately, the closest to her), Philip smiled what, to Cassandra, was a most evil, mustache-cloaked smile of triumph. "Really? I thought, now that Fish has arrived on the scene, we might have a change of plans. Rather than dig about in the garden—such dirty work to be one of your talents—we might put our heads together and come up with something more entertaining to pass the time. We could perhaps—and this is merely a suggestion on my part—endeavor to put on a small play?"

Cassandra—who had been gingerly, and very much against her will, settling into the griffin-headed chair, not precisely eager to see Aunt Lucinda at the moment—shot to her feet. "That blabbering Irishman! I should have known better than to allow the two of you alone together. Telling me to fetch my bonnet, indeed! That was just a ruse to get rid of me so that you could grill him about me. And he told you!"

Walking past her, and gently pressing a hand onto her shoulder so that she had no choice but to subside once more into the chair, Philip seated himself in the facing camel-headed chair, asking pleasantly, "Oh, was it to be a secret then, Cassandra? I wouldn't have believed you'd think that way about it. After all, putting one's face out there for all to see seems such a sorry way to keep a secret."

The moment Cassandra had seated herself, Aunt Lucinda appeared as if on cue (wearing the most ridiculously full-skirted, juvenile ball gown of white satin and lace the world had ever seen), and was now once more perched a few inches above Philip's lap. She wagged a finger in Cassandra's face, as if admonishing the girl for being naughty.

"Oh, you, too?" Cassandra was stung into retorting, not really sure to whom she was speaking. "It was all perfectly harmless. O'Flattery's Players was the smallest of groups, and we neither of us used our own names. For pity's sake, Philip, what sort of nodcocks do you think Fish and I are?"

Philip sat back in the uncomfortable chair, crossing one leg over the other so that Aunt Lucinda, not expecting such a movement, momentarily seemed to slip halfway inside his body. Her girlish giggle, which accompanied her outlandish body movements as she seemed to "swim" back up to her former position, had next to no effect on Cassandra, who was too angry to see any humor in the situation.

"What sort of nodcocks are you?" Philip repeated consideringly, trying to fight the feeling that, even now, he did not quite have Cassandra's full attention. "Why, I would imagine you are the worst sort, the naive sort. Do you

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