The Mammoth Book of Ghost Romance (Mammoth Books) Read online

  Trisha Telep is the editor of, among other books, the bestselling Mammoth romance titles, including The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance, Love Bites, The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance and The Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance.

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  Constable & Robinson Ltd

  55–56 Russell Square

  London WC1B 4HP

  www.constablerobinson.com

  First published in the UK by Robinson,

  an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2012

  Copyright © Trisha Telep, 2012 (unless otherwise stated)

  The right of Trisha Telep to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication

  Data is available from the British Library

  UK ISBN: 978-1-84901-468-7 (paperback)

  UK ISBN: 978-1-84901-770-1 (ebook)

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  First published in the United States in 2012 by Running Press Book Publishers,

  A Member of the Perseus Books Group

  All rights reserved under the Pan-American and International Copyright Conventions

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or hereafter invented, without written permission from the publisher.

  Books published by Running Press are available at special discounts for bulk purchases in the United States by corporations, institutions, and other organizations. For more information, please contact the Special Markets Department at the Perseus

  Books Group, 2300 Chestnut Street, Suite 200, Philadelphia, PA 19103, or call (800) 810-4145, ext. 5000, or e-mail [email protected].

  US ISBN: 978-0-7624-4269-0

  US Library of Congress Control Number: 2011938678

  9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Digit on the right indicates the number of this printing

  Running Press Book Publishers

  2300 Chestnut Street

  Philadelphia, PA 19103-4371

  Visit us on the web!

  www.runningpress.com

  Printed and bound in the UK

  Contents

  Copyright

  Introduction

  THE CHINESE BED

  Anna Campbell

  OLD SALT

  Carolyn Crane

  HAINTS AND HOBWEBS

  Jennifer Estep

  HAT-TRICK

  Gwyn Cready

  GHOST OF BLACKSTONE MANOR

  Donna Fletcher

  SEVENTEEN COPPERS

  Jeannie Holmes

  YOURS IN ETERNITY

  C. T. Adams

  THE LOVERS

  Julia London

  A SINGLE GIRL’S GUIDE TO GETTING AHEAD

  Liz Maverick

  JONQUILS IN THE SNOW

  Annette Blair

  THE HEART THIEF

  Cindy Miles

  GHOST IN THE MACHINE

  Dru Pagliassotti

  THREE LITTLE WORDS

  Christie Ridgway

  GHOST OF A CHANCE

  Caridad Piñeiro

  IN HIS HANDS

  Sara Reinke

  CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?

  Sharon Shinn

  THE STORM

  Linda Wisdom

  >>>--4EVR--->

  Holly Lisle

  Author Biographies

  Copyright

  “The Chinese Bed” © 2012 by Anna Campbell. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Old Salt” © 2012 by Carolyn Crane. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Haints and Hobwebs” © 2012 by Jennifer Estep. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Hat-Trick” © 2012 by Gwyn Cready. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Ghost of Blackstone Manor” © 2012 by Donna Fletcher. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Seventeen Coppers” © 2012 by Jeannie Holmes. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Yours in Eternity” © 2012 by C. T. Adams. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “The Lovers” © 2012 by Julia London. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “A Single Girl’s Guide to Getting Ahead” © 2012 by Liz Maverick. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Jonquils in the Snow” © 2012 by Annette Blair. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “The Heart Thief” © 2012 by Cindy Miles. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Ghost in the Machine” © 2012 by Dru Pagliassotti. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Three Little Words” © 2012 by Christie Ridgway. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Ghost of a Chance” © 2012 by Caridad Piñeiro. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “In His Hands” © 2012 by Sara Reinke. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “Can You Hear Me Now?” © 2012 by Sharon Shinn. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  “The Storm” © 2012 by Linda Wisdom. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author
.

  “>>>--4EVR--->” © 2012 by Holly Lisle. First publication, original to this anthology. Printed by permission of the author.

