Ner

by Amberlee Day

  “I said I’d think about it. Now go away and let an old lady get her rest.”

  Beverly pulled the window curtains closed and slipped out to her own room. If Aunt Affie was thinking about staying longer at the castle—if she was willing to take on the project on top of the Castles of the West Coast book she’d been working on for years, and was willing to accept Ned’s offer of making a discount happen—what did that mean? Aunt Affie would still need some assistance. Beverly wondered if her aunt would ask her to stay, too, and that definitely wasn’t a prospect she was interested in.

  Hunger drove Beverly from her room, and residual humiliation kept her from finding something to eat in the dining room. She considered going straight to the source in the dungeon kitchen, but decided to venture outside instead. It didn’t look like a long walk down the hill to the seaside town, so she put on her walking sandals and some loose, flowing clothes—a pair of her genie pants and a light blouse—to give her scratches space and headed out.

  She chose the main door to avoid even looking at that rosebush again. Coming down to the first floor, she had just stepped into the lobby when she heard a deep voice call from down the hallway.

  “Miss Tune!”

  She didn’t have to look to see who it was. Philip Sterling’s voice was hard to forget.

  Hannah smiled from her desk. “Hello, Miss Tune. It sounds like Mr. Sterling is trying to—”

  Beverly shook her head and pushed on through the heavy front door, increasing her pace as her sandals slapped on the sidewalk. The first chance she got, she turned a corner to be out of sight should Ned’s father follow her out of the castle. She didn’t need any more embarrassment today, and nothing about his behavior so far persuaded her to stop. If he didn’t want her and Aunt Affie at the castle, she didn’t need to hear it.

  Bordering the acre or so where the castle sat, the immediate neighborhood included an eclectic mix of century-old homes and modern business offices. She passed several shoppers and people going into medical buildings, but realized she didn’t know anything about the area. Hopefully the path she chose to go downhill wouldn’t take her into any dangerous spots.

  It was a beautiful day with clear blue skies and sparkling water. She’d learned that the land to the north was a series of islands, and she was glad she wasn’t there. Streaks ran earthward from black clouds, so they were definitely getting heavy rain across the water.

  When she reached the shopping district, Beverly inhaled a satisfying breath. Victorian-style boutiques and restaurants lined the streets, with large picture windows and hole-in-the-wall signs to backstreet venues. Yes, this was her kind of place. There was sure to be at least one bookstore in the mix as well, and since she hadn’t yet explored the Demander library for fiction, she was fresh out of reading material.

  So many places to explore, but first she needed food. A vegetarian restaurant caught her eye, and inside she found a bar seat with a street view to watch tourists while she enjoyed a chickpea and spinach salad. She had a nice view of the water too, and watched with fascination as dark clouds worked their way across the Puget Sound entry toward Grantsport.

  At one point she looked up from her meal in time to see Ned pass by. Or, at least she thought it was Ned; she’d only caught a glimpse just before he passed from view. Interest zapped through her like an electric current, but she quickly smothered it with indignation. Her brain told her that she had no reason to be excited to see Ned, and the rest of her had no right to make a comment.

  Dropping the compostable paper-ware and utensils in the bin, she set out to explore just as a drizzle began. She didn’t mind, and stayed mostly dry walking from awning to awning. She’d traveled about a block, though, when the atmosphere darkened and a violent downpour hit. Unfortunately it came at a stretch where there was no cover, and it was like someone had turned a hose on Beverly from above. She lowered her head and ran for the nearest shop.

  Ding-dong the doorbell sounded as she rushed in, her wet skin already chilled by the sudden drop in temperature. She lifted dripping hair away from her face and wiped her eyes, looking up into displays of felt hats, bow ties, and argyle socks.

  As her eyes adjusted, so did her ears after the loud rain outside. Big band music played over the shop’s speakers, and the place smelled of leather and spice. Ahead, rows of suits and shirts stretched to the back wall. A men’s store. She moved forward out of the doorway. For all the shoppers wandering the sidewalks, this store appeared to be empty, at least as far as she could see.

