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Normally I let my hair air dry. But I was going to Fraser Manor to meet with the Bruce Wayne of Cullum County, and for some reason, I didn’t want it to be wet when I got there. After my hair, I put on a little makeup and slipped into my favorite jeans before heading out to my car.
I passed the Academy on the way. Frazzled parents rushed their distracted kiddos into the building. Some kids wandered in on their own, jumping in every puddle they could find as they went. It had bummed me out when Liam had my hearing before the Council canceled. It meant no community service this time around.
So, I had to wait until my next fight or volunteer on my own. And why not on my own? I loved working with those kids, so why not spend time there without a court order. I made a mental note to sign up as soon as I figured out whatever the hell was going on with the assaults on pack women.
About twenty minutes later I pulled up to the gate at the Fraser mansion. Alfred, because that’s how I liked to think of him, buzzed me in and the gate opened. I took a moment to check myself in the rearview mirror, something I rarely did but felt necessary for some reason. A tap on my window had me nearly jumping out of my skin.
I turned to find Philip standing there with an umbrella. “Miss Steele, it will be my pleasure to escort you inside.”
“All righty. Thank you.” I accepted his hand to help me out of the car.
I got the strangest feeling as we passed Liam’s car. The fancy, modern car and the man who drove it did not fit with having a butler and the huge Victorian house in front of me. It was as if that damn gate was a portal to another world, dropping me into a weird amalgam of Gotham and 1800s England.
“Please make yourself at home,” Alfr–uh, Philip said as he gestured to the same chair I’d sat in the last time. A tray with tea and little cakes sat on the table as if he had been expecting me. “The tea will help with the chill.”
“Thank you,” I said with a warm smile.
He gave a slight bow of his head as he left the room. I went back to the bookshelf to grab the book I’d been reading the last time, but it was gone. “What the…” Maybe I’d put it in the wrong spot. I skimmed through the shelves to find it was missing.
“Damn,” I muttered as I studied the other books.
It was quite the eclectic collection. He had everything from the classics to sci-fi to urban fantasy and even some romance. Historical, of course. There was one bookcase in the center of the wall to my left. This one had glass doors that wouldn’t budge when I pulled on the handles.
Bummed, I peered through the glass to view what it was protecting. It was full of ancient looking books, some with no titles and others in languages I was unfamiliar with. On one shelf was a pair of white cloth gloves. A soft humming sound pulled my attention to the upper right corner where I saw a small screen lit up with green numbers.
“See something you like?” Liam said from behind me.
I’d been so distracted I hadn’t sensed or heard him. I was a little proud of myself for not jumping when he spoke.
“These are amazing. Not that I know what all of them are, but they’re beautiful.”
“I agree.”
I glanced back at him, and our eyes met for a moment before I turned back to the case. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the little screen in the corner while trying not to show signs that his closeness flustered me.
“It’s climate control. The humidity and temperature need to be exact to preserve the books.”
“Ah, I see,” I said. That’s when I saw it.
Sitting in front of an old, worn box was a small nameplate that read ‘Currer Bell.’
“Holy hell, is that what I think it is?”
He leaned forward to see what I was looking at. His chest lightly pressed against my back. I sucked in a breath when a static shock zinged through me. I looked down to the floor. It was hardwood with one area rug in front of the fireplace. We were nowhere near the rug.
“Yes, it is.” His voice was low, his breath warm against my cheek.
I turned my head to peer at him. Our eyes met, and we looked at each other for a few moments. He was so close his scent overwhelmed me, and I had the sudden urge to lick him. What the hell? I thought.
I cleared my throat to make sure my voice was stable. “Uh, mind giving me some space?”
“Sorry,” he said, stepping back. His mouth twisted into a wry grin. “We’ve spoken more in the past two days than in the past twenty years, and it seems most of it is me apologizing.”
“Stop doing shit you have to apologize for.”
He grunted but smiled. “Why are you here?”
“Right down to business. I like it. But first, tell me about that copy of Jane Eyre. Is it the original? The handwritten original?” My heart was pounding in my chest as I turned back to the box. It was the reason I’d fallen in love with reading. It was why I’d started writing. Not that I was anywhere close to Charlotte Brontë’s skill level, but I made a reasonably good living with what I put out there.
