Free An Unlikely Match by Sarah M. Eden

other people had witnessed the phenomenon as well. Never mind that he could not yet get the rousing, menacing tune they’d sung out of his mind. Nickolas attempted to convince himself that he’d somehow imagined the entire thing or that it had been a joke of some sort, no doubt orchestrated by Dafydd.
    Intent on proving the accuracy of his skepticism, Nickolas sent away his valet halfway through his nightly ritual and, pulling his dressing gown over his shirt and breeches, made his way toward the now-empty white bedchamber with a candle in hand. Miss Castleton had been moved to another room, one far less pleasingly appointed but where she vowed she would be more comfortable.
    Entering the still, white room, Nickolas felt the need to hold his breath. The peaceful feeling he’d enjoyed on his first visit to the room had been missing during the short interval during which Miss Castleton had occupied it. The realization bothered him. He felt almost as though he’d desecrated it somehow by allowing someone to stay there. Mrs. Baines had implied just that beforehand.
    Nickolas shook his head. ’Twas a rather absurd notion.
    He glanced around the room. Brand-new candles sat in the wall sconces and table candelabras. The maids had reported that all the candles had gone missing, something Mrs. Baines seemed to think was to be expected. Nickolas lit a few candles, enough to better see his surroundings.
    The curtains had been rehung. The floor was free of clutter. The bed curtains, however, remained knotted. That seemed odd. Why hadn’t that been seen to? Such a sight felt almost blasphemous.
    Nickolas set his candlestick on the bedside table and set to work undoing the damage that everyone credited to the ghost, Gwen. The knots weren’t tight, simply plentiful. Nickolas worked for some time at untying the curtains, moving to each corner, finding unexpected satisfaction in putting the room completely to rights.
    “Why are you here?”
    Nickolas spun around. He hadn’t heard anyone enter. The voice was deeply accented but did not sound like any of the maids, the housekeeper, or Mrs. or Miss Davis, though the cadence was unmistakably Welsh. His heart seemed to screech to a halt when his eyes settled on the speaker.
    Gwen.
    She stood in the middle of the room, no menacing wind, no threatening demeanor. She looked genuinely confused. And shockingly beautiful, considering she was nearly transparent. Her face was pale, made even more so by the bright white of her gown. Her long, flowing hair was decidedly red. He could not recall ever seeing a more striking face, her features symmetrical and classical. He had not noticed that the last time he’d seen her. The fact that she was a ghost had rather distracted him.
    “I told you my room was supposed to be empty.” A tiny breeze picked up in the room. Somehow, Nickolas knew that meant she was upset.
    “I was merely checking to see if the room had been restored.” That was patently untrue. He’d come to prove to himself that she didn’t exist.
    “I specifically asked that it be restored and emptied.” Her look could not have been more pointed.
    “You do not approve of me being here, I see.”
    “I am not certain I approve of you at all .”
    “And what can I do to rectify that?” He did not like the way the curtains rustled in the growing wind.
    “You can do nothing,” she answered matter-of-factly. “My approval is my own to bestow.”
    “I have, somehow, in the space of three weeks, having never actually spoken to you, proven unworthy of your esteem?” Nickolas smiled at the irony, willing her to share his humor.
    She spoke at length in Welsh as she had earlier that evening. When she finished, Gwen looked at him expectantly.
    “I am afraid I understood not a single word of that,” Nickolas reminded her.
    “You”—she skewered him with a look that sent shivers down his spine—“are not Welsh.”
    It was a statement of condemnation, Nickolas could tell—the same