  She was still blinking to clear the rain from her eyes when the doorbell sounded again behind her. Ding-dong. The rain grew louder until the door closed again. Beverly turned to see if the newcomer was as wet as she was, and goose bumps immediately covered her arms.

  Ned shook his arms and stomped his feet on the long doormat.

  “It’s not going to work,” Beverly said, startling him. Good, give me the upper hand for once. “You’re soaked. Shaking isn’t going to help.”

  “Beverly? What are you doing here?”

  She wrapped her arms around herself. “Same thing you are: trying to get out of the rain.”

  Ned’s eyes shifted around the shop. “And you chose here instead of the beads and sandals shop next door?”

  Snob. “I chose here because it was close when the rain hit.”

  He just stood there looking at her. With his hair matted down he looked like a schoolboy, and she would have laughed if she didn’t suspect she looked just as bad. Funny how his eyes appeared even bigger like that, and how hard it was to look away from them. She had to make herself turn around to break the tension.

  Nothing in the shop jumped out as interesting, but Beverly picked up a wallet and inspected it just to give her something to do. She determined that it was brown and probably leather before her mind drifted back to Ned behind her. She couldn’t ignore his presence, even when she tried. Imagining he was coming closer, she shivered and her breath caught. A scene from the book she’d just finished flashed in her mind, of the dastardly but handsome villain stealthily approaching the heroine from behind and grabbing her arms, holding her still as he nuzzled her neck. The thought of Ned doing that made Beverly jump in anticipation.

  “What are you doing?” she said, spinning around breathlessly to confront him, but he wasn’t close to her at all. He had turned away, looking out the window at the rain.

  “Just thinking about the weather report,” he said, unaware of Beverly’s racing heart that flipped and dropped dramatically while his attention was elsewhere. “We were only supposed to get a drizzle today. A lot of our guests were probably surprised.”

  Beverly flushed, mostly embarrassed at letting her imagination get the better of her and getting hot and bothered about it. Why did she keep fantasizing about Ned Sterling? It made her mad, because he absolutely didn’t deserve it. “I suppose it doesn’t matter that this guest got surprised, too.” Beverly glared at Ned when he turned around. “I mean, it’s not like we’re paying full price for our rooms.”

  He didn’t look sorry. “That again? If you remember right, it wasn’t me who was rude. It was my father.”

  “Maybe not about the rooms, but you certainly know how to be rude.”

  He frowned, the wet hair dripping down his nose. “What, this morning? Seriously. You do know that not everything’s about you, don’t you, Miss Tune?”

  “You mean when I have a thousand little cuts on me and you act like I did it on purpose?”

  He’d definitely gotten rained on more than she had, and looked like something fished out of the Sound, wet and indignant. And he had absolutely no right to be indignant.

  “What were you doing in the rosebush, anyway?” he asked. “I mean, if you were hiding, that was a terrible choice. But who were you hiding from?”

  Beverly glared back, but obviously there was no good answer there, so she turned her back on him and pretended to be shopping. She picked up the next nearest item—a set of men’s dress
socks on sale—and focused on the label.

  Ned just laughed. “My guess is you being in that bush had something to do with a mystery novel.”

  She turned her head halfway toward him, but didn’t look. “A mystery novel? What does that even mean?”

  “It means you read a lot of mysteries, from what your aunt says. You were even freaked out going down to the kitchen this morning.”

  Because it was exactly like my dream! “I wasn’t freaked out, just … surprised, because of the dungeon sign.”

  “You were freaked out. And I’m guessing it all has something to do with mystery novels.”

  She really didn’t like where this was going. Tossing the socks back to their bin, she stormed back toward him. “What is all this about you asking my aunt—my elderly aunt—to write a book just on your hotel?”

  He scoffed. “It’s not because it’s a hotel. It’s a castle, with a rich history.”

  “It’s a hotel. And I imagine that having a book written about it would make it look more important, and bring you more attention.”

  “In a way, yes! What’s the matter with that, if Demander deserves it?”

