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Art continued along the shelves, studying the book spines, drawing nearer and nearer to her hiding place.
Finally, he stopped on the other side of the shelf she hid behind. She could see him through the narrow gaps between the books, the candlelight bathing his face in a golden glow yet leaving her side cloaked in darkness. Art stepped even closer, his gaze scanning the rows of books.
Lydia held her breath.
The candlelight illuminated his features perfectly—the concentrated frown on his forehead, his piercing onyx eyes catching the glow. His eyes were always his most striking feature. Usually as dark as night, they now caught the light, making them shine like two gemstones. Her gaze drifted lower, to his full lips pressed together in thought, and lower still to the strong column of his neck, exposed by the loose neckline of his half-open banyan. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breathing quickening despite herself, her palms growing clammy within her gloves.
Then something glinted.
Her gaze dropped further, and her heart gave a jolt. It couldn’t be.
The ring!
There it was, hanging from a silver chain around his neck, catching the candlelight’s gleam in the darkness. Lydia blinked, her mind racing. So, he hadn’t given it to his new fiancée. But why?
Her thoughts scattered when she realized he had gone still.
She raised her eyes to find him staring intently through the gap between the shelves.
Her heart stopped.
No, he couldn’t see her. The candlelight would blind him to the shadows where she stood. When Art craned his neck, peering harder into the darkness, Lydia’s limbs finally unfroze.
She couldn’t be caught. Not here. Not now. Not by him.
In one fluid movement, she lunged for the window and slipped through it. Down the trellis she slid, and moments later, her feet hit the ground. Running. Away from him.
* * *
It was her!
Thorn stared into the darkness, his heart racing. He’d seen her—hadn’t he?
He could have sworn he had.
For a moment, he questioned his sanity.
Was it a ghost? A shadow? Just candlelight playing tricks?
Whatever it was had vanished without a trace. At first, he’d dismissed it as candlelight falling oddly behind the shelf. But when he brought the flame closer, he saw her face… Or thought he did. Though shadows from the books obscured most of it, those eyes—her beautiful, expressive eyes—and that hint of red in her hair… He couldn’t have imagined all that!
Thorn stood frozen. He’d dreamed of seeing her again so many times… He even thought he’d seen her once before, back in Yorkshire a few years ago. He’d thought her a ghost then, too. Had he truly seen her either of these times? Or had that, too, been a dream?
Was he still asleep now as he stared into the darkness?
If this had happened a sennight ago, he’d think it a drunken hallucination. Yet, he was refreshingly sober.
Thorn rushed to where the shadow had been, his pulse thundering in his temples. Nothing remained but curtains billowing in the breeze.
The breeze. The window was open.
He approached the window and looked down. The moonlit street lay empty below, stripping away his last doubts.
A maid must have left the window open. He had probably mistaken a curtain for her presence. Or perhaps a bird had flown in.
A bird.
Not a ghost. Not her.
