My Heart Stood Still Lynn Kurland (some good books to read TXT) 📖

could meet me at the inn for dinner."

"Hrmph," Roderick said, sounding thoroughly offended.

"You can come, too," Thomas said smoothly. "And Duncan, of course. Ambrose would enjoy talking to you, I'm sure."

"We'll be there," Roderick said immediately. "Dressed properly, of course," he added with a pointed look at Thomas. "See if you can manage the same, old man, won't you?"

Iolanthe wondered if Thomas knew what he was letting himself in for. The saints only knew what sort of mischief Roderick would combine with a proper table set in front of him and silver at his disposal. She half pitied the guests at the inn.

"My lady?"

She looked at Thomas and nodded at his expectant expression. "I'll come. To dinner," she added.

"That's all that matters."

Roderick began to snort and huff about, but she ignored him. She ignored Duncan's hearty clearing of his throat. She was a fool, and she knew it, but she couldn't seem to help herself. She watched Thomas leave, then made her way to her garden before she had to listen to any words from either of her keepers.

She puttered amongst her flowers, but somehow, it didn't bring her the pleasure it usually did. She was used to longing for silence, for time apart from everyone in the keep. Her garden had been a haven of peace.

Now, it just seemed empty.

 

 

It was several hours later that she found herself retiring to her chamber at the inn. Dinner had been less terrifying than she'd imagined, though Mrs. Pruitt had been run ragged seeing to Roderick's demands for this and that, not that he'd been able to ingest any of it. But the proper tableware had been a must for him, and Mrs. Pruitt had been bowled over enough by his manner to fetch it for him.

After dinner, Iolanthe had begged to be excused before she could find herself alone with Thomas. She hadn't made it through the door before he'd called after her that he would put her book in the sitting chamber. She'd left without acknowledging that she'd heard him.

It ate at her, that book. Knowing that it was downstairs. Knowing that he'd bought it to please her. It was all she could do to ignore it as long as she did.

It was very late when she finally made her way downstairs and walked into the sitting room.

Thomas was asleep in a chair.

The book was on the table, open to one of the pages.

Iolanthe moved quietly around a chair and knelt down in front of the table where she could look at the pictures. The colors themselves were a marvel, as was the detail in the photographs, visible even by firelight. The idea of photographs had ceased to startle her after having looked at Thomas's photographs of his mountains. Now, she rather liked them, for 'twas easy to see details that no scratching of charred wood on paper would ever provide.

She put her hand on the page, then took a deep breath and used all her strength to push the page over. It went, only after enormous effort on her part. She knelt back on her heels and panted as she looked at the next picture. It was equally as lovely, but not what she wanted. She marshaled all her strength for another flip of the page when suddenly she found a long arm in her way.

"Let me."

She didn't turn to look at him. She didn't dare. But neither did she protest when he continued to turn the pages for her. And then he turned the final page and she saw the dress.

The dress.

"Oh," she whispered.

Then she wondered if her choice of gowns might be better kept secret. She looked at Thomas.

"I'll decide later."

"Whatever you want."

"Thank you for the book."

"It seems like a very small thing," he said with a shrug. "But if you like it, then I'm happy."

She found that she couldn't look away from him. For the first time in either life or death, she was looking at a man who gazed at her with something a less reasonable woman would have mistaken for affection.

Strong affection.

She swallowed—with surprising difficulty, in light of her physical status.

"I should," she managed, "be off to bed."

"Is it late?"

"Very."

"Do you care?" he asked with a smile.

"I suppose I should."

He pulled a chair close to his and sat back. "Come and sit, Iolanthe. Tell me what you did the past few days."

She was going to refuse, but she made the mistake of looking into his eyes. And somehow, he worked his fey spell upon her yet again, and she found herself rising and sitting in the chair next to him.

Or mayhap it wasn't a spell. Mayhap 'twas that she wanted already in her heart to do what he'd merely asked her to do. Mayhap 'twas that she wanted with all her poor heart to do nothing but sit and have speech with a man whose beauty stole her breath, whose kindness brought tears to her eyes, and whose tenderness broke her heart.

So she sat and she told him all he wanted to hear. And when he told her of Edinburgh's marvels, and his eyes began to close, she sat and watched him dream.

And then she was truly lost.

Chapter 17

Thomas slowly opened the door of his room and peered out into the hallway. The coast was clear, so he quickly exited his room, locked it behind him, and hurried down the steps. Iolanthe could fend for herself, as far as he was concerned. Never mind the handful of tender moments they had shared over the past week since his return from Edinburgh. He was worried about getting breakfast before it was sabotaged.

He had seriously underestimated the deviousness and tenacity of the preservationists. In fact, he'd almost forgotten about them during his trip to Edinburgh. When he'd returned, he'd been concentrating so hard on Iolanthe that he hadn't really given them much thought.

But then they'd become hard to ignore.

They might have looked like proper, dignified citizens of a respectable age, but they played as dirty