by Sara Lindsey
“No, Charlotte, do not scold Red. He hasn’t been around strangers in a long time and he heard a word that made him so angry he forgot his manners for a moment.”
The marquess’s voice grew increasingly loud and clear as he said this, and suddenly Livvy found herself lifted by a pair of strong arms. Her eyes flew open in surprise. She had never been held by a man other than her father, and that had been when she was a child.
This felt quite different.
She was close enough to see the stubble shadowing his jaw, though it was clear he had been clean-shaven that morning. Close enough to discover his hair wasn’t black, but rather a deep, dark brown, like rich, freshly turned soil. Close enough to breathe in the faint scent of the stables that hinted at an early-morning ride. Close enough to feel the whisper of his breath against her temple when he exhaled.
“This is some welcome you have provided,” Aunt Kate huffed. “It’s a bit late for formal introductions, but I suppose we must observe those proprieties still left to us. Jason, allow me to present my niece, Miss Olivia Weston. Livvy, as you may have surmised, you are being held by my stepson, the Marquess of Sheldon.”
Her aunt’s mention of propriety caused Olivia’s face to heat. She was in the arms of a man to whom she had never been introduced. Livvy pushed at Lord Sheldon’s chest. It was like granite, hard and unyielding, but she could feel the heat of his body through the layers of his clothing. The thought of his skin, of his bare torso, sent a shiver of excitement through her. His eyes narrowed on her flushed face, then dropped to her mouth. She shivered again and a predatory, knowing look came into his eyes.
Oh, my! She had guessed the marquess had a powerful effect on women, but given the weakness stealing over her body and turning her bones to jelly, she had clearly underestimated his potency.
“Miss Weston, I trust you are not seriously injured?”
She felt more than heard the deep rumble of his voice. She nodded automatically, slightly breathless, held captive by the wicked promise in his deep brown eyes. She hoped she hadn’t just agreed to anything untoward, or rather, anything unpleasant. She suspected untoward behavior with the marquess would be very pleasurable indeed. . . . She needed to get away from him before her brains were permanently scrambled. She squirmed and shoved harder at the muscled wall of his chest.
His arms tightened about her as he strode to the far end of the hall, carrying her as though she weighed no more than Charlotte. He deposited her on a low settle placed before the massive hearth, then straightened, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I must apologize, Miss Weston. I rescued both dogs from a particularly vicious bear-baiting, and while they generally act like overgrown lapdogs, Red in particular still responds badly to hearing the word A-T-T-A-C-K.”
“Oh,” Olivia gasped. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Obviously, or you would not have said it. Of course, you shouldn’t be here in the first place, and if you hadn’t been here, the incident never would have occurred, but I apologize all the same. Now, you look like the missish sort who will insist a doctor be sent for, but I give you leave to prove me wrong.”
She stared, astounded not only by his sheer audacity but by his ability to insult not only her but her entire gender in one breath.
“What are you saying, Jason?” Aunt Kate asked suspiciously as she came near.
“I was merely inquiring whether Miss Weston wished me to send for a doctor.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Livvy snapped.
“Olivia!” her aunt scolded. “Jason has expressed concern for your well-being. If you have no need of a doctor, you will thank him and politely decline his offer.”
Livvy drew in a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. “Thank you, my lord, but I hardly think we need send for the doctor just because I was A-T-T-A-C-K-E-D by a dog the size of a pony.”
Lord Sheldon began to laugh. It was a bit rusty sounding, as though he had not used it in a long time. Of course, from what she knew of him, he probably hadn’t. Despite her annoyance, the thought wrenched at Olivia’s heart.
She had come to Wales hoping to satisfy her curiosity about the marquess. Her aunt had spoken despairingly of the changes grief had wrought in her stepson, painting a portrait entirely at odds with the man Livvy had come to know through the terribly written but very cleverly hidden clues that had led her to the brooch. He might not want her there, and perhaps she ought not to have come, but there she was, for better or for worse, and though it was doubtless a fool’s errand, she had to see if she could help him.
