Sam looked at that perfect porcelain-doll face, smiling up at him with lips that cried out to be kissed and eyes that challenged, despite something naked in their depths, and felt a tightening in the pit of his stomach. This girl was uncomfortably beautiful. And she was a helluva lot sharper than he’d given her credit for, even if he was still certain she was former debutante material.

But hey, she wanted slumming, he could give her slumming. And maybe be entertained in return. After all, any woman who would be in a position to have her dress stolen by a dog had to have some wildness in her.

The clams arrived, and they feasted, then had another round of drinks. She was looking just the slightest bit tipsy when she held up a hand, and said, “Enough. I can’t consume another bite or take another sip of anything. Except maybe some water.”

Sam ordered a couple of waters.

“So what do you do up here?” Gray asked him, her eyes glowing in the dim bar light. “If you’re not just ‘summering.’”

She gave him a saucy look, and he marveled at the flawless ness of her features. Strands of hair had come loose from her ponytail and trailed next to her face, framing it as if planned for a photo shoot. One of the longer tendrils caressed the slender column of her neck, and he reached a finger up to touch it, felt the softness of her skin. A corresponding heat filled his core.

“I’ll tell you what I’d like to do,” he said. “I’d like to take your picture. Right here, right now, just the way you are.”

Unplanned perfection, that was what she radiated.

He was unprepared for her burst of laughter. “Oh my, that’s almost as good a line as your first one!”

He took back his hand and put it in his pocket. “My first—?”

“‘What’s a nice girl like you…?’” She dissolved into laughter.

He couldn’t help smiling with her. She was tipsy, no doubt about it. “Now who’s judging whom?”

She reached a hand up to touch his cheek and sobered, looking deeply into his eyes. Sam swallowed as the blood stalled in his veins.

In a low, fake accent, she asked, “Would you care to look at my etchings?” She fell into laughter again.

This time he couldn’t stop himself. He took her hand from his face, held it tightly in his, and leaned toward her, his lips capturing hers.

In the time they had eaten, the bar had filled with people, and the music had grown correspondingly louder as the night had worn on. But Sam hadn’t noticed. And now, as Gray’s lips opened under his, the whole place could have blown away around them, and he wouldn’t have known the difference.

She leaned toward him, which surprised him, and one hand grasped the front of his tee shirt. He stepped into her, the barstool hitting him in the thighs, and ran a hand around her back. His fingers felt the trim curve of her waist and tightened around it.

After a second he pulled back and looked into her pale blue eyes, pupils huge in the dim bar. “Want to get out of here?”

For a moment she appeared suspended in time. Her lips glistened from his kiss, and she gazed up at him as if momentarily stunned. Then the corners of her mouth curved, and she dropped her head. A second later she put a hand to her mouth, and he realized she was laughing.

“Sorry! Sorry!” She looked up through her lashes at him, eyes alive with mirth.

“Let me guess. Another cliché you’ve heard a thousand times.” He tilted his head and looked at her, at once amused and mildly embarrassed.

“‘Want to get out of here?’” she repeated. “‘What do you say we get some air?’ ‘How about we go someplace more comfortable?’ ‘Did I tell you I have all of Sinatra’s albums on vinyl?’” She giggled again.

“Okay. How about, Let’s blow this pop stand. Whaddya say, Gidge?”

“Much better!” She beamed and stood up, her body lengthening along his in the crowded space. Her barstool tipped over behind her but was righted by someone who immediately occupied it. She fumbled on the bar for her little purse and grabbed his arm hard enough to make him totter. “Okay, Moondoggie, let’s go.”

 

They went up the stairs and out into the star-flung night. It was so much darker there than at home, Gray noticed, and the air smelled heavily of sea salt, tinged faintly with decaying fish. She breathed deeply as the breeze lifted the hair from her neck.

She felt good, she realized. More relaxed than she’d been in years. Of course, she’d had a little more to drink than she’d intended, but so what. She was of age.

