“Julia.”
She stood and shook her head.
“It’s late, Basil. Too late to discuss any of this.” She moved around the chair, placing it between them like a shield. “Do you need anything before I leave? A drink? Something to eat? You look rather pale, I believe.”
“N-no,” Basil said. Then more firmly, “No. I’m quite all right.”
“You do not look it.”
The corner of his mouth curved into a wry smile. “I appreciate the observation, but I assure you, I’m fine.”
Julia nodded. She cast one more inquiring look in his direction. She thought of the book, but decided it was best not to draw attention to it. She’d come back for it later.
“Good night,” she said and left.
****
Basil wasn’t all right. He shivered and tugged the blanket closer to his chilled body. The heat from the fire did nothing to warm him. He wished more than anything to crawl to his room, find his bed and get some much needed rest, but he feared he wouldn’t make it to the stairs without collapsing.
Ringing for the servants to assist him was out of the question. They would run to Aunt Petunia in the morning to share this bit of news about her nephew’s failing health. News he did not wish for her to know. In fact, he didn’t wish for anyone to know. Bad enough his brother guessed the truth years ago. No one else needed to know his fate.
Basil shook his head in disgust.
After all of these years of subterfuge, of keeping secrets, he goes and asks Julia Grey to stay and talk with him, knowing full well she was an intelligent woman and able to see through his lies. It was one of the reasons he never said good-bye to her when he left. It nearly killed him to leave like that, but she would have seen the truth if he hadn’t.
The truth he wanted to keep hidden.
Or did he?
He admitted his brother’s knowledge of his condition brought him some relief. When his time came, at least one member of the family would know the reasons why. That he didn’t hurt the people he loved because of recklessness, frivolousness, or vanity.
No, he tried to protect them.
Then why ask Julia to stay? While Basil shivered beneath this blanket, he asked her to sit in the chair across from him. She was bound to see something was not quite right.
And she had.
After all, she witnessed his disorientation upon his arrival.
She knew something was wrong. She just didn’t know what.
Basil sighed. He wished his brother was here now. Or Reed. Reed would have talked sense into him. He would have sent Julia back to her room straight away.
Then Reed would have helped him to his room when the signs of the attack first reared their dismal head instead of gazing into the fire, thinking about her.
Julia.
His memory did her no justice. Either she was more beautiful than he remembered, or she had grown as such. Thoughts and memories swirled together while he gazed into the flames. They had grown up together. Being neighbors and friends with each other’s families made it easy to spend time together. While at first she was content to play dolls with his sister, she soon found her way outside to practice sword-fighting with him and his brothers. George Walters was another of their group. Another neighbor, though his family wasn’t so closely connected as hers. But, they were the best of friends. And as the years grew so did they, until he began noticing the changes between them. She slowly grew from a girl into a woman, he grew from a boy to a man. Their feelings for each other deepened, entwined like the thickest of vines. It felt right they be together. They’d always been together.
And then he remembered the kiss. The one and only kiss they shared beneath the willow tree outside of Meryton. So deep was he trapped in nostalgia that he hadn’t felt his hands begin to twitch. He didn’t feel the cold run through his veins or the sweat break out upon his brow. It was not until his knees began to tremble that he noted his weakened strength.
He had thought to sit, simply to catch his breath until he could gather the last remnants of strength to drag himself off to bed.
Basil cursed himself.
The journey to Merriweather Manor had been arduous. After receiving Aunt Petunia’s desperate summons, he departed for England immediately, intent to rush to his sisters’ rescue. During the trip he did not rest as he should, and then he used his magic for the mirror.
Fool!
Now he must face the consequences of his actions.
He should have gone straight to bed after Aunt Petunia retired. Instead, he lingered by the fire, daydreaming of Julia.
He found the blanket Aunt Petunia must use to keep away the chill from old bones nestled next to her chair. He pulled it, covering himself as the shivers increased. Basil resigned himself to spend a sleepless night on the chair when Julia walked in.
He assumed at the time she needed a good book to help her fall asleep. Dare he think he was the cause for her restlessness?
No! He couldn’t think that! She was supposed to be another man’s wife. But she wasn’t!
That fool Walters!
The spell should have worked. Had he done something wrong? Not used enough of some ingredient? It should have worked. Love spells had never been his forte. He must have mixed something incorrectly.
Basil sighed and shivered.
Who was he fooling? Nothing seemed to work. Especially in recent months.
He cursed. Loudly.
All these years he thought she married Walters. Married and protected. Cared for. Safe. Safe from Basil. With Julia married, Basil had no reason to return. In fact, her being married acted as incentive to stay away.
He feared if he returned, he’d regret all he’d done to keep her safe. He didn’t want to see her on the arm of that fool. He couldn’t bear the sight of them together, holding hands, kissing.
Basil growled.
But, she wasn’t married!
What had become of her in the last ten years? How had she ended up in Merriweather Manor, as Aunt Petunia’s companion? Practically a servant?
And what was she doing coming to the library, disrupting his restless slumber, looking for that damned book?