  Introduction

  If popular movies are anything to go by, love after death is hardly unusual. Sexy, romantic ghosts like Patrick Swayze (Ghost) and Alan Rickman (Truly Madly Deeply) give us hope that the afterlife is not a total downer. Sexy men make sexy ghosts, of course, and what hopeless romantic in her right mind would turn down the opportunity to be whisked off her feet by invisible hands? The stories in this collection are a perfect mix of ghostly stories, from spooky to funny to wistful, and all hopelessly romantic.

  Ghosts have all sorts of reasons for sticking around, it seems: wrongs that must be righted, evil deeds that must be avenged, loves that must be won. Sometimes ghosts linger to fulfil destinies, to bring together great loves here on Earth. Sometimes they are the suitors themselves, wooing living lovers across the ages. For all the ghosts that sit around flicking the lights off and on or hiding your car keys, there are many more who aren’t content just to rattle their chains and moan – they want another chance at life and love. And they’re looking right at you.

  So if your next hot crush happens to be missing a head, or a whole body, for that matter, don’t let it worry you. Death doesn’t mean much when love is at stake, as you’ll find out in this big book of fun, fresh stories from some of your favourite romantics writing today. It takes more than just a pulse to raise a girl’s temperature.

  Trisha Telep

  The Chinese Bed

  Anna Campbell

  Marston Hall, Norfolk, 1818

  Josiah woke to thick darkness.

  He knew immediately where he was. Sprawled across the great Chinese bed at Marston Hall. His glorious, extravagant marriage bed. The King’s gift to his dear friend, Lord Stansfield, upon the Earl’s nuptials. Josiah had expressed suitable gratitude for the royal generosity, but he couldn’t avoid thinking the bed was a rum sort of present.

  Thick hangings enclosed him, hangings cut from robes sewn for a Chinese princess’s wedding. A wedding that never took place. The princess’s lover had betrayed her and she’d poisoned herself, cursing all marriages.

  Or so the legend went.

  Josiah’s hand slid across the silk counterpane, feeling the raised patterns of embroidery under his palm. But he already knew his beloved wasn’t here beside him.

  Hell, he must have been half seas over before he tumbled onto the cream cover with its thickly twining peonies and fragile pagodas. By God, he was still wearing his wedding clothes. He hadn’t been sober enough to undress. No wonder Isabella had left him to sleep it off. His darling had a temper. He’d hear about his excesses soon enough. He deserved to.

  He didn’t even remember crawling into bed.

  which now he thought about it, struck him as rather odd.

  This couldn’t be right. On his wedding day, he’d been drunk on love, not liquor. And he certainly didn’t recall imbibing so deep that he’d collapsed insensible.

  If only he could remember.

  He frowned into the stillness, struggling to bring events into focus. He’d spent the day in a lather of wanting Isabella. He’d been so hungry to have his bride to himself, he’d dragged her away from the wedding breakfast with scandalous impetuosity. Lord Fenburgh, her drier-than-dust father, had frowned disapproval, but Isabella’s black eyes had sparkled with excitement. Josiah had claimed a lusty wife, thank the angels. She’d been as eager as he to consummate their chaste wooing at last.

  He remembered her delicious, husky little moan as he’d kissed her ravenously, passionately, behind one of the man-size Japanese jars in the hall, barely out of sight of the guests. He remembered fondling the sweet curve of her breast before towing her willy-nilly toward the carved oak staircase. She’d scurried to keep up, running with a rustle of silk skirts and a patter of delicate heels across parquetry flooring. He’d swept his laughing bride into his arms and carried her up the stairs, golden light spilling over them from the high mullioned windows.

  And then . . .

  Something was badly amiss. He hadn’t been drunk on his wedding day. His head remained clear and his mouth wasn’t stale with alcohol. When he married Isabella, he hadn’t needed intoxicants. He’d been delirious with happiness and itching to possess his bride. A glass of champagne to toast her bright eyes and a lifetime of happiness. That was all.