“‘I’m just mad about Saffron,’” Sam sang under his breath, “‘Saffron’s mad about me…’”

Gray laughed and looked up at her companion as they headed toward the harbor. Sam’s long-legged steps were easy beside hers, and she envied the way he seemed so at home in his own skin. Casual, yet in control at the same time.

Interesting, she thought. And interesting that she was there beside him. She, Gray Gilliam, who never went out on a date without first getting a résumé and references on whoever the lucky man happened to be, was walking beside some guy named Sam she had met in a bar.

On the heels of that thought she realized that she had done it. She had done the gutsy thing. She had come to a place that was outside her comfort zone, met a guy who was totally not her type, and had managed to come out of it feeling more like herself than ever before.

She tucked her purse under her arm and pushed her hands into her pockets, glancing at Sam again from the corner of her eyes. He was definitely not the type of guy she would fall for. He was challenging and lively and a little bit unkempt. She’d had to be tough and on her toes as never before just to talk to him. But she’d done it! She’d verbally sparred with him, and she had not come out feeling like a ninny. Instead, she felt triumphant. Gutsy!

She inhaled deeply again and turned slowly around in a circle as she walked, looking up at the stars. From the harbor came the clink of riggings against masts and the soft splash of water on rocking hulls.

“Oh I could just drink this air in forever. Isn’t it wonderful?” She beamed up at him.

He looked down at her, his eyes crinkling with his smile, and she thought what a pity it was he wasn’t her type.

“It’s damn near perfect,” he agreed, but his grin was ironic.

She shook her head. “Too bad you don’t really appreciate it.”

“What do you mean? I’m the one who may actually end up drinking this air forever.” He half faced her as they walked. “You’re only drinking it for the summer, remember?”

She liked the way he did that, the way his shoulders angled toward her as he talked. He really did have an innate kind of polish, perhaps even some chivalry. He had, after all, bought her dinner and ordered water after they’d had those drinks. She caught herself staring at him a moment too long and looked down the street.

“That’s true,” she said, opting not to tell him of her tentative plans to stay. “So maybe you just take it for granted.” She shrugged, fearing she was losing the energy to keep up with his banter. She was, after all, a beginner.

A corner of his mouth lifted. “That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“According to you, that’s what we do, isn’t it? Judge each other all the time?” She lifted a brow in his direction and was gratified to hear him laugh.

He had a terrific laugh.

She could notice things like that, she reasoned, despite the fact that she would never fall for him. She could appreciate his appeal. His gait, for instance. It was agile and aloof, like a Thoroughbred that could take off at any moment with great speed, even though at the moment he was simply walking along beside her. She wouldn’t want to be the one with her hands constantly on the reins, however. She had the feeling she’d end up with leather burn.

“It must be wonderful living here all the time.” She sighed, impulsively linking her arm through his. “It’s so…free.”

She heard him chuckle and turned to look up at him.

“That might be the person, more than the place.” Sam squeezed her arm gently with his own. “You seem to be getting into the swing of your summer vacation pretty well.”

Gray shook her head. “No, it’s the place. I’ve taken vacations at other places and never felt like this. Like I’ve shed something heavy I’ve been carrying for a long time.”

A broken heart, for example, she thought. She could just imagine what Lawrence would say about her walking along so chummily with a guy she’d just met. A guy wearing un-pressed khaki shorts and running shoes that had obviously seen many miles.

Though it was more than that. It was something heavy within her that she’d lost. Inhibition, maybe. A claustrophobic sense of self.

“So what do you do? For a living, I mean,” she asked, kicking a rock ahead of them and watching it bounce into the scrub grass by the side of the road.

He paused and looked down. Gray stopped walking before her arm slipped out of his.

“I have the feeling what you would consider a living and what I would are considerably different.” He reached out a hand to her other arm and drew her toward him.

“I don’t know about that.” Gray let him link his hands behind the small of her back. “If you’re eating and have a roof over your head, I’d consider that a living. And we know you’re drinking.”

He laughed.

She placed a hand on his tee-shirted chest and was surprised by the solid feel of the muscle beneath. She was also surprised at how comfortable she felt in his arms, despite knowing that he wasn’t her type, that this wasn’t a romantic evening, that he surely didn’t think she was the right woman for him either.

