“It’s possible that those tasked with unpacking these books would not have shelved something that did not look bookish to them.” She lifted the volumes she held. “That, my lord, is why I ask you if you know for a fact that every crate was emptied and that every book was, in fact, placed somewhere in this room. In the lots you acquired, do you know for a fact there were books and only books?”
His eyes widened.
“Surely you recall the candlestick affair?”
He did indeed. Angus had purchased a lot of books and had them shipped to Plumwood. One of the crates had included a pair of candlesticks, a circumstance that had led to a great many jokes and puns about literature and light. “But what has that to do with Dukes? It is abundantly clear that candlesticks are not books. Shelving a pair of candlesticks would have been absurd.”
She replaced the two books. “You make my point, Daunt. You or I would have immediately seen that a Duke, even in its original condition, was a book, and books are to be shelved. But would the workmen who were instructed to shelve the contents of the crates have come to the same conclusion?”
“My God.”
“By chance,” she asked, “are the crates still in the house?”
“I have no bloo—not the slightest notion.”
“In storage, perhaps?”
Daunt led the way to the back of the house, then downstairs to the area where the workers would have stored the boxes, if they’d kept them. The seventh storeroom they inspected was full of wooden crates.
He went in as far as he could, given the contents, and hung his lamp from a hook in the ceiling. He rubbed his hands together to ward off the building cold. “But are these the correct crates?”
“Yes.” She spoke with certainty.
He whirled to face her. “You say that because?”
“Observe the markings.” She pointed to a crate with WS&Co printed on the side facing her. “W. Stanley & Co.”
She scanned the room slowly. “I believe we are safe in assuming the crates arrived at Vaincourt and were unloaded at the back of the house. We do not know at what point your original instructions were countermanded, but I think we may assume the crates were brought here first. Regardless of ensuing events and their order—were the crates taken to the library, emptied, then returned here, or were the books uncrated here and carried upstairs?—we are free to employ a brute-force method in ascertaining the contents.”
“Empty crates are light.”
“Therefore, we shall easily learn if there are crates that are not empty.”
“If there are any.” He did not want to take heart when there was every possibility they would find nothing.
“Keep heart, Daunt. We shall leave no stone unturned.”
They stood side by side, staring at crates stacked the height of a tall man. “Let’s start here,” he said, pointing to a stack to his left. One crate, though, sat apart from the others on the stone floor.
“Let’s,” she said.
Daunt gave the crate a gentle push with the toe of his boot; it moved backward easily. “I doubt there’s anything inside.”
“Shall I hold the lamp?”
“Not necessary. I’ll let you know if you should.” The lid came off easily since it had been pried open already and was merely resting on top. He peered inside.
“Well?”
“Wood shavings.” He plunged his hand into them and felt about for anything left inside. “Nothing.”
“And the one behind it?”
Indeed, there was another crate behind that one. He reached around and pulled it toward him. “This one is heavier.” Like the other, the lid was merely resting on top. “Not empty,” he said with some excitement.
“How heavy?”
“Not very.” He dragged the crate closer to the lamp. It too was filled with wood shavings. Magdalene went down on her knees on the other side, writing in her pocket memorandum.
“‘Located crate with additional items from W. Stanley & Co. auction house.’ Proceed, my lord. I’ll note the contents while you call them out.”
Without doing much besides pushing aside some of the shavings, he saw a jumble of items. The first item he withdrew was a much-folded length of cloth. “Measure of fustian,” he said, brushing off shavings. She wrote that down while he extracted another item and held it up.
Magdalene spoke as she wrote. “One vase, likely Chinese, painted with dragons, background pale green. Approximately fourteen inches high by twelve inches at its widest, wouldn’t you say, my lord?”
“Yes.”
“Carved dragon, green material. Suspect jade,” she said when he brought out the next item. “That’s very pretty.”
“Consider it yours. The vase too, if you’d like it. Oh, and look here. Another vase.” Daunt reached in and took out a candle snuffer. “Looks to match the first, but I’ll remove the smaller items first.” He withdrew several more items, placing them carefully on the floor around them while she logged each one as it came out. Daunt let out a laugh and held up a pair of ceramic candlesticks. “A match for the pair you and Angus found?”
“Don’t you dare try to foist those off on me.”
“That’s odd.”
“What?”
Daunt lifted out the other vase. He tipped the vase upside down to shake out wood shavings, and a dull thunk sounded. He and Magdalene shared a glance. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he said.
“Perhaps during transit something worked its way inside?”
Daunt squinted, then shook out more shavings. Another thunk sounded.
“Can you see what it is?”
“No.” He reached in and made a face.
“What if there’s a spider inside? My God, Daunt, don’t break it!”
He glared at her over the vase. “Kindly do not bring up the subject of spiders when I have my hand in a confined space.”
“My apologies.”
“Something wrapped in cloth.” His pulse kicked up, because whatever was in there was at least roughly book-shaped.
“Do be careful.”
