He smiled at her, warmly this time, not the sardonic smile that crossed his lips before. “I think you would.” He glanced at the map. “But you’re looking at Egypt, not the Peninsula.”
Camellia nodded. “That’s the place I most want to see. The pyramids, the tombs. And the cities. All the bazaars, and the people. But I want to see everything. Greece, Italy. Istanbul. Or India. I’d go to India.”
“Those are dangerous places for a woman alone.”
“I wouldn’t go alone. I hope that when I marry, it will be our honeymoon—”
“You’re engaged?” he asked suddenly.
“Not yet. But I intend to be soon.”
His eyes narrowed. “To whom?”
“That isn’t your concern, I’m sure.” Perhaps his best friend! She hurried on to say, “You didn’t come to look at maps of Egypt with me. Why are you in the library?”
He glanced around at the shelves and shelves of books. “You beat me here this morning. I hoped to have some time alone to search the books. I thought there might be some history of the castle in here. Miss Fitzgerald got her story from somewhere, didn’t she? I heard her say she pulled it together from several places.”
“Perhaps servants’ tales. Some of the local families have been here even longer than the Fitzgeralds. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s where she heard it.”
He nodded. “Could be. But all the same, there must be something written down. Something factual, that is. You don’t get a library this full without there being something useful in it.”
“Perhaps I should go?” Camellia put the atlas down. “You said you’d prefer to be alone.”
“But I find your company far preferable to being alone,” he said. “Would you like to help me?”
The appeal was undeniable, and Camellia said, “It should be an easy enough search. There’s a shelf list. Let’s start there.”
“A what?”
“A shelf list.” Camellia stood up and made her way to a small table near the main door. A book bound in green leather sat closed on top of it. “This book contains a list of all the items in the library. Whenever a new one is purchased, Mr Fitzgerald will record it in here, along with the shelf it will be found on.”
“How did you know that?”
“Oh, I live in libraries. My father was a scholar, and a professor at times.”
“Was?”
“He passed away only a few years ago,” she said, looking down as she blinked away sudden tears.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Mr Ryder reached out and touched her hand. The contact lasted only a moment, but Lia felt the exact path his fingers traced, and the tingling sensation in the wake of his touch.
She looked up at him, and was caught by the darkness in his gaze. This was a man who understood death, far more than many others. “You’re very kind,” she whispered. That wasn’t what she meant to say, exactly, but those were the words that tumbled out.
His expression shifted slightly, to something more sensual. “I’m really not,” he assured her.
Just for a moment, Lia had the strange fancy that he was about to kiss her, and stranger still, that they had kissed before. She could re-create the kiss in her mind, his mouth on hers, warm and loving and sensual and forbidden…
She shook herself to get rid of the thought. What had got into her here at Wyemont? What were they even talking about before?
“He was a professor of ancient history,” she blurted out, as if the last few moments of charged stillness never happened.
Phineas blinked at the non sequitur, but then also recalled the conversation. “Ancient history, hmm. Is that why you are so fond of Egypt?”
“It might have started with him, I suppose. But Egypt is my own particular passion. I read all I can about it. More is discovered every day. Have you seen the Rosetta Stone?”
“The big rock they put on display? No, I confess I haven’t spent much time at the museum.” He laughed at his understatement.
“Oh, it’s marvelous. I went once a week for a while. You can reach out and touch it! It will tell us so much, once they translate it all properly.”
