The house was deadly silent around her. Then she heard it. A heavy whisper as if someone or something moved between the bookcases.
She wasn’t alone in the library.
“I don’t find this the least amusing. Show yourself.” Heart racing, Edwina marched over to the corner, knife raised, and stepped around the bookshelf. Lightning zigzagged outside, bathing the ruins of the abbey and this dark corner of the library in a streak of white light.
The room was empty. Silent. Except for the sound of her own ragged breathing.
Get ahold of yourself Edwina.
A loud creak echoed in the silence. She turned in time to see an entire wall of books tumbling toward her. A hand shoved hard against Edwina’s back. The bookcase crashed to the floor, only managing to catch the very edge of her shoulder instead of landing on top of her. Wincing at the sharp pain in her shoulder, she had the presence of mind to squeeze herself flush against the windows as the bookcase fell to the floor, dust rising into the air.
Edwina pressed herself as tightly as she could against the window, the knife clasped to her chest, startled with the shock of nearly being crushed under the weight of hundreds of books. Hand trembling, weapon held aloft, she darted her gaze about, searching for any movement in the library.
The tang of roses filled the air, pushing away the smells of mold and dust.
Her gaze jerked to the portrait of Lady Renalda, calmly watching from above the fireplace. Pushing away from the window, Edwina carefully made her way to the desk, dropping the knife with a small clatter. The overturned teapot on the floor lay on its side, the tea having made a large stain on the rug.
“A fresh pot of tea is definitely in order,” she said out loud. “Or brandy.”
Straightening, Edwina commanded her feet to move in the direction of the door. Bascomb must have brandy in his study. Or something equally bracing. Surely he wouldn’t begrudge her, not after having nearly been killed.
Her hand went to her midsection.
Once the shock wore off, she would find Mrs. Page and inform the housekeeper there had been an accident in the library.
Chapter Seven
“What do youmean, Collins, the bookcase just fell over?” Bascomb shot her a look. “It’s bolted into the wall.”
Edwina sat in the overstuffed settee and sipped at her brandy-laced tea. She’d poured part of the bottle straight into the teapot, and now that Bascomb was in the library, she hoped he wouldn’t ask for a cup. The brandy had thankfully calmed her nerves. Somewhat. At least she wasn’t trembling anymore. Looking down at the damask-upholstered settee, Edwina decided she really detested the pattern.
“Collins.” Bascomb snapped his fingers at her.
“Bolted or not, the bookcase fell. Nearly on top of me. Perhaps the floor is uneven or the age of the wood caused one of the shelves to simply come apart. The wood does look rather ancient.” It was none of those things as Edwina well knew. The bookcase had fallen with the intent to crush her. If she hadn’t moved to the side at the last minute—
But I didn’t. I waspushedout of the way.And the smell of roses had been everywhere, mixing with those of dust and leather.
Edwina looked up from her tea to regard the portrait of Lady Renalda and the roses the abbess held in her lap. “Who planted all the rosebushes at Rose Abbey?”
“What?” Bascomb was examining the wall and the bookcase.
“The roses. Who planted them?”
“The nuns, I suppose.” He frowned. “The bolts must have come loose. The wood of the bookcase isn’t splintered. Strange, it looks like there should be four bolts attaching the bookcase, but two are missing and the others just pulled free.”
Edwina raised her head. “Bolts?”
“The end was bolted to the wall here.” His hand trailed down the stone. “Possibly the vibration from the thunder loosened them, but—” He shook his head and came over to Edwina, the cushions of the settee dipping as his larger form settled next to her. Bascomb was far too close than was proper or necessary, a muscled thigh nearly touching her skirts.
Edwina had the inclination to lean into him, which would not do.
“Are you hurt, Collins?” There was genuine concern written in Bascomb’s sharply hewn features, softening the edges of the scar and making him far more attractive than Edwina wished him to be. One big hand stretched out across the hideous damask of the settee, the tip of his forefinger running along the edge of her skirts.
“No, my lord.” Edwina, heat flooding her cheeks, had to look away from the sight of that big, blunt finger. She wanted him to touch her.
Oh, Edwina. You’ve had too much brandy.
“I was only a bit shaken,” she assured him, deciding not to mention the pain in her shoulder or the fact that something had pushed her out of the way.