Perhaps she was the one who needed help! A man who looked like that must have had scores of women offering to help him move past his grief. Of course, if he was as surly and rude as he had been to her, there were probably some who had run away. But Olivia was willing to bet there were plenty of others who saw him as a challenge. And no mistake about it, from a purely aesthetic standpoint, Lord Sheldon was a prize worth winning.
Not that Livvy planned on winning him. She wasn’t even entering the competition. She wanted to help him, and that was all. Though Lord Sheldon was good-looking enough to make her heart skip a beat, and though he had at some point been possessed of rather romantic sensibilities, he was not for her. Nor, she reminded herself, did she want him to be. Perhaps she ought to be seen by a doctor after all. That knock to the ground had clearly addled her wits.
“Perhaps I might lie down for a while?” she ventured.
“Certainly, dear,” Aunt Kate said. “Ah, Mrs. Maddoc, what excellent timing.”
An older woman, all round and soft about the middle, bustled into the hall. “Mr. Gower just told me what happened.” She paused to catch her breath. “Are you all right, miss? Shall I send for—?”
“No!” Olivia and Lord Sheldon spoke simultaneously.
“Thank you,” Livvy told the housekeeper, “but all I need is a short rest and I shall be as good as new.”
“Ladies, if you will excuse me, I’ve recalled a matter of business I must attend to without delay. I leave you in Mrs. Maddoc’s capable hands. If you need anything further, please don’t hesitate to ring for Gower.” With that, he bowed and walked off.
Aunt Kate shook her head. “Amazing the way gentlemen always seem to recall pressing matters of business just when they wish to avoid company, but I suppose for every man claiming urgent business there are probably two women claiming headaches to avoid, er, unwanted company of another sort.”
“While I have no objection to the present company, my head is starting to pound,” Livvy admitted.
“Mine too.” Aunt Kate winked. “And no wonder, with such a welcome as this. My stepson swears this place is quiet as a tomb the rest of the year, and it only turns to Bedlam the moment Charlotte and I arrive.” She turned to face the housekeeper. “Mrs. Maddoc, I trust you are well?”
“As well as can be expected at my age. Now, this must be your niece.”
Aunt Kate nodded. “You received my letter?”
“I did. Miss Weston, I hope the rest of your stay with us will prove more pleasant. Your aunt mentioned you’ve a liking for old houses and such, so you should find a great deal here to interest you. His lordship is just the same, or at least he used to be. He doesn’t take much interest in anything these days.”
The housekeeper spoke in a lovely lilting cadence, the sounds rolling gently like the hills and valleys of the surrounding countryside.
“Olivia, dear, Mrs. Maddoc will show you to your room. I shall check in on you once I have Charlotte settled in the nursery.”
“I’m to have the room in the Old Tower, yes? The one that’s said to be haunted by the White Lady?” Livvy asked excitedly, for she and her aunt had spent a great deal of time during the long coach ride discussing the castle. She would rather have spoken of the castle’s owner, but there were only so many questions she could ask without arousing her aunt’s suspicion. A genuinely haunted castle was quite thrilling, but Livvy’s preoccupation w
as with the clue-writing, letter-writing, and most assuredly living marquess.
Mrs. Maddoc fretfully shifted her not inconsiderable weight. “The maid going over the rooms this morning found one of the windows shattered in the tower room. It will be fixed as soon as can be arranged, but right now it’s not fit for the dogs, much less a guest.”
Livvy’s breath caught. “It was the ghost, wasn’t it?” It seemed the castle’s ghost was as unwelcoming as its owner.
The housekeeper shook her head, sighing. “Young folk are so full of whimsy-whamsy nowadays. Bess, the chitty-faced maid what discovered the window, thought much the same. If anyone is to blame, it’s Mother Nature. There was a fierce storm a couple days past—hailing, it was. I expect the window was hit hard by hailstone or some such.”
