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An immediate reluctance to let her go had him scrambling to his feet. Seizing on the first excuse that came to mind, he said, ‘Before you leave, let me show you my grandfather’s library. Anyone who could spend hours sitting on a wall, reading in the rain, must appreciate books, and Grandfather amassed quite a collection.’
Her face brightened. ‘You mentioned to my aunt how extensive it is. I would love to see it! We could carry so few books with us on campaign. What I missed most about not having a settled home was the lack of a library.’
‘So did I,’ he said, struck by how she’d echoed his own feelings on the matter, and delighted to be able to share his grandfather’s treasure with someone who would appreciate it as much as he did. Like braiding another thread into a strand of rope, that common interest further reinforced the bond that pulled them together.
Offering her his arm, Dom led her from the parlour to the library.
Three steps into the room, she came to a dead halt, her eyes wide with wonder as she looked up and down the shelves that covered every wall, from the floor up to the high vaulted ceiling.
‘It’s magnificent!’ she breathed. ‘May I?’ She gestured towards the shelves.
‘Of course,’ Dom replied, her response all he had hoped. ‘I must warn you, though, Grandfather’s passion was collecting, not archiving, so I’m afraid the books are not shelved in any particular order.’
As Dom watched, she practically ran to the nearest bookcase. Something tightened in his chest as he watched her avidly scanning the shelves, sometimes running her fingers reverently over the spine of a particular volume, occasionally removing one to browse a page or two before carefully replacing it.
A lady who disdained new gowns, but went into raptures over a well-stocked library, was a unique creature indeed. The avid delight with which she examined the books, completely absorbed in discovering the treasures surrounding her, reinforced his instinctive sense of the deep passion that animated her, simmering beneath her matter-of-fact façade—and calling to him to fully reveal it.
* * *
After ten minutes, she shook her head and looked back at him.
‘You warned me it was extensive, but this is overwhelming! How wonderful that your grandfather had a passion for collecting books, instead of rocks or jewellery or snuff boxes! I haven’t enough time now to explore as I’d like. Might I come back later?’
‘Whenever you wish. It’s a pleasure to make it available to someone who truly appreciates it. Should I chance to be away when you call, Wilton can show you in.’
She turned towards the exit, then halted and looked back at the shelves, as if the volumes had an almost physical hold she was reluctant or unable to break. Then, with a sigh, she crossed the room to his side and looked up, her expression rapturous.
She stood so near, he burned to touch her, the delight still animating her face intensifying that desire. Struggling to restrain himself, Dom could barely breathe. When she placed her hand on his arm, his body tensed as he fought the need to pull her into his arms.
‘I know life treated you cruelly, but you still have such blessings. A beautiful home, loyal servants, this magnificent library—and a bluebell wood!’
‘And an enchanting new neighbour who appreciates books as much as I do,’ he murmured.
‘It is enchantment,’ she whispered, and raised her chin.
Mesmerised, he cupped her face in his hands. As he lowered his mouth, her eyes drifted shut, one hand coming up to clasp the back of his head, the other trailing beside her, over a stack of books on a side table.
Which tumbled over the edge and hit the floor with a tremendous clatter.
At the sound, Miss Branwell gasped and jerked away from him. Bereft, shocked, Dom let her go.
For a long moment, they stared at each other, panting. Miss Branwell, her eyes wide and unfocused, brought a hand to her trembling lips, as if unable to sort out what had just happened.
A knock at the door, followed by Wilton bowing himself in, broke what remained of the spell holding them motionless. ‘Should you like me to bring refreshments here, Mr Ransleigh?’ the butler asked.
‘N-no,’ Miss Branwell answered for him. ‘Thank you, Wilton, but I’m already overdue to return to Thornfield.’
‘Very good,’ the butler said, bowed himself back out.
Miss Branwell turned back to Dom, high colour still in her cheeks. ‘I suppose I should be grateful for disorganised stacks of books. Otherwise, my actions might have been...embarrassing, to say nothing of scandalous.’
