Chapter 1

"And this is the room where the Marquess of Margrave spent the last twenty years of his life," the tour guide was saying. Cynara followed the small group of tourists, listening to the explanation of Margrave Manor with passing interest.

Cynara had come to England to visit her grandmother, but was surprised when instead of spending time with her daughter's daughter, the elderly woman had abandoned her to England's many tourist attractions. Cynara loved exploring the old, beautiful country, but she didn't necessarily like doing it alone.

The ironic thing was, Cynara had been ecstatic to take her first vacation alone, to spend the summer between high school and college abroad. The only thing was, she thought her grandmother would be spending it with her once she arrived. She had pictured her grandma as one of those fun, eccentric old ladies, the kind that didn't let their age get in the way of living. However when she had arrived, she had been disappointed to find out her grandma didn't even like to leave the house.

Cynara was even more upset to find that she was expected to make the visit to Paris next week alone. She was eighteen, but she didn't feel like an adult, not yet anyway. Oh well, she had thought, she would survive, and it would be a learning experience. She wouldn't let her summer be wasted.

"The Marquess was of course the original owner, he built the house in 1752 and lived here until his death in 1819. Now if you follow me, I will take you to the most notorious room in the house." The tour guide continued down the hall, and the group shuffled along after her.

"The four sons of the marquess were notorious bad boys of the English peerage, with their father being and invalid, and their mother having died in childbirth to their younger sister, no one was to stop them from gambling, visiting brothels, and slighting any other noblemen that dared cross their paths," she said as she walked, occasionally glancing over her shoulder. "The second oldest son, Lord Charles Stanmore, perhaps had the worst reputation of the lot, but with a title and money, almost anything was excused."

Cynara found the history behind the people that lived here more interesting than the house itself, and was completely enthralled with what the tour guide was saying now.

"And this was his room. It is considered the most notorious room in the house because this is where Charles died, and his ghost is said to still haunt the place.

Some of our workers can even sense his presence, lights are mysteriously turned on and off, a phantom gust of wind is felt that seems to come from nowhere, and on some nights, people even claim to hear him crying and moaning.

Even his older brother felt his ghost. He had written in his journal that he could no longer enter this room after the incident, for the presence of his brother was so strong, he feared he would break down just being in here."

The tour guide, with the expertise of someone who has given the speech hundreds of times, immediately changed the tone of her voice from eerie to cheerful, and continued to explain the architecture and furniture in the room. Cynara however could not get the story out of her head.

Immediately after walking into the room, she had felt a chill of a presence. Cynara had never been a believer of ghosts, but couldn't help but wonder if she sensed Charles's ghost, as goose bumps crawled up her arms.

She followed the tour guide out of the room, but the first chance she got; she slipped away from the group and back into Charles's room. As soon as she reentered, the strange feeling over took her body. She felt cold and tingly and squished, as though something was squeezing her tightly. Why am I here? she asked, trying to turn and leave the room, but she couldn't will her feet to move.

She felt her heart swell, and her eyelids flutter. She was suddenly sleepy, so very sleepy. Her eyelids drooped shut, and she stood in the room, swaying unsteadily on her feet. She tried to open her eyes, but found she just didn't have the will power to do so. Lie down, her hazy mind told her.

Okay, she thought, I'll just lie down for a minute. She took a step toward the bed, then let her body simply fall, landing on it with a thump. She knocked over the red rope, put there to stop guests from touching the furniture, but she didn't even notice. She was asleep in seconds.

Someone was stroking her cheek, kissing her neck. Cynara moaned at the pleasurable sensation of slightly calloused hands touching her, and warm lips kissing her. The lips suddenly pressed down on her mouth, and Cynara let herself respond to the kiss. The hand was straying down her neck, until it grasped one of her breasts.

Cynara moaned again at the pleasurable sensation, the fogginess of sleep blocking her from asking any questions. The hand now massaged her breast through her thin t-shirt, then traveled lower to feel her bare midriff, exposed by the scrunching of her shirt.

It felt so good, so erotic, so wonderful, so real. So real? Cynara suddenly sat up. Where was she? What was going on? She looked down at the man laying next to her, the man who had been touching her. Then she looked around the room, and she remembered. The tour. She had fallen asleep during the tour, but who was this man?

"Who are you, you pervert?" she shouted at him, jumping off the bed.

"I think I should be the one asking you that question," he said smiling lazily at her. He was handsome, she'd give him that much. He looked to be maybe a few years older than her, and he was wearing olden day clothes. He must work here, she thought.

"You should be asking me? Yes, okay, I did accidentally fall asleep. And I know I was on the furniture, I'm sorry, but at least I don't go around molesting unsuspecting women," she accused. How dare this man lay there smiling at her like that, after practically attacking her while she slept?

"I assumed you wanted me to touch you, you were in my bed after all." He must be some sort of actor portraying Charles, she surmised, one that got way too into the character. Even so, that didn't give him the right to kiss her while she was sleeping. "And besides," he continued, "You didn't seem to be protesting a few minutes ago," he said arrogantly. Now he was just mocking her, and Cynara felt her hackles rising.

"Don't flatter yourself," she said rolling her eyes, "I didn't even know you were a real person. I would have responded the same way to anyone."

"Oh, I see," he said, putting on a serious face, but not losing the teasing glint in his eyes, "You are trying to tell me you're a loose woman." Cynara threw down her hands and stormed out of the room. She had had enough with this lunatic.

Upon entering the hall she noticed that there was no one else there. All the red ropes and brochure stands were gone, too. In fact, it looked like a real nineteenth century Manor. Was there some special event she had accidentally intruded on? A movie taping?