“The force responsible for the broken window isn’t important,” Aunt Kate broke in. “The chamber is uninhabitable, and that’s that. What room shall we give Olivia in the meantime?”
“That’s just the problem, my lady.” Mrs. Maddoc wrung her hands. “All the other chambers are put away in Holland cloth and closed up. None of the other rooms have been aired, and I haven’t had the time or the help to start airing another. Bess left this morning. Said it was the final straw and she wasn’t going to stay another minute in such an accursed place. We’ve had trouble keeping maidservants these past years, what with the master’s moods. Now Bess is gone, there’s no one left. I’m at my wit’s end, my lady, and I don’t mind telling you.”
“I could share a bed with Charlotte,” Livvy suggested.
Her aunt thought a moment, and then a mischievous glint came into her eyes. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. There is a bedchamber here that I am sure is kept in good order. And, as it happens, this room also contains a ghost. Perhaps your presence will be the needed exorcism.”
Mrs. Maddoc sighed. “I reckon I know what you’re about, milady. The master isn’t going to like this,” she muttered, shaking her head.
“Yes.” Lady Sheldon smiled broadly. “I know.”
Chapter 3
“I hate ingratitude more in a man
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness,
Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption
Inhabits our frail blood.”
Twelfth Night, Act III, Scene 4
As he dressed for dinner, Jason Traherne could not help thinking about his unexpected, unwanted, and undeniably female houseguest, probably because he never bothered dressing for dinner when he was alone. He might not have bothered, even with guests, had Gower not come to his study and announced that it was past time for Jason to be getting ready.
The butler’s tone had been firm and stern and, in truth, Jason’s earlier behavior was weighing on his mind as well. He should not have told Miss Weston that she was not welcome. It was the truth, but he was a gentleman and he should have acted like one.
His only excuse, and he knew it to be a poor one, was that her presence had thrown him.
He was not a man who enjoyed surprises.
He craved order.
He relished peace and quiet.
And yet, every December he invited—perhaps allowed was the better word—chaos into his home.
Chaos in the form of his well-intentioned-if-somewhat-prone-to-meddle stepmother.
Chaos in the guise of his rambunctious little sister.
And this year, he had a grim suspicion chaos had wormed its way into Castle Arlyss under a new name . . . Miss Olivia Weston.
Wasn’t there some saying about bad luck coming in threes?
He couldn’t say why, exactly, Miss Weston’s presence seemed to bode ill for his peace of mind, but he had the pricking sensation across his nape that always heralded some sort of disaster. It had been there the day his father had shown up at Harrow with the news that Jason’s mother had died in a carriage accident. And it had been there the morning he had learned of his wife’s death. . . . He tensed against the familiar rush of pain and anger the memories still brought.
Damnation, he hated this time of year. His stepmother didn’t seem to understand that these annual gatherings also brought out the ghosts of the past. All he wanted was to be left alone, but arguing with Katherine was a futile endeavor. She insisted the family come together for the holidays, and that was that.
Miss Weston was not a family member, though, or at least not his family member, and that meant she had no business being in his home. As he barely tolerated his family, Katherine could not have imagined he would be pleased at her bringing a guest. But he also knew she fretted over his isolation.
Had she brought the chit along for company or. . . ?
Damnation. He should have realized the moment Gower informed him that Katherine had a young woman with her. His stepmother had brought the girl to tempt him. Since he refused to go out in Society, she had brought it to him, done up in a neat little package. Pretty misses were excellent temptations, especially for a man who had been celibate as long as he. He had to resist, though, since unwrapping this particular package was as good as having the banns read.
He smiled grimly at his reflection in the looking glass, straightening his cravat. He knew Katherine’s motives were pure, however misguided, but she had gone too far this time. He would never marry again, and woe betide the scheming stepmother or ingenious ingénue who tried to convince him otherwise.
