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

easily. Suffice it to say that life is very messy when I venture near civilization. I am utterly petrified at the idea of any kind of party to gather the witnesses I need. I’d like this done in a quiet, discreet manner, no women allowed.”

“A reception of some sort may be necessary,” Lydia warned. “But for now, let’s start with the classmates you remember and the name of your school. I can rough out a request, read it to you, and let you decide if it’s sufficient. Except for the school, the addresses may be difficult.”

“I’ve spent the day summoning names from memory. It is not a very long list, I fear. I wasn’t precisely a sociable sort when the other students insisted on mocking me.”

“And you insisted on retaliation.” Lydia had learned a little of his nature. He might not strike first, but he wasn’t meek.

Max nodded acknowledgment. “School wasn’t for me. But a few fellows didn’t feel inclined to test their strength on me or poke fun at my slowness. I saved them from a contretemps or two. We rubbed along all right.”

He gave her the school and its direction, plus the name of several students from all those years ago. Then he stood up and began to pace again. “I’m not certain if my Ives cousins will side with my uncle or will stand up for me, and I have no idea where any of them are. I’ll have to write Ashford and see if anyone can provide a list. Surely the marquess will have a secretary.”

“Many of them are married to Malcolms,” Lydia pointed out. “I’ll have information in the library. They may not send journals promptly, but they send names of newborns. Your older cousins are mostly married and producing a new generation.”

Max sent her a wry grin. “Do any have as many bastards as I do?”

“As I told you, it’s not unknown. The marquess has several illegitimate half-brothers, and he has twin by-blows of his own. They’ve all done quite well for themselves. Your own grandfather had several, I believe, but they didn’t marry Malcolms, so I don’t have accurate records. You need to give me the names of your sons, their mothers, and where they reside so I may enter them into the genealogy. I hope you’re planning on visiting your son in Edinburgh.” Lydia tried to keep the disapproval from her voice. Children needed parents, but she understood why Max might be a bad one.

“I was hoping he might come here. I’d rather go nowhere near his mother.” He ran his hand through his thick dark curls—Ives curls. “Do you think you might have these letters ready in the morning?”

“Easily,” she assured him, admiring the way he strode about the room with the grace of a great cat. “As long as you don’t want wedding invitations,” she added with a smile.

He swung on his heel and marched toward her, fire in his eyes. “If I thought it would do bit of good, I’d marry you in a minute.”

He lifted her from her chair and covered her mouth with his.

Sixteen

Max had never known a kiss as soul-searing as Lydia’s. It was as if she knew him in ways he did not know himself, and she was offering everything he’d ever craved in one magnificent package of serenity, beauty, and intelligence—a package he could not have, he tried to remind himself.

But she held him with such fierceness, kissed him with such passion, and returned his caresses with such boldness when he skimmed her curves, that he longed for what he couldn’t have. . .

On the verge of pressing her against the wall and demanding what he desired most, Max stiffened and forced himself away. He never assaulted women the way they beleaguered him. What had come over him?

Wise woman that she was, Lydia quietly drew away and left the room before he committed another sin, an irrevocable, unforgivable one.

Bright and early on Wednesday, Max ran down the tower stairs, determined to apologize for his depredations—while wishing he had the right to explore where that explosive kiss might have led. He absolutely wasn’t suited for civilization if he started assaulting women.

Looking chipper and rosy-cheeked, his mother lurked in the breakfast room, dashing cold water on his lust. Before her rested stacks of unreadable papers she’d wrapped in various colored ribbons, apparently as a sorting system.

“Good morning, my love! You look so handsome this morning.”

Only a mother could call his ratty attire and overlong hair handsome. Max kissed her cheek in appreciation.

“I have arranged the guest lists in order,” she unfortunately continued. “You and dear Lydia need to decide how many guests you would like, but I explored the castle a little last night, and I’m quite sure it will hold everyone, if need be. We’ll have to bring in a few servants—”

There was the dotty mother he knew and loved—instead of going to bed, she’d been traipsing through this gothic horror, inspecting bedchambers. She’d be installing her teachers and students next.

Not ready to deal with madness at this hour, he headed for the buffet. “And good morning to you. I am only grabbing a plate for now. I have to sign the letters Lydia has prepared, and then I must crawl under the tower again. Will you be returning to the city? I fear you’ll miss the morning train unless you’re already packed.”

He had come down early in hopes of seeing her off. She didn’t seem prepared to leave.

“Do you think I’d miss a moment of this time with you?” she asked, returning to her piles of paper. “If you cannot tolerate the city, then I must come to you. Dear Lydia will not tell me why you ran the other day and why you will not stay with us. Might you explain? Surely you can sit down with a cup of coffee for a few minutes.”

Max grimaced and poured the coffee. She’d come all this way for him. He supposed he could mind his