‘I’m the one who should apologise, Miss Branwell,’ Dom said, making the obligatory statement, though he was not sorry at all. Or, with his needy body still clamouring for the kiss denied it, only sorry they’d been interrupted. ‘I should not have taken such advantage of you, a guest in my house.’
‘You hardly “took advantage”,’ Miss Branwell admitted frankly. ‘It goes without saying that the lapse mustn’t be repeated, but in honesty, it was as much my fault as yours. And quite unsisterly! That’s what I get for browsing through Ovid.’
Before his shocked mind could come up with a reply, she went on, ‘I should like to browse through the library again, but next time I’ll bring my maid as chaperone. And oh, how I would like to borrow some of the books for the school!’
As soon as the words left her lips, she shook her head. ‘Forgive me! Presumptuous again! You would certainly not wish to risk loaning valuable books to children who would not appreciate how costly and delicate they are. But if you would permit it, might I myself borrow some books? I could copy out passages for the students.’
‘Of course you may. Though you are correct; it would not be wise to put them into the hands of grubby schoolchildren.’
‘I shall ensure they are not.’ Not meeting his eyes, she bent to gather up the scattered books and stacked them back on the table. ‘I should leave before I wreak any more havoc. Thank you again, for your hospitality—and your understanding.’ She turned to go, halted a moment to press his hand, then hurried out.
Fingers tingling, Dom watched her walk away, then took himself to the sofa. His unsatisfied body still raging, he tried to settle a mind in turmoil and make sense of what had just happened.
Only one thing was clear: Miss Theo Branwell, unlikely siren, just made him forget a host’s duty to protect his female guests, a precept that had been drilled into him since childhood. He’d better stay away from her until he figured out what he was going to do about it.
* * *
Shaken, Theo gripped Firefly’s reins with trembling hands as she directed the mare down the lane back towards Thornfield Place, alarm over the episode in the library extinguishing her satisfaction in having outmanoeuvred Lady Wentworth. Whatever had come over her?
Her ladyship’s chagrin over her daughter’s discourtesy might have initially put to rest the worry that Theo’s association with Dominic Ransleigh might harm her orphans’ cause. But had the butler entered the library a few moments earlier, with her practically embracing his employer, even Aunt Amelia’s influence as a society hostess wouldn’t have been enough to salvage her reputation. Loyal retainer Wilton might be, but such gossip would be too delicious to repress—and impossible for Ransleigh to halt or punish.
Hadn’t she learned that lesson well enough, having to endure Audley Tremaine’s sly innuendoes after Marshall’s death? She’d paid dearly for her indiscretion in slipping away into the sunset-washed Portuguese hills to spend one halcyon evening alone with the man she loved. She should know better than to act so impulsively.
Besides, her imprudence now would injure not just her, but the innocent children she’d pledged to nurture and protect.
A part of her protested the clear conclusion that, having shown herself so susceptible to Ransleigh’s appeal, she should avoid him entirely. True, in his company she was able to recapture the ease and comfort of her years in the army with Papa, and she’d been completely delighted by the treasures of his library. But Ransleigh’s ability to slip through her guard and fire a passion she’d thought long extinguished was a danger against which she needed to remain much more vigilant.
Work was the answer, she told herself, shutting out the pleading voice that urged her not to end her association with her intriguing neighbour. Set up the school, care for the children, and fill her days loving the little boy who meant more to her than any transient passion.
No matter how much, at this moment, she might regret letting it go.
Chapter Ten
A week later, Herodotus finished, additional staff hired, and restless, Dom wandered around a rose garden freshly weeded by the new assistant gardener. Though he was pleased at returning Bildenstone to the elegance and comfort he remembered from his childhood, he hadn’t yet managed to force himself to proceed to disposing of his now superfluous horses and carriages, nor had he ventured out to inspect the estate.