His guard up, Jason made his way to the drawing room, only to realize he had underestimated his opponent. The sight of Miss Weston—every luscious inch of her—hit him like a broadside. He had noticed earlier that she was pretty, but he had done her an injustice. There was not one specific feature of hers whose perfection caught his eye—excepting, perhaps, the creamy expanse of flesh swelling above her bodice—but the complete picture, from her upswept golden brown hair to the toes encased in dainty satin slippers, was a masterpiece.
He forced his eyes up to hers, which gleamed like twin sapphires, set off to perfection by skin the color of fine ivory. She was little and delicate, but rounded in all the right places, and he was very much aware—too much aware—of her as a woman. A pronounced cough from Katherine told Jason he had been caught in his admiration. He glanced at her, expecting her to be pleased, and received instead a look that would curdle milk.
Jason eyed his stepmother as they sat down to dinner, trying to decide if he could possibly be mistaken about her motives in bringing her niece along with her. He had been certain Katherine was hoping he’d fall in love with the chit—or at least compromise her—and marry her. Or, at the very least, that he would begin to remember what life had been like and be lured back into the glittering lights of Society, but her disapproving reaction was proving confusing.
Katherine could hardly blame him. He might live like a monk, but he didn’t think like one, and his body didn’t bloody well respond like one. Jason shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Lord, anyone would think he’d never seen breasts before. Hers were rather large for her frame and then it was only a small step from there to wondering how they might feel in his hands and—
“Jason!” Katherine’s voice was sharp.
“Eh?” Jason looked up, feeling as though he’d been rapped soundly on the knuckles.
“You are unusually distracted tonight. I just told you Olivia did wonders with the library at Haile Castle.”
Jason frowned. “I was not aware there was anything wrong with the library to necessitate work being done upon it.”
“Aunt Kate, I am sure Lord Sheldon doesn’t wish to be bored with the trifling little changes—”
“Trifling little changes? My dear, you are far too modest. Olivia took everything off the shelves, did all the dusting and cleaning herself, wouldn’t even let the maids help her.”
“Well, some of the older books were in very fragile condition. I didn’t want to risk them getting ruined by careless hands,” Miss Weston explained.
“And then,” Katherine went on, “she organized the books
according to some system she has thought out—”
“By subject, and then by author within each subject, though naturally the size of the volumes had to be taken into consideration.”
“—and she set aside books to go into special boxes, making lists about what went where. I don’t know how she was able to finish it all before we left to come here.”
“It was a close thing,” Miss Weston agreed. “I should never have managed if I had gone home with Mama as originally planned.”
The pulse in Jason’s temple throbbed. Good Lord, when one of them paused for breath, the other picked right up. The upcoming weeks stretched out before him in an unending spate of feminine chatter. “Why was I not consulted before such a project was undertaken?” he ground out.
Katherine’s brow furrowed. “Consulted about rearranging the books in the library? The thought never occurred to me. And how should I have gone about asking, pray tell? I doubt you bother to open my correspondence; you certainly never deign to send a reply.”
“I open them,” he muttered sulkily. He had opened one of her letters. That he hadn’t read it was beside the point.
“You’re lying.” Katherine sat back in her chair, a smug smile on her lips. “Don’t bother to deny it. Your ears turn red when you lie. Charlotte is the same way, and so was your father.”
Jason fought the urge to clap his hands over his ears. “You could have written to my man of business,” he grumbled.
“I could have,” she agreed, “but as I did not require any funds, I daresay he would have told me to do as I liked. The books are certainly the better for Olivia’s care. I would never have brought it up if I hadn’t thought you would be pleased.”
Miss Weston got to her feet and braced her palms on the table. Her eyes blazed and a splash of color spread across the ridge of her nose and onto her cheeks. “I don’t see why you should be consulted,” she huffed. “As far as I understand, you haven’t left here in years and I doubt you are planning on leaving anytime in the foreseeable future. As you apparently have no interest in your other properties, you will forgive me if I have trouble believing you know or care overmuch about the state of the library at Haile Castle. And if someone else should take a notion to care—someone like me, for instance—I cannot see why you should be so put out.”