His lips twisted, the man no doubt about to snap at her once more, but a great sigh escaped his lips instead. Blunt fingers tossed down the napkin. “You may. It is no great secret. Scything incident.”
“Scything?” Edwina had suspected a duel with swords possibly or a fall from his horse.
“Yes. Scything.” One long arm made a sweeping motion across the table. “Come now, Collins, surely you understand the point. The cutting of wheat. A tradition for the sons of my family to cut the first shaft of wheat for the harvest. My older brother managed to do so without injuring himself. And my younger. I, however, was not so lucky.” The broad shoulders shrugged. “A rat the size of a bloody goat ran over my foot. I must have jumped nearly a foot into the air, stumbled over a rock—which should not have been in the field to begin with—and fell. So did the blade. Nearly lost the eye. Cheek flayed open. Blood everywhere. My mother screaming her head off.” Bascomb shook his head. “Not my finest day.”
“A rat the size of a goat? My goodness, I hadn’t realized a rodent could grow to such a size. You’re fortunate you weren’t trampled as well if that is the case.”
“No sympathy, Collins? I expected a tiny bit.”
Edwina sincerely doubted that. Bascomb didn’t strike her as the sort of man who would welcome pity because of his injury.
“You have a quick wit, Collins. Fielding did not. Nor Worthless.”
“Worthington,” she corrected, wondering why she bothered. “A point in my favor, I suppose.”
“You also didn’t run screaming out of the house last night,” Bascomb said with grudging approval. “Another mark of your brief success at Rose Abbey thus far.”
“It was raining.” A small pebble of unease formed as she thought of the dream she’d had last night. The sensation of having her hair stroked, as if Edwina was a child in need of comfort. The scent of roses in the air. She hadn’t imagined any of it. Or had a nightmare. Truthfully, Rose Abbey unnerved Edwina as it doubtless had every other secretary. Fielding, for instance. The house and its inhabitants weren’t exactly warm and welcoming.
“When you’re done with the ledgers, Collins, the library should be next.”
“The library?” Edwina wanted to ask more about Bascomb’s injury and the lack of attention to the ledgers but decided he’d changed the topic on purpose. “What is there to be done to the library?”
“Cataloging, Collins. The attic is filled with crates, all containing books. I have no idea which relation of mine sent them to Rose Abbey or why. Most of them have probably turned to dust, which should save you some time.” Bascomb stood, looming over Edwina, large and male. Smelling of bergamot and soap. Her gaze traveled over the line of his throat and the hard line of his jaw.
“I do hope”—Edwina quickly looked away, instructing her pulse to settle—“that I’ll be able to complete both tasks before you send me back to Hampshire tomorrow, my lord.”
His tall form bent, leaning so close Edwina could have sworn she felt the brush of lips against the curve of her ear. A delicious, decadent sensation coursed down her spine, all thoughts of the ledgers and her nightmare forgotten. How could she have formed such a strong attachment to him so quickly? Every nerve in her body was standing on end.
“Then you should get started, Collins.” The husky words scraped against her skin, and it was far too early to be aroused while eating toast. “As quickly as possible.”
Chapter Six
Edwina lifted herhead from the ledgers she’d spent the better part of the day poring over, stretching her neck until the bones made a satisfying pop. The rain continued to beat against the walls of Rose Abbey in a continuous rhythm. Even if the weather let up this instant, the roads would remain muddy and unsuitable for travel for several days. Enough time, Edwina hoped, to convince Bascomb to keep her on. She certainly couldn’t do any worse a job than any of the previous secretaries he’d hired. The ledgers were a mess. Small mistakes abounded. So many secretaries had touched the ledgers that almost none of the handwriting matched, making it difficult to discern where the errors originated. Or who had made them.
Edwina found the last bit far more interesting.
Extensive repairs were being done at Rose Abbey, a process that had started with the current Lord Bascomb’s uncle. Oddly enough, it wasn’t the older part of the house that required the attention, but the wing onto which each successive Lord Bascomb had added.
Ironic. Lady Renalda’s residence still stood, while her conqueror’s was in a constant state of repair.
Edwina resettled herself at the desk, nibbling on a bit of apple and cheese Meg had brought a short time ago. There had been at least three different stonemasons who’d made repairs to Rose Abbey. Opening the ledger, she paged back to Merrywimple’s notes, which had first made mention of the work.
The thud of a book echoed in the silence of the library.
Edwina’s head jerked up, her gaze immediately settling on a darkened corner by the window, the same spot where she’d found the fallen books yesterday. The noise was likely the result of an uneven shelf. The thunder outside had started up again, shaking the house. It was no stretch to assume the vibrations would knock a book off the shelf.
Ignoring the interruption, Edwina bent her head once more to the task at hand. She picked up the bill from the first stonemason, a man named Jeffers, and looked back at the ledger.
The amount noted was larger than the payment requested by Jeffers. Not by a great deal. Barely noticeable. Obviously an oversight.
Another book dropped.
Edwina didn’t look up. She would mention to Bascomb the need to reinforce the shelves on that particular bookcase.
A leather tome flew across the room, hitting the pot of tea on the desk, knocking everything to the floor.
Edwina jolted from her seat as tea stained the rug. She picked up the knife she’d been using to peel the apple. A poor weapon only marginally better than the pen. Ghosts, as far as she knew, did not throw books with incredible accuracy.
