Leave a Widow Wanting More by Charlie Lane
Chapter 21
Henry rolled his shirtsleeves down as Sarah let go of his arm and stepped into the library. He wanted to enjoy the look on her face when she first encountered the two-story, floor-to-ceiling book heaven. Even more pressing? Donning a suit of armor against his lust for his wife. He couldn’t enjoy her appreciation if she continued, as she’d done down the hallway and up the stairs, to gift him little heated pats, pets, and squeezes. In the space of a minute, she’d turned him into jelly, very weak-willed jelly willing to risk just about anything for time in her arms.
Just about anything. Not death. And that’s where the physical fire that raged between them would lead her eventually.
Better to die himself.
So, he rolled down his sleeves, wished in vain for a cravat, and promised himself to dress more formally during the rest of his time at home.
“Oh, Henry,” Sarah breathed without turning around, “it’s magnificent. You weren’t exaggerating about it being better than Hopkins.” She approached a shelf and gingerly ran her finger down the spines. Finally, she turned to him. “It’s a much better system of organization, I think. I tried to implement something similar during my time with Mr. Hopkins, but—” She shrugged. A tiny shiver ran up her spine, shaking her curls. “Oooooh!”
She’d moaned something similar on their wedding night.
No. He would not let his thoughts stray bed-ward.
“I’m glad you like it. I must be off. I pro—”
She whirled around and clasped her hands together. “Not yet! I want to know all about it.”
“All about what?”
“The library.”
“What is there to tell? It’s a collection of books neatly, in my case, organized.”
She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Where did they all come from? Which ones are your favorites?”
Henry took a few more steps into the room. He should leave. He had to leave. But he didn’t want to. He’d first met her this way, surrounded by books, and he wanted to know her answers to the very questions she asked him. “I’ll tell you if you tell me what your favorite books are.”
“Yes! Agreed. You first. I asked first, after all.”
He meandered down the walls, browsing titles, even though he knew exactly where he wanted to take her. “You see, my organization system is not perfect. I have a special section over here.” He stopped in a corner of the library hidden behind an ornate iron spiral staircase that led to the second floor.
She followed on tiptoe, as if she might wake the books hidden in the shadows. She nestled close beside him and looked up into his face, waiting for him to continue. Zeus, he’d not thought this bad idea through, had he? He should have taken her to view the political tomes near the window. Lots of light, lots of space, less privacy.
Focus on the books, old man.He pulled one from the top shelf and handed it to her. “This book was published the year Ada was born. It was the first thing I ever read to her.” He pulled out another one from a shelf right below the first. “And this was published the year Nora was born. She didn’t calm quite as well when I read it to her as Ada used to, but …”
“No two children are alike.”
Exactly. “Ada and Nora looked exactly alike, though, as infants.” His fingers brushed hers and lightning flew between them. He flinched his hand back and drew it through his hair. “The top shelf is all the books I read to Ada in the year she was born. The second shelf all those I read to Nora the year she was born.”
“Let me guess.” Sara stooped a few inches and pulled a book from the third shelf. “Is this what you read infant Pansy?”
“Yes. But she hardly ever needed soothing. She always calmly looked about with wide eyes, as if taking everything in all at once.”
Sarah squatted to take a look at the lower shelves. “James was a fussy infant.”
And she’d had to care for him mostly by herself. Damn it, he hated that. And now her soft curls were within reach, and he wanted to gently tug them until she rose and wrapped her arms around him. He’d press her against the shelves and—
“Is there a shelf for little Calliope?” Her voice wavered in the darkness behind the staircase.
The name of his lost child no longer felt like a knife in his gut. But it still made his heart stutter. “Not a shelf. A single book,” he managed to say. And it wasn’t housed here. It was in his traveling trunk, safe. “She lived longer than her mother, but not by much. A single book was all we had time for.”
“What was it?”
Lyrical Ballads.“I don’t remember.”
She snorted and stood. “I don’t believe you. But it’s your information to keep.”
When her hands found his and her fingers wrapped his tight, he lost all sense of purpose and place. There was only Sarah. So he dipped his head and nudged her nose with his, the tiniest, most chaste of touches. He did it again.
She laughed. Her body jerked to move, and he thought she’d wrap her arms around his neck, but they remained where they were. He rested his forehead against hers. She played with the buttonholes on his sleeve cuffs.
“Where are your sleeve buttons?” she asked, her voice a husky whisper.
“I never wear them at home. Or during field research. I’d just lose them.”
She slowly and meticulously rolled up one of his sleeves. “You like to dress informally at home.”
“I prefer to dress informally whenever possible.”
“A scandalous scholar.”
“A practical one.”
“A dangerously close to nude scholar.”
“A—” He swallowed hard, licking his lips. Then he thought of licking her lips and stepped away. He left the sultry shadows behind the staircase and held his arms out wide. “This, Lady Eaden, is all yours if you so desire. But I must be off. It would appear I need to speak with Mr. Bartholomew once more.”
She appeared from behind the stairs, chewing her bottom lip. “I did not yet tell you what my favorite books are.”
The look she threw him sang with longing. He almost gave in, marched across the room, and kissed her senseless.
But kissing would lead to other things. And other things led nowhere he wanted to return to.
“I think I know, Sarah-mine. You love them all.”
He left without looking back. If he wanted to keep his oath to protect his new wife from harm, he’d have to do a better job avoiding her. No more libraries, no more shadows, and no more Sarah. Not for Henry.