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

leading her into the dining room. He maneuvered into the chair beside Lydia, discarding his mother’s carefully arranged place cards.

“Belle Malcolm. She has been teaching at the school but her experience is with running a large estate. Your mother brought her here to be our steward. I’m sure there’s a story there, but I haven’t had time to learn it. If she bothers you, we will send her back with your mother.”

The new steward mostly kept her gaze on her plate, Lydia noticed. That wasn’t the best test—especially with the epergne hiding Max—but perhaps Miss Malcolm was not a woman who liked men.

Susan was happily entertaining Max’s bachelor cousins. Richard’s mother was still in her thirties and beautiful. Lydia was grateful Max didn’t seem interested in her sophisticated looks and flirtation.

“The moment I saw you laughing at my predicament with Susan, Cupid’s arrow struck. I swear it did,” Max told her, as if saying the day had been warm. He cut off a particularly succulent bite of his roast and placed it on her plate. “I’ve never loved anyone before. I thought I did a time or two, but that was infatuation and lust.”

Lydia felt a warm tingle in her midsection that she blamed on Max’s proximity. She associated the seductive rumble of his voice with his hands kneading her breasts, and it caused terrifying flutters in the vicinity of her heart. “Gratitude,” she murmured. “You’re just grateful I didn’t murder you.”

He chuckled. “That, too. I am most exceedingly grateful for your patience and understanding. But that’s part of the whole. I love your beauty. I love the way you respond in bed—those are more parts of the whole. But what I feel is more, as if a silver chain binds our hearts.”

The tingle in her middle became a raging wildfire. She had never thought of herself as particularly lovable. She might, on occasion, be indispensable. Mostly, she thought of herself as practical, a convenience. She loved her family in a compartmentalized way, because they were family. How did she, in her narrow, confining realm, love an expansive man like Max, one who seemed to encompass the entire world?

Before she could formulate any sensible reply, the marquess of Rainford stood up and raised his glass in toast. The other gentlemen took turns doing the same. With a little coaching from his mother, even Richard stood to say a few words at his first adult dinner.

By the time they finished their toasts and plates of Marta’s delicacies, Lydia was feeling a little lightheaded, even though she’d imbibed only watered wine.

“I think this is where I’m supposed to lead the ladies away so you may carouse with your friends,” she whispered to Max. “Do not leave me alone too long or I may run and hide.”

He patted her hand. “I make no promises. They have hard heads and years of joshing me to catch up on.”

“Oh dear, no.” Lydia set down her napkin. “I cannot do it all alone. I love the company, but I am not a night owl, and I am out of energy. Are couples supposed to walk to the altar exhausted?”

“Probably prevents one or both from running,” he said with a laugh. “They’re too hungover to think and too fatigued to fight their families. Shall I announce the gentlemen are leaving when you do?”

The warmth in her midsection spread at his understanding. “I don’t suppose telling them there are reports of a ghost of a Roman soldier guarding his hoard of silver would distract them?”

“It would,” he crowed. “But do you really want drunken guests on the ramparts at this hour? You’re the librarian. You’re allowed to be elusive and eccentric. Flee. Leave the others to do as they please.”

“You won’t mind?” she asked a little too eagerly. She might not believe herself the Malcolm Librarian, but she would love to pretend for one evening.

“If you will trust me to handle Susan and the wren, I will trust you not to find some excuse in your books to call off the wedding.” He leaned over and kissed her nose.

The library was definitely calling to her, and hope pattered in her heart. “My turn to be grateful for your understanding,” she whispered back, before standing and making her announcement that it was time for the ladies to withdraw.

The guests stood. One of the auburn twins protested and suggested the men join the ladies.

“That’s Bran,” Max murmured. “He doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. And he’s angling for Susan’s attention.”

Lydia nodded understanding and addressed the protester. “And deny the ladies a chance to gossip about you? Shame on you, Mr. Pascoe. Enjoy your brandies and reunion. We’ll see you in a little while.”

Since there was no small withdrawing parlor in the main block, Lydia led the way back to the great hall where tea trays had been laid out and the sconces turned up. As if she were accustomed to being the lady of the house and doing as she pleased, she saw her guests settled, then excused herself for business.

Her own inhibited family murmured objections, but Max’s Malcolm relations quite took it in stride and waved her off. She should probably worry about what mischief they were up to, but she heeded the call of the books.

Maybe, finally, they would open to her?

Eagerly, she slipped through the concealed door in her office and lit an oil lamp.

An ominous wind whistled up the stairs as it never had before. Pages rustled. Books shifted uneasily. She climbed upward, hoping to see a misplaced volume or two push out at her.

Nothing. They told her nothing.

She sat at the top of the stairs, with the wind tossing her hair, and cried.

If anything, the books were telling her she would lose them all.

Twenty-four

Max did his best to abstain from drinking more than a sip for each toast, but even his head for liquor was feeling it as Gerard lifted his glass once more.

“To your magnificent bride.” Taller and more elegantly lean