  She shook her head, and made a wide circle to get past him to the door. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. Deserves? I don’t know why any place or anyone—” She pointed at him. “—thinks they have any right to ask a busy professor with limited time and energy to do such a monumental thing for them. There’s some serious entitlement issues there.” She pushed the door open to make as dramatic of an exit as she could to seal her point.

  But the second she opened the door, the rain outside turned to hail. Pummeling, bouncing hail. For just a moment she considered leaving anyway, but the intensity picked up, and she closed the door. This escape hadn’t gone as planned.

  “Beverly.”

  Ned’s voice was calmer, so she turned to see why. Under all that wet hair, he looked conflicted, maybe even sad. Her indignant heart made just a little room to understand his feelings. “What?”

  “Listen, don’t go out there. It doesn’t even look safe … and you’re right. I am asking a lot of Dr. Tune.”

  She hadn’t realized how close they were standing until he took a single step toward her. Her heart buzzed faster, especially when he gently grasped her arms.

  Handsome villain nuzzling her neck … She tried to hide the electricity that shot through her. “Yes, you are.”

  “This is important, Beverly. I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think so.” That irresistible spark lit his eyes then, as it had the first moment she saw him at Trenforth Castle, and she found herself falling into them. “I need your help, Beverly. I’m not sure how this is going to work, but I believe it’s of great historical importance that it does.”

  How had he done it? One second she couldn’t wait to get away from him, and the next she suddenly felt a draw to be closer to him. And literally—somehow they were moving even closer to each other. Ned’s eyes grew wider, and she caught her breath, realizing that he was affected by this sudden nearness, too. When his gaze moved down to her lips, she couldn’t hide the response she felt any longer. It was either kiss him, or run.

  She ducked under his arm and left him behind, fervently walking into the store’s depths. “Where are the sales clerks here?” she called, trying to get control of her breathing. Oh, that man! “What I need is an umbrella. Ah! Here.” She snatched one up from a display tree, and kept moving toward the back of the store. “Hello! Seriously, this shop. Lame clothes, and no service. No wonder no one’s here.”

  Finally, a voice came from somewhere behind the shop. “Hello! I’m so sorry. Have you been waiting long?” A short, dapper man in a beige suit quick-stepped out from a back hallway. “What can I do for you?”

  “I want to buy this.” Beverly thrust the umbrella out and he took it from her hand.

  “Certainly. Right this way—Ah! Mr. Sterling,” he said, spotting Ned, who still stood on the front door mat, too conventional to consider walking through a store wet, apparently. “I’m glad you came. Your alterations are complete, and your special order shirts have arrived, as well. As soon as I help this lady, I will get them for you. Oh, my!” The clerk had finally noticed how wet Beverly and Ned were. “Is it raining outside?”

  Beverly had had enough. She pulled a slightly damp ten-dollar bill out of her pocket for the eight-dollar umbrella, set it in the clerk’s hand, and took the umbrella from his. “Thank you.” She made her way quickly to the door—a wide, wide circle around Ned, whom she made no eye contact with.

  By the time she stepped out the door she had the umbrella opened, and made her escape from Ned and back toward the safety of her castle room, cringing every step of the way at this latest disaster between her and the rude, selfish, and frustratingly handsome Ned Sterling.

  Chapter 10

  Ned paced from the library back to the lobby. Hannah’s ever-present smile dimmed to see him coming.

  “Any more arrive?” he asked.

  “No, Mr. Sterling. No more have arrived for the lecture. I honestly promise to send them right back if they come.”

  He adjusted his shirtsleeves where they extended past his suit coat. “Fine. That’s great. Thanks, Hannah.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Sterling.” To her credit, there was no sarcasm in her voice, despite the number of times he’d asked her in the last hour. Hannah was really a sweet girl, and unfortunately as in love with their resident handyman/artist Adam as all the young women who worked for the castle. Ned hoped he wouldn’t lose his best receptionist when Adam broke her heart.

