But where was the library?
After climbing a flight of stairs, she paused at a landing, grinning.
A door opened to rows of bookshelves filled with leather-bound tomes. She wanted to let out an unladylike whoop just to prove to Mrs Armstrong that she could yelp if she wanted. But someone might hear her, so she stifled her shout of triumph and tiptoed into the library.
The same stuffy, mouldy air of her bedroom suffused the library. A pity, considering that the wide room had to count hundreds of volumes. She ran a hand over the back spines of a few first editions. Some copies were most likely worth a small fortune.
She loitered on an aisle between rows of modern literature. Novels filled the shelves, and her heart leapt with a sudden surge of excitement. Henry James, Jane Austen, Dumas. All her favourite.
A faint click-clack distracted her for a moment, but a copy of Thomas Hardy’sTess of the D’Urbervillescaptured her attention. The pages were yellowed at the corners and a few stains of humidity—
“Found anything you fancy?”
“Gah!” She held the book against her chest when Christopher’s voice thundered in the confined space.
The click-clack she’d heard before had been his walking stick.
In his black-striped, double-breasted suit with matching waistcoat, he was elegant but not pretentious. The suit enhanced his impressive build and obsidian eyes, making him the perfect gentleman. Except for the scowl. He offered a bow, a bit stiff though, probably due to his injury, and Pearl curtsied in reply.
“I hope you had a nice trip,” he said, putting both his hands on the pommel of his walking stick. He sounded like he was asking only out of politeness. But then, toffs loved doing small talk.
“Uneventful, thank you.” She glanced at the end of the aisle, worrying her bottom lip.
She was alone with a man she barely knew in a place that wasn’t her house, and her chaperone didn’t know she was here. Christopher’s looming presence seemed to suck the air of the library, despite the fact he was standing a few feet from her.
“Does something bother you?” He cocked his head.
Pearl cleared her throat. “We’re alone.”
Obviously. Smart conversation and nervousness didn’t work well together.
Another frown creased his brow, and a sad shadow crossed his face. “The door is open, the house is full of servants, and I’m keeping an appropriate distance, but if my presence makes you uncomfortable, I shall leave, then.” He bowed again, dark locks of hair falling over his sharp cheeks, and she had the absurd urge to brush them away from his face.
Tarnation. She must’ve offended him, and he was right. She was ushering him out of his own library.
“I’m sorry,” Pearl said when he pivoted towards the door.
He paused and peered at her from over his shoulder. “For what reason?”
“I shouldn’t have been so rude. It’s that—” Biting her tongue, she put the book back on the shelf.Pearl, you speak too much, her mother had used to say.
“Yes?” He turned back to her, head tilting to the side.
Why hadn’t she listened to her mother? “Nothing important.”
“You can tell me whatever troubles you.” The intensity with which he said that sent a pleasant shiver through her. Now he wasn’t doing small talk.
Rain pelting against the window filled the moment of silence between them. He didn’t prompt her to reply, but stood there, solid and unmoving, waiting.
“I do feel a bit uncomfortable in your presence,” Pearl said, tipping up her chin.
His obsidian gaze narrowed to a slit. “May I ask for what reason?”
Her teeth trapped the burst of laugh that threatened to come out. There were plenty of reasons.
“Well, you tend to stare to start with, and you don’t smile much. A lady might feel slightly intimidated by you.”
A corner of his mouth quirked up, not quite a smile, but not his usual scowl either. “Miss Amelia, I’ll admit that I find you intimidating as well.”
