Page 41 of The Last Heir to Blackwood Library

She blinked at the rough yet familiar voice. “Ralph?”

“The very same. We need to leave. Now.”

“What?”

“Oh for Christ’s—” He ripped the blanket away from her, and in a surprisingly gentle yet self-assured movement, scooped her up into his arms.

“What are you doing? Put me down!”

“There’s no time,” he said as he carried her toward the door.

Her legs felt like jelly but she was able to land a good kick between his thighs, and Ralph instantly dropped her, cursing.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.” Ivy’s head was swimming and her mouth tasted like chemicals. The last thing she remembered was sitting at the dining room table, listening as Arthur gave his toast. “Where’s Arthur? What have you done with him?”

Through the darkness, she could see Ralph quickly cut his gaze away, still kneeling from the blow. It all became clear in an instant. Ralphwasjealous of Arthur. How many cryptic warnings had he given her about Arthur Mabry? How many times had he had murder in his eyes when Ivy mentioned him? There was no ancient family feud, no dispute over the library. It was a simple case of jealousy. Though why Ralph cared about Arthur was beyond her.

“I didn’t do anything to your bloody fiancé,” Ralph gasped as he stood with a grunt. “Though I’d like to.”

Ivy crossed her arms over her chest. The room was cold and her dress was still wet from her rude awakening. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to, but you need to come with me. Now.” Ralph kept glancing over his shoulder at the door.

As if on cue, the door swung open, and Ralph raised his fist, preparing for an attack.

“Is she awake?” Mrs. Hewitt asked as she peered into the dim room, a thick shaft of lamplight from the hall spilling inside.

Ralph dropped his fist. “Yes, and she’s stubborn as a bloody mule.”

Mrs. Hewitt would help her, wouldn’t she? Even if she had no personal liking for Ivy, she was a woman and would surely not just stand by while Ralph abducted her. But the housekeeper quickly extinguished Ivy’s hope. “Come with us, my lady. None of this dawdling now.”

Still on the floor near the fireplace where Ralph had dropped her, Ivy groped behind her until her hand closed around something long and cool to the touch. Scrambling to her feet, she brandished the fire poker wildly in front of her. Ralph had the audacity to actually roll his eyes at her.

“Just tell her,” he growled at Mrs. Hewitt. “She won’t cooperate unless she understands.”

“Understand what?” Ivy swayed on her feet, still very much under the effects of the alcohol.

“She won’t believe it unless she sees it for herself,” Mrs. Hewitt said quietly.

“Believewhat?” They were speaking around her as if she wasn’t even there.

Both turned to her, and there was something in their looks that made Ivy wish maybe she didn’t have to see whatever it was to believe it.

“My lady, please, come with us. I promise you will come to no harm if you do, but I cannot guarantee the same if you stay here. They’ll be coming to check on you any time now.”

Ivy tightened her grip on the poker. “This doesn’t make any sense. You don’t make any sense.” She closed her eyes, trying to remember how she had gotten here. “I had too much to drink at dinner, and Arthur must have shown me to the wrong room. If I’m not here when he comes back, he’ll be worried. I must change and get back to the party.”

Carefully, as if he was corralling a skittish horse, Ralph approached her, palms up. “You aren’t drunk, Ivy,” he said, his rough voice the gentlest she’d ever heard. “There was something in your drink. I tried to stop it, but they got it to you anyhow.”

Ivy rubbed her eyes with her free hand, shards of memories flashing through her mind: Arthur continually having her glass refilled, Ralph dressed as a servant, hovering at the edge of the room. A room full of strange faces watching her with detached interest, no one coming to her aid as she fainted.

“No,” she said, though it was a weak protest. “No, I had too much wine. Arthur would never do that to me.”

Ralph didn’t say anything, but the pity in his eyes was somehow worse. “Please, Ivy,” he said, extending his hand. “Please, just come with us.”

She was so tired, and something deep within her responded to the gesture. She had pledged that she wouldn’t trust anyone, but there was a bone-deep exhaustion that was forcing her to let her guard down. Before she could stop herself, Ivy was placing her hand in Ralph’s, allowing him to take some of her weight. His fingers closed around hers, gentle and firm.

“I’m taking this though,” she demanded, clutching the fire poker to her chest.

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