The Witch's Thief (3 page)

With her heart pounding rapidly from fright, Julia grabbed the candlestick and ventured across the room in search of the source of the unusual noise. It had come from the hall, she was certain, but who would be awake at such an hour? Whoever it may be, she’d need to form some excuse for her own presence. Hopefully, they’d take her word and return to bed. She’d need some time to return the book to its hidden niche without any prying eyes regarding her every movement.

When she opened the door, the light from the candle and the fireplace illuminated the hall, revealing a sight that made her blink in confusion.

A man lay on the floor, his face turned toward the wall. Had he fallen down the stairs? If so, he had taken quite a tumble since the foot of the stairs were several feet away. She saw the remnants of a hallway table scattered across the floor.

That explained the crash.

She took a step toward the man, thinking him a servant who had stumbled down the stairs in the dark, but stopped abruptly when she noticed the condition of his clothes. These were not the garments of a servant, nor anyone else who dwelled within Merriweather Manor this night. He wore a long coat and high black boots suited to that of a gentleman.

Julia surmised it could be Sage, stumbling in from a night of merrymaking as he was wont to do in the early hours after midnight. But, as the wind howled with snow, she took note that his boots were wet with mud, but his coat and hair appeared dry.

And his hair was light. Not at all like Sage’s dark-as-night hair.

Clearly, this was a stranger come to call at Merriweather Manor.

Or an intruder.

Julia backed cautiously away, waiting for the man to jump to his feet at any moment. He remained unconscious on the floor, giving her the time she needed to fetch a poker from the fireplace. She returned to the hall, weapon in hand, prepared to do battle if necessary.

She leaned over him, peering closely to see his face. It was turned against the floor, giving her no way to determine his identity without rolling him over. She bit her lip with indecision. She should call for the servants. He could be dangerous.

He moaned.

What if she left to get help and returned to find an empty floor? If he roused himself, he could easily hide in any of these rooms on this floor to escape detection. Her imagination flew with possible dark scenarios.

No time to get help. She’d deal with this herself.

She took the poker, holding it in a threatening manner and advanced on him. Leaning over, she extended her hand to his shoulder and poked. He did not waken. She gave a little more effort and rolled him onto his back.

Now she had a better view with the illumination from the candle. It gave her just enough light to view him properly.

She looked at his face and knew she must be dreaming.

How else to explain the presence of this man?

Basil Merriweather.

Could this truly be Basil?

His blond hair fell over his brow in a careless wave. The features she had grown accustomed to as a child had morphed into those of a man. Stronger, masculine, and handsome. Surely, an artist created this face. She touched his cheek with one finger, just to be certain this was not some illusion. His skin felt warm and rough, a day’s growth of golden whiskers bristled against her finger.

“Miss Grey!” Parker’s voice echoed in the hall. She jumped, and snatched her hand away from Basil’s cheek as if she had been burned. The poker leapt from her other hand so that she fumbled to get purchase on it. Grasping the metal rod, she held it against her chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart and took a step back before turning to face Mrs. Prescott’s butler rushing to meet her.

He arrived with shirttails bunched hastily around his waist and held a candle at arm’s length in front of him.

“I heard a crash,” Parker said on arrival, taking in the sight of the man and the broken table bits scattered around. “Is it an intruder, Miss Grey?”

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. A guilty flush crept up her neck as though she had been caught doing something improper, like caressing the cheek of a handsome, unconscious man. “It’s Mr. Merriweather.”

“Mr. Merriweather?”

“Yes, Mr. Basil Merriweather,” Julia clarified. “Apparently, he has returned.” She turned back to the man on the floor, wondering what had finally compelled him to return home after so long.

“By my word, it is Mr. Merriweather!” Parker said and knelt down to see for himself. “How did he come to be on the floor?”

“I don’t know. Whatever mishap has occurred, he is in need of assistance. Would you help me bring him into the library? We can settle him by the fire. Then you must rouse Mrs. Prescott. We might have to send for the doctor.”

