“I’m sure availing yourself of my best brandy has helped.”
“It was for medicinal purposes.” She paused, wondering if she should mention the book that had flown across the room and knocked over the teapot, but she decided against it. Bascomb might think her addled, or worse, assume she was foxed.
I very nearly am.
She took another sip of her tea, allowing the taste to settle on her tongue before continuing. “I heard a thud near the bookcase and went to investigate. There was a crack of thunder along with a great deal of lightning. The wood creaked as it fell over. I—I thought I heard someone walking around.” A small chuckle escaped her. “Perhaps a joke was being played on me.”
“A very poor one.” Bascomb’s eyes fairly glowed in the dim light of the library. They really were quite extraordinary. Looking at them was like losing oneself in the depths of a forest during a storm.
“You look a bit dazed, Collins. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”
“It’s only that you possess the loveliest eyes. Such an unusual color.” Edwina winced. She sounded like a young girl mooning over her first beau. The brandy was to blame.
Bascomb shook his head and took the tea out of her hands, sniffed at the dark brew, and set it aside. “No more of that. I’ve no desire to carry you upstairs to bed.”
Edwina’s entire body pulsed in response.
He stilled, possibly realizing the undercurrent in his words, but he didn’t try to apologize or rephrase his statement. Instead, his eyes darkened to a deep, mossy green.
She clasped her hands in her lap, looking down at her fingers, trying to stop the arousal from sliding up her legs. Impossible with Bascomb so close and the brandy muddling her brain.
“Fielding hated the library.” His words helped banish the tension between them. “He wanted me to take down her portrait.” Bascomb nodded to Lady Renalda. “I refused. Didn’t seem right. This was her office, after all, before one of my ancestors made the room a library.”
“Mrs. Page informed me. You admire the abbess,” Edwina said quietly. “You don’t think she’s a vengeful spirit.”
“Fielding”—Bascomb ignored her observation—“heard things as well. A book flew through the air and hit him in the head. He said there were footsteps shuffling behind him while he worked. I told him it was only mice crawling about in the spaces in the walls.”
The walls of this part of Rose Abbey were stone. Edwina decided not to mention the fact. Otherwise, the description of what Fielding had endured matched almost exactly Edwina’s earlier experience.
“He claimed to see the figure of a woman wandering outside, fluttering in the ruins of the abbey.”
“Fluttering?”
“Floating.” Bascomb waved his hand. “Hovering. A ghastly pale figure. Hands stretched toward this room, beseeching Fielding. Said the ghost visited him in his room. Rattled the door. Scraped her nails against the wood. When he opened the doors, the specter floated down the hall away from him.”
Her brow wrinkled. Whatever had been in her room last night had been momentarily terrifying but hadn’t attempted to harm her. Instead, she’d been comforted. No scraping of nails, just the odd, damp sound moving across the floor.
“I’ve seen nothing at all like that, my lord.” Technically it wasn’t a lie.
“Larkspur claimed a ghostly nun roamed about the remains of the abbey at night. Lights bobbed around the graveyard and church. Merrywimple heard things too. Insisted he saw orbs around the church. Called them spirit lights. Probably just treasure hunters looking for the wealth everyone assumes is in the church. I should have the stones all taken down and the graveyard fenced off. The story of Rose Abbey’s wealth is well known in Portsmith along with the rest of the tale. But only Worthless—”
“Worthington,” Edwina corrected him.
“—and Fielding claimed to be attacked by the ghost.” He looked once more at the books strewn across the library. “Worthington,” he emphasized, “insisted the ghost of Lady Renalda tried to push him down the stairs after he followed the specter out of his room.” His massive shoulders gave a roll. “He was a highly excitable, odd young man.”
The briefest whiff of bergamot met her nostrils, stirring Edwina’s insides in a pleasant manner. It must be the soap he used to wash, for it certainly couldn’t be shaving soap. Bascomb didn’t seem to shave as often as he should.
“I saw nothing here before the bookcase fell. There was an odd shuffling sound in the corner. But I doubt any ghost, even one as fierce as Lady Renalda, has the strength to push over such a heavy bookcase whether the bolts are loose or not.” Edwina thought again about the book flying through the air toward the teapot. If it was Lady Renalda, she had excellent aim.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
She didn’t know why she was so reticent to tell Bascomb everything, but Edwina thought it best, for the time being, to keep the exact details to herself. Not because she didn’t want to tell her employer, but because Edwina wasn’t sure who else might be listening. “I should get back to the ledgers, my lord.” She wobbled slightly as she came to her feet.
Bascomb caught her arm. “Are you certain you can make out the numbers after enjoying so much…tea?”
“Positive. I’m perfectly well.” Bascomb’s touch sent a jolt of heat up her arm.
“I am relieved,” he hummed softly, blunt fingers curled tighter around her elbow, “that you are unhurt, Collins.” His full lips tilted at one side in the semblance of a smile. “After all, I would hate for you to be injured when I send you back to Hampshire. The ride down the hill in McDeaver’s pony cart would be uncomfortable if you were bruised.”
