A/N: Rumbelle Secret Santa 2014 gift for Ellsweetella who prompted "Ghost/Living Person AU"


"Yes, Mallory," Belle French sighed into the receiver of her cell phone. "No, I'm absolutely sure. Everything's just fine. I have it handled."

She checked her watch, noting the time difference, before returning her focus to the phone call.

"I'm still in the airport, I'll call you as soon as I get to the property."

By the time Mallory had finally hung up the phone, Belle was ready to collapse. It was 10 a.m. local time, which meant it was 5 a.m. back home. She'd barely been able to sleep on the plane, too excited about the journey ahead, and now she was regretting it. She was dead on her feet.

Mallory was in a complete tizzy wanting updates every few hours. It had been uncharacteristic and impulsive on her part to buy a property sight unseen. But the deal had been too good to pass up and she was anxious for Belle's assessment.

Now Belle had a one-hour car ride from Glasgow to look forward to. She glanced outside at the falling snow and shivered, pulling her winter coat closer around her shoulders.

It was two weeks until Christmas and she was in a foreign country by herself. It might make a lesser woman sad, but Belle was thrilled. Her father was currently holed up in a rehabilitation facility, her mother had been gone for eight years, and she'd been heart sick at the idea of spending the holidays alone in her tiny flat with a pitiful Charlie Brown Christmas tree and too much wine. But now, she was on an adventure.

When Mallory Fitz, real estate developer extraordinaire and Belle's boss, had snapped up a 16th century Scottish castle two weeks ago for the exorbitantly low price of £2,000,000, she'd decided she needed to send someone along to Scotland posthaste to evaluate the property.

Enter Belle. She had nothing tying her to New York, and jumped at the opportunity, thinking a little bit of travel was just what her stagnant life needed. She'd be there until the New Year, assessing the property, visiting the local villages, and composing a lengthy report on her findings. She was also expected to Skype with Mal on a daily basis, keeping her updated on the castle and any trouble she encountered.

She collected her luggage, which had blessedly arrived with her, before heading out to the queue of cabs outside the airport.

The castle was deceptively close to Glasgow, but winding roads and hills made the actual journey an arduous one. With the current weather, the drive was even longer.

Belle stared out the window of the car, watching the snow gently fall against the already blanketed countryside. If it kept up, she could find herself stranded up at the castle. A little thrill ran through Belle at the thought. It was like the start of one of her novels.

The rolling countryside lulled her into a trancelike state, and before she knew it her shoulder was being shaken by the driver.

"Pardon me, miss, but we've arrived."

Belle sat up, wiping at her face where she'd drooled against the window and righting herself.

The driver stepped out of the car onto the frozen gravel walk of the castle and opened her door for her. The sight that met Belle's eyes almost took her breath away.

The stone structure was enormous and Belle felt small and inconsequential standing before it. The rough stone was covered in frost, glinting in the pale morning sunlight that made it look as though it were encrusted in diamonds. The vaulted roofs were joined by snow-capped turrets, a Scottish flag waving from one in the gentle breeze. It was like something out of a fairytale.

"It's Hogwarts," Belle breathed.

"Pardon?" the driver asked as he wheeled her luggage around to her from the car's boot.

"Nothing," she answered. "It's magnificent."

"Bedlay Castle is the pride of these parts," the driver continued, hefting Belle's carry on bag onto his shoulder and heading up the walk before she could protest. "It's fallen on hard times recently, but she's still a jewel is she not?"

Belle couldn't argue with that, following along behind the driver and trying not to slip on the icy gravel.

"The original castle was built in the 1580s," the man continued. "Of course it's had extensive additions since then. The whole west wing, along with the towers, were added in the late 1700s. Then the family undertook a renovation in the 1950s, so it's all fitted out with electricity, plumbing, all the modern conveniences."

Belle was rather glad to have working plumbing. She hadn't even given thought to the idea that Mal may have invested in a ruin.

"But, you'll be getting the full tour soon enough I'd imagine," he finished off with a wink.

He lifted a hand to the large, brass knocker on the front door giving several loud raps before the wooden door swung open with a loud groan revealing a short, plump older woman.