“I—” he began.

“That you, Sam?” The gruff voice came out of the darkness and startled them both.

Sam exhaled slowly a moment, then said, “Yeah. Covington?”

Gray’s head whipped around in the darkness at the name. Covington Burgess. Hadn’t Rachel said that was someone to look out for?

A small man, with wild white hair and glasses on a cord around his neck, stepped from the shadows. He wore baggy dungarees and rubber boots, with a thick, nubby sweater.

“What ah you doin’ out heah?” The old man’s voice, in addition to being laced with a strong New England accent, was distinctly annoyed.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Sam stepped back, ending the embrace but sliding one hand down Gray’s arm to catch her hand in his.

“Me! I live here, dammit, that’s my house right there as you well know.”

Sam chuckled. “Yes I do. I’m wondering what you’re doing out here in the middle of the night.”

“Seeing what all the ruckus is about, obviously.” One gnarled hand clutched the glasses at his chest and put them to his face. “Who’s that with you? I don’t know this person. Who ah you, young lady?”

Sam looked down at Gray, and she could see the light of amusement glittering in his eyes. “This is Gray…uh…”

Embarrassment flooded her. She’d been caught canoodling with a guy who didn’t even know her last name, and it couldn’t be more obvious to the little man standing in front of them. She dropped Sam’s hand and stepped toward Covington Burgess, extending her right hand to shake.

“Gray Gilliam, Mr. Burgess,” she said, perhaps a bit too forcefully. She’d been in too many moods this night. “I’m house-sitting for Robert and Rachel Kinnestan. At Gull Cottage—”

“I know the house,” he grumbled, looking suspiciously at her hand. Or at least it seemed suspicious to Gray, the way shadows fell over his grizzled eyebrows to mask his eyes. He took her hand and shook it once in a warm grip. “Place is a terror, you ask me. They oughta do somethin’. Thought they had it up for sale.”

She straightened. “They do. And I don’t know what you mean, the house is perfectly lovely.”

“Hmph. You ain’t heard it yet, I gather.” Covington turned to Sam. “You two should go home. It’s the middle of the night. Guess I’ll have to drive you, young lady, seein’s how you both been drinking.”

“What? No, I have my car.” Gray shook her head. “I can give Sam a ride.”

“Uh, Gray,” Sam said, “I live right there.” With a motion of his head he indicated the building behind them, directly across the street from Covington Burgess’s.

Gray looked at the frame clapboard house with the little front porch. Behind it lay the water, calm and gleaming in the moonlight like a spirit.

“You live there?” She turned fully to take the place in.

“I drink it in day and night.” His voice was tinged with humor.

For some reason, seeing his house made him seem more like a real person and less like someone useful on her road to personal change.

“It’s lovely,” she said wonderingly, gazing at the wraparound porch. Beyond it, marsh grass dark as pen-and-ink slashes stood against the canvas of water. A silent black pier stretched out from the shore.

As she stared, a white dog appeared from behind Sam’s house and trotted up the street, away from them.

“Hey!” she said, recognizing the plumed tail from the morning’s clothes-robber. She started to point, then thought better of it.

“What?” Sam turned just as the dog disappeared around the bend.

She shook her head. “Uh, nothing. I just thought I saw something. Never mind.”

The last thing she wanted to do was explain to these two what had happened that morning. With a start, she realized she had ridden past this very spot, past both Sam’s and Covington Burgess’s houses, stark naked.

Glad of the darkness, she pressed a hand to one scalding cheek.

“Gray, I think you should take Covington up on the ride. We have had kind of a lot to drink.”

She turned to him, panicked at having to ride with the strange little man. “I know but…Sam,” she finished, her voice urgent.

How could she say she didn’t want to get into a car with the man when he was standing right there?

Sam gave her a reassuring look. “I’ll come with you. Just to be sure you get home all right.”

“Oh yes,” she breathed. “That would be nice.”