“It’s snowing fiercely now, Miss Grey,” Parker said. “The doctor will have to wait until morning. It’s not fit for beast nor man.”

Blast!
The blizzard. She’d forgotten. Being ensconced in the library for most of the night, the storm raging outside was the least of her worries. Just how did Basil manage to get into the house without a sound? Especially with wind that howled like a monster? It surely would have shook the doors when he opened them…

The corner of Julia’s eye caught the sight of firelight from the hearth reflected in the full-length mirror hanging in the hall.

Of course.
That explained it. He’d come through the mirror.

“Never mind the doctor, then,” Julia said, kneeling down beside Parker. “Help me move him closer to the fire so we can ascertain his injuries.”

“Very well.”

Parker lifted Basil from under his arms while Julia gathered his legs. Together they hefted him carefully into the library. Thankfully, it was not a far distance. The man might not be huge of stomach, but he was tall and muscular, making his weight a great deal for a woman and elderly servant to carry. They managed to get him to the carpet by the fireplace where Parker lowered his charge.

“Are you all right?” Julia asked the butler, worried to see his face flushed red from exertion.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered, catching his breath.

Julia took a moment to do the same. Then she peeled back Basil’s coat, and looked for any signs of injury. Finding none, she took his head in her hands and searched for a wound that might be the cause for his unconsciousness. There was slight swelling at the back, which might explain why he did not wake. Other than that, she could see no obvious sign of any distress.

“Fetch Mrs. Prescott,” Julia said at last. “She’ll know what needs to be done.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

She watched Parker exit the room, wishing she could go in his stead. But she found it difficult to pull away from Basil. Her gaze wandered back to him. She knelt at his side, looking into his sleeping face.

“Is it really you?” she whispered in disbelief. Again, her hand wandered to his cheek, touching him there to be sure he was real. How many nights had she dreamed of him coming home? How many days had he invaded her thoughts? Now he was here and she didn’t know what to think.

He’d been gone for so long. Ten years and two months to be exact. The last moment she’d seen him had been seared into her memory. He had met her in the garden that day. When he approached, she’d noticed the stiff set to his shoulders and something dark in his eyes she had never before seen. She had commented on it. He’d smiled, laughed at her worry and assured her all was well. Then he had kissed her. The sweetest, most memorable kiss of her existence. The next day, when she woke, she learned of his sudden departure. There had been no word from him until several days later when a letter was sent to Mrs. Prescott stating he had been called to London. A few weeks after, another letter stated his intentions to travel abroad.

He directed all of his correspondence to his aunt, never once mentioned Julia or inquired about her whereabouts. Any hopes Julia had entertained of a union between them were dashed within months when she came to realize that he was not returning home.

Until now...

Julia watched his eyes slowly open.

He blinked.

Then his gaze swept the room before fixing on her. Her heart leapt into her throat as his gaze settled on her, taking in her face, her clothes, her presence at his side. Her fingers tightened around her skirts, unwilling to move any other part of her body. Not able yet to believe her eyes, she dared not move nor make a sound for fear this image of Basil might vanish forever. Even Parker’s presence tonight might be explained away as part of a bizarre dream.

Basil said nothing. He stared. She saw the puzzlement in his eyes. The way his brow crinkled slightly. After several moments, he carefully licked his lips.

“I’m dreaming.” His voice was husky, rough from sleep. It sounded sweet to her ears. She smiled, surprised his thoughts ran the same path as her own.

“No,” she said with a small shake of her head. She took a breath when she realized she’d been holding it while he silently observed her. She held her hands tight in her lap, yearning to reach out to touch him, but frightened by his response.

“Then I’m dead.”

“Not at all.”

“Julia?” he whispered. She bit her lip to keep from sobbing at the sound of his voice speaking her name in such a breathy whisper, almost reverently.

She nodded, hating the sensation of tears forming beneath her eyelids.

“Where am I?”

“Merriweather Manor,” she replied.

“Aunt Petunia?”

“Parker is bringing her down.”

His head jerked up, and his gaze darted around once more as if only now noticing he lay prone on the floor. He made a move to sit up. Julia put her hands on his chest, gently pushing him back down. He struggled, but did not seem to have the necessary strength to push her away. He was weak, she realized. But, from what?

“Do not move,” she said. “I found you unconscious in the hall. Mrs. Prescott will see to you.”

“No,” he said, and his eyes widened in sudden panic. “Help me up.”

“I do not think it wise. It seems you are hurt in some way.”

“Please,” he said, and his fingers grasped her hand. Her breath left her lungs at the sensation of his warm hand wrapping around her delicate one. “Help me up. I cannot allow her to see me like this.”

His gaze implored her. A shiver passed over her skin. The depth of his desperation sank into her, convincing her that she needed to allow him to retain his dignity. Being discovered prone on the floor by his elderly aunt would bring no one satisfaction.

“Here,” Julia said and reached down to grasp his shoulder. “You must help me.”

He struggled to stand with her there to steady him. Together they moved to the nearest chair, where he crumpled into the seat, clearly exhausted from his ordeal. She sank to the stool by his feet.

“What’s happened? Are you injured?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

Several deep breaths later, he looked down at her solemn face, studying her, tracing her each feature with his gaze. She saw some emotion there, something she could no longer identify.

He hesitated a moment, then asked, “Do you know me?”

Julia nodded, and fought the tears that threatened to surge beneath her eyelids. It occurred to her that although she knew this man’s past, she did not know him now. He was a stranger to her. That knowledge hurt her, more than she ever thought possible.

“I know who you were,” she answered. Her trembling voice sounded foreign to her ears. “Basil.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile. He seemed about to say more when they both turned toward the sound of commotion coming from the stair. Julia heard Mrs. Prescott’s high tones inquiring after Basil’s condition. Parker would have told her how they found him.

“Do not mention the state of my health.” Basil spoke quickly for they had only moments before his aunt arrived. “She is not to be made aware of your concerns. Promise me.”

Julia swallowed hard, warring over her loyalty to his aunt who had come to care for her during her time of need and that of the man she had once given her heart and soul. The urgency in his eyes persuaded her. She nodded. He visibly relaxed.

What was wrong with him? What was he hiding?

She had no time for any further thought, for Mrs. Prescott bustled into the room, Parker at her elbow.

Chapter Two

“Basil? My boy?” Aunt Petunia’s voice pierced his heart.

He glanced at Julia.
Gods, it was Julia
. Dredging up every last bit of strength left in him, he forced his thoughts away from the woman beside him and stood on his own. His legs felt like pudding and his knee’s trembled. He prayed he might remain on his feet until he could seat his aunt in the chair next to him. He did not want her aware of his condition. It had never been his intention to tell any of them. He’d not change that now.

“Auntie!”

“My stars! It is you!” Petunia’s eyes widened, her smile blossomed on her rosy cheeks. She looked just as he remembered. Her hair was pulled under a cap, though several loose strands revealed the snow-white shade. Her blue eyes were round and wide and full of joy as she rushed with Parker’s assistance to his side. Basil took a slow step toward her, trying to appear as though all was well. Several inches shorter than his own massive height, the top of her head barely reached his chest when she embraced him.

He smiled. How often in his past had he run to this woman in need of someone to soothe his hurts and ease his fears? She had been the rock he relied on after his parents’ death. His caretaker, his strength. Now that he was grown and their roles were all but reversed, he knew he’d need to appear as strong and confident as was possible. Especially if he wished to hide any secrets from her. Aunt Petunia was sharp as a blade. In his youth she’d seen through many of his childish lies. He only hoped that in her joy of seeing him returned, she didn’t look too closely at what he didn’t want her to witness.

“Parker tells me he discovered you unconscious in the hall,” Petunia said, pulling away to look up at him.

“A mere trifling,” Basil said. “When I stepped out of the mirror, I slipped and fell into a table in the hall.” He lifted his hand to the sore spot on his head. “Like a fool, I hit my head.”