Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Despite the lack of propriety she’d experienced there, the library quickly became one of Catherine’s favorite places at Wessex Manor. Perhaps it was because of her encounter with Edward, but she found herself drawn to the room, though she could not say why exactly that was.

It was this strange feeling that sent her to the library one evening after a lesson. She was just reaching for a volume on the top shelf when a deep voice startled her from behind.

“I would not have pegged you for a fan of Machiavelli, Miss Winslow.”

“Oh!”

Whether it was his presence or his voice that shocked her into a stumble was uncertain—but the next moment she felt a pair of strong arms encircling her, her back pressing into a strong chest. Catherine’s heart skipped a beat when she looked up at his face, so close to hers.

“My Lord,” she breathed, willing her racing heart to slow. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

A ghost of a smile played at the corners of Edward’s mouth as he looked down at her. “Evidently not. Though I must say, your dedication to expanding your knowledge is… admirable.”

Catherine could feel the heat rise to her cheeks at this and she pressed her hands against his chest to gain some distance. The arms around her waist slowly let go and she took a step back, nearly crashing against the shelf.

“I find that one can never stop learning, My Lord,” she said carefully. “And your library is quite remarkable.”

Edward’s gaze swept over the shelf, landed on her, and a smile played around his lips. “It is, isn’t it? My father was particularly proud of it. He used to say that a man’s true wealth could be measured by the books he kept.”

There was a strange wistfulness to his tone and Catherine looked at him curiously. “Your father sounds like a wise man,” she said softly.

For a moment, Edward’s eyes met hers and her heart skipped a beat. There was something in his eyes—a look that she’d never seen before, one that sent a strange warmth to the pit of her belly. And then his usual mask of indifference slipped back into place, and he took a step back.

“He was extraordinary,” he said shortly. “Good evening, Miss Winslow.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving Catherine rather breathless, and the overwhelming scent of pine clinging to the library.

For the next few days, Catherine managed to avoid the library entirely, though she was not sure whether this was for fear of seeing Edward, or for fear of not seeing him there. It was a rainy afternoon when her feet led her there again, and she hesitated in the doorway when she saw Edward already there, a book in his hand.

He turned at the sound of her and she had to suppress a gasp; the gray light of the stormy weather outside somehow softened his features, making him look younger, and somehow more vulnerable.

“Miss Winslow,” he said with a teasing grin. “I haven’t seen you in here in quite a while.”

“Oh, I… I suppose I’ve been busy,” she mumbled, her face flushed. Had he really noticed her absence? “I was just… returning some books Emily and I used in our lesson today.”

His gaze moved from her face to the stack of books in her arms and he flashed her a thin smile. “Ah, yes. How is my sister progressing?”

Catherine looked down, the sudden urge to feel his arms around her once more suddenly taking hold of her. “She… she’s doing well,” she murmured, fighting to control her breath. When she managed to do so, she looked up and forced herself to smile. “She has a natural affinity for languages. Her French is improving rapidly, and she has an interest in Italian too.”

Edward’s face lit up with a smile and he nodded. “That’s… good to hear. Our mother also had quite the affinity for language. She used to say that Italian was the language of poetry… and passion.”

It was rare to mention his mother, and the easy way with which he had done it caught Catherine off guard. Suddenly hungry for information, she glanced up at him, then took a quick step back. She hadn’t realized that he had approached her, and he was close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. It sent a sudden flash of desire through her and she gasped, desperately searching for something to say.

“You must miss her terribly,” she said softly, and at once, his eyes clouded over. Immediately, Catherine regretted her words, wanting nothing more than to see the light return to his expression.

“I do. Naturally,” he said curtly. “If you will excuse me, Miss Winslow.”

With this, he brushed past her, setting her entire body ablaze with the brush of his against her own. Catherine pressed a hand to her chest and closed her eyes. Never before had a man had this effect on her—not even close. Her face flushed when she remembered the swift desire that had coursed through her when he looked into her eyes.

“Stop, Catherine,” she whispered to herself. “He is an earl. You have no business dreaming dreams.”

She’d have to avoid the library, she decided firmly. The firmness, of course, lasted for a mere day before her feet again led her body to the library—to retrieve some of the classic Greek tales—after a particularly engaging lesson with Emily.

Of course, as she entered the library, a flicker of movement caught her eye, and her heart jumped into her throat. Edward was leaning his forehead against one of the shelves, his shoulders bent and his hair messy.

For a mad second, Catherine wondered what he would do if she dared to sweep the hair from his face and kiss the slight pout of his lips.

“My Lord…” her voice was hesitant, and he turned to face her quickly, his brow furrowed.

“Miss Winslow.”

She blushed at the look in his eyes and turned her gaze to her feet. “I was just… looking for some books,” she said softly, and he nodded. His eyes darted to the shelf he’d been leaning against before he turned to look at her. “I see. Well… I will leave you to your reading.”

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 the shelf. 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.