Then she shook her head snapped her gaze away from him entirely. “I’ve already discovered your father’s system of organization, as well as an entire shelf dedicated to castles of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. One includes an entire chapter on Seastorm Castle. I piled them together on the table. We can read them starting with the oldest and then move forward by publication date.”
“A solid plan, as usual. Good work.”
“It is, I admit, a thorough system. One I’ve often used.”
He allowed himself to flash her a grin. “I know.” Two words that actually meantthere is little I don’t know about you, Gweny, except those things you hide deepest.
She must have heard the implication because she only said, “Humph.”
“Is that all?” he asked. “I must return to my search.”
“Despite your arguments earlier, I’ve decided to help you here. I found the books we’ll need if the manuscript is unfinished, but we cannot know that until wefindthe manuscript. My work is at a standstill and my efforts are better spent helping you.”
Had Cass been… right? Was forcing distance between them actually bringing her to him? Was it possible she liked distance not at all? Or was this truly all work related?
Fascinating.
“No thank you.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and turned her toward the door.
She dug her heels in. “You brute. I’m not leaving, and you can’t manhandle me into doing so.” She ducked under his arm and strode farther into the room. “So unless you plan to throw me over your shoulder and—”
“Excellent suggestion.”
“And force me from this room, I’m staying.”
He held his palms up. “As you wish, Gweny.” He dropped his palms to the edge of the desk once more and gave a heave. Not because the desk needed moving but because she’d seemed to like the sight of the stretch earlier.
She ignored him now, though, running her slender fingers over random bits of furniture, pulling them away from the walls, peeking behind them.
He straightened from the stretch and sat on the desk. “Odds an entire manuscript has fallen behind a desk or a wardrobe or any bit of furniture are slim.”
“We must be thorough. You know that. Where have you not looked yet?”
“Near the bed, the window, and under the rugs.”
She smiled. “An entire book would give itself away hidden beneath a rug.” But she dropped to the floor anyway, kneeling near one side of the large square carpet and rolling it all the way to the other end.
They’d once discovered a hidden door beneath a rug at an abandoned manor in Italy. The only thing in the small cavity beneath it had been an even smaller bundle of letters tied round with red string. Love letters. They’d offered them to the manor’s owner, but he’d not cared a bit for “moldy paper.” So they’d read them aloud to one another while sitting under an ancient oak tree on the property. A fitting tribute, Jackson had said. Gwendolyn had rolled her eyes but watched him with rapt attention every time it was his turn to read.
But under this rug—nothing. She stood, and he turned back to his own task.
“The furniture,” she said, kneeling by the bed to have a peek beneath it, “reproductions? Or is it all truly early Baroque?”
“Originals. But the design of the house, you’ll notice, is earlier.”
She nodded. “Elizabethan.”
“My parents wished to match the new manor house to the castle.”
“Does it bother you? Being here without them?”
“My parents, you mean?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He looked about the room, could almost see and hear them. “I admit it does. I…” He inhaled deeply. “Every corner has a memory.”
She crept closer to him, taking two bold steps until she stood within his reach.
