Free Divine by Nichole van Page A

to her head, tendrils escaping and clinging to the back of her elegant neck.
    As if some divine angel had reached into the recesses of his heart and conjured his deepest longing.
    Sebastian closed his eyes, forcing his vision to clear. Surely it was just a trick of the light, a cruel heartbreaking impossibility. She would be gone when he opened his eyes.
    No.
    She was still there.
    He blinked.
    No. Still there.
    Tall and slender. Her body a suggestion of womanly curves. Arms wide, turned away from him toward the rising sun, her white muslin dress trailing in the damp grass behind her.
    Sebastian tried to swallow past the searing pain in his chest. Shook his head. But the vision— she —remained.
    He was being mawkish. It was impossible .
    She had been dying . Alone. In some unknown place.
    This was just some terrible coincidence. This blond woman would turn around, and he would realize his mistake.
    He had been thinking about her and so now saw her everywhere.
    That was all.
    But then she lifted her face higher to the sun, drew in a deep breath and laughed in delight.
    That bright cascade of sound. Bell-like and clear.
    The laugh which Sebastian would know anywhere. The sound that carried him through cannon-fire and the cries of men dying. The sound he would hear ringing through his ears as he drew his last breath.
    Impossible. It was just so utterly . . . It was . . .
    His throat tightened.
    Was she real? Was this a dream?
    And, if so, could it please never, ever end?
    Quietly dismounting and dropping his horse’s reins, Sebastian walked toward her, watching the warm sun illuminate the edges of her, tangle through her golden hair, skim the back of her elegant neck. The light filtered through the mist eddying across the surrounding field.
    Had he somehow conjured her? Had she truly died and was now returning as a ghost to haunt him?
    That would be his luck, wouldn’t it? To be haunted by Georgiana Knight, to never be left in peace.
    Again and again, he blinked. But each time he opened his eyes, she was still there.
    Back to him, arms open, embracing morning, swaying from side to side.
    An utterly inconceivable dream.
    His horse snorted behind him and she startled, turning around.
    They froze, staring intently at each other. A part of his mind registered the surprise in her wide eyes.
    Somehow, the reality of her exceeded the beauty of memory.
    Her eyes pools of winter-blue sky. Hair golden and perfectly curled around her chin. Her face sculpted, older now, reflecting the maturity of womanhood.
    No trace of illness clung to her—she glowed, vibrant and whole.
    He stared, greedily drinking her in.
    She had to be a ghost.
    “Sebastian?” She tilted her head at him, puzzled.
    “Georgiana,” he said in return, dazed.
    Slowly, that wondrous, wide smile spread across her face.
    The smile that Sebastian loved most. The one that brought the sun with it.
    It was almost more than he could bear.
    His throat closed tightly, making swallowing difficult.
    “Have you come to haunt me?” he asked, heart thundering in his ears.
    Her smile froze.
    “Pardon?” Confusion skittered across her face.
    “Are you a ghost?”
    Confusion rapidly transformed into panic. “A ghost? No . . . not . . . I mean, uhm, oh dear . . .”
    Her brow furrowed. “Do you expect me to be a ghost?”
    Sebastian paused. For a question, it was . . . odd.
    “Not . . . necessarily,” he said slowly.
    She took a step toward him. Assessing.
    “Are you dead?” he continued. “Did you die wherever your brother took you?”
    Georgiana held eerily still, her eyes wide and questioning.
    Definitely panic-stricken.
    “I am not . . . sure?” How could that be a question?
    Yes, definitely odd.
    She took another step toward him.
    Sebastian opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, hopelessly bewildered.
    “Do you think I died?” she asked after a pause, eyes still wide.
    She took another step toward him.
    “I should certainly hope you did not,” he