He glanced over at the desk where she left it.
It was a thick volume. From this distance, he couldn’t see the contents or any details on the leather bound cover. He leaned forward, curious as to what type of reading she preferred. As he looked closer at the tome, a chill trickled down his spine.
It looked like…
But, it couldn’t be…
Basil grasped the arm of the chair and struggled to his feet. He swayed then tightened the blanket around his shoulders. On wobbly feet, he shuffled toward the desk, wondering vaguely if he’d have the strength to return to the chair.
But, he needed to see this book.
He had to reassure himself it wasn’t what he suspected.
When he reached the desk, the coldness that ran through his veins wasn’t from the condition of his health. His fingertips lightly brushed the leather encasing the volume. He traced the letters carved into the cover. Opening the front cover, he peered at the pages.
His father’s spellbook.
One of them, at any rate. But, Basil had hidden them, safe from prying eyes. Only Aunt Petunia knew where they were hidden.
He lifted his head and found the space above the mantel, with the flap for the secret compartment. It was closed.
She’d closed it after retrieving the book.
But, why leave it here, out in the open? Did she not know of its contents? Of the power it contained?
Or the evil?
His vision wavered. He gasped and tightened his hold on the edge of the desk. Hot and cold coursed through his veins. Sweat beaded on his brow.
Glancing at the chair, calculating the distance, he knew he wouldn’t make it in time. After suffering from this damn condition for ten long years, he knew full well the signs.
He managed to drop to his knees with relative gr
ace before the darkness closed in.
Chapter Four
What was taking him so long?
Julia’s feet itched to pace, but she feared the noise might wake someone. She tightened her fingers on the banister as she crept for the third time this night down the stairs until she arrived at the library.
The fire was still lit, but the chair was now empty.
Basil was gone.
Strange.
After Julia left him in the library, she’d hurried up the stairs, but lingered, waiting for him to depart. With the sight of exhaustion she’d seen on his face, he’d get himself to bed soon. After all, he’d had a long and surely exhaustive journey. It explained the shadows beneath his eyes, and the tightness around his lips.
Although she waited, and waited, and waited more, he did not appear.
Perhaps he’d fallen asleep in the chair?
How uncomfortable. Also deserving. What did she care if he woke with a crick in his neck and a pain in his back? After the long years of heartsickness she suffered?
Julia chastised herself. It had been so long ago. And though she loved him dearly, she had said her good-byes to him, even if they were only whispered to the wind.
If he had fallen asleep in the chair, she should wake him. Urge him to find his slumber abed. She hesitated, not sure if he might find her reappearance in the library suspicious.
But if she left him there, how would she manage to retrieve the book without his knowing? Unless he was in a deep sleep. Perhaps he would not hear her?
That’s why she decided to creep down the stairs, yet again, to survey the room for possibilities.
But she saw no sign of him. Even the blanket Mrs. Prescott sometimes wore over her legs, the same she had seen him using, was gone.
How odd. She’d kept a close and attentive eye on that door. Perhaps she had blinked, and he’d already left. He must have moved fast. Or had he used magic?
Julia narrowed her eyes. Leave it to Basil to use a spell to transport him to his room. What a wasteful use of spell power.
At any rate, he was gone. Julia could now safely get the book from the desk and take it to her room where no one would see her reading. Searching. She needed one spell, after all. Not the entire book.
She moved with quiet steps toward the desk, staring at the book.
It was opened.
She gasped. She was certain she’d closed it. She looked around the room, peering into the dark corners, waiting for Basil to jump out with accusations.
She should have never let the book remain. But, it was too conspicuous to take the book while he watched. Surely, he’d ask what she was reading. He’d recognize it. And how could she lie? Even as children, he’d seen through her lies.
Julia hurried to the desk, grabbed the book and closed the cover, glancing around again to see if anyone watched her.
No one.
Lifting the book and clasping it in her arms, she took a step and felt something against her foot. Peering down, she saw a boot.
She froze. She had difficulty comprehending what she saw.
A boot? Who left a boot on the library floor?
Leaning forward to peer behind the desk, she saw the boot attached to a leg. A leg she recognized.
“Basil!”
She dropped the book back on the desk, ignoring the loud thud that echoed through the room. Falling to her knees beside the inert body of Basil Merriweather, she feared he was dead. He hardly seemed to be breathing until she touched the skin of his cheek.
Julia snatched her hand away from him. Like touching fire.
He was feverish.
“Basil?” Julia tried to wake him by brushing a few strands of the cropped hair at the top of his head. The golden strands were soft and silky, just as she remembered. Her fingers drifted onto his cheek. The tiny hairs of a day-old beard prickled against her skin.
She patted his cheek, tenderly, trying to rouse him. When that failed to work, she struck a little harder.
Still nothing.
Julia leaned back on her haunches, clasping her arms around her knees and looked around the room.
What should she do?
Worrying her bottom lip, she considered calling the servants to assist. Surely a few of them could carry him up to his room. A quick glance at the large body lying on the floor made her adjust her estimations. A few might not work. He was finely muscled. And tall. They might need to wake the neighbors to ask to loan their servants, too.