After some manipulation, he withdrew a cloth-wrapped package. His pulse raced despite knowing the odds were high that it was nothing. He handed the package to her, and she took it with a reverent expression. “It’s roughly the right size. If, after all this, we’ve found one of the Dukes,” he said, “it’s you who should see it first.”
“As you said, we mustn’t get our hopes up.” She brushed off the shavings clinging to the outer wrapping, then unwrapped the bundle.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw a flash of red and gold. No. It couldn’t be. Could it?
Magdalene drew in a sharp breath. “Daunt.”
“Is it?”
She opened to the frontispiece and read the title. “De Medicine Arcana.”
He took a slow breath and calmed himself. He did not want to overreact or make undue assumptions.
“Daunt, oh, Daunt, look. Heavens, my hands are shaking, I’m that overwrought.”
Gently, he took the book from her. He closed it and examined the red velvet binding shot through with gold embroidery. There was simply no doubt that this was one of the de’ Medici Dukes. “Magdalene. Magdalene, Magdalene, my love.”
“We’ve done it,” she whispered. “We’ve found one of the Dukes.”
“We have indeed.”
Her eyes were open wide. “What about the other vase?” She reached for the vase, peered in as he had, then put a hand inside. Her eyes opened wide.
“What?” he said.
“There is something in here.” She reached farther in. “It’s jammed in here tightly, but…” She manipulated her arm. “Yes, yes. Ouch!”
“Are you injured?”
She shook her head. “No, but—” Again, she moved her hand. “I’ve got it.” She pulled out her arm and withdrew another cloth-wrapped package. This one was bulkier but the same size. “Here,” she said. “You open it.”
He accepted the parcel and open
ed it. He saw the same maroon and gold, the same delicate stitchery. He opened the book and read the title in a shaking voice. “De Scientia Naturae Rerum.”
The cover was in poor condition. The gold thread looked to have been picked out. Large sections of the velvet were damaged or worn smooth. The back of the binding was in only marginally better condition. In addition, there was some damage to the tops and corners of some of the pages. The frontispiece was torn. He turned, with great care, some of the pages and saw the gorgeous italics script, illustrations in pigments that retained astonishing vibrancy.
Magdalene looked over his shoulder. “How beautiful it is.”
“Yes. I am humbled to hold in my hand something so beautiful.” He picked up the cloth it had been wrapped in and carefully folded it over the delicate volume. “I’ve no idea if we will be lucky enough to find the other two, but let’s see what we find.”
Magdalene nodded. “Yes, let’s.”
It was the work of several more minutes, involving the inspection of every single crate to confirm there were no more Dukes to be found here. Magdalene stood with her hands on her hips. “That’s disappointing,” she said.
“Disappointing?” He faced her and took her by the upper arms. “We’ve found two of the Dukes. Two of them. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be going through books upstairs.” He tightened his fingers on her and brought her close. “You. Because of you. I could kiss you for being so brilliant.”
The silence took on a peculiar weight.
She waved a hand, and he caught it in his and held her palm against his chest. The room shrank to half its former size, a fourth, an eighth. There was not room for both of them here. The quiet unsettled him, but he couldn’t think what to say.
“Magdalene,” he whispered. “Oh, Magdalene, I do love you.”
Chapter Thirteen
‡
The moment seemed impossibly delicate. The faintest disturbance of air might end the echo of his confession. She did not draw away, but neither did she fall into his arms and confess she too loved him.
She licked her lips, and he could see she was considering what to say or do. “Daunt.” He brushed his fingers over her cheek and brought her closer. She swallowed hard, and her cheeks were flushed. “It is exciting, Daunt. I too am overcome by our discovery.”
He kept her hand in his and took one of her curls between two fingers with his other, and then he kissed her, a short kiss, soft and gentle, and accepted by her. He kissed her cheek, then her forehead. “Magdalene, oh, Magdalene, I love you. I have loved you for years knowing there was no hope. But now.” His throat thickened with the fear that he was too soon with his confession. “I love you still, that shall never change. But it is my hope that one day you find me worthy. If that’s impossible, tell me. Tell me, and I promise you we shall be friends as we have always been.”
She drew a trembling breath, then gripped his upper arms and gazed into his face. “I do not know what I should feel. It is too much. All of this, you, the Dukes, everything. It’s too much.”
“All I ask is that you consider me.”
“I’ve been so lost without Angus. He was my anchor, and—” She pushed away from him and retreated until her back was pressed to the wall. Her gaze remained fixed on him. “I’ve always known you are attractive, but now I know it and… and… I should not have these feelings about you. I never thought I would be one of those lonely widows men are so eager to seduce.”
“No. No, Magdalene. That was never my intention.”
“I thought if we made love, I would be satisfied, and we would go on as friends.” Her eyes went wide. “I was satisfied. I was, oh, Daunt, never think I wasn’t.”
“But?” His life was in suspension.
Her eyes glittered with incipient tears, and that tore him to pieces. If she loved him, if she had any feelings for him but those of friendship, would she be on the verge of tears? “I thought Angus would be the only man for me. These feelings—” She ran her fingers through her hair. “These feelings…”
“I knew it,” he said softly. He would retreat. He had overstepped. He must retreat, and he must do so gently. “A Welsh comb.”
