Read Online The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) by Jenn LeBlanc - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jenn LeBlanc
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nervously.
“I will not find a nightgown-clad girl in any of the common areas of Eildon Manor. She is not to think that she can traipse around here simply because I allowed this one excursion. She should collect enough books to keep herself occupied. For a while.”
“Yes, of course, Your Grace,” she said as she scurried for the door.
Francine was still daydreaming when Mrs. Weston entered the private parlor. “Oh, Miss Francine, come. We’ve not much time, come, come!” Francine stood and Mrs. Weston shuffled her out of the room.
Francine panicked and turned away, but Mrs. Weston simply grasped her wrist and pulled her down the stairs, looking around as if to ensure they were alone. “His Grace said I can take you to the library. Come, we’ve only got one hour, miss.”
Francine heard the words and stopped fighting Mrs. Weston, instead running down ahead of her. When she reached the bottom she looked at the circle of doors she was met with, wondering which was the library. Mrs. Weston caught up to her and took her hand.
“This way,” she said.
At the first door Francine halted, pulling Mrs. Weston back. Her gaze drifted toward it as she rested a hand on the seam of the double door. Mrs. Weston went pale.
“Oh, miss, no. That’s his study. His Grace is in there. Come away, please!” she whispered violently.
Francine looked at the door, hearing the panic in Mrs. Weston’s voice. She couldn’t help herself, though, she felt— What did she feel? She felt something, a connection, the feeling of him holding her as she collapsed, the shock of his hard muscles against her, the tremble of his voice against her body. She quietly exhaled, placing both hands against the door, listening.
Mrs. Weston grabbed her forearm and pulled her away and into the library, shutting the doors solidly. She peered through the crack between the double doors before she turned on Francine.
“Look here, miss! I took a great risk to even ask this favor for you, and you need to heed my warnings! Please don’t tempt him. He’s in an awful state, one you cannot imagine.”
Francine turned to Mrs. Weston and placed her fist against her chest, sweeping it in a circle around her heart before looking back to the room. If she couldn’t speak, she would sign, and they would learn.
Tall bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling on two levels. Francine marveled at the collection, though she supposed if she lived in the middle of nowhere she might have such a wonderful library as well. She scanned the bookshelves, trying to determine the organization. She came upon a set of shelves with Byron, Chaucer, Dickens, Shakespeare, and Thackeray.
She had become used to searching titles on the Denver Public Library website, checking them out and downloading them to her ebook reader. She pulled a well-worn book off one shelf and smoothed her hand over the leather cover. She had forgotten what the weight of a book felt like, the smell of the fiber, the turn of the page. She smiled broadly and replaced it.
She pulled several familiar titles from the shelf and handed them off to Mrs. Weston, then reached for more. The Taming of the Shrew, Vanity Fair, The Book of the Duchess, English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, Pride and Prejudice, Emma, The Charge of the Light Brigade, Moby Dick, Candide .
She opened the covers of first editions with personal inscriptions written by the authors. She added to her giant stack and roamed farther into the library. Then she saw it, up high on a shelf: Madame Bovary . She smiled, climbing the bookshelves to reach it.
“Miss Francine! You cannot do that! There’s a ladder!”
Francine clutched the book and fell back to the floor with a quiet thud, then turned apologetically to Mrs. Weston who tugged on her sleeve, begging her to follow. “Come, miss, this must be enough for now. We need get back upstairs.” Francine nodded and followed. They ascended the stairs quickly,
“I will not find a nightgown-clad girl in any of the common areas of Eildon Manor. She is not to think that she can traipse around here simply because I allowed this one excursion. She should collect enough books to keep herself occupied. For a while.”
“Yes, of course, Your Grace,” she said as she scurried for the door.
Francine was still daydreaming when Mrs. Weston entered the private parlor. “Oh, Miss Francine, come. We’ve not much time, come, come!” Francine stood and Mrs. Weston shuffled her out of the room.
Francine panicked and turned away, but Mrs. Weston simply grasped her wrist and pulled her down the stairs, looking around as if to ensure they were alone. “His Grace said I can take you to the library. Come, we’ve only got one hour, miss.”
Francine heard the words and stopped fighting Mrs. Weston, instead running down ahead of her. When she reached the bottom she looked at the circle of doors she was met with, wondering which was the library. Mrs. Weston caught up to her and took her hand.
“This way,” she said.
At the first door Francine halted, pulling Mrs. Weston back. Her gaze drifted toward it as she rested a hand on the seam of the double door. Mrs. Weston went pale.
“Oh, miss, no. That’s his study. His Grace is in there. Come away, please!” she whispered violently.
Francine looked at the door, hearing the panic in Mrs. Weston’s voice. She couldn’t help herself, though, she felt— What did she feel? She felt something, a connection, the feeling of him holding her as she collapsed, the shock of his hard muscles against her, the tremble of his voice against her body. She quietly exhaled, placing both hands against the door, listening.
Mrs. Weston grabbed her forearm and pulled her away and into the library, shutting the doors solidly. She peered through the crack between the double doors before she turned on Francine.
“Look here, miss! I took a great risk to even ask this favor for you, and you need to heed my warnings! Please don’t tempt him. He’s in an awful state, one you cannot imagine.”
Francine turned to Mrs. Weston and placed her fist against her chest, sweeping it in a circle around her heart before looking back to the room. If she couldn’t speak, she would sign, and they would learn.
Tall bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling on two levels. Francine marveled at the collection, though she supposed if she lived in the middle of nowhere she might have such a wonderful library as well. She scanned the bookshelves, trying to determine the organization. She came upon a set of shelves with Byron, Chaucer, Dickens, Shakespeare, and Thackeray.
She had become used to searching titles on the Denver Public Library website, checking them out and downloading them to her ebook reader. She pulled a well-worn book off one shelf and smoothed her hand over the leather cover. She had forgotten what the weight of a book felt like, the smell of the fiber, the turn of the page. She smiled broadly and replaced it.
She pulled several familiar titles from the shelf and handed them off to Mrs. Weston, then reached for more. The Taming of the Shrew, Vanity Fair, The Book of the Duchess, English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, Pride and Prejudice, Emma, The Charge of the Light Brigade, Moby Dick, Candide .
She opened the covers of first editions with personal inscriptions written by the authors. She added to her giant stack and roamed farther into the library. Then she saw it, up high on a shelf: Madame Bovary . She smiled, climbing the bookshelves to reach it.
“Miss Francine! You cannot do that! There’s a ladder!”
Francine clutched the book and fell back to the floor with a quiet thud, then turned apologetically to Mrs. Weston who tugged on her sleeve, begging her to follow. “Come, miss, this must be enough for now. We need get back upstairs.” Francine nodded and followed. They ascended the stairs quickly,
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