"Well, child, we've been expecting you," she said, smiling warmly at Belle. "Come in out of the cold, then. I'm Mrs. Potts, the housekeeper. Now you'll be wanting a cup of tea, won't you?" she asked, not giving Belle a chance to answer. "Well of course you will. And maybe just a wee bit to eat as well? I'm sure I've a bit of cake saved up somewhere and perhaps some biscuits as well."

"That would be lovely," Belle said when finally given the chance.

She took her bags and tipped the driver, leaving them in the entry hall as she followed Mrs. Potts deeper into the castle.

The matronly woman led her into a large stone kitchen with a long wooden table stretched out in the center of the room. A fire was crackling merrily in the hearth, blessing the entire kitchen with its warmth. Belle gladly sat at the table, unwinding her scarf from around her neck and stuffing it in her purse.

Mrs. Potts grabbed a steaming kettle off the burner and poured a measure of hot water into a china teapot leaving it to steep. Then she arranged enough food to feed a small army onto a tray before carrying it all over to the table with strong arms. Belle was moderately impressed.

She glanced over the spread seeing half a chocolate torte, a selection of scones, a heaping plate of biscuits, several finger sandwiches and a full loaf of bread complete with thick pads of butter and jam.

"There we are," she cooed, pouring Belle a cup of tea and then another for herself before taking a seat at the table.

"Now, tell me all about yourself."

Belle felt suddenly on the spot. She'd come prepared to ask questions about the property but hadn't expected the staff to show any interest in her personally.

"Well," she stuttered. "I'm Belle French. I work for Mallory Fitz who bought the castle."

Mrs. Potts just nodded at her, face expectant, so Belle continued.

"I live in New York, but I'm originally from Melbourne, Australia."

Mrs. Potts simply nodded again.

"This is my very first time in Scotland," Belle offered, grasping for something her companion would reply to. "So if there's anything you can recommend I do while I'm here I'd be most grateful."

Mrs. Potts waved a dismissive hand at that.

"But why are you here, dear?" she asked, taking a long sip from her delicate teacup.

"Well, as I said, I work for Miss Fitz. She needed someone to come and assess the property in person…"

"I know all that," the older woman interrupted. "But a lovely young thing like you traveling to a foreign country by herself at Christmastime? It's most unusual."

Belle felt her heart sink a bit. Mrs. Potts seemed nothing if not forthright. But dwelling on her current situation was the last thing she wanted to do.

"Just not much holding me at home, I suppose," she said with a shrug, grabbing a biscuit from the tray and fiddling with it in her hands.

"Do you have a laddie back home?" the woman asked conspiratorially, patting Belle's arm across the table.

"No," she replied with a shake of her head. That was just the problem. She didn't have anyone.

"Well you're such a lovely girl it can't be long for you," Mrs. Potts said reassuringly. "You finish up that tea and then I'll give you a tour."

By the time Mrs. Potts had concluded her tour, Belle was pretty sure she'd be lost finding her way from the kitchen to her bedroom. The castle took up three floors with eleven bedrooms in total along with a great hall, a smaller side hall, a massive courtyard and several storage cellars.

When she finally made it back to what would be her bedroom for the next few weeks, she collapsed across the bed, a grin spreading across her face.


"It's gorgeous, Mal," she sighed into the phone receiver once she'd gotten hold of her boss. "The place is enormous and completely charming like something out of a fairy story."

"Well that's a relief," came Mal's bored reply. "I do so hate wasting millions. Give me the rundown."

Belle rattled off what details she could, noting the number of bedrooms and other spaces that could be converted into guest rooms.

"The plumbing seems a bit antiquated and I'm sure the whole place needs to be re-wired, but it's really not in bad condition that I've seen."

"That's fantastic news, Belle," Mal sighed. "Have you had any issues with the staff or the locals? I can't imagine turning a historic property into a hotel is going to go over well."

"Nothing yet, but I've only been here four hours," Belle smirked.

"I like your enthusiasm," her boss deadpanned. "Keep me updated."

With that, Mal hung up and Belle took a moment to get acquainted with her new living quarters. The stone walls were covered in tapestries and thick curtains hung in the windows to keep out the draft. A large four-poster bed with green tartan coverings dominated the center of the room. A fireplace large enough for Belle to stand in was set into one wall with a plush armchair sitting in front of it. She could already imagine how often she'd fall asleep reading in that exact spot.

Despite Mrs. Potts' awkward questions, Belle felt at home here. With a shock she realized she hadn't felt at home anywhere since her mother died almost a decade ago. It was too bad this visit was temporary. All too soon she'd be finished with the assessment and headed back to the states.

She leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes for a moment. But the events of the day and the jetlag soon caught up to her and she fell into a dreamless sleep.


Belle awoke hours later to a feeling of cold.

Sitting up suddenly, she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. She was still dressed in her clothes from the day and the fire in the hearth had died down to mere embers. She stood up from the bed, padding across the room to where her suitcase was still lying unpacked. She quickly rifled through it, pulling out a pair of thick flannel pajamas and pulling socks on to her freezing feet. Then she threw another log on the fire, stoking it back to life.

She was disoriented after her long nap, but she knew it was late. The sky was pitch black behind her curtains.

Stifling a yawn, she headed back toward the bed looking forward to burying herself beneath the covers when there was a loud bang directly outside her door.

Belle jumped, her heart in her throat before she calmed herself down. The castle was old and creaky, there were bound to be bumps in the night.

She'd just settled herself back in bed when there was another bang, this time more muffled as though whatever made the noise had moved further down the hall. Perhaps it was Mrs. Potts, though she was certain the old woman lived in the village and didn't stay at the castle overnight. She'd have to inquire if there was anyone else staying on site when she saw the housekeeper tomorrow.

Pushing those thoughts out of her mind, Belle tried to fall back asleep. But she kept waking up, having fitful dreams of a sad man with tired eyes. By the next morning, she could remember none of it.


Morning found a bleary eyed Belle settled at the breakfast table as Mrs. Potts heaped enough food to feed twenty onto a plate for the castle's one and only guest.

"So, Mrs. Potts," Belle started, tucking into her eggs and tattie scones. She'd missed dinner the night before and was consequently voracious, "you've served this manor for a long time, haven't you? What can you tell me about it?"

"Well it's a fine house, is it not?" she replied, pouring Belle a steaming cup of tea. "I've worked here since I was a girl. My mother was the cook back when the family still lived here. She's long passed now, rest her soul. But the family started spending less and less time here as the years went on. All went off to the city, you know. In the recent years they've only been in for special occasions. It makes it quite dreary for us, but you know we do our best."

"What prompted the family to sell?"

"Oh I suppose they don't have much use for a big old country home these days," Mrs. Potts said diplomatically. Eyeing Belle for a moment, she narrowed her eyes shrewdly before leaning closer. "I think the young master needed the money, quite frankly. He's troubled."

"The sauce," she added with a dramatic whisper.

Belle raised her eyebrows at that, enjoying the older woman's company. She would have to insist Mal keep her on as housekeeper once the property was converted.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

"Oh, well, it's a wee bitty haunted, you'll know," the woman said, offering Belle a plate of sausages.

"Haunted?" she asked skeptically. "As in a ghost?"

"Oh aye," Mrs. Potts continued cheerfully. "They say it's the spirit of the old Lord Bedlay. And such a sad story that was."

The woman was a natural storyteller, knowing just how to snare her audience without sharing too much. Belle was on the edge of her seat.

"Well?" she prompted. "What's the story?"

"Oh well that would have been some hundred or so years back. Lord Bedlay lived here with his wee boy Master Bailey. His wife had run off when the boy was just a bairn, not much cut out for motherhood I suppose, so it was just the two of them.

"They were very close by all accounts and Bailey was his father's pride and joy," Mrs. Potts continued with a small smile. "But then the war started and all the boys were going off to die all over the continent. Bailey was the only son and heir, but he was also a headstrong young lad. He wanted to fight for God and country, but he was still a boy and his father tried his best to keep him away. In the end he defied his father and ran off and volunteered. He was killed at the Somme, and the old Lord never recovered."

"That's terrible," Belle said with a shake of her head. "So the son haunts the castle?"

"Och, no child. I just said he died in France didn't I? It was when the old Lord heard news of his son's death he was so overcome with grief that he walked out into the loch just calm as you please and was never seen again. The house passed to a distant cousin and that was the end of Lord Bedlay's line."

"He drowned himself?" Belle asked, aghast at the dark turn of the story.

"So the story goes," Mrs. Potts agreed. "I don't know how much stock you put in ghost stories, lass, but I've seen the old Lord myself. He's mostly harmless as long as you don't get in his way, mind."

"You've seen him?" Belle asked, surprised.

