Page 37 of A Holiday By Gaslight

Sophie frowned. Whatever attraction her sister felt for Walter Murray had only grown since she twisted her ankle. And her feelings didn’t appear to be one-sided, either. Each afternoon Mr. Murray whiled away the hours, sitting beside Emily and reading aloud to her from some frivolous text or another.

Sophie didn’t know whether she was disgusted or a little envious. Ned had paid her no such attentions since that day in the woods. She supposed it wasn’t in his nature to be easy with his affections. At least, not when it came to her. And yet…

And yet he’d said that he admired her. That he wanted her for his own. That she was worth the cost of any improvements to Appersett House.

She glanced up at him. He was still standing near Emily and his mother. He caught her gaze and then—much to her astonishment—gave a subtle jerk of his head in the direction of the doorway. Her brows lifted in question.

“I must go upstairs and change,” he told his mother. “I’ll be back down for tea.”

“You may fetch your father from the billiard room on your way back,” Mrs. Sharpe said. “He and the vicar have been in there since breakfast. They’ll want some refreshment.”

Sophie waited a few moments before laying down her sewing and rising. “If you’ll excuse me—”

“Are you going down to the kitchens, Sophie?” Emily interrupted. “Will you tell Cook that I want the iced gingerbread with tea and not that dry loaf she gave us yesterday?”

“Er…yes. I’ll tell her.” Sophie smoothed a hand over her skirts as she walked to the door. She felt suddenly as if everyone in the room knew what she was about.

She stepped out into the empty hall. There was no sign of Ned anywhere.

Perhaps she’d misinterpreted his gesture? Perhaps he truly had gone up to his room to change?

She lingered a moment, but there seemed no point in waiting. It would only make her conspicuous. She might as well go to the kitchens and see about tea.

With that in mind, she descended the stairs to the first floor. She was nearly at the bottom before she heard him on the steps behind her.

“Sophie.” He swiftly caught up with her.

She stopped on the second step, feeling a little foolish when he moved to stand in front of her at the bottom of the stairs. He was still taller than her, but now she need only tilt her head back a fraction for them to see eye to eye.

“Didn’t you understand my signal?” he asked.

“I thought I did, but you weren’t there, so…”

“You didn’t wait very long.”

“Really, Ned. What did you expect? I’ve no experience with subterfuge.”

“You seemed to fare all right the night you came to Fleet Street.”

Sophie flushed. “That was different.”

“Fair enough.” He extended a hand to her. “Come. I want to talk with you awhile.”

She hesitated before sliding her hand into his. His fingers closed around hers, warm and strong. “Where? Outside? I’m not dressed for it.”

“No. Inside. Or, more precisely, in the library. I’ve been investigating and I’ve discovered that it’s usually empty at this time of day.”

Sophie allowed him to lead her across the entry hall and down the corridor to the set of dark, wood-paneled doors that led to the Appersett House library.

The cavernous room, two floors high, was filled to bursting with leather-bound books from generations past. It smelled of beeswax and lemon polish, a fragrance that always reminded Sophie of the long winter days she’d spent as a girl, nestled in one of the oxblood leather chairs by the fire, reading.

“Someone once told me that a well-used private library was the sign of a truly successful gentleman.” Ned shut the doors behind him. “A man in possession of one must not only have the ability to read, but the funds to purchase a surfeit of books, and the leisure time to enjoy them.”

“I’d never thought of it that way before.”

“You wouldn’t. You’ve always had access to this, haven’t you?”

“My whole life.”