  He strode back down the hall, where a small group already gathered. Besides Dr. Tune, there were three people from the local historical society, one from the community college, several neighbors, and the oldest citizen in Grantsport, Mrs. Ethel Proctor, who at a hundred and one made Dr. Tune look like a spring chicken. Rounding out the group were a local reporter and five current castle guests. Not a bad turnout, but not what he would have hoped, either.

  He looked back to Dr. Tune, who kept one seat saved for her niece. Where was Beverly, anyway? He hadn’t seen her since lunch, and then he’d kept his distance. He couldn’t understand why she was so hostile toward him, or why she had to be so difficult all the time.

  He checked his watch and found that it was time to start. Waiting a few minutes might see more people arrive, but then he’d risk someone losing interest. He approached Dr. Tune. “Looks like it’s time to start. Are you ready?”

  The older lady craned her neck toward the door. “I don’t know what’s keeping Beverly, but certainly, we can go ahead and start.”

  “If you’d like to wait …”

  “Not at all. You go ahead.”

  She still looked concerned, though, so he said, “I’ll run see if I can find her, and then we’ll get started.”

  He no sooner turned to go, however, when Beverly came waltzing in the room, as if she knew they’d been waiting for her arrival and had deigned to bless them with her presence. Ned’s blood heated just looking at her as she walked directly toward him—no, toward her aunt, but he happened to be standing right there.

  As she took her seat next to Dr. Tune, Ned nodded at her. “Beverly. Glad you could make it.”

  She didn’t even look at him. “Are you ready, Aunt Affie?” she asked. He had to close his eyes so no one would see them roll.

  “Yes, now that you’re here,” Dr. Tune said, patting her hand.

  “Do you need any help?” Beverly asked.

  “No, just wondered where you were. Any time, now, Ned,” said Aunt Affie.

  Ned pushed away the frown that had settled in and took his cue to start. He moved to the front of the library, where tables and chairs had been shifted around into rows for the audience. The buzz of people talking lowered to silence, and all eyes turned to him. Even Beverly’s, which made that hot irritation momentarily bubble up in his chest again.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Ned said, “th
ank you for coming. We love inviting guest speakers to address us here at Demander Castle, and tonight we’re especially excited to have Dr. Alfreda Tune from her home university in New Mexico. She’s an American-history professor who has spent the last three years collecting data for an upcoming catalog of castles along the North American west coast. Demander is her final stop in her journey, and we’re delighted she’s here. Please welcome Dr. Alfreda Tune.”

  The audience applauded, and Beverly helped Dr. Tune to her feet, planting a seed of worry in Ned’s mind. He waited until she was in front of the group, indicated with a nod that the floor was hers, and took a seat toward the back.

  As Dr. Tune began her presentation, Ned tried to settle in and enjoy himself. It was a success that she came, and more so that he’d already had a chance to approach her about writing a book just about Demander. She said she’d think about it; that was a start. But the feeling that something was wrong tapped in his brain like a bird at the window. What was it?

  His gaze traveled to Beverly, who sat in front of him and to one side. He had a good view of her profile, and she appeared to be listening intently to her aunt. Beverly was what worried him. Ned had witnessed her helping her aunt with a lot of little tasks in the few days they’d been at Demander, from taking pictures to helping her sort data, to even just now helping her up from her chair. Dr. Tune may not be a hundred and one years old like Ethel Proctor, but she was still elderly. If she did agree to stay at Demander long enough to gather information for a second book, would she need Beverly there to help her? He’d been so worried she would talk her aunt out of it rather than help convince her to write the book, but he hadn’t considered whether Beverly would actually need to stay, too. It was unlikely she would want to, and he really didn’t need the extra distraction, either.

  Because Beverly Tune was a distraction. Sitting in this room with dark furniture, flooring, and books, surrounded by people wearing subdued, indistinct clothing, Beverly shone in a cornflower-blue dress, her wheat-and-flax braid falling loosely across one shoulder. Legs crossed, one foot lifting and falling slowly in front of her. Even her profile distracted him, those lips especially. In fact, yesterday in the store, when he’d made a last-ditch effort to gain her allegiance with harmless flirting, he’d almost …