Steven wasn’t sure if he needed more brandy or less. He lowered the scope and rubbed his eyes.

Bloody hell.

It couldn’t hurt to have one more drink before looking again. As he held the bottle directly to his mouth and swallowed twice, three times, he realized he had completely forgotten about his guests in the library.

They could wait.

The ghost of his dead wife had apparently come home.

He held the scope back to his eye and was oddly unprepared to see nobody there. She had been on the slope next to the pond in a beautiful, pale-blue day gown that would have only added to the dreamy quality of her eyes. Her dark, brown hair had been loose down her back. The sight of her made his heart ache and brought to life his desire for the first time in a year.

But upon his second look, she was gone. Of course she was gone; she hadn’t really been there to begin with. He suddenly had a thought that if her ghost had been there maybe it would reappear; maybe she was waiting for him. He might be a little drunk, but it was worth a try.

“Ricardo, please inform my uncle and aunt that I am on my way. Or will be, soon.”

With his hair still wet, his shirt only half covering his chest, and his breeches only just fastened, Steven reached over the railing of the balcony and hopped over to the tree branch that he had used as a ladder since he was ten. He hit the ground and made his best attempt to run to the pond.

Hold on Clarissa…please...