“What?” Her gaze fixed on him, puzzled.
“Most ladies of my acquaintance arrange their hair with combs and pins and silk flowers. One hundred strokes with a brush every night before retiring. But not you.” He ran his own fingers through his hair. “This, perhaps a ribbon, and you are done.”
“Oh. That. I just don’t see the point.”
“It’s fetching.”
“My God, Daunt. Do not do this to me.”
He went to her because he could not stand to see her so unhappy. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Magdalene. Don’t be unhappy. I never intended to upset you. We shall be to each other what we have always been.”
She wiped her eyes. “I don’t know what to do with these feelings. He’s dead, Fordyce—Daunt.” She rested her forehead against his shoulder and gripped the front of his coat. “He’s gone, and I miss him every day, and now there’s you, and I want to make love to you again, and if that’s so, did I ever really love Angus?”
“You did. You know you did. You still do. Nothing changes that.”
She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and brought him to her for a kiss. Not a peck, nothing chaste. He opened his mouth, and their tongues met, and Lord, but he might not survive this. He was here on this earth once and only once, and this was the woman he wanted by his side for all the days left to him.
He had no experience with the emotions tangling up inside him. The prospect of having the woman he loved was overwhelming; the prospect of losing her devastated. A soft moan escaped her lips. He was by no means a perfect man. He had his flaws like any other man, but if it was within his power to make her happy, he meant to do that.
Slowly, he pulled back, but she left her arms around his shoulders. “My dear.” He took a breath and settled himself. “Sweetheart.” He whispered the word at the same time he drew a finger from the underside of her jaw to the top of her shoulder. “Please, please tell me I have not mistaken your intent. You did mean to kiss me like that?”
“I’ve been dead inside for so long, and now I am not, and I…” Her finger slid across his lips. “I want kisses and whispered endearments and a man’s strong arms around me, his breath warm, my hands on his skin. Someone who will look at me as if I matter.” She lifted her head to his, and her bosom pressed against his chest as he bent to kiss her. Nothing held back this time. Lips touching, his tongue sliding along the inside of her mouth, and then the same from her.
He set his hand in the curve of her lower back. The longer he held her, the deeper he kissed her, the more powerfully intimate their embrace became, and the more uncertain he became of her mood, of her feelings for him, of what she thought this encounter meant.
He was the one to break their kiss, and he was pleased to see her dazed expression. “Magdalene…” He trembled with the possibilities. He kept his arms tight enough around her that she would know he intended this embrace. She tightened her arms around him. “Later,” he said softly. “Later, when you are prepared, when you’ve had time to consider, we can speak again.”
Chapter Fourteen
‡
“Have you got the Dukes?” she asked.
He patted his pocket. “It’s time we got some sleep.”
“Yes. Yes, I daresay you’re right.” She retrieved her pocket memorandum and her pencil from the floor, and he took the lamp, and they were on their way upstairs. He walked her to her room and, well. He was weak. He went inside with her.
Her maid came into the anteroom when they entered. Without looking at her maid, Magdalene said, “I do not require assistance tonight.”
The servant looked between him and her mistress, then curtseyed. “Yes, ma’am.”
When they were alone, he said, “May I stay?”
“Please.”
Yes. She said yes, and he wasn�
��t about to wait for anything to bring them to their senses. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom. The moment he shut the door behind them and secured the lock, he led her to the bedchamber.
He sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled her between his spread legs. He kissed her again, and it was as satisfying as the first time. He wasn’t a rake kissing a woman he hoped to seduce, or a courtesan he’d paid, or his mistress.
She had a ribbon in her hair, and he removed that. “So soft in my fingers,” he whispered.
She let out a breath. He stripped her off, buttons undone, hooks unfastened, ribbons untied, garters removed. He was greedy to see her, intent on touches that would make her moan and soften against him, and that would convince her there was no other man in the world who could please her.
She was a tall woman, her height in her legs, slender but in no way delicate. He drew his hands down her body, from her shoulders to her waist, then up until he covered her breasts. “Oh, Magdalene, you are so very beautiful. Don’t. Don’t shake your head like that. You are.”
“Don’t try to flatter me about my looks. I cannot possibly believe you.”
“Somehow, you’ve got a wrong impression of me.”
She took a step back, but he leaned into the space between them and grabbed her fingers. She stopped, head tilted just so.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t ask me to leave.” That was selfish, and he was ashamed for putting himself before her. “Forgive me. Forgive me. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go.” He sat up, or attempted to, but she threw her arms around him and pulled him back to her. “You’re sure?”
“I am,” she whispered.
He slid his hands down her body. “Whatever you want from me, you shall have it.”
“You.”
He kissed her collarbone and then the ridge of her cheek. “Suppose, my dearest heart, that we discover we can be friends as well as lovers?”
“Suppose we discover the opposite?”
He shrugged. “There are former lovers of mine with whom I maintain friendships to this day.”
How to Find a Duke in Ten Days Page 30
