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

“How did you persuade the women to even allow us on the premises?” Bran asked, still the mouthpiece for the twins. “Will they allow us to explore?”

Max shrugged. “I didn’t know it was sacred ground. I’ve roamed everywhere. It’s all about books and not very interesting, except for the tower.”

The questions started to fly. Max could almost shut his eyes and pretend he was twelve and summering in Surrey with his cousins again. But he couldn’t tear his gaze from the entrance. The image of Lydia kept him company all day as he dug and hauled and calculated. Lydia, laughing. Lydia, with fire in her eyes. Lydia, naked in his bed. He was obsessed by a woman in the same way he’d once been obsessed by engineering designs. Lydia wasn’t a bridge or railroad, but she was the gateway to his uncertain future just as physical structures once had been.

She rewarded his anticipation in spectacular fashion. Wearing a dark blue gown to match her eyes and emphasize her curves, her long elegant throat enhanced by a circle of sapphires from the family jewels, and her sun-goddess hair adorned with glittering pins, Lydia drew every eye in the room.

“My word, Maxwellian,” Gerard, the Earl of Ives and Wystan murmured, using an old sobriquet. “She’s a veritable Valkyrie. You have met your match.”

The men with him murmured their appreciation. With eyes only for Lydia, Max didn’t listen or notice the approach of danger until she was upon him.

Richard’s mother grasped his cravat, stood on her toes, and kissed his jaw. “Our son didn’t mention that you’d grown into such a handsome man, Maxwell,” she purred.

Fascinated by Lydia and not the pouter pigeon clutching his chest, Max watched his intended’s expression with trepidation twisting his gut. From experience, he knew most women would be furious at seeing him mauled by a voluptuous beauty. Others might turn cold and walk away. Lydia, his contrary Lydia, grinned broadly at his predicament and steered her companions toward the other ladies, confident he could deal with his own problems.

From the color of their hair, Max gathered the women with Lydia were her family. Their first sight of him was of a diamond-bedecked lady pawing him. Far from being humiliated, Lydia laughed. At him, of course.

He loved that woman. He loved her with all his heart and soul and not just the part of him that had noticed her first. He’d fight tooth and nail to make her feel as he did right now, like he would explode with happiness and anticipation.

To that purpose, he had to learn to deal with his magnetic disability. He glanced down at the woman who had carried his first-born son. “Susan, you look charming this evening. Why don’t you introduce yourself to the earl and marquess while I speak to my bride?”

He hadn’t seen Susan in sixteen years, but he still recognized her fluttery lashes and pout. They no longer made his heart pound. He left her without a qualm to cross the room to his betrothed.

Lydia was a little shaky as she introduced her family to Lady Agnes and her cadre. She’d been terrified of meeting Max’s friends, of being asked to find books she couldn’t, of introducing her critical family to the more eccentric, aristocratic Malcolms. The books had been calling seductively to her all day, promising escape. What if they finally wished to speak to her?

But she couldn’t abandon their guests, even when she entered her own drawing room to see a gorgeous lady in Max’s arms. The sight had shaken all her other fears away.

But then Max had beamed at her as if she were the sun and moon and stars, and her world had righted again. A man who could do that could surely tilt the tower back in place.

She knew the instant Max came up behind her. She stepped back to be closer. He placed a large, reassuring hand on her shoulder and whispered in her ear. “What the devil is Richard’s mother doing here?”

She almost laughed again. Nervous laughter, perhaps, but Max did have a way of keeping her feet on the ground. “Invited herself, I understand,” she murmured, “to see that Richard isn’t being locked in a dungeon.”

In a louder voice, she said, “Mother, Sara, this is Maxwell Ives, my betrothed. Max, Mrs. Lovell Wystan and Mrs. Ralph Brown, my mother and sister.”

Seeing Max through her family’s eyes, Lydia could understand why they might doubt he was interested in dowdy, plain her. Dressed in a tailored black dinner suit with crisp starched linen, glittering studs in his cuffs, a fresh cravat over his elegantly embroidered silver waistcoat, Max gave every appearance of wealth and aristocracy. They’d never seen him in a three-day-old beard, reeking of excrement, and coated in filth.

By the time pleasantries were exchanged, dinner was ready. Max caught Lydia’s elbow and held her back while his mother happily arranged the guests in order of precedence.

“My cousins recognize me,” he said in relief. “Have you been introduced to Rainford and Ives yet?”

“When they arrived,” she whispered back. “You have an interesting family. They didn’t ask about the library but wondered if they could visit the roof.”

Max snorted inelegantly. “Give them an inch of permission, and they’ll take a mile. You’ll find them in your library soon enough. I just wanted to thank you for not making a scene over Susan. She’s always been forward.”

Daringly, Lydia stood on her toes and kissed his freshly-shaved cheek. “I have high expectation that your tastes in women have improved greatly since you were eighteen. I’m sure she was just admiring your fine tailoring.” She smoothed his lapels.

She needed Max’s assurance to survive her wedding dinner. She was dining with an earl and a marquess! The men who would be standing up for Max were even more intimidating than Max with their suave good looks and elegant London attire.

“Who’s the brown wren on the other side of the epergne?” Max whispered,