Free Tempting the Marquess by Sara Lindsey

Rhoslynn’s folly is that love is every bit as destructive as war.”
    Livvy pulled away from him. “You’re wrong. War is destructive, but love is its antidote. Nothing could be worse than losing a loved one, but even then love triumphs over death, for the memory of those loves lives on in the hearts still beating. Love is the stuff of hopes and dreams, which are in turn the stuff of life.”
    “You, Miss Weston, are possessed of a romantic nature. I fear your life will be fraught with disappointments.”
    “As opposed to you, who have not suffered disappointment?” she shot back.
    The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile, but his eyes were sad. “I too was once possessed of a romantic nature. I have found life is much simpler if one ceases to have expectations. If you will excuse me, I have important matters to attend to.” He bowed and walked away.
    She let him go. He had given her quite enough to think about for one morning. The marquess was a puzzle to be sure, but she would figure him out. She wasn’t one to back down from a challenge—No, that wasn’t true. She had backed down from any number of her older siblings’ dares, but really, their admiration was hardly worth her mother’s wrath. She didn’t give up, though. Not on puzzles, not on people, and certainly not on puzzling people.

Chapter 5
    “Leave thy vain bibble-babble.”
    Twelfth Night , Act IV, Scene 2

    O livia awoke suddenly in the night. Heart racing, she scrambled out of bed, clutching her quilt to her chest. A fine sheen of perspiration coated her skin, causing her thin lawn nightgown to cling to her body, but the chill in her chamber soon turned it to gooseflesh. She squinted into the darkness, trying to discover what had awoken her, and then the hair on her nape rose. Slowly she turned around and what she saw left her stupefied.
    On the opposite side of her narrow pallet she beheld a beautiful young woman, pale and diaphanous, clothed as in the Middle Ages. The apparition wore a flowing gown with wide, hanging sleeves, girded about the hips with a richly embroidered belt. For a moment, Olivia stared in incomprehension, frozen with terror.
    The specter, seeing it had her attention, held out an arm. Olivia sucked air into her lungs and opened her mouth, but her scream died in her throat as the ghost gave a slight shake of her head and raised one pearly finger to its lips.
    “Nay, be not affrighted. I mean thee no harm.”
    Though the ghost’s lips never moved, somehow Olivia heard the antiquated words.
    “I must be dreaming,” she whispered shakily. She slowly sank down to the floor, unmindful of the rough wooden boards beneath her knees.
    “Thou art not asleep. I am as real as thee, albeit somewhat less corporeal. Hast thou not yet heard of the White Lady of Castle Arlyss?”
    Olivia wet her lips. “I have heard. . . . No, this is impossible.”
    “I pray thee, listen. I come on behalf of another, less tied to this world. She lingers, restless, unable to find peace until those she loves are also at peace.”
    A faraway look came over her pearly visage.
    “She says you must remain strong. He will resist, but he needs you. They all do.”
    “I don’t understand.” Olivia shook her head in confusion. “Who is—? No, don’t go. Not yet. Please, come back!”
    The apparition faded into shimmering moonlight.
    “He needs you.”
    The words reverberated through the tiny room, and suddenly Olivia sensed she was once more alone in her room. She rose unsteadily to her feet and moved to the door. He needed her. . . .

    Olivia woke with a start. She scrambled to push aside the heavy curtains of the lofty tester bed, searching for some evidence of an otherworldly visitor. Nothing. Of course there’s nothing, she berated herself. You were dreaming.
    It hadn’t felt like a dream, though. Everything had been so real. . . .
    “He needs you.”
    The words echoed in her mind. Was she simply recalling her dream, or . . . ? In a flash,