Such nonsense! Julia shook her head from her musings. Seriously, her gaze should not keep wandering over his body in delicious appreciation. The poor man was ill, yet she ogled him as if she’d never seen a slumbering man.
She cocked her head to the side.
Well, she never had seen a slumbering man. Other than her father, but that wasn’t like this.
Basil was most definitely not like her father.
Her gaze once again swept over him, taking in his handsome features and traveling down his torso. Did he have difficulty breathing? Perhaps the cravat tied round his neck was a bit too tight. She loosened it a bit, opened a button or two of his shirt, exposing his chest. Yes, he just needed more air. Maybe a few more buttons should be loosened?
Heat flooded her cheeks. What was she thinking? He breathed through his nostrils not his chest. As much as she desired to see his chest, now was not the time to give in to such curiosities.
She forced her gaze away from Basil and tried to focus on the situation.
He was ill.
That was plain to see.
He must have known he was ill and had not mentioned it to anyone. That was why he did not wish for her to say anything about his weakness earlier. He did not wish his aunt to worry.
His aunt!
Julia’s head jerked up. That’s it!
She jumped and nearly knocked into the desk as she lost her balance scurrying over Basil’s body. She hurried to Mrs. Prescott’s chair where, lying on the table beside it, sat her smelling salts. Mrs. Prescott always kept them near, especially in need for when she read letters from her brother. The man was always writing such astounding things to his sister, causing her upset.
Julia grabbed the smelling salts and rushed back to Basil, falling to her knees. With one hand, she lifted Basil’s head and waved the bottle beneath his nose.
It took two passes before his nose crinkled, and his eyelids flickered. She put the bottle down and held his head on her lap as he came awake. His gaze met hers.
She smiled.
****
“What am I doing on the floor?”
“Again? I was about to ask you,” Julia said. He made no motion to rise. Just rested his head on her lap and stared at her face. She took the liberty of returning her hand to his hair. She brushed a few tendrils, running her fingers again through the silky strands. It felt so soft.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you.”
“With my hair?”
“It’s in need of brushing.” That comment won a smile.
“Of course,” he said with a wry quirk to his lips. “Whenever I wake mysteriously on the floor of the library, my hair is in desperate need of brushing. Lucky you were here to save my appearance.”
“I am so glad to be of assistance,” she said, smiling back. But, her smile faded as a tremble shuddered through him. And then another. His body was shivering, shaking. It appeared he had no control over it.
“Basil, what’s wrong? What’s happening to you? Are you ill?”
At the sight of her frown, Basil’s amused smile vanished. He sighed, closing his eyes.
“Will you help me to my feet?”
He struggled to sit upright, while she kept an arm on his back, guiding him. He clasped the edge of the desk and used it to push up. Julia took one arm, not so much lifting, but helping to keep him steady.
As soon as he stood on his feet, he looked in worse shape than she imagined. He swayed. His knuckles turned white as he grasped the desk�
�s edge. She kept her arm clasped around his, knowing if he lost consciousness the best she could do was guide his descent.
He was a very big man.
“Basil, this will not do. I must call Parker for some assistance.”
“Parker? And what will he do? The man is older than the Bible. He can’t help me.”
“Then let me fetch Mrs. Prescott. She knows a spell to take you to your room. I’ve seen her perform it.”
Basil shook his head. “There’s no need to disturb her. She’d worry needlessly. Leave her to her slumber.”
As she suspected, he did not wish to upset his aunt. But, that did not resolve the dilemma that faced them. How to get him to his room when he used so much effort simply to stand? Whatever ailed him had weakened him.
“Wait,” she said. “Can you stand for a moment on your own?”
He nodded. “I can try.”
He braced himself on the desk and leaned forward to put some of his weight on the furniture. She slipped around him, grabbed the chair she had used while reading and dragged it over. With a grateful sigh, he slumped into the chair and leaned forward to rest his forehead on the desk.
Julia picked up the candle she dropped earlier. Whispering a few words, a flame sputtered to life on the wick.
Basil lifted his head, looking first at the candle and then to her. The corner of his mouth tilted upward. “You’ve been practicing.”
“I have a certain talent for parlor tricks, nothing more.” She shrugged.
He grunted. “You have the blood for it. Your father is a powerful witch, after all. I daresay he’s the strongest among us.”
“Yes. He had far more talent than I or my sister will ever possess.”
Basil stilled. The smile slowly drained away from his face. He looked at her, his brow creased in silent question. She didn’t understand. What had she said? What made him look at her with such sadness?
“Julia? Your father? Is Roger…?”
Julia’s heart skipped a beat. How had she revealed the truth about her father? From the grief-stricken look on Basil’s face, he knew what she had not spoken of to anyone. She thought back to her last statement. Yes, it had slipped from her tongue. She talked of her father in the past tense. At her prolonged silence, Basil closed his eyes and sighed.
The Witch's Thief Page 5