Ner

by Amberlee Day

  Setting the books on a table, she tried using two hands, first one direction and then the other, just in case. But it didn’t budge. Frustration was just bordering panic when a figure emerged from the dark hall ahead, walking toward the library. Someone was coming. She waved, but since the library was also dark with the lamp off, whoever it was probably couldn’t see her. She knocked on the glass instead.

  The figure paused before moving quickly toward her. She’d startled him. Like watching something out of her favorite novels come to life, Beverly was flooded with shivering excitement that spread to her every nerve ending. He came very close before she could see his face through the glass, and when she knew who it was, her heart seemed to fly from her chest. “Ned!”

  He looked confused, and angry. His voice came muffled through the door. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t open the door.”

  When he frowned without moving to help, her fear tipped a fraction higher than her excitement. It was strange seeing Ned this way, in the gloomy light through old glass. She’d known him less than a week and suddenly considered that she didn’t really know him at all. Anyone could be dangerous, couldn’t they? She read enough murder mysteries and thrillers to know that. Given the right circumstance, anyone could crack. Maybe even Ned.

  She shook the idea out of her head. No. Ned was irritating—and at the moment apparently irritated—but he wasn’t dangerous. She raised her eyebrows to let him know she was growing impatient. “Are you going to help?” she asked.

  He still waited a moment before trying the door himself. She breathed a sigh of relief, but even Ned had trouble with it. After a few tries, he produced his set of keys and put one in the wall lock. Instantly a click sounded, and Beverly pushed the door open effortlessly.

  “Finally!” she said. “I thought I might be in here all night.”

  “You’re lucky I came down. We don’t expect guests to break into the library at night.”

  His irritation was clear, and she frowned. “I didn’t break in; it was unlocked. And why do you always have to be so rude? Except when you’re all suave and flirty, but that’s just when you want something.” When he looked away, she added, “See? You know it’s true.”

  Ned’s eyes flashed. “I know it’s true that you’re too much trouble to count on to help.”

  “Why would you need help from me? I’m not the historian. The way you act, I’m barely intelligent.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She picked up her two books and set them firmly back on the table for emphasis. “All I do is read fiction … my bookstore barely counts as a business and can run itself … I dress badly … I do dumb things. Starting to sound familiar?”

  “Yes, now that you mention them.”

  Beverly threw her hands up in the air and walked around the table to put distance between them. “So rude, and yet you act as if talking like that’s normal. I just can’t understand you. And I definitely don’t like you.”

  He went the opposite direction, heading for the lamp she’d just turned off. “That’s obvious,” he said as soft amber light flooded the room again. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Let me show you how this door works so I can go to bed, and next time you lock yourself in you can save yourself.”

  “Fine,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Fine.”

  She could hear him returning to the door, but was still too mad to look. To calm herself, she ran a hand along the book spines in this section—geography tomes, from the looks of them.

  “Here’s the trick,” he said. She could hear the door slide closed. “If you’ve accidently triggered the locking mechanism, you just lift the doorframe with your fingers here at the upper edge, and wiggle it. It clicks right out of the locked position.”

  “Not much of a lock then,” she muttered, fingering the lettering on an ancient book on Prussia. Behind her, Ned jiggled the door again, and she turned to see that it was still closed. A spark of that panic came back. “What’s wrong?”

  He kept lifting and lowering the door as he’d told her, but it didn’t push open for him. “Nothing, it’s just being finicky.” His voice was strained from lifting. “Probably something to do with you pushing it the wrong way.”

  She ignored that and moved closer to see. “You shouldn’t have closed it with both of us in here.”

  “It normally works.”

  “Well, it’s not working now.”

  He scowled at her, a look she was becoming familiar with. She folded her arms.

  “What all did you do to the door before I came?” he asked.

  She scowled back. “You mean besides kicking it, and setting it on fire, and putting a curse on it?” She shrugged. “Nothing.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Fine. It doesn’t matter. There’s a keyhole on this side too.” She hadn’t noticed it, but yes, there was a spot for a key just inside the bookcase next to the door.

  “Perfect,” she said, picking up her books again. “Open it so I can leave.”

  But when Ned’s hands went to his pockets, a confused look furrowed his brow.

  “What’s the matter?” Beverly asked.

  Ned checked the nearest table, and the table with the lamp, and the nearby bookshelves. “Where did I put them?”

  Beverly’s shoulders slumped. “You’re kidding. You lost the keys?”

  “Misplaced. That’s different than lost.”

  “Where was the last time you saw them?” she asked, only to get a look back that told her it was a dumb question. “Right.”

  Beverly put the books down again. She headed left to start searching while Ned went right … which meant they bumped into each other. No apologies, but they each wore an expression that said, Really?

  “You could have set them down anywhere,” she said. “A shelf, the seats.”

  “We’d see it if it was there,” he said irritably.

  “Unless it slipped down somewhere. Maybe between the love-seat cushions.”

  She was pulling up the old red cushions when Ned groaned. He’d returned to the glass door and leaned close to one side for a view of the hallway side of the wall—right where the keyhole was outside.

