Page 8 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
The assets held in trust were hers now. Some believed her to be an heiress.
Heiress.The word rang hollow in her thoughts. After Paul’s death, she’d discovered the truth. Much of their nest egg had vanished.
Fortunately, her brother had not left her destitute. If she managed what remained of the funds with an eye toward thrift, she could maintain a life of independence, lived on her own terms. Doing so would pose no hardship. She’d never aspired to luxury. Her flat above the library was quite comfortable.
Still, the revelation that Paul had squandered much of their inheritance—and in such a short time—had struck like a body blow. He’d drained a considerable amount from the accounts in the year before his death, money that had seemingly evaporated into thin air. What had gone wrong? Had he involved himself in some venture—legitimate or otherwise—that he’d concealed from her? Had he fallen into some sort of trouble?
Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Amelia shoved a heavy volume onto the shelf, then another, taking some small release of tension from the exertion. As she reached for another book, a quiet thud against the floor reached her ears.
Startled, she turned. A thick tome lay on the floor near the shelves by the circulation desk. Heathy’s collar bell jangled as he darted out of sight.
“Naughty boy,” she said, more to herself than the wayward pup. “How on earth did you move such a heavy book?”
Her gaze trailed Heathy’s path. He’d scurried toward the back of the library. Rather odd, that. It wasn’t like the pup to run and hide. Usually, he was quite proud of his mischief. Had Heathy sensed something she had not?
A sudden chill danced over her skin. My, she was being a goose, wasn’t she? Letting her nerves get the better of her. And all over her mischievous dog.
Perhaps Mr. MacLain’s unwanted visit had gotten to her more than she’d realized. She’d put very little stock in his jarring words. She knew better than to take his claims or the bold promises of any of the others who’d tried to deceive her at face value.
Shaking off the way her skin had prickled ever so slightly, she determined to finish her tasks and be done for the night. Then, she could relax with a piping hot cup of tea and a good book.
She snatched up the book she needed put back in its place and headed to the proper shelf.
A quiet squawk of the floorboards cut through her resolve. She froze, her gaze pulled to the back of the library.
Definitely not Heathy.
Her breath caught.
She was not alone.
Fighting the instinct to flee, she calmed herself.You are a logical woman, Amelia. Perhaps Mrs. Tidwell hasn’t left after all.
Yes, that was it, she reasoned. She doubted her elderly patron could hear the shriek of a teakettle, let alone Amelia’s voice as she’d announced closing time.
“Mrs. Tidwell,” she called, moving along the rows of bookcases. “Come along, dear. I’ll see you home.”
Behind her, the latch on the entry door rattled.
Her heart raced.Someone is trying to get in.
She spun around, her attention darting to the frosted glass.
No one there.
She let out a breath of relief. A patron had realized the place was closed for the day and gone along their way. Such a simple explanation.
Creak.One. Then another. And another, along the back shelves, betraying otherwise silent footsteps. The sounds seemed magnified by the utter quiet in the space.
She pulled in a low breath, as if that might slow her racing pulse. “Mrs. Tidwell,” she called again as she canvassed the shelves. With each empty row, hope faded.
No sign of Mrs. Tidwell.
The old woman had not been the source of the floorboards’ protest.
Another squeak of the floor, this time near the center of the collection shelves. This time, the steps were heavier, as though the intruder now made no effort to conceal their presence.
Amelia’s thoughts raced.