“I’m gettin’ the keys.” Covington turned and shuffled off toward his darkened house, looking for all the world like a Hobbit heading back to his Hobbit-hole.

They stood, awkwardly silent, next to each other in the dark. She wondered where the dog had gone. If she came back the next day and found it, would she also find her dress?

Distantly, she heard water lapping at the shore across the street. Did Sam hear that in his bedroom when he went to sleep at night?

“How well do you know Covington Burgess?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. The evening’s chill had penetrated her sweatshirt.

Sam shrugged, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Well, I live right across the street from him, but I wouldn’t say I know him well. He’s got pretty much a hand in everything around town, too, from the school board to the town council, so it’s hard not to have some dealings with him if you live here. How do you know him?”

“I only know of him. Rachel said something about him being…” She hesitated, realizing Sam might consider him a friend. “She, uh, she just said he might be…” Her wine-addled brain couldn’t come up with an alternative to the truth.

Sam laughed, and angled toward her, adding in a low voice, “A pain in the ass?”

She smiled, relieved. “Something like that.”

The rumble of an engine came from behind Covington’s house, and headlights illuminated the driveway. Two widely spaced headlights, Gray noted, before an enormous, seventies-era Oldsmobile crept into the light from the streetlamp.

“Oh my God.” Unconsciously, Gray stepped closer to Sam. “Is he okay to drive that thing? How does he see over the wheel?”

She could feel Sam’s warmth as he took her hand again. “Telephone book,” he whispered.

The three of them sat on the long bench seat in the front, Gray in the middle, leaning heavily into Sam, her hands clutching his forearm as they bounced over the gravel-and-sand road that led to Gray’s house by the sea. When it came into view, the place loomed in the inky night, a hulking, sprawling shape against the shore. Gray blinked, a sinking feeling in her gut. The place couldn’t have looked more ominous. Surely it was the power of suggestion. Though Covington Burgess hadn’t said much, his You ain’t heard it yet, I gather was enough to confirm that if he hadn’t started the rumors about the house being haunted, he at least had heard them.

Why hadn’t she left any lights on? she wondered, feeling trepidation to her core. Then, hadn’t she left lights on? She could swear she remembered turning on the outside floods before she left, knowing she’d be driving home in the dark. Had something happened? She glanced uneasily from window to window as if she might catch a glimpse of Mrs. Danvers from Rebecca in one of the windows, about to set fire to the place.

“Here you go, missy,” Covington said. “Don’t know how you stay here, myself. Place has always given me the creeps. Might want to leave some lights on next time you go out.”

“Th-thank you.” Gray slid across the seat as Sam opened the door and got out, gently pulling his arm out from under her clawlike grip. She glanced at the elfin man beside her. His face, lit only by the dashboard light, looked vaguely malevolent, like the face of the house. “For the ride. It was nice meeting you,” she added, taking Sam’s hand to rise from the car.

“You be careful, now.” Though the words were kind, he said them as if irritated at having to remind her. Covington dipped his head to look out the passenger door. “Sam, you ready?”

The car drifted forward with a groan of ancient brakes, and he threw it in PARK. The machine lurched against the transmission.

She stumbled into Sam as the car moved. “You gonna be all right?” Sam asked, steadying her.

“Would you mind coming in with me?” she asked, voice low, eyeing the darkened house anxiously. “Just for a minute. To make sure everything’s…okay?”

“Sure.” He smiled softly. “Hey, are you all right? You’re shaking.”

She forced a little laugh. “I’m just cold. And it’s so dark.”

He nodded, looked at her an extended moment, then leaned down to look in the open car door at Covington. “Hey, Cov, why don’t you go on back? I’m going in with Gray just to check the place out.”

“I can wait,” the man snarled. “Long’s you ain’t plannin’ on painting the livin’ room or nothin’ while you’re in there.”

“No, no. I don’t want you to wait. I can ride her bike home. It’s not that far. You go on back to bed. I’m sorry we woke you.”

“You didn’t wake me. I was awake anyway. Just ’cause you wah makin’ more noise than a flock a geese don’t mean I wasn’t awake already. Damn arrogant,” he finished, muttering the final words.

