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mentally arguing with herself.
    They walked passed the figure near the door, temporarily blocking her view, and yet noticed nothing. Once they were gone, her eyes searched the dim corner.
    Empty.
    "Right. Like it should be,” she murmured, cautiously looking around the room.
    Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she let out a soft breath of relief, but couldn't shake the odd feeling of not being alone.
    "Are you still here, William?” She didn't really want a response, although some part of her prayed for one.
    "Aye, I am here.” He materialized at the foot of the bed, looking exactly as she remembered him. Just like in her dreams.
    She gulped. “You're not a figment of my imagination or a delusion brought on by too many painkillers, are you?"
    He smiled, setting his deep blue eyes to sparkling, and her heart into a tailspin. Lord, he was handsome. All this time she thought he was a dream, a childhood fantasy, but now she realized how ridiculous she'd been. He was far too gorgeous, too real, too—everything, for a child to dream up.
    But a woman could imagine the strapping figure of a man, and she was most definitely a woman. Isabel could feel every part of her female anatomy awakening with the mere presence of him.
    So much for having ice in her veins.
    He stepped to the side of the bed. “I am real. As real as I can be in this world. I pray I did not frighten you.” His smooth deep tones sent a delicious shiver down her spine.
    "You are cold,” he said, and moved quickly across the room to the wardrobe for an extra blanket.
    She admired his long graceful strides. His tight leather breeches tucked into riding boots displayed his muscular thighs perfectly. Her gaze moved up his exquisite masculine form as he returned to her side with the quilt.
    A white linen shirt with a deep ‘v’ shaped neck and billowy sleeves with ruffled cuffs lay beneath an embroidered red jerkin laced together. His turned up collar framed his strong jaw and contrasted sharply with his black hair. Definitely the look of a rogue.
    Dark hypnotizing curls visible between the undone lacings of his shirt teased her to distraction. He looked exactly as he did in her dreams. No—better. Much, much better.
    He stepped back after having carefully adjusted the blanket to his satisfaction. “Better?"
    "Better,” Isabel said softly, then shook her head to break the haze of desire clouding her thoughts. Lusting after a ghost couldn't be healthy. Maybe she'd lost it, after all. “Um, thank you for the quilt. And no, you didn't frighten me."
    "I am verily relieved."
    There was that smile again. Thick, full lips she knew could take her to a world of absolute ecstasy. Nervously clearing her throat, she dropped her gaze to the quilt. Oh, this was awkward beyond belief! She had the hots for a ghost.
    "I see that my presence disturbs you. I will leave you to your rest, poppet,” he said.
    She heard the disappointment in his voice and quickly doused the growing heat in the pit of her stomach. “No, I was just thinking. Please, don't go."
    "If you are certain."
    Isabel nodded.
    "Very well. I shall remain.” William moved the chair he'd held over Chad's head next to the bed and sat.
    "Why couldn't I see you before? I used to be able to see you all the time when I was little?” she asked.
    "I do not know. Perhaps ‘tis because you are no longer a child and ‘tis harder for you to believe in me."
    "I suppose.” She looked away for a moment, refusing to let her libido rule her thoughts—although it pounded rather furiously against the door she'd locked it behind. “William, I vaguely remember why you're here. I mean, I remember you're cursed somehow and something about being attached to the bed."
    She swallowed hard. Images of him and the bed, the bed she was lying in at that very moment, unnerved her. She'd meant to make conversation and refresh her memory, not send her hormones into a tizzy. The door to those dangerous thoughts needed a heftier