  “Oh, no,” Beverly said as it dawned on her what happened. “You left the keys in the lock?”

  She rushed over close to him, standing almost on his feet, her head close to his to see what he saw. Sure enough, poking out from the hallway keyhole, there was the ring of keys.

  “I guess asking you where you last saw them wasn’t such a dumb question,” she said, turning his way just as he turned toward her. There were those gorgeous playboy eyes, just inches from hers. They each whirled away and walked in different directions faster than you can say trapped.

  Ned circled the room, checking the windows. When was the last time they’d been opened? He couldn’t remember, but apparently not since the last time the room had been painted. “The windows are sealed closed,” he said.

  “Is that even legal with fire codes?”

  Ned sighed and looked at Beverly. For such a beautiful woman, she was such a pain. “It is if the windows can be broken and you can get out.”

  Of course this perked her up. “Then let’s break a window! Maybe one in the back so it’s not so obvious until you fix it.”

  “Or maybe the one behind the rosebush,” he said in a mock excited tone. “Because we know that bush makes for a great place to hide something.”

  Beverly frowned at the reminder, and opened one of the books next to her on the love seat. Served her right for wanting to break a castle window.

  Ned paced. He was starting to feel like a caged animal. He couldn’t stay in the library all night, especially with Beverly. He had meetings first thing in the morning that he needed to prepare for; plus, she’d drive him crazy if he had to stay around her that long.

  He strode over to the keyhole at the bookshelf, bending down with one eye shut to look inside. It was the same key slot, right? The keys wer
e just on the opposite side. Maybe if he could find something to poke in there and manipulate them, he could unlock the door. He resumed his search of the room, this time looking for something long and thin enough to reach in there.

  Beverly didn’t move, or even look concerned. Her face was mostly hidden behind the book. Why should he be the only one trying to solve this problem?

  “How is this not bothering you?” he asked, but she didn’t answer him until she was ready to turn a page.

  “What’s that?” she asked, making his antsy blood boil.

  He nodded. “So this is where it comes from.”

  She put the book in her lap and rolled her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your preoccupation with fantasy. Your overactive imagination and assumption that life is as full of drama as your books.”

  “I don’t think that.”

  “I think you do. Proof: you’re reading while I’m problem-solving.”

  She made a pft sound. “You’re not problem-solving. You’re stressing.”

  “Stressing.” His knee bounced as his patience waned.

  She waved her hand in a wide scope to take in the whole room. “The door is locked; we have no keys. You don’t want to break a window, and that’s fine. I get it. There isn’t a phone in here—unless you have one in your pocket?”

  He shook his head no. He’d left it on his desk.

  “No phone,” she repeated. “So unless you want me to start burning some books so you have an excuse to break a window, we’re stuck in here until someone finds us.”

  He threw his hands up, exasperated. “Who? There’s someone on the night desk, but short of smashing the glass in the door, I don’t think he’ll hear us.”

  She shrugged. “Exactly my point. We’re stuck. For now, I’m going to read. Okay with you?”

  Entirely too frustrated to answer without snapping her head off, Ned returned to the large front window. There wasn’t much to see outside because of that darn obtrusive rosebush. But he should be able to see if someone passed by on the sidewalk after a late-night walk, so he stood and watched while he worked out the situation in his mind.

  As irritating as Beverly was, she was right. Their options were limited. They were definitely stuck there, at least until someone came around in the morning. He spent some time mentally going over his to-do list for the next day. That usually relaxed him. He couldn’t concentrate, though, not with Beverly sitting across the room. He shook his head. He’d known from the first time he saw her that she was a distraction he couldn’t afford. Getting her on board with the book project had been important, but now that was happening, hopefully whether or not Beverly stayed at the castle, too.

  He realized he could see her reflection in the window, her white top and hair cascading down in its wild, loose braid. He chuckled. Wasn’t a braid meant to keep hair in place? Hers was more like a vehicle to let it flow where it wanted.

  If Beverly did leave the castle, Dr. Tune would probably need an assistant. He could help with that, he supposed. But suddenly the thought of someone else taking Beverly’s place rang empty inside him. She was a pain, that was for sure, but he’d gotten used to the idea of having her around. She and her aunt were a package deal, and there were things about her part of the package he didn’t mind.

  A thought suddenly occurred to him. “Will your aunt be alright on her own tonight?”

  “Hm?” Beverly looked up from her book with a slow blink, like she was getting sleepy and surprised he was still there. “Aunt Affie? She’ll be fine.”

  When he didn’t say anything else, she returned to her story, but he noticed that her knees were pulled up to her chest. Her free arm wrapped around to hug her other shoulder, too, and her feet dug between the cushions.

  “Are you cold?” He crossed the room to her.

  “Yes, it’s freezing in here,” she said, and he could see goose bumps on her arms as well.

  “Okay. Well, if we really are stuck, you can’t stay like this all night. We need to get you warm.” He didn’t have a jacket, but at least he had long sleeves and warmer pants.

