Page 18 of Once Upon an Enchanted Castle

Disappointment flooded her as she picked it up and tucked it back into her basket, covering it with the cloth. “Thank you for your time.”

She turned for the door and came face to face with the tall man. He eyed her with curious interest. She sucked in a quick startled breath, then dipped a quick curtsy.

“Pardon me, sir.”

Then she headed for the door and slipped out into the morning light, the warmth of the sun on her face as she considered what to do next with the haunted book. Because that’s what she decided it was—haunted with a ghostly presence lingering between the pages. She didn’t know how that was possible. That with the fact she was unable to translate it was all the warning signs she needed to get rid of it, and quick.

The bustle of the street was in front of her. She scanned the crowd for Emmaline, but didn’t see her pale blue bonnet bobbing among the throng. She took one step toward the street when the bell chimed as someone exited the shop behind her.

“Miss?” the male voice said.

She turned to see the mystery man standing outside the shop on the sidewalk. In the morning light, she got a good look at his face. Not only was he tall, but handsome as well. He had broad shoulders. His face was sharp lines, regal, aristocratic. When he looked at her, she sensed something otherworldly and ancient about him. Underneath that, a twinge of melancholy, as though some tragedy overshadowed his soul.

“Yes?” she managed, sounding a bit more breathless than she intended.

It wasn’t often she was taken aback by a man such as this, but she suspected this was no ordinary man. There was a spark between them the moment their gazes collided in the bookshop.

“That book you carry. May I see it?” Hope glimmered in his pale brown eyes.

“It was a gift from my father.” She didn’t know why she said it as she clutched the basket tighter on her arm, her gloved fingers cramping.

He smiled. “And yet you wished to sell it.”

“Oh. Yes, well, I can’t read the book.” Flustered, she was unsure why she said that.

“Neither could the shopkeeper. Perhaps I buy it from you?”

Had he also heard the eerie whispering from the book? She hesitated with her uncertainty, wondering what to make of the man standing before her.

“My name is Leopold Thornhurst. I collect books and have an extensive library. I’m always on the lookout for new volumes to add to my collection. Yours seems exceptionally interesting, though it is a pity it’s written in an obscure language.”

That got her attention. “You have a library?”

Visions of magnificent libraries flashed through her mind. Lord Vincent’s with the stained-glass windows immediately brushed her thoughts. How she once again longed to step foot into a noble’s private library filled with dusty volumes that held long past secrets.

He grinned, his eyes lighting with humor. “Yes. Quite a large one.”

She chewed on her lower lip as she considered this. “My name is Isabella Rinaldi. I agree it’s a pity about the language. It’s one I can’t seem to decipher.”

It was unlike her to offer this information straightaway. But there was something about this man, this Leopold Thornhurst, that intrigued her. Something that made her want to know more about him and his magnificent library.

He tipped his head to one side. “Decipher?”

It was her turn to smile. “I’m a translator of archaic languages. But this one is quite the enigma.”

“A translator, you say?” Interest glittered in his pale brown eyes.

She nodded, though again, she didn’t quite understand why she was telling him this. She was never this forward or chatty with a stranger. Bella slid the basket down her arm and flipped back the cloth to show him the book. The embossed circle of thorns appeared to gleam in the morning light. She hadn’t noticed that before.

He stared at it for a long, quiet moment as contemplation flickered over his face.

“How much?” he asked.

She pushed the basket toward him. “It is my gift to you for your library.”

His surprised gaze flickered back up to her. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, it’s not dear to me. Not really.”

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