Page 6 of Brambles and Bellflowers
The dirt showed through even with Miles’s earthy colors and soft blankets.
Still, I was a bit more at ease as I worked. Finally, I had a purpose. I would have to thank Dr. Kohler for giving me such stellar advice.
Even so, Finn’s warning nagged at me. Maybe he was right… would Miles be angry?
Technically, I was helping, but touching his stuff made me feel guilty. Was he really so private? Would this count as an invasion of privacy?
It wasn’t like I was at his apartment.
Besides, Julian would have said something if I were overstepping. He’d had plenty of opportunity when he’d stopped by earlier. Instead, he just shook his head and left.
I pushed to my knees, dropped the brush, and wiped my forehead as I looked across to Miles’s bed.
Only then did I see a rectangular treasure chest peeking out from the corner.
Curiosity and the fear that further investigation might be too much warred inside me. But my heart was beating excitedly as I crawled across the floor. There was something powerful and ancient, something I couldn’t quite place. It felt familiar.
The closer I got, the faster the butterflies in my stomach moved. When I reached toward the box, my fingertips lightly touching the rough, weathered surface, my pulse was soaring with anticipation.
At this point, I—a future investigator of mysterious things—would be remiss to ignore such an obvious clue. Inside this chest might be something that could connect me with Miles.
I twisted my hand through one of the thick leather straps and pulled the box toward me.
For such a heavy-looking object, it moved without much resistance. As it neared, the tingling along my spine intensified until I pulled it free from its hiding place.
The conflicting emotions inside me grew stronger. Opening this box wasdefinitelyan invasion of privacy. But at the same time, I couldn’t ignore this feeling.
The span of a heartbeat later, I’d made my decision.
Miles was magical, even though I wasn’t sure what that entailed. The infamous ghost and witches documentary,Spectral Secrets,had only been helpful in terms of how witches affected hauntings and not much else. However, maybe this attraction was for some higher purpose, and Mileswantedme to open this box.
I had no choice but to obey.
I pushed open the lid—it wasn’t even locked. Deep within the confines of the container were multiple sheepskin tomes, ink-stained cloths, small bottles, and a mixture of brightly colored gemstones and boring-looking rocks.
My attention wandered over the treasure, my heart beating wildly as a sense of urgent secrecy hung over the room. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t let the others know about this.
Still, it was okay for me, right?
I crossed my legs, grabbed one of the books, and pulled it into my lap. The thick volume was bound in with a dark chestnut hide, and in silver lettering across the cover, it read,Sinful Responseby Andreina Bellini. I’d never even heard of this book or this author, but considering the way Miles packed this away so carefully, the novel must be very important to him.
This was it—my way to make a connection! If I read these, I would finally understand him!
And maybe I wouldn’t miss him so much.
My breath caught with unbridled excitement as my fingers traced over the fragile, yellowed pages. I could already tell this would be an experience in the most refined literature.
“I implore thee,Your Grace, to hear my humble petition!” ejaculated the slight but comely, raven-haired maiden, herdelicate fingers twirling a lock of her lustrous hair as she shuffled her feet upon the carpet.
The esteemed Earl Bernard Rauf Anotson Triston Wyndfuck, (named, as was the custom, after his father and his father before him) was a stern-looking man, and it was well known throughout the county that a seductress’s sultry looks would not persuade him. Indeed, he was faithful and just in his rule and appearance. Everything about him, from his lace-cuffed sleeves to his perfectly arched eyebrows, was always astoundingly proper. Even his periwig was set just so, and no one—not even the nursemaid who’d been with him since his first mewling cries rent the air of the Wyndfuck estate—had ever witnessed the man so much as curve his lips in the merest suggestion of a smile.
It was little wonder, then, that the lovely peasant was shaking with fright even as she tried to use her feminine charms against him.
But it wasn’t her trembling form or her soulful, honey eyes that stilled Bernard’s hand. If it were anyone else, someone less pitiful, he’d have had them cast forthwith from his gathering hall already.
It was the racing of his heart as their gazes locked. The instant connection that he could tell she, too, felt. (Oh! How cruel Fate’s machinations, to ignite such passion in breasts so ill-suited to union!)
There was no need for her to be afraid of death because—despite his appearance and reputation for his wholesome values—Bernard harbored a most scandalous secret.
