Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3) by Lily Silver Page B

find yourself being keel-hauled just for good measure.”
    “Gor—saints alive,” Red Jami’s eyes became as round as shillings as he stared at the floating miniature. “A spirit!” The boy dropped his tray on the floor and backed away.
    “You see the painting floating, too?”
    “It’s a haunted object. Run, sir,” the boy cried in a panicked pitch and then ran. The hall door was slammed hard as Red made his exit, leaving Jack alone with guilt and regret.
    Jack wasn’t going to run. It was Amelia. Why should he run? He'd failed her; he deserved her wrath.
    The drawer to his desk slid open on its own and papers were hurled about in a maelstrom of fury. He watched as they dropped to the plank floor like large feathers, floating slowly and silently around a slightly hazy form in the center of the storm. He could just make out a womanly shape. It was transparent, like a wispy cloud of smoke with a personality.
    Was this what it was like to see spirits? Donovan’s wife was a seer. She spoke of her talent as being a curse, not a gift. He couldn’t hear Amelia speaking, but he was able to make out her veiled form as she tossed the contents of his desk drawer about in her search for some item she thought important.
    The figure dimmed and faded. A folded parchment was held in mid air. Amelia’s form had evaporated like mist before the sun, but a single piece of parchment was floating across the room toward him. Jack grasped the note. It was solid, temporal in his fingers, unlike the now invisible specter who delivered it.
    He shuddered inwardly. His gullet filled with dread.
    Jack knew what that paper said. It would say what it had always had said:
    Stop mourning me, fall in love, marry, have babies. Embrace life.
    The parchment in his hand was rattled as if to remind him of the clear message she sent him long ago through Lady Elizabeth. Donovan had written it down on parchment for him.
    Jack had kept it. Shoved it in the desk drawer and never really looked at it again. He looked at her portrait, took solace in the memory of her during the course of his solitary life. Having loved once and lost that love was better than having never loved at all.
    The portrait at his feet skidded across the floor, as Amelia’s ghost kicked it. He followed its progress across the room. It went a full yard and a half before coming to rest on a chair leg.  
    Another crash made him start. A metal ink pot went hurling past his head to clink against the far wall. As he watched, dark ink splattered all over the whitewashed wall. The sound of the small brass pot clanking on the floor was the only noise in the room as he was certain even his heart had stopped beating in that terrifying instant.
    The black, spidery drips of ink slowly moved down the wall, gravity causing the fluid to seek the floor. Amelia was not finished. Words started to emerge from the dark splotches:  
    Stop mourning . . . Embrace Life . . . True love lies beyond the w---
    The writing stopped. The last word remained unfinished. The spirit either meant to leave him wondering or had run out of energy halfway through her efforts.
    Jack released his breath and was surprised to find it visible, like steam. The atmosphere had grown that cold suddenly. He wrapped his arms about his torso and stared at the wall, the message clear. Mostly clear. Precisely where true love waited for him was still a mystery.
    Beyond the waters? Beyond the west or the West Indies? Beyond Wales?
    She picked a good time to stop, as one could speculate endlessly on the last word. 
    He inclined his head toward the cabin door, and then the large windows comprising the wall adjacent to the door. Jack frowned as he pondered the meaning of the riddle. He looked again at the cabin door and then opposite the wall before him with ink dripping down it. The words were written on the wall between his suite and the count’s.
    Jack stared with astonishment at the black words before him.
    True love waits . . .