The Librarian's Spell by Patricia Rice (ebook offline reader TXT) 📗

the librarian’s duties sufficiently to scrape by until she either learned how to hear the books or a more qualified person could be found.

But the tomes meant little to her. She listened to the whispers, found pages mentioning the tower, and marked them with the supply of bookmarks she’d created for Mr. C. She would have to read the pages to Max to see if they meant anything to him.

Discouraged, she set the books aside and wandered into the stacks, concentrating on the words librarian and instructions, to see if that stirred the whispers enough to hear. It didn’t. Ownership did nothing either. She flipped through the ancient directory but mostly it listed the authors of the journals and occasionally made reference to the author’s gift. Nothing screamed This is how you find a librarian. She’d have to hope that the solicitors knew more than she did.

She settled on a step near the shelf containing Mr. C’s journals. Perhaps if she started with reading how he became the librarian. . .

Descending from his tower suite, showing his son the secret passage, Max discovered Lydia sound asleep on the library stairs. One well-turned ankle dangled from below her skirt, a book rested precariously in her lap, and her temple reposed on a stack of tomes. If he could paint, he’d paint Portrait of a Beautiful Librarian.

“She’ll hurt herself,” his son whispered in concern.

It was a long way down if she tried turning over on a circular iron stairway.

Max didn’t know where Lydia’s room was. He supposed he could go down the outer stairs, opening doors to see if any looked likely. But it was far easier to deposit her where she belonged.

She stirred when he lifted her, but she had to be terribly exhausted. She didn’t wake.

Max was unaccustomed to taking care of anyone but himself, but it was becoming obvious that the librarian needed someone to take care of her. She couldn’t do it all—be the librarian and her own assistant and steward of all she surveyed. They’d have to work that out in the morning. For now, he carried her up the stairs and deposited her on the spacious bed obviously intended for her.

“Where will you sleep?” the boy asked, again with concern. The lad had more compassion than Max would ever learn.

“I’ve been sleeping on the ground and on ship decks for years,” he assured him. “I’ll sleep in the other room with you, if that’s all right.”

They caught Lloyd just entering the parlor from the outer stairs, apparently ready for his own bed. Max grimaced. There was a snag.

“I put Miss Wystan on the big bed,” he informed the valet. “She fell asleep on the stairs, and I didn’t know what else to do. If you can direct me to her chamber, I could sleep there, but I don’t know how she’ll react if she wakes up to you and my son in the suite.”

Lloyd nodded and squinted his eyes in thought. “She really does belong here. It’s expected. I can take one of the cubicles. They’re all furnished. I’ll just need to remove my things.” He looked at Max expectantly.

Max could take the guest room he’d been using. It was perfectly adequate. Morgan and Miss Trivedi had been given rooms elsewhere.

But he’d already caught one of the maids turning down his covers and leaving a bottle of whisky on his night table. He really wanted an entire locked tower between him and the household. Besides, their trunks were here.

Max gestured vaguely at the parlor. “I’ll sleep with the boy in here tonight. We’ll work out better arrangements in the morning.”

Lloyd didn’t seem fond of that idea, but ever the obedient servant, he gathered up his few personal articles, carefully locked the door to the little closet leading to Lydia’s bed, and departed. As soon as he was gone, Max picked the lock and opened the door so the boy could use the washroom. Max knew he was an honorable man, in his own way, but he respected that not everyone else appreciated his ability to resist a beautiful woman.

Almost resist—he opened the chamber door and verified that the lady slept soundly.

“She’s like a beautiful princess,” Bakari murmured in awe. “Like in the fairy tales.”

With her golden-sunset hair tumbling over her porcelain cheeks and lace collar, Lydia did indeed resemble an untouchable princess. For perhaps the first time in his life, Max felt regret at walking away.

Lydia blinked awake at her usual hour of dawn. She frowned at the ceiling that had suddenly developed delicate flowers and colorful birds. Finally realizing it was a canopy and not a ceiling, she hurriedly scrambled from a bed almost as large as the room she’d been sleeping in.

How did she end up in Mr. C’s room?

She’d been reading his journals. She’d learned Mr. C’s mother had been a librarian, so he had simply inherited her position. She must have fallen asleep before she read further.

The funeral! She had so much to do. . .

She cast a longing glance at the bath, but she didn’t know how she’d got here or who was on the other side of that wall. She’d run down to her chamber and find fresh clothing. . . except both sets of stairs were in the parlor. Drat. She should have told Lloyd to leave her gowns here. . . except she’d meant for Max to use these rooms while they had guests. Had he even unpacked? She peered into the ornate clothes press, but it was empty.

Fluffing out her skirt as best as she could, she inched open the bathing room door, then crossed to Lloyd’s chamber. The large form in the valet’s bed was quite unmistakably not Lloyd. What was Max doing in here? At least he was wearing a nightshirt and had the covers almost pulled over him, but it was hard to resist looking. He badly needed a shave, and he dwarfed that tiny cot. She’d never been this close to a man in dishabille, and the heat his