"Aye," the woman agreed. "He'll pop up on occasion, scaring the maids just bold as you please. He's got a wicked since of humor, but as I said, mostly harmless."

Belle was suddenly reminded of the banging outside her door the night before. She didn't for one moment believe a ghost was responsible, but it seemed prudent to ask.

"Mrs. Potts, do any of the staff live on the property or ever stay overnight?"

"No," she replied with a shake of her gray head. "Most live down in the village and only come for the working hours. You're all alone up here at night, dear."

Perhaps it was the woman's story, but Belle felt a chill up her spine at that thought.


Belle spent the next few days on a detailed assessment of the ground floor. There were several issues with the foundation that would be costly, but otherwise the old building was in good shape. She conducted interviews with the staff including Mrs. Potts as well as the maids, Babette and Louise, the groundskeeper Mr. Williams, and the old butler, Mr. Coghill.

"The housekeeper says the place is haunted, but other than that I haven't found anything too objectionable," Belle said, propping her laptop up so she could better see Mallory on the screen. She'd finally managed to get her wireless hotspot up and running and could now fulfill her daily Skype obligations.

"Haunted?" Mal asked, her eyes going wide. "By who?"

"Some Scottish Lord who died at the turn of the century."

A grin spread across Mal's face.

"Does he wear a kilt?"

"What?" Belle asked, taken aback.

"The ghost," Mal clarified. "Would he wear a kilt?"

"I don't know. I highly doubt there's a ghost at all."

"Fuck, with all that Outlander shit Scotsmen are so hot right now. We could capitalize on this, Belle. Create some romantic highland adventure for our guests. The bored housewives will eat this shit up!"

"We're not technically in the highlands," Belle pointed out. But Mal wasn't listening to her anymore.

"We could build a whole package around it. Every good hotel has a ghost after all."

"I'm glad you're thrilled at the idea of me sharing a house with a vengeful spirit," Belle said wryly.

Mallory leveled her with a look.

"You and I both know there's no such thing as ghosts," she said slowly as though talking to a child. "But see what you can find out about this guy. Having his tragic history up on the web site could be a nice little feature."

"I'll keep asking around, check out any records I can find," Belle agreed before signing off.

Closing her laptop, Belle grabbed the digital camera Mal had provided her with and decided to set about taking photos of the property. Mrs. Potts had shown her around on her first day and she'd become well acquainted with the ground floor, but there were still parts of the castle she hadn't explored. She'd been focused before on rooms that could be used for guests, but Belle was intrigued by the rest of the house.

She left her room, heading up to the mostly unexplored third floor, stopping to take photos as she went.

She snapped one of the wide third floor corridor covered in a thick red carpet, then scrolled through to make sure it looked okay.

"That's weird," she murmured to herself, noticing a glare in the left corner of the photo. There were no visible lights in that area, nothing to catch the glint of the sun. Frowning she raised her camera to take another picture, turning the flash off this time.

Looking down at the display screen, she saw the hallway complete with the same glare, only this time it was closer to her.

Her eyes shot up, fixed on the place a few feet in front of her. The hair stood up on the back of her neck, a prickling feeling along the skin of her arms.

"Hello?" she called to the empty corridor.

Unsurprisingly there was no answer.

Belle let out a little laugh at herself. She must have let Mrs. Potts' ghost story affect her more than she thought.

Glancing down the hallway one more time, Belle shook her head and turned to enter the first door on her right.

Stepping into the room sent all thoughts of ghosts and old Scottish Lords far from her thoughts.

It was a library!

The large room was filled with floor to ceiling shelves positively stuffed with books. Two leather armchairs sat before a large fireplace. A library table sat in the middle of the room with a thick Atlas displayed on top and a drinks cart was nestled in the corner. It looked as though it had once been a well-loved room.

Belle walked around the room, running her fingers along the spines of the books, enjoying the feel of old leather beneath her fingertips.

Her eyes were drawn toward one narrow tome, nestled in the middle of one of the shelves. She reached for it, hands slightly trembling. It felt as though something was pulling her toward it, a strange need to see what was inside.

"Oh, Miss French, there you are," Mrs. Potts' voice came from the open doorway, cutting through Belle's concentration as she dropped her hand to her side. "I just wanted to tell you we're all headed home for the day."

