The Librarian's Spell Patricia Rice (top 100 novels .txt) 📖

He thought she was running after him like the others.

Fourteen

Max ran after the hackney and caught the driver before he turned down Cowgate. He had the urge to order the carriage straight to the port.

But he was no longer an eighteen-year-old coward.

He felt like eighteen, filled with rage and despair and not knowing where to turn. He’d trusted Lydia. He’d thought she was sensible, level-headed, and not inclined to escalate the conflict between Max’s gentlemanly upbringing and his animal nature.

If Lydia chose to push herself at him, he would not be able to resist. He knew it right down to the marrow of his bones. And other places. That she was at his mother’s house, waiting to pounce like every other female. . . His disappointment was immense.

Why was she at his mother’s house? And where would he go now if he couldn’t even keep Lydia at a distance?

Bakari was back at the castle. He’d have to collect his son and depart for parts unknown until he knew what to do with the boy. And himself.

He still needed to speak with his mother. How would he do that without being set upon by a pack of savages?

Leaning his head back against the carriage seat, Max ordered the driver to the nearest stable. This was insane. He had a tower with a key to lock it. The tower belonged to Lydia, so he’d have to leave eventually—after he figured out how to talk to his mother.

He could have Lydia send her a letter. . . Max laughed bitterly at that. He could dictate a telegram, perhaps, asking his mother to come to him. His mother might even know what to do with Bakari. Maybe he wasn’t too late for the Burma project.

By the time he’d purchased a steed suitable for mountain climbing and was on the road, Max had talked himself out of panic and fury. He was in despair that he could no longer rely on Lydia, but he’d managed these last fifteen years without her. It was just. . . he felt as if his right arm had been severed. How had he become so dependent on her in just a few days?

He’d never had a woman he could count on before. He had to acknowledge that he’d thoroughly enjoyed kissing Lydia, teasing her until she blushed, waiting in anticipation for those moments they shared over the silly books. Her research had been so helpful that he was almost certain he knew the cause of the tower’s tilt.

He had to stay long enough to organize the repairs. Damn.

He tried to revive his anger at seeing Lydia rushing to the door with all the other females, but all he could summon was how beautiful she’d looked in that fancy gown, with the foolish hat perched on her mass of sunset hair. Her eyes had widened to enormous pools of indigo when she’d seen him. Out of all the feminine pulchritude rushing for that door, Lydia was the only one he could recall. Literally and figuratively, she would always stand out above all others.

Which meant he’d probably have to picture her every time he took another woman to bed. Imagining stripping off that fancy gown and seeing what she wore under it carried Max out of the city and half way back to the castle before the long northern day darkened. He stopped at a tavern for food and to rest his nag, then decided he might as well go the rest of the way. At least he wasn’t walking.

He continued his fantasies as the horse swayed through the night. Lydia had generous breasts. Would they have freckles? Would her nipples be pert and small or rosy and large? Did she wear frills and lace beneath her petticoats? And if he removed them, what color was the hair below?

He wasn’t entirely certain why he was torturing himself that way, but by the time he reached the dark castle around midnight, he was almost prepared to seduce the librarian just to satisfy his curiosity. He watered, fed, and curried his new horse himself, patted the old mare he’d bought for Bakari earlier, and tested the garden door. It still wasn’t locked.

Shoulders relaxing for the first time all day, Max traipsed up the tower stairs to the safe and cozy haven Lydia had provided.

He had never thought he’d have to lock out Lydia as well as the maids.

Wrapping her crocheted shawl around her plump shoulders, Lady Agnes set her lips with determination as she stepped off at the Calder train station the next morning. Behind her gray ringlets and bows and dangling earrings, the lady was a force to be reckoned with, Lydia had discovered.

“I cannot promise he is there,” she warned the lady again. “He may have fled for Burma for all I know.”

Lydia had salved her conscience by knowing Max had intended to let his mother know he was alive, and that the girls had seen him, even if they couldn’t identify him. She didn’t think she was violating his privacy, much.

Lady Agnes nodded and fiercely regarded the mule wagon pulling up to the station. “My son is alive. That’s what is important. I understand you can’t explain what is wrong with him, but I appreciate that you told me he was on my doorstep. He came home. I’ll learn the rest in good time.”

“Only if he is here,” Lydia was compelled to remind her. She couldn’t mention that Max’s son was here too, and that was her main hope for his return. Surely Max wouldn’t abandon Bakari. “I had hoped he’d be on the train this morning, but I saw no sign of him.”

“I’ll wait,” the lady announced as Laddie assisted her into the cart. “I know he will come here again. And you will need him. There’s a dark cloud on your future.”

Lydia shivered. The lady’s prescience had proved correct in several small ways. She couldn’t disregard her predictions, especially since she was almost certainly right about Max. He’d left his