“Uh, okay, good. Glad we didn’t wake you. I’ll be fine here, really. You go on.”

Covington’s fuzzy head began to shake, and a sound like wheezing emerged from his throat. A laugh, Gray realized after a moment of alarm.

“I see what yah up to. Young men nevah change,” he crowed. “All right, then. I’ll go on.”

He shifted the car into reverse and nearly took Sam’s head off as the car lumbered backward. He slammed on the brake.

Sam took hold of the door, said, “Thanks for the ride!” and closed it.

Covington pulled backward out of the drive. They were alone, in a pitch-black night, with the sea roaring softly in the background and a possibly haunted house standing sentry in the foreground.

“How do you know that I have a bike?” Gray asked suspiciously.

Was it her imagination, or did he look abashed?

“Everybody’s got a bike around here. Lots of times they come with the rental house.” He took her arm. “Come on. Let’s check this place out.”

They walked down the drive, sand crunching softly beneath their feet and the ocean growing louder as they approached the house. The place was perched high on a cliff, but tucked behind a dune covered in sea grass, making the beach from ground level just the ghost of an idea beneath the sliver of moon.

“I love this old place,” Sam said, as they pushed up the dune on the ocean side of the house by mutual yet unspoken assent.

“You know it?” she asked, as the sea came into view, white-caps folding in on themselves against the shore below.

“I’ve known it since I was a kid. My family used to come here on vacation—I grew up outside of Boston—and we always made up stories about this old place, not that it doesn’t have enough stories all on its own. The fact that it’s situated all by itself on such a big plot of land made it look especially old. Like even time had given it a wide berth.”

“Do you know about the ghost, then?”

He turned, and she caught the flash of his smile in the moonlight. “The Duke of Dunkirk?”

“Yes, exactly! So you know the tale? Rachel thought Covington Burgess had made it all up, to keep them from getting a good price on the house.”

“Cov?” He shook his head. “Nah. That legend’s been around for decades. Not that it isn’t exactly the kind of thing he’d do. But I remember reading about the duke in an old book when I was a kid.”

“But the supposed fact that he was buried here, under this house, that’s just crazy. Why would a duke be buried here?”

“Well, he wasn’t a duke when he got here. Or rather, he didn’t know he was a duke.”

“What do you mean?” She shivered in the cold.

“Do you want to go inside?” He reached an arm out for her, and she tucked herself into his shoulder, smiling.

“No. I want to hear the story.”

They gazed out over the ocean.

“All right, then. The duke was apparently born a younger son. Not, in other words, destined to inherit the title. So, being an adventurous young man, he decided to come to the New World and try his hand at whaling. While he was gone, though, both his father and his older brother died, making him the duke. The sad thing is, he never knew it. He died on a whaling expedition, and his buddies brought him back here to bury him. Legend has it he walks the earth as the ghostly Duke of Dunkirk because he never got the chance to be duke while he was alive.”

“But surely once he died, the title fell to someone else. Making the whole ‘walking the earth as the duke’ thing kind of pointless.”

“That’s just it. When he died, the title died with him. He was the last of the line. So I guess his mission is to keep the Duke of Dunkirk as alive as he’s able to be.”

Gray snuggled into Sam’s side. It was amazing how comfortable she felt with him. His arm around her shoulders felt just right, and their bodies fit together in a lovely, cozy way. She had the brief thought they might fit in other ways, too. She shivered, but not with cold.

“Come on,” Sam said. “Let’s get you inside. You’re freezing. I’ll just check the place out and go.”

As they started to turn toward the house something caught Gray’s eye, and she froze, staring down at the beach.

“What?” he asked.

She peered into the darkness, unsure if she was losing her mind or not, but the beach was now empty. A second ago she could have sworn she’d seen the white dog loping along the sand.

“Nothing,” she said, scanning the beach for the man in the long coat. But whatever she’d seen was gone. Or had never been there. She laughed, looking up at Sam. “I think all this talk of ghosts has gone to my head!”