  So why was he lying all alone in the darkness?

  Where the hell was Isabella? She should be here. With him.

  Isabella was dead.

  Crippling grief thickened his blood like grey sea-ice. His memory remained disturbingly blank about details, but he knew without question that she was dead. Of course he knew. They’d been so close in life, they’d shared a heartbeat.

  Isabella was dead. And so was he.

  “Kiss me, Calista.”

  Austerely intellectual Lady Calista Aston giggled in an extremely unintellectual manner and allowed the handsome young man to tug her from the empty hallway into the shadowy bedroom. “Miles, I haven’t got time,” she said without sounding in the least convincing.

  “I’ll be quick.”

  Through dimness created by drawn curtains, she shot him a disbelieving look. “That’s what you always say.”

  As ever when she regarded the man she was to marry, her heart twisted in an agony of love. A tide of self-doubt threatened to drown her, in spite of her appearance of light-heartedness. She still couldn’t believe this superb creature had chosen her from all the women in the world to become his wife.

  She was a devotee of logic, of scientific process. Miles Hartley’s partiality for a bluestocking Long Meg like her seemed completely nonsensical. She’d imagine he was mad if she wasn’t herself victim to a madness impervious to research or reason or cold, hard reality. But while she recognized her affliction as permanent, how long would his madness last? Until tomorrow? Next year?

  From the moment she’d seen him across her father’s drawing room, she’d fallen under Miles’s spell. She still recalled her incredulity when he’d proposed six weeks later. Desperately, she’d hoped she’d become more secure in his love as time passed, but with every day of the last three months, her uncertainties had grown. Now, the afternoon before her wedding, they gnawed at her like starving rats on a loaf of stale bread.

  She told herself a thousand times she was a silly goose. Miles said he loved her. But at her deepest level, nothing convinced her she was worthy of his regard. He was elegant and brilliant and gifted with a vivid masculine beauty. He should choose a wife who was equally beautiful, a toast of society, instead of a drab wallflower like her. Calista was bitterly aware that she was no beauty, with her straight brown hair and long, thin body and strong features.

  With his usual careless grace, Miles kicked the door shut behind him and drew her inexorably into his arms. Another shudder of love ran through her. It was dangerous to love a man as much as she loved Miles.

  “It’s your fault.” He smiled at her as though she were as bright and lovely as a rainbow. “If you weren’t so delicious, I’d be happy with a mere peck on the cheek.”

  “You’re a sweet-tongued devil.” The grim tenor of her thoughts lent the remark a sharp edge.

  His smile turned wicked. “Let me show you.”

  He kissed her and she melted into his arms. She was helpless against this passion. It terrified her even as she flung herself into the blaze. From the first, he’d made her feel almost painfully alive. If he ever left her, she had a bleak premonition she’d never feel alive again.

  Reluctantly they drew apart. Tomorrow . . . Tomorrow when he kissed her, they wouldn’t need to worry about proprieties. Tomorrow they’d share the carved bed that loomed behind her. The bed that was much closer than it had been. While kissing her, Miles had nudged her backward.

  “We shouldn’t be here alone,” she whispered, resting her hands on his shoulders. She didn’t know why she lowered her voice. Somethin
g in this hushed, close room always made her want to tiptoe. Nobody else loitered on this floor of her father’s hitherto neglected mansion on the Norfolk Broads. The servants were too busy preparing for the festivities and trying to ready a long-empty house to welcome the onslaught of visitors.

  Miles stroked his hand down her cheek with a tenderness that she felt to her toes. Clawing doubt receded. “Of course we should.”

  “Tomorrow . . .” she said on a fading protest as he gently pushed her back onto the mattress. It sagged under their weight when Miles kneeled above her. For all her pleasure in his touch, something in her didn’t want to be on this bed – and not just because Miles tempted her to impropriety. She’d believed herself immune to the house’s dark legends, but apparently she wasn’t quite as level-headed as she thought.