  Looking around, he wondered why the library didn’t have any throw blankets, make the place a little cozier. Guests had enjoyed the library in the past, no matter what his father thought. They’d probably appreciate a blanket or two. Tomorrow he’d have to make a note to remedy that.

  He looked at his watch. “It’s only twelve-fifteen.”

  “Mmhm.” She didn’t look up.

  “It’s just going to get colder in here. This time of year we don’t heat the library at all.”

  This time he had her attention, and she finally looked concerned. “Colder?” She put the book down and shuffled over to the door again, hugging herself and pressing her face to the window. “Are you sure no one would hear if we just kept knocking on something?”

  “I’m sure.”

  There had to be something in this room to make her more comfortable. She wouldn’t exactly get hypothermia, but those pajamas weren’t anything to keep her warm. He took another look around, and something caught his eye.

  “What are you doing?” she asked when he pulled one of the heavy tables to the rear window.

  “I’m going to pull these drapes down. Get you warm.”

  “That’s sweet, but they’ll be so dusty.”

  He suppressed a growl. “Dusty is better than freezing. Plus I think these ones were cleaned this past spring, so at least it isn’t old dust.”

  The ceilings and windows were quite high—one of the special things about the castle—and standing on the table wasn’t enough.

  “How about this?” Beverly asked him from nearby. He turned to see she’d found the ladder used to reach the library’s upper shelves.

  “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you’re …” She didn’t finish whatever her thought was, and instead smiled the sweetest chattering-teeth smile he’d ever seen. It sent an unexpected wave of warmth through him. “You would have thought of it. Thank you. I am pretty cold.”

  A desire to take care of Beverly unexpectedly surged through him, and he climbed the ladder to reach the long, heavy curtains. Beverly helped catch them as they dropped.

  “Not too dusty,” she said.

  “Lucky for us. Let’s get you warm.”

  She sat back down in her spot on the love seat, and held still while he tucked the curtain around her. How young she looked, all big brown eyes peering at him over the red curtain.

  He swallowed. “How’s that?”

  “Better,” she said, but she didn’t look it. Come to think of it, the curtains were pretty cold, hanging there next to the windows. They were keeping her warmth in, but she didn’t have much to begin with.

  It was all the justification he needed to do what popped up in the back of his mind like a fan at a football game. “Scoot over,” he said, pulling up the curtain and dropping down next to Beverly.

  Her eyes grew wide. “Okay …” she said.

  He froze for a moment, taking her in at this intimate distance. Yes, she was a beautiful woman. Warm, and to her aunt, at least, she was kind. Well, to pretty much everyone but him. And his father. But really, she was as kind as anyone could expect to be with the difficult Philip Sterling.

  He readjusted his position and pulled her closer, his arm against her cold bare shoulders startling him. Just her head remained over the curtain.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Much.”

  He inhaled, breathing in her scent. Her hair so close to his face smelled like flowers, and … something else lingered in the air. It made him a little light-headed, and he liked it. “Do you smell vanilla?” he asked softly.

  “I do. Maybe they’re baking in the dungeon. I smell it a lot around the castle.”

  Ned frowned. No one would be in the kitchen this time of night, and he didn’t remember cooking smells drifting to the library before. Strange.

  They stayed that way for a l
ong while—surprising, as experience told him she’d likely put distance between them before long. But she didn’t, and she was quiet. There seemed to be no noise except when he swallowed, which in the still room sounded vast. Eventually Beverly’s breathing evened out and her body relaxed into him. He couldn’t see her face, but she must have fallen asleep.

  Ned covered his mouth with his free hand. He couldn’t think how one minute they were arguing and the next he was holding her like this. Granted, if she was awake she’d still be difficult, but being close to her sent a warmth through him that defied the room’s temperature. His own muscles eased as Beverly’s supple weight settled comfortably in his arms. He let his fingers move smoothly over her upper arm, slowly so he wouldn’t wake her, and in miniscule increments rested his cheek lightly on her hair. Maybe he could sleep this way, too, but he doubted it. He was too aware of the places her body touched his. The deeper she slept, the more her head drifted to rest on his chest and he had to wrap his other arm around her for support. Well, maybe not had to, but it meant he could hold her closer.

  Breathing in her scent and nestling together on the love seat, Ned had to remind himself what it was about Beverly he didn’t like. Well, there was …

  She caught her breath in her sleep, and relaxed again in a sigh. He cradled her closer without thinking, his breathing matching hers, and eventually gave in to sleep.

  Chapter 13

  Beverly smiled as she woke up. She’d had the best dream. Nothing dark and frightening this time, more like a scene from an old turn-of-the-last-century picnic, with a blanket spread next to a river. There were sandwiches and pulled taffy. Ned was there, looking dapper in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, suspenders, and a straw hat. He leaned back, fiddling with a long blade of grass, and smiled. And he had a thick, dark mustache. Beverly wore blue gingham and a wide sun hat, her legs tucked beneath her dress, and she wished he’d hurry up and kiss her. When they talked to each other, they sang their words like a musical. He moved and she worried he’d leave, but instead he scooped her into his arms and finally kissed her, the mustache tickling her real self awake.