He moved to leave, but as he passed her, his foot caught on the edge of the rug. Edward stumbled and, instinctively, Catherine reached out to steady him, but his momentum was too great, and they toppled to the floor—Edward landing on top of her.
For a moment, they lay there, evidently stunned by their sudden close proximity. Catherine was almost hesitant to breathe. She was overly aware of Edward’s weight pressing her into the carpet, the warmth of his body seeping through the layers of their clothing, the hardness pressing against her thigh. His face was mere inches from hers. In fact, he was close enough that she could feel his ragged breath on her cheek.
Then their eyes met, and Catherine felt her heart skip a beat. The air between them crackled with tension. Catherine licked over her lips softly, her eyes finding his.
Then, as if suddenly realizing the impropriety of their position, Edward quickly rolled off her and got to his feet. He looked down at her, holding his hand out to her, his face unnaturally pale and his composure visibly shaken.
“Forgive me, Miss Winslow,” he said stiffly as he helped her up. “I… I should be more careful.”
Catherine straightened her skirts, her cheeks burning like a raging fire. “There is nothing to forgive, My Lord,” she said simply. “It was an accident.”
Edward nodded curtly, carefully avoiding her gaze. “Yes, well… good evening, Miss Winslow.”
With that, he left the library, his strides quick and purposeful. Catherine pressed her hand to her heart, a strange feeling of loss washing over her. Catherine sighed and shook her head in a fruitless attempt to clear her thoughts.
With a sigh, she moved in the direction of the shelf where Edward had been standing. Her hands moved over the jackets of the books, wondering which one Edward had touched last. As her fingers trailed along the spines of books, she felt something out of place. A gap. A space where a book ought to be.
With a frown furrowing her brow, Catherine peered into the space. A leather-bound volume was pushed far back on theshelf. Curiosity got the better of her and she reached in, pulling it out.
It seemed to be a journal and as though she had no control over her actions, she flipped it open. It was well-worn, the pages yellow with age.
“Put it back,” a small voice in the back of her mind whispered, and Catherine hesitated. Reading someone else’s private thoughts was an unforgivable breach of rust, and yet… she found herself unable to put it on the shelf. Instead, it felt as though an invisible entity compelled her to open it and she turned the pages with trembling fingers.
Most of the entries were mundane, she found. Whether it was to her relief or disappointment, she was not sure. There were notes about estate management, observations about the weather, brief mentions of social engagements… but as she continued flipping through the pages, a particular entry caught her attention.
The handwriting was different here. It was rushed… almost frantic. She glanced at the date. It was from five years ago.
“I cannot bring myself to believe what I have seen this night,”Catherine read, and frowned, her eyes drinking in every scribble on the page.“The image is seared into my mind. A horror I fear I shall never escape. I had returned late from London, eager to share news of my engagement to Isabella.The house was dark. Eerily quiet. I called out for Mother and Father, but no answer came. I found them in Father’s study.”
Catherine’s heart raced as she turned another page, desperate to see what exactly had happened to his parents, what he truly found… but before she could read another word, the door creaked open, and she looked up. Edward’s face, a mask of fury, staring back at her.
Chapter 7
Catherine’s heart leapt into her throat as Edward strode into the library. His face was a thundercloud of fury, his brow furrowed, and his lips pursed. Before she could do so much as move, he was upon her, snatching the journal from her trembling hands.
“How dare you!” he snarled, his eyes dangerously dark. “This is private!”
Catherine stepped back, her face burning with shame. “My Lord,” she started, her voice small. “My Lord, I…”
“Silence!” Edward’s voice cracked like a whip. His grip was strong around her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. “How much did you read? Tell me!”
Catherine breathed deeply, trying to suppress the fear building in her. “Perhaps, My Lord,” she managed to get out, her voice far steadier than she felt. “You should keep a closer eye on your personal effects.”
For a moment, she was certain that he might strike her. Blatant rage radiated from his entire being. Then, abruptly, he released her arm and stepped back. Still, the air between themcrackled with tension, thick enough to cut with a dagger. Though she could not find it in her to look at him, Catherine was far too aware of his presence: the heat radiating from his body, the way his chest heaved with every angry breath.
“Get out,” he growled, his voice low. “Get out of my sight. Now!”
Catherine could feel the tears threatening to spill over. She nodded quickly before brushing past him, fleeing the library. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Only once she reached the safety of her bedchamber did she allow herself to halt, leaning against the door—her entire body trembling.
What on earth had she done?
She knew it was wrong to read the journal and yet she had.
Catherine took a deep breath, then lifted her chin. There was no hiding from it at all. It was nearly time for Emily’s next lesson, and she skulked to the schoolroom quietly, fearful of being seen at all.
Her hands trembled as she arranged the books on the schoolroom table, and she let out a shuddering breath. Her mind kept replaying what had happened in the library. Edward’s fury was etched into her memory. She jumped when the door swungopen, spinning to face it, and breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of Emily.
“Oh… Lady Emily,” she whispered in relief. Emily grinned brightly.