"So early?" Belle asked, glancing out the window at the weak winter sunlight. It was still an hour until nightfall at least.

"There's a big snowstorm blowing through tonight and none of us relish being stranded overnight," the woman explained. "I'll try to be in tomorrow, but the roads here get quite treacherous in the snow. You may be on your own for a few days until the plow comes through."

"Oh," she returned, surprised. "Okay."

"Don't you worry, dear," the older woman smiled kindly. "There's plenty of firewood and a well stocked larder so you won't go hungry. Help yourself to whatever is available."

"Thank you, Mrs. Potts."

"If there's any emergencies, you can phone me in the village. We'll send someone straight up by foot."

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

The woman nodded, wringing her hands nervously as she glanced around the library, before backing away. It was only after she'd gone that Belle realized how unusual it was that she'd never actually entered the room.


Belle spent the rest of the afternoon with a thick, leather bound volume on the history of the Wars of the Three Kingdoms, curled up in the armchair in front of the fire. She was so engrossed in her book that she didn't realize how late it had become until her stomach gave a loud grumble.

The light outside had faded to inky darkness leaving the few lamps scattered throughout the library as the only source of light. Glancing out the window, Belle could see nothing but darkness. The village was miles away, Glasgow even further. She was utterly alone. But it was so much better than being alone back in New York. Here, her loneliness was an adventure rather than a curse.

She served herself a late dinner of leftover steak and kidney pie, making herself a big cup of tea before heading back up to her bedroom to once again put on her flannel pajamas and thickest pair of socks.

Central heating. That was something Mallory could invest in. The snow had really started to come down beyond her covered windows, the stiff wind howling and causing the ancient stones to creak.

Belle stoked the fire, adding another log to keep the blaze going before settling down in the armchair. Wrapping a warm woolen throw blanket around her shoulders, she cracked open her much loved copy of Jane Eyre. Something about being in an old castle during a snowstorm and by herself at night had her thirsting for something gothic.

She'd just got to the part where Jane discovers the mysterious fire in Rochester's room when there was a loud bang outside her room just like on her first night in the castle.

Belle jumped at the intrusion, gripping her book and turning to stare at her closed bedroom door.

It could just be the pipes, she reasoned. It could be the creaking, groaning, wheezing of an ancient structure as it settled. It could be a million and one things that were not related to a ghost.

A clatter came from outside the hall, as though something had been knocked over.

Belle leapt up, heading to the bedroom door with her blanket still wrapped around her. Maybe the castle had a cat?

She flung the door open, staring out into the darkened corridor. A few feet down from her room, a pedestal had toppled over sending a large vase rolling down the hall on its side. A strange prickling settled over her skin, as though she were being watched.

"Is there someone there?" Belle called out to the darkness outside her room. It would all seem rather silly if it turned out she was talking to herself, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't alone in the cold, dark corridor.

After a long moment of silence, she let out a laugh, wrapping her blanket more firmly around her shoulders and retreating back into the room. She was being ridiculous, letting the words of a superstitious old woman and her novel cloud her judgment. Belle knew there was no such thing as ghosts. It was just a sad story told by the locals to amp up the tourism to the castle. There was nothing supernatural happening at Bedlay.

She turned, heading back toward the bed when she felt a prickling along the back of her neck as though someone were breathing just behind her.

Whirling around she saw nothing but empty space, but the back of her neck felt warm despite the chill air.

"Mrs. Potts?" she called, though she knew the old woman wasn't there. No, Belle was all alone in a massive, possibly haunted castle at night. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. She was stranded. There was no way out.

What had seemed like an adventure suddenly seemed remarkably stupid.

"Be brave, Belle," she whispered to herself. There was no need to panic. On the off chance that there really was a ghost, Mrs. Potts had described him as friendly. It was no use getting herself worked up over Casper.

She climbed up on the four-poster bed, settling with her legs folded underneath her and wrapping her arms around herself.

"Okay," she said, voice trembling ever so slightly. "Maybe I'm crazy and maybe I'm just talking to myself, but if anyone's listening, could you please just show yourself? It would make all of this rather less frightening."

"But rather less like a haunting," came a deep, rumbling Scottish brogue from near the fire.

Belle squealed, whirling towards the fireplace and almost toppling off the bed.

"You're real?" she asked breathlessly.

