Page 61 of The Last Heir to Blackwood Library

Her eyes fluttered closed as the weight of her situation came round her like iron manacles. “I can’t do that to someone.”

“For God’s sake, look around you, Ivy. It would be Sir Arthur or one of his men. Leave them to their bloodthirsty schemes and save yourself.”

But she stood fast, her feet rooted on the charred rug, as if she was as much a part of the library as the shattered marble busts and burnt books. “I can’t,” she repeated, quieter, but with just as much conviction. “I can’t explain it, but I can’t leave.”

“I could put you over my shoulder and toss you in the auto, drive far away.”

“You could, but you won’t,” she said absently. “I just need time. I solved the cipher to the manuscript, and I can do it again.”

Ralph glanced at the door through which only moments ago Arthur and his men had disappeared. “Time is something we don’t have right now.”

Ivy picked at the lace collar of her nightgown, trying to reach whatever was inside of her calling her to stay. Whatever it was, it was deeper than the library, older and more insistent.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly.

She shook her head. “I already told you, I’m not leaving.”

“I know you’re not. But I’m not going to let you sit here like a lame duck either.” When she still hesitated, he extended his hand. “You can trust me.”

Ivy’s mind told her that she was not supposed to trust Ralph, that she’d been explicitly told as much. Yet her heart was in vehement disagreement. Swallowing the last of her misgivings, she placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, gentle and warm.

He was leading her up and down a shelf, looking for something, when a voice echoed in from the hallway.

“I left him in here,” Arthur was calling to someone. “He can’t have gotten far.”

Ralph stopped short, Ivy nearly toppling into him. “It’s Arthur—he’s come back,” she whispered, as if it weren’t obvious.

But Ralph was already tugging her along, urgency in his step as he began pulling books down one after the other.

“What are you doing? We don’t have time for reading, we—”

Ralph shot her a withering look as he pulled another book down, and suddenly there was the creaking mechanism of a door swinging open. Standing back, he gestured to the passage that had appeared. “After you.”

Throwing one last glance back at the library doors, she stepped into the dark passage. Immediately the air changed, a stale, dusty smell replacing the smoke and damp wood. “They already took the manuscript,” he told her as the passage spilled them out into a small chamber. “This is the last place they’ll look.”

The ceiling was high, but the corners were probably only two arms’ lengths from each other, the air cool and musty. It was dull and inhospitable, but something tickled the back of Ivy’s mind; she’d been in this room before. There were no windows, and save for a slot in the door, nothing that suggested the existence of a world beyond the tiny room. An empty lectern, a desk, and a chair comprised the furnishings.

But no sooner had the door closed behind them and Ralph pushed the chair against it, than Ivy realized her mistake; she was alone with Ralph. His closeness was intoxicating, and she was so very tired, so very weak. Sitting on the floor, he draped his arms over his knees, leaving the chair for her. For all of her forgetfulness, she was unable to shake free of the dream she’d read in her book, and it clung to her like a stubborn cobweb.

Silence settled heavy around them. The details of her day-to-day life and past were foggy at best, but memories of the library as it had been before the fire stood out clear as day in her mind. She could picture the grand crenelated window at the far end, the way the lazy Yorkshire light filtered in on sunny days, the comfortable chair upholstered in worn purple velvet. She wanted her library back, her life back.

“It happens overnight, when I sleep,” she said, more to break the silence than anything else. “That’s when I seem to lose everything.” She stifled a yawn, as if reminded of the fact that she hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the past two days, then slumped against the stone wall, the coldness a welcome discomfort to keep her awake. “What am I doing?” she murmured into her hands. She couldn’t leave the abbey, but she couldn’t stay, either. She couldn’t remember anything of importance, and Arthur and his men had the manuscript anyway. She was in purgatory, without the hope of release.

“Ivy. Look at me.”

Her eyes had drifted closed, but now she opened them again to find Ralph crouching before her, the intensity of his gray eyes stealing the breath right out of her lungs. He took her hands in his, squeezed them. “It will be all right. I don’t know what will happen, but I promise you, it will be all right. The abbey can burn, Arthur can have his library, but I will die before I let anything happen to you.”

A little thrill ran through her at his heady pledge. He was a knight kneeling before his lady, giving her an oath, and she didn’t for one moment doubt that she would be safe with Ralph nearby. He took his job of protecting the abbey seriously, and she supposed that included her as one of its tenants. If only he wanted to protect her for different reasons.

All the same, she was mesmerized by the fervency in his eyes. The room was small, and he was so, so close. It would only take the smallest leaning, the merest hint of movement to bring them together. If she was sound of mind, she would have pulled further away, but her mind was decidedly not sound, leaving only a body quavering with raw desire.

Ralph was the first to take the leap, his finger gently tracing the line of Ivy’s jaw, bringing her lips just shy of his. But just as her eyes drifted closed in anticipation, he pulled back suddenly, breaking the spell.

She bit down on her lip, hard, but not before an involuntary cry escaped her. She’d almost given in to a desire she didn’t even understand. Had she misinterpreted his intentions? She stared at the spot at his collar where his throat met his chest, blood still pounding hot in her head. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

There was no answer. When she chanced a look up, Ralph was looking intently at her—no, not at her exactly, but her arm. “Ralph? What is it?”

“Your shoulder,” he said, still entranced by whatever he was seeing. “What’s that under your sleeve?”

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