A Sterling Affair

2009·0.3 MB·english

by  Palmquist

Deana gingerly walked over to Sir Ian. What
kind of phenomenon was he? A phantom? A ghost?
She studied him more carefully as she got closer to
him. He looked like the average man; no, not
average. He was above average. If she had to rate
him on a scale of one to ten, she’d have to give him
an eleven.
“I’m sorry for what’s happened. Maybe you
should get dressed while we sort this mess out. I just
don’t know what to think of the whole thing.”
She didn’t want to step too close to him. She
stretched her arm out, hoping he could reach the
clothing. He didn’t take the clothes. Instead, she felt
him grab her wrist and pull her toward him. She felt
foolish when she screamed out. Just what he was
going to do to her?
He pulled her in closer and peered down at her.
She looked up at him and noticed he had big brown
eyes. She expected him to feel like ice, but instead
his hand was warm. And he was alive, definitely
alive. She could feel his breath on her cheek. Todd
and Amy, and this gentleman, must be playing some
kind of joke on her. They couldn’t have possibly have
brought him back from the dead. He was warm and
he was breathing. He just didn’t look like a dead
man. Dead men didn’t cause you to have this sort of
reaction.
Deana felt her knees go wobbly again, and it
definitely wasn’t because she was standing next to a
supposedly dead man. There was only one simple
explanation for the way she was feeling. She was
attracted to him, and found him, well, the only word
she could think of was sexy.

A Sterling
Affair

by

Susan Palmquist
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents are either the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales, is
entirely coincidental.

A Sterling Affair

COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Susan Palmquist

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used
or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without
written permission of the author or The Wild Rose
Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied
in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]

Cover Art by Rae Monet

The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History
First Faery Rose Edition, 2008
Print ISBN 1-60154-367-0

Published in the United States of America
Dedication

For Dad, the man who
got me hooked on reading.

CHAPTER ONE

There was light. It cast a brightness he hadn’t
seen or experienced in 178 years.
His hand twitched, shook, and then a strong jolt
shot up his arm. The impulse was intense and so
powerful that it sent his arm springing up into the
air. His hand struck the top of the coffin he was
encased in, but he did not feel any pain.
He felt spreading warmth working its way from
his left foot to his thigh. He thought how strange it
suddenly felt in comparison to his right leg and foot.
That side of his body was still cold, numb...lifeless.
The warmth spread into his stomach. It felt like
a steady stream of something hot and wet invading
his body. It extended upwards into his chest, filling
both of his lungs. He took his first breath, but then
held it. He had to because he’d just felt his first
heartbeat.
He expelled the air from his mouth. He then felt
a pounding in his head. He sensed that his heart
was circulating blood around his body again. There
was no mistaking these sensations. He was coming
alive again.
His eyes sprung open. He saw a muted light
above him. He flexed his fingers, then his toes. His
body suddenly felt heavier. Once again he had
internal organs, skin, blood, flesh...everything that
made a person mortal.
The ground underneath him quivered, but then
stopped. It rattled, but then stopped again. Then
there was a violent rumbling sound. The dirt above
the coffin started to make its way inside. It fell in
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Susan Palmquist

mounds on his chest and face. He could see light, or
what he remembered as light, streaming down upon
him. He reached up to feel it on his palm and felt a
brisk wind stinging his skin. He was breaking out of
his prison.
The shaking subsided and only silence fell on his
ears. He listened closely for a hint, or even a clue, as
to what might be happening to him. There was a
sudden clap of thunder, but no rain. He listened
again. And then he heard it, voices...children’s
voices, calling in the distance.
“Sir Ian Ashby, Sir Ian Ashby, come to us.”
****
Deana turned her head to listen. She was sure it
was Todd and Amy calling to her, but then a few
claps of thunder outside the bathroom window had
muted any sounds within the house. She thought
maybe a storm was brewing, but didn’t hear any
more thunder. Maybe it was all her imagination.
And after all, the house was over a hundred years
old and often made peculiar noises.
But then she’d heard the children calling out
again. At first Deana had thought they were calling
for help. However, as she listened closely, she could
hear it was a man’s name they were shouting out
loud. It was at that point she’d concluded it was
some type of new game they’d invented.
She sat back down in the bath. It had turned
tepid, but all she needed was a few more minutes to
relax and she’d be as good as new again.
Deana wondered what type of game the kids had
come up with this time. She heard their voices
drifting up the stairs again. However, this time she
closed her eyes and ignored the intrusion. She was
going to enjoy some peace and quiet, and some time
for herself. Just five minutes more and then she’d
have to get ready to leave for the evening.
She pushed her head back onto the inflatable
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