There was a long moment of silence, and Belle had almost convinced herself that she'd imagined the voice, when there was a sudden rippling in the air near the armchair. It distorted for a moment, like the air over the hot pavement on summer days back home in Australia, before congealing, forming into a more solid shape.

Belle blinked twice, hardly believing her eyes when all of a sudden there was a man sitting in her armchair.

He wasn't quite solid, a pearlescent quality to his form, but it was definitely a man. He was wearing a dark gray suit and tie, rather old fashioned. He looked a bit older than Belle, though it was hard to tell with the shifting pattern of the armchair almost visible behind his head. His face was handsome, with a sharp pointed nose, large soulful eyes and a thin mouth that was currently quirked up in a small smirk.

Somewhere at the back of her mind, Belle noted that Mallory would be disappointed in his lack of kilt.

"Well, dearie, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"Lord Bedlay?" she managed to rasp out, her throat feeling drier than the Sahara Desert.

"Ah, so my reputation precedes me," he said, standing with a flourish. He seemed rather pleased. "I will say you're taking this much better than some of the others, Miss…" he trailed off, waiting for her to introduce herself.

"French," she replied. Were there any rules about not giving your name to ghosts? If so she'd just violated them. "Belle French. Others?"

"Maids mostly," he grinned. "They tend to run screaming from the room if I become corporeal."

Belle continued to stare at him, kneeling in the middle of her bed. She was either having an extremely vivid delusion, or there was a ghost in her bedroom. She wasn't sure which option was more disconcerting.

"Well," the ghost of Lord Bedlay prompted. "You asked me to reveal myself and here I am. Don't you have anything to say?"

A million questions rushed through Belle's head, but she only had the presence of mind to voice one word.

"How?"

The ghost shrugged, the movement jostling his hair that hung long, almost brushing his shoulders. It was unfashionably long for a man who'd lived in the early 1900s.

"How indeed? There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

"Hamlet," she said, quirking her brow. It seemed a rather apt play for a ghost to quote from.

"Fitting, isn't it?" he smirked again.

"According to Hamlet, all ghosts speak Latin," she pointed out.

The ghost shrugged, walking toward her a few steps. "I was never any good with languages."

Belle had to stifle a small laugh at that. Apparently she knew more Latin than a ghost. She probably spoke better French, too.

"Why are you here?" she asked, relaxing now that it seemed the ghost meant her no harm. She sat back on her heels, getting more comfortable.

Lord Bedlay frowned at her question.

"I'm not sure," he said finally. "I've nowhere else to go, I suppose."

Belle could sympathize with that. She was here for similar reasons. She'd nowhere else to be. But at least she could leave when she chose, as soon as the weather let up. To be bound to the place you'd died, unable to move on, seemed the loneliest fate.

"Why are you here in my bedroom?" she clarified, realizing for the first time that an incorporeal man could have been watching her since she first arrived. She pulled the blanket even tighter around her. "You haven't been watching me change have you?"

Lord Bedlay looked affronted at that. "Of course not," he cried. "I just came in when you opened the door. Besides, dearie, I'm dead. It's not as though I could get up to much even if I had been watching you. Lest you haven't been paying attention, I've got no body."

Belle felt chastened by a ghost. And before she could dwell too much on that thought, she moved on to her next question.

"You're not going to hurt me, are you?"

He seemed friendly enough. He'd made no move to hurt her. Mrs. Potts had said he was harmless as long as you stayed out of his way. It was what happened if she accidentally crossed him that had Belle concerned.

"Well, Miss French, that depends," he stated, leveling her with a look that suddenly made her feel cold once again.

"On what?"

"On what you plan to do with my house."

"It's not yours anymore," she said softly. "When you died it passed on to your cousin and my employer purchased it from their descendant. She can do what she likes with it."

The ghost narrowed his eyes at her, crossing his hands before him and flexing his fingers menacingly. Perhaps she should have just said "nothing".

"It's my castle, Miss French," he said in a low growl. "It never should have passed out of my family. If it does not stay with someone of my blood, terrible things will happen."

"Terrible things?" Belle asked. "Like what?"

"You have one week to rectify this, Miss French," he said coolly, ignoring her question. "I trust that's enough time."

Before she could protest, the man had vanished on the spot.

"Lord Bedlay!" she called, but it was too late. She could tell from the electricity in the room, from the lack of gooseflesh on her arms, that he was gone.