The Librarian's Spell by Patricia Rice (reading eggs books TXT) 📕

Lydia had been expecting Max when his mother flew through her office doorway instead, a vision of bouncing gray curls and bobbing earrings. Lydia touched the brooch she’d fixed to her new scarf in an attempt to look vaguely aristocratic—an armor she needed after last night.

Max’s kiss. . . She’d spent the night dreaming of his male scent, hard body, questing lips, wandering hands. . . and where they might have led. She’d woke up practically feverish with need.

But he’d shoved her away as if she were the enemy. She was quite certain he had been the one to initiate that kiss. . . But she’d obviously been too bold, like the women he despised. She’d been in way over her head and had done things. . . Her cheeks heated as she remembered caressing muscled buttocks. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t.

She had to treat him as nothing more than another guest or he’d flee into the night.

Lady Agnes blew all those concerns straight out of Lydia’s mind.

“I would like to see my grandson, please. I understand why you had to keep Max’s confidence, but now that he has revealed all, I won’t wait another minute.” She dropped a bundle of papers on the desk. “And here are the guest lists for both our families. Cross out those you don’t wish invited. I suppose you must consult with Max over his list since he refuses to read it. And yes, I now know he can’t read. Why on earth the boy—”

“He’s not a boy, my lady. He’s a grown man, a successful, wealthy one. The fact that he has done that with his disability shows what an amazing son you have.” Lydia stood and pulled the bell. “I’ll have one of the servants bring Bakari down when his lessons are done.”

“Bakari!” Lady Agnes settled in a chair and held a hand to her plump bosom. “Oh, I had not thought. . . Max’s children are foreign! Oh, my, this is rather exciting, isn’t it?”

Lydia bit back a grin. One never quite knew what road the lady’s mind would take. “Certainly interesting, one must admit. Is the other one Italian? Chinese? African? Do we dare ask? But for now, I must finish these letters so they can go into the village. Do you have enough to entertain yourself for a while?”

“Oh, yes, of course—the Malcolm Librarian is as busy as a duke. I shouldn’t intrude—”

“I’ve not proved myself to be the librarian,” Lydia said very, very gently.

“Well, of course you are! The testers will prove that when they arrive. I’ll be in the guest parlor, writing all this news in my journal, if you’ll have the boy sent to me. Thank you so much!” She rose, patted Lydia’s cheek, and pattered out again.

Lydia gulped. The testers? Mr. C’s journals had mentioned being tested. . .

She would fail. She’d never be more than an assistant. But until then, someone had to run the castle. She would have to keep up the pretense to hold off the trustees and Crawley until the real librarian was found.

Passing on the order about Bakari to the footman, Lydia was just adding the finishing flourish to Max’s letters when he strolled in. She flushed and pretended to continue writing until she’d calmed herself.

He looked like a hero just stepped out of a novel, a white knight without his steed. His broad shoulders strained at his tweed jacket, and she wished he wore hunting breeches so she could see more of his sturdy legs than the loose trousers revealed. He exuded so much confidence. . .

She could use that confidence right now. Hoping she didn’t look too dewy-eyed, she set down her pen and pushed the letters across the desk. “I used our best stationery with the gold borders so it appears businesslike. I’m wondering if I should order mourning paper for my own correspondence, but I hate the extra expense. Shall I read these to you before you sign them?” She was dithering. She shut up.

Undisturbed by her chatter, Max scrawled his signature across the bottom as she explained what each letter was. “I’d rather you straighten out my mixed-up head,” he said as he wrote. “I want to apologize for last night, but I’m truly not sorry. I treated you abominably, but dare I think you didn’t completely dislike what we did?”

Well, that was frank. Terrified she’d say the wrong thing, Lydia waved the paper to dry the ink and cool her cheeks. She began folding the sheets and placing them in the matching envelopes she’d already addressed before speaking. “I’m not sure how to answer that,” she admitted. “I’m not accustomed to speaking of such things.”

She’d behaved like a wanton, and he’d run away. But he hadn’t minded? It didn’t sound as if he had.

“Give it up, Lydia.” He pushed the rest of the signed letters across to her. “You’ve been reading our journals for years. I’m fairly certain our ancestors were more than blunt upon occasion. We’re human. Humans lust. And yes, I know I shouldn’t speak of such things with ladies, but I’m an uncivilized cad and my time here is likely to be short. Do you find me repulsive or attractive?”

She set her jaw and continued the task of stuffing envelopes. She pushed Mr. C’s red sealing wax across the desk for Max to use. “You know perfectly well that you are attractive to women. I am no exception, other than that I do not fling myself at you.” She didn’t think she had, at least.

He pressed his signet ring into the wax he’d affixed to the envelopes. “You are a genteel woman of refinement, mature enough to resist your urges, I surmise. Whereas I’m a heathen inclined to indulge my urges whenever opportunity offers. I’ve been learning to resist, but I usually end up fleeing the premises. I’ve not had to do that here because you offer me no encouragement, making it easier to stand firm. Sometimes. Last night was not one of them.”

Aware of the fantasy-wedding guest lists under her elbow,