Thank you, Aubry Wynne, for sharing your book, A Wicked Earl’s Widow, and for your Valentine’s gift of a story.

Keep reading and don’t forget to comment to go into the draw for the Grand Prize of a gift card (USD75 value).

Here is a little bit of story that happened in the background of my upcoming book Not Even For A Duke. It’s part of the Wallflowers of West Lane series. You can find the series at http://asfenichel.com/books

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Miss Ester Stein stood at the door to the library watching Malcolm Renshaw search for something he’d yet to explain. She couldn’t deny he looked very find with his broad shoulder sand slim hips as he reached for yet another tomb from the high shelf. His brown hair hung past his color in soft waves and she had the dreadful desire to check and see if they were as soft as they looked.

A totally inappropriate notion.

Ester had come to the Castlewick School for Young Ladies to teach mathematics and science. It was rare for any school to bother teaching girls such things, but The Countess of Radcliff was not an average woman and she’d converted the large estate in Cheshire into just such a school.

“You needn’t stand at the threshold, Miss Stein. I don’t bite. Did you need something of me?” Malcolm flipped through the pages of a thick book and frowned.

“What is it you hope to find, sir?” She stepped inside but didn’t approach. He claimed not to be dangerous, but she wasn’t so certain that was true. A woman of her station couldn’t be too careful.

He pushed out a heavy sigh and put the book on the long table before rounding it and offering her one of two seats meant for study. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll attempt to tell you what I know.”

Still unsure, Ester approached slowly but sat and waited for him to do the same. Her curiosity would be her undoing one of these days. But those deep blue eyes looked both sincere and frustrated and she couldn’t resist.

He sat and leaned his elbows on his knees. “My grandfather was the last in my family to own Whickette Park. That’s what this estate was called before Lady Radcliff changed the name to my cousin’s title and they turned it into a school.”

“I heard that much from the town gossips.” It came out a bit curter than she intended.

The warm smile he gave her made her stomach do a flip that was not at all unpleasant.

“Of course. My grandfather was an odd man who indulged in excesses all the time. He loved to gamble, drink and bed women.”

She hated that warmth crept up her cheeks at the mention of bedding women. She was grown and had seen plenty of the world. There was no need to act like a child. “I see. What does that have to do with your daily search of the library and grounds?”

“Grandfather was also full of mysteries. He loved a good scheme and played jokes on us all the time. When he died, he left a letter to my uncle. It said that he’d placed a chest of Spanish gold on the grounds of this estate before he’d lost it to his need for excesses. He claimed the money would be enough to recover all that was lost.” Another long sigh and Malcolm want silent.

“If that were so, why didn’t he gather his gold before he lost everything and regain the property himself?” Ester saw other flaws in the story as well, but she decided to focus on one thing at a time.  

He spread his arms wide and let them fall. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s all a lie. Maybe he wanted to save face after he died. Though, that would be out of character for him. He cared very little about what anyone thought.”

Ester got up and went to the pile of books he stacked on the table. Literature mostly with a few history books thrown in the mix. “If you’re looking for a chest of gold, why are you in the library rummaging through books. Why not search the attics or dig up the gardens?”

He stepped to her side and picked up the top book and turned the binding to her and traced his long fingers along the shiny title. “His letter said, to follow the lettering. It’s vague, I know, but I thought it best to start with all the books with gold lettering. I have already looked in several of the attics, but in a house this size it’s nearly as fruitless as digging up acres of garden. He was eccentric, but not a fool. If he left that much money hidden here, he’d have left a clue for whoever he wanted to find it.”

His warm spicy scent filled her head with thoughts that a twenty-six-year-old schoolmarm should not be bothering with. The cooler weather and lack of fire in the library hearth was the excuse she gave for the shiver that ran up her spine.

“Are you sure of that?” She should step away from him, but looking like a frightened child didn’t appeal to her and oh how warm he was.

“You smell very nice, Miss Stein. Is it perfume?” He pressed closer until his shoulder touched hers.

Swallowing down a moan that would be completely inappropriate not to mention embarrassing, she said, “I do not wear perfume. It is soap.”

“Perhaps it is just you.” His head dipped to her neck.

She might have been under a spell, but the light touch of his lips sent a bolt through her. She wanted more of him, but that would never be. She stepped away and faced him. “I don’t know what kind of a woman you think I am, but just because I don’t fit into your idea of a lady, does not indicate you can take liberties. I assure you I am not available for whatever it is you think you can take.”

Wide-eyed he stared at her. His shoulders pulled back and his mouth agape as if he were about to defend himself. The that same rigid back slouched and his hung his head for a moment before lifting his gaze to hers. Regret and something she’d couldn’t’ quite understand filled those eyes she’d just admired. “Forgive me, Miss Stein. I don’t know what came over me. Please do not think my bad behavior is a reflection on you. I never thought of you as anything other than a lady.”

With a bow, he strode out of the library leaving Ester to sink down into a chair and stare at the exit where she’d last seen him.

Good lord, what had just happened?

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Be sure to keep hopping along to Sophia Nye and see what fabulous fiction she has for us. And check out her book A Highland Autumn.

You can also find her on Facebook Sophia Nye (facebook.com)

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