Read Online Treasured by Candace Camp - Free Book Online Page B

short time she allowed herself to be distracted by memories, and her progress was slow, but she soon picked up her pace, steeling her heart against nostalgia. She made her way down the central aisle, sorting things into separate piles as best she could. The attic had seemed drafty when she first came in, but she was soon perspiring, and she began to wish that she had not told Hamish to wait until later to send a servant to help her. It was with great relief that she heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
    “Thank goodness!” She was bent over a large, humpbacked trunk, trying to retrieve a stack of letters that had fallen behind it, and she did not bother to turn around. “There are several trunks I need moved.”
    “Certainly. Where shall I start?”
    Isobel let out a little squeak of dismay and whirled around to see Jack Kensington standing in the doorway.

J ack leaned against the doorjamb, looking amused. Isobel stared at him in horror, thinking of the distinctly unladylike image she must have presented, bent over the trunk. Immediately on the heels of that came the realization that she was liberally streaked with dust from her head to the hem of her skirt, one of her ruffles had caught on a nail and ripped half off, trailing behind her on the floor, and bits of her hair had come loose and straggled around her face. She must look like an absolute slattern. Her face, already pink from exertion, flooded red with humiliation.
    “You!” she gasped.
    “Yes. I.” He smiled faintly and walked toward her.
    “What are you doing here?” Isobel stepped back quickly, knocking into the wobbly stack beside the trunk and sending still more letters cascading down. “Blast!”
    He chuckled and reached past her, scooping up the letters from the floor and extending them to her. “Your aunttold me where you were, and I came to apologize. I fear I was rude earlier. I spoke too harshly. It was wrong of me, especially given how kind you had been in showing me about the place.”
    “No. I mean . . .” Isobel grabbed the envelopes, feeling annoyingly flustered. “I should not have expected you to . . . I had no right . . . I am sorry.”
    “You had every right. You are a compassionate woman who was concerned for the people who have depended on you. I, on the other hand, was a coldhearted wretch.” His eyes glinted at her, lightening his critical words. “Do say you will forgive me?”
    “Yes, of course I forgive you.” She realized, astonished, that she meant it; the resentment and anger she had felt toward him had somehow evaporated. “I was upset because I cannot help them, more than anything else.”
    He studied her for a long moment. “I believe you mean that.”
    “Of course.” She looked at him oddly. “Why else would I say it?”
    He smiled instead of answering and changed the subject. “Now, what is it you need moved?” He glanced around them at the multitude of boxes.
    “Nothing. That is, I did not mean for you to move it. I thought you were one of the servants. Hamish was going to send someone to help me.”
    “I will do, I hope, until more expert help can arrive.”
    “Oh, well . . .” She turned and pointed down the aisle she had cleared. “That trunk needs to be moved to the door.”
    “Very well.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a wobbly coatrack, then picked up the trunk and carriedit to the spot she indicated. “You are rearranging the attic, I take it?”
    Isobel realized that she was watching, fascinated, the way his muscles bulged beneath his shirt. She flushed and said firmly, “I am clearing it out. The things by the door are for the servants to take downstairs.”
    “I think that I shall leave that for the servants.” He set down the chest and turned to her. “What next?”
    “You are very kind, but surely you cannot wish to haul boxes and trunks about.”
    “I am not suited to be a man of leisure, I find. I am accustomed to more activity.”
    “Well, I