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that she wouldn’t require a bridal trousseau.” He glowered. “He enjoys taunting her.”
    “Gracious me. He sounds beastly,” Bea said, her tone nearly level again. Tip released a slow breath.
    “He’s an awful beast,” Thomas said forcefully.
    “Why did he choose Lady Bronwyn, Tom? Why is he haunting this castle, and her in particular?”
    “He was once lord here, hundreds of years ago.”
    “Hundreds?”
    Thomas nodded. “Seems so, though only briefly. Then he was cursed.”
    “Ah. He is not merely an ordinary run-of-the-mill ghost,” Tip said, leaning back against the doorpost. “He must be cursed as well.” He lifted a brow and withheld a grin. “Intriguing.”
    “Yes,” Thomas said peevishly. “The curse requires him to remain at Gwynedd Castle until he finds a bride who will marry him. A living woman.”
    “Dear me,” Bea put in. “What did he do to deserve that fate?”
    “Isn’t clear. He hasn’t been straight with Lady Bronwyn, and he won’t speak to me at all.”
    “Did he speak to Whitney?” Tip inquired mildly.
    “Yes. He told Charlie to sod off, so the bottomless looby did.”
    Tip could not prevent himself from grinning. Thomas was only five years his junior, but he wore his emotions on his sleeve like a lad of ten.
    “Thomas,” Bea said quietly. “Must you speak in such a manner?”
    “Apologies, Bea,” he scowled.
    “Your sincerity no doubt touches your sister,” Tip murmured. Bea’s gaze shot to him, her feathered brows drawn.
    “Thomas.” She looked back at her brother. “If Lord Iversly has been trapped here for so many centuries, why hasn’t he yet had any luck in finding a bride?”
    “Would you marry a ghost?” Thomas asked incredulously.
    Bea’s cheeks glowed even brighter, and quite abruptly, pretty became stunning .
    Tip’s breath shortened. He had never seen her features suffused with so much feeling. With him she laughed, quipped, and demurred gracefully. Now passion was all over her face. Good Lord, merely watching her blush tightened his breeches uncomfortably. Now who was the boy?
    “No, of course I would not marry a ghost,” she replied slightly unsteadily. “But you and Lady Bronwyn said he only just returned to the castle. Where has he been?”
    “Sleeping, apparently.”
    “What do you mean, sleeping? Ghosts sleep?”
    A simple, rational question. Tip hoped this lasted. Her cool, measured sense he could manage well enough.
    “I don’t know if his sleep is like ours,” Thomas said, as though indeed discussing a rational subject. “But he went away for a time, not leaving the castle mind you, but not bothering the inhabitants for quite a few decades, apparently. Nearly a century, in fact.”
    “Really?” She seemed intrigued again, her dark eyes sparking with keen interest. Tip took in a slow pull of air. “Why did he wake up, as it were?”
    “Well,” Thomas flickered an uncertain look to Tip. “You see, the curse has a stipulation.”
    “What is it?” Bea asked.
    “It seems that Iversly must marry a maiden,” he spit out the words.
    Silence followed this revelation. Finally Bea spoke.
    “A maiden?”
    “You know, Bea.” Thomas rubbed his brow. “A virgin.”
    “Yes, Tom, I know what a maiden is,” she said in a low voice. “Intimately.” Her gaze slid to Tip. Now even her lips looked pinker than usual. Nearly red. Shapely and full. Beautiful to the point that the fly of his breeches was not in the least bit suitable for public.
    Tip nearly had to turn away, but the door opened behind him and Lady Bronwyn entered, calling Bea and Thomas’s attention. Bea seemed to study their hostess with renewed interest.
    “Oh,” Lady Bronwyn said, “now Lady Marstowe and Miss Dews are settled, with a nice hot pan and a pot of tea and biscuits. Cook bakes the tastiest ginger biscuits. You must have some, Miss Sinclaire . Oh, may I call you Beatrice?”
    Bea nodded with a gracious smile.
    “Oh